♙ Dʀᴀᴍᴏᴘʜᴏɴᴇ [Cʟᴏsᴇᴅ]
seventhball
Multitudes of assorted spheres in all manner of colors ricocheted off the borders of the table and along the felt. The commotion in that moment easily drowned out whatever chatter had populated the room in moments prior, eyes trained upon the six pockets perimetering the table.
❝Stripes.❞ Roman declared as the balls rolled to a standstill, one of the aforementioned type pitting themselves right at home in a corner pocket. So it was here that the redhead moved on to line up his second shot, craned over the table only briefly as he grazed one of the others into a considerably more advantageous lineup.
❝I trust all has been well with you, Crowbar?❞ Less of an inquiry and more of a test the words presented themselves. And, when Roman straightened, it was upon his billiards cue he leaned, favoring this over the cane poised among those sticks which remained untouched.
❝As much as I hear of the trouble these scientists allegedly cause, our fellow occupants seem to be doing most of the damage themselves.❞ He recounted now with a low hum, as though deliberately neglectful of their own contribution to the fuss. ❝Maybe they're getting a little restless with no present crisis to throw a fit over. What do you think?❞
