ArchivedLogs:No One's Sport

No One's Sport
Dramatis Personae Ash, