The music in the background droned onto a more calming, acoustic track than the sadder once that preceded it, Dustin smelled the familiar scent of hash enter the room. And, unless one of his newly-acquainted friends was already growing very comfortable, Dustin figured it had to be tattoo-ed girl.
Sure enough, Dustin felt the woman almost brush past him as she walked around with a cue.
There was something about her confidence. It reminded him of a person long past. A person who looked nothing like her.
It reminded him of crimson blood stains on porcelain, perfect white.
It was best not to think of such things. Not anymore. Not on here.
Her lips opened and a thick cloud of smoke enveloped him. Dustin could almost feel his body react to the drug as it’s smoke poured into his nostrils.
On one hand, it seemed a bit early to be getting high, but on the other? He was sure most people wouldn’t approve of how many packs he put down a day. Not even counting the liquor.
The woman gave off this odd air of complete comfort—almost sensuality—that drew him in. The feeling seemed almost mutual, as she was the first to come up to the smoking room. But perhaps it was something else entirely.
Or perhaps it was just because this was the fucking smoking room.
Regardless, Dustin figured it’d be a good way to at least get a name out of her by engaging her in the “wager”
“I don’t make wagers with strangers,” he said, hoping this could get something out of her. “Especially if I don’t know how good they are at billiards.”
Dustin motioned his hand slightly to the open table. Five solids and seven stripes remained.

Emma, Rathe and Tiffany. The pretty ladies that will keep her company for this ride.

Elvira got two more glasses for the ones who arrived slightly later and poured the wine for them. Out of all four, Rathe definitely was the most active and talkative. She approached Elvira and focused on her right shoulder. Oh, the sun tatoo, her pride and love. "That's nice work". "Why, thank you" - Elvira answered before smiling at the other ladies. "I certainly hope we'll find common ground" - she rose her glass and took a long pull of wine. "I hope they'll be gentlemen, but I wouldn't count on it" - Rathe continued. Elvira glanced at the men sitting across the room, most of them silent or not even close to each other. "I'll be surprised if any of them are. Look at the brit" - Elvira motioned towards Richard - "He seems too relaxed and insolent to be a gentleman. Can't really judge the others, they haven't shown that much character yet".

And the room fell silent with an arrival of another man. Before he even said anything, a thought crossed Elvira's mind - "That must be the captain'. And she was right - as soon as he started speaking, it was apparent he's a member of the staff. Elvira set down her glass and leaned on the bar stand. He locked eyes with everyone - including her - and Elvira felt very, very weak. As if though all of her secrets were revealed, no matter how well she hid them. She suddenly felt 18 again, standing in the rain and looking into the eyes of a man whom she did not want to remember.
Even though she knew thoughts of him will never leave her.

She needed to focus on the captain's speech instead.

Well... Elvira has certainly met a lot of different people with their nitpicks during her years of work, but... Maddox was, perhaps, one of the more exquisite ones. This is going to be very, very interesting and the captain's speech only made her even more excited.
Two people left soon after the speech - Dustin, one of the men who stayed silent for most of the time and enjoyed his drink and a cigarette, and Rathe.

Elvira stretched her arms and glanced at the people around her. 6 more remained - Richard, Tiffany, Emma, and two more men who haven't introduced themselves yet.
"Would anyone like to take a walk around the ship with me? I've only seen this room and the living quarters and I'm sure I'm not the only one".

Emma wasn't all bothered by the captain's speech, even if it seemed the others were. This was what she had signed up for, and damned if a little mystery was gonna stop her enjoying herself. On the other hand, she was unbearably tired all of a sudden, and she did not feel in the mood to do much other than make up her room and fall asleep. The taller woman, Elvira, asked about exploring the ship to Emma and the other two women. The tattooed woman, Rathe? excused herself and followed the first bearded man out of the room. Emma waved her hand, "Sorry, I'm absolutely exhausted, not sure why. Maybe you can tell me what you found in the morning or something?"

The woman nodded, and Emma smiled and left the room. She crossed the ship back to her room. She didn't even bother to change her clothes, she simply fell onto the bed. She watched the ceiling fan rotate for about 20 seconds, and then she was out cold.

If she hadn't been nervous before, she was definitely nervous now. The captain's speech was exciting and mysterious, but a bit terrifying. She had a mission to be on this ship, a duty to herself and her family but that didn't mean it had to be a bad experience. People quickly started to disperse, going off on other parts of the ships and even some heading to bed. Picking up her two half full glasses on the side table, she poured one into the other and looked at the odd concoction of wine, rum, and coke that was now sitting in one cup. She took a sip. It was terrible. Though, it was kind of rude to waste the drink she had made. She took another sip. Surprisingly, still terrible. She decided it best to dump it out after all. Rising from her seat she walked back behind the bar and let the mixture slowly be poured into the sink.

"Would anyone like to take a walk around the ship with me? I've only seen this room and the living quarters and I'm sure I'm not the only one". the woman she came to now know named Elvira offered. Emma declined, saying she was heading to bed so Tiffany decidedly piped up. "I wouldn't mind seeing a little bit of the ship before bed myself. I'll come along." she said. Placing the now two empty glasses on the side of the sink and giving a small smile to Elvira, offering her company on this small adventure.

Dustin motioned his hand slightly to the open table.

Rathe glanced down at the layout - a good break with at least a half-dozen clear shots. "Too bad. You might've enjoyed losing this one." She wore a mischievous smirk as she leaned the cue against the back of a comfortable-looking high-backed armchair, upholstered luxuriously in leather and velvet. "It's your shot." She called over her shoulder as she searched for something other than the bottle itself for the tequila, eventually turning up a broad-bottomed brandy snifter. Given the quality of liquor, probably an appropriate choice. Momentarily, she returned to the table, glass in hand, to survey the damage, though she was clearly only half-interested in the game itself. "So this is some shit."

Rathe didn't explain her meaning, instead just letting the comment hang there open for interpretation. It'd been running through her mind, though, since the moment she'd bought a room aboard the Cresenzo. She'd kept it tucked away somewhere just beneath the surface of conscious thought out of trepidation over the implications, but on seeing the others assembled in the living area returned it to the forefront, fresh with anticipation marbled with threads of terror. What would make them, or her, or anyone, blindly book passage aboard a ship with no clear destination for an undetermined duration with a cast of strangers, many of whom were probably trying to get away from something more than head toward anything. It definitely was some shit.

And Elvira did get a companion - Tiffany. The dainty girl was the first to answer her - "I wouldn't mind seeing a little bit of the ship before bed myself. I'll come along."
"Let's go then. I suggest we walk around this deck and go back to our room afterwards." - she said, motioning for Tiffany to come with her.
Elvira left the room and took the map out of her pocket. "Dining room, passenger kitchen, 4 rooms and a bathroom... Tiffany, how about we visit the first two? I certainly want to see what we have at our disposal and, perhaps, grab a glass of water."

OOC: Joint post between Dustin and Rathe

“It’s your shot,”

Dustin suppressed making a face as the woman turned and moved back to the bar.

Shit, he thought to himself. How did I miss that?

Trying not to openly hit himself, he went ahead and took his next shot. Just before the cue stick made contact with the ball, a tremor shot through his hand, choking his shot and sending the cue ball a good foot off-target. It stopped in the middle of the table, near very few balls, and opening up his opponent for more than a few shots.

Why was he nervous? This was night one on a boat with seven other people. Dustin knew he’d probably be sick of everyone aboard in a matter of days. In fact, he had planned for it; packing almost a library’s worth of books to read in the sanctuary of his stateroom. Why wasn’t he there now?

All easy questions to blame on the alcohol eating away at his liver.

“So this is some shit,” she had said from the bar.

Now what did that even mean? He thought. He felt as if he was in two games with this woman instead of one.

One lay on the green cloth. The other was simply verbal.

Seeing the formality of her glass, Dustin made a break for the bar and took a much less-cordial glass; a standard whiskey glass. He poured more tequila in it, and took a sip.

He thought for a moment about her statement. A sober mind might’ve asked for clarification. Dustin, however, simply went ahead and threw out what was obvious.

“I wonder how long we’ll last,” he said, looking down at the black ink peering out from under his shirt. “If I had to guess, doll-face will sell her ticket quick. Our former LTC seems like he’ll get himself killed before too long.”

Dustin looked up to the girl. Perhaps it was time to actually get to know someone on this Godforsaken ship.

“And what about you?”

Despite the decidedly macabre turn the conversation had taken, Rathe replied with a broad, genuine smile. "How long will I last?" She shrugged and casually extended her overturned arm to reveal a long scar across her wrist, its angry red line suggesting it had been made within no more than a few weeks. Momentarily, she returned it, cigar hanging loosely from her fingertips to take another deep drag. "Who says I want to?" To be honest, she hadn't even considered the question herself, but with it verbalized there was no way around confronting it. All she'd packed in the duffel was a few days' worth of clothing and enough hash to shame a Rastafarian.

Her smile faded as she scanned the table, finding its state unchanged. Rathe set down her drink and took up the cue with purpose, stalking the table like a predator seeking out prey. "Here, let me get mine out of your way." Cigar hanging from her lips, Rathe downed the eleven, corner pocket, and spin the cue ball around in line with the nine, which disappeared into the side a moment later. The ten put up little resistance as it plopped into the other side, and the fourteen stood little chance either. The fifteen looked as though it might thwart the run, teetering at the brink for several seconds, before giving way and clicking softly on a ball already downed. The thirteen made no attempt to resist. Rathe chalked the cue, then stretched across the table to line up the eight. From that position, it was clear she'd forgone the support of an undergarment, despite the snug fit of the tank top. Glancing up at Dustin, she winked and poked the cue ball at the eight. The shot caught it at an odd angle that sent it off the rail corner of a side pocket and back into the middle of the table. Rathe rose with a sigh, "Not my number, but maybe you'll get lucky."

Dustin hardly reacted when he was faced with the woman's scar, which rather surprised him. He had seen far worse. He had done far worse. But being faced with such a thing so soon was unexpected, and--surprisingly? Impressive.

He wasn't given much time to really focus on the scar, as his billiard partner soon sunk every ball on the table.

"Well fuck." He said without thinking, as the thirteen sunk just as easily as each ball before it. He watched as the woman angled herself across the table to make for the eight. Dustin saw no harm in enjoying the view, and gave the woman a knowing nod and smile as she winked at him. Perhaps it was chance, but this shot came short; leaving Dustin just the slightest chance. Turning the glass in his hand upside down, he gulped down the last of his drink and made his way to the table. He had spent the better half of the game trailing from behind; now it was time to tighten the gap.

"Let's see," he said, observing the table. His one and four were down. Only five left. "This shouldn't be too hard."

He let his cue upon the table and almost immediately sent the cue ball flying with an ear-splitting crack. The cue made contact with just the pairing he was hoping for--the three and the six had been sitting together, and he had just struck their connection. Both balls flew in separate directions, each nearly bouncing out of the middle pockets before reluctantly falling in. The six had flown past the eight, nearly coming in contact. Luckily for him, things seem to be on his side.

Dustin lined up his next shot; the five, sitting just a foot down from a corner pocket. Just before he struck it, smirked to himself; this could not be a better shot.

The cue ball struck the four and sunk it easily. Flying backward towards Dustin, the cue ball nearly struck him as he rose up from the table, making it's way back to the seven and downing it in the opposite pocket as the five.

Only two balls remained; the elusive eight and the shining blue two. His shot was lined up pretty easily, but a slight miscalculation on his execution sent the two careening off-course, striking the wall and coming back from to the center of the table. However, even in this case luck had paid off--the ball had stopped it's motion just between the cue and the eight. The woman's next turn would be much more difficult than her last.

He was still down by one, but he was not out.

This time it was Dustin who paced around the woman, just barely feeling the ropes slide against his forearm as he swung back into her view.

"Looks like I'll be lasting a little while longer." He said, before pulling out and lighting his next cigarette. He made a mental note to ask her for hash once all this had ended.

"Those things will kill you." Rathe glanced at Dustin's cigarette with a playful smirk as laid her cue out on the felt. Turning, she shifted up onto her toes to take a perch on the side of the table, crossing her legs and casually swinging a booted foot. "I think I'm going to miss fries." The non sequitur came so nonchalantly that it nearly seemed in context. "I swear that's all I'd eat if they didn't go straight to my ass, but I mean, what are the chances that Joe Doe or the charming captain can cook?" She paused for a moment, "Definitely fries." She took another long drag from the cigar, then burst into laughter, "Shit! you probably think I'm crazy. I'm not. I mean, I'm finally fucking high, but not crazy. I was just thinking, though, about how messed up the whole living on a ship thing is and ... fries ..." She shook her head and raised a hand to cover her eyes for a moment, "Che è così stupido!" After a moment, she settled and glanced back up at Dustin, "What are you going to miss?"

“Everything kills you,” Dustin said suddenly, but calmly, in response to her comment.
Although she did have a point. Dustin made a move for the bar, putting out his cigarette once again. He waited for the woman to make he move, but it never came. In fact, she had definitely gotten herself high by this point, and the game’s intensity seemed to fade as she talked. As Dustin listened to her statement about fries churn out into the open smoky air, he felt his stomach churning—paying for the sins he had sent down into it.
Dustin had a tolerance for this sort of thing, the amount of drinks he had taken in this night were starting to fight against it. His mind wandered to thoughts of some sort of war between his Stomach and his Liver. He smiled at the thought.
“It’s fucked, isn’t it?” he joked, as she commented on the situation around them. It truly was. “I think that’s what I like about it.”
Dustin’s eyes wandered around, loosing focus, before locking onto the carpeted floor beneath them. It had been so pristinely taken care of, Dustin could make out the bent fibers where the two had been walking, and could even tell his footfalls apart from her’s. He wondered if John or Doe would be taking care of this particular room, or rather it would be them. “We’re all crazy for signing up.” He said after a moment, honestly.
His eyes jolted up to hers suddenly. “What ‘am I gonna miss?” he asked, with just a hint of a slur.
“Fuckin’ everything. All the grass. The trees…all that. But not just the big things. Maybe…the smell of gasoline at the pump. The taste of a Big Mac at three in the morning. Fuckin’ driving, all night long, as far as the road would take you. Anywhere you want to go…“
Dustin smiled at the thought, before another image ran through his head; porcelain, blue eyes.
His smile dropped briefly, but soon returned. All things fade with time. Although he wondered if the churning within him ever would. Dustin worried about how much longer he’d be able to keep his liquor down, at this rate.

"Anywhere you want to go? Even nowhere?" Perched atop the table's edge, Rathe managed her tequila and cigar in one hand, alternating to give each opportunity to numb her thoughts, while she motioned Dustin forward with the index finger of her free hand. Her accent was becoming thicker by the moment, though it wasn't entirely clear whether she'd finally found her happy place or whether she'd simply stopped giving a shit. "Chiudi quella cazzo di bocca e baciami." Even as Rathe beckoned Dustin forward, her subconcious rang feelings of deja vu, though her mind had been so thoroughly fucked that it hardly seemed to matter any more. What mattered was the damned compass, which she resisted, and the map, and a familiar feeling.

Dustin's mind wandered with his buzz, unable to truly focus. The feelings in his stomach soon faded to an odd sensation of warmth. As the woman talked in front of him, he felt more and more in this moment, and in an odd way, less like himself. He felt himself arouse.

A sort of typical instinct took over himself, and he moved forward, putting both hands on her hips and sliding up to bare, smooth skin. His lips pressed into hers, as his eyes remained shut.

No matter how many woman lay between the past and this moment, Dustin had never been able to fully be with another. He saw her eyes in this woman. He felt her skin. He tasted her lips.

Perhaps it wasn't such a bad thing, after all. It was honest with himself, and beyond not so much as remembering this woman's name, he could already tell there was another in her mind as well. Beyond what was reasonable, maybe they both just wanted a good fuck.

Together they smelled of hash and liquor, and it was best thing Dustin smelt all night so far. Pulling back from her, Dustin took in a deep breath, and opened his eyes. For a moment they seemed a shade of porcelain blue; a shade he never wanted to see in a woman again.

"Perhaps," he breathed, "we should get a room."

He looked around, trying desperately to focus. Between the booze and his own libido, he wasn't sure how he even remembered that it wasn't polite to fuck in public. His hand, however, hadn't bothered to wait. His fingers began reaching around the front again, sliding slowly into her pants. Dustin prayed no one walk in.

It wasn't the first impression he had in mind.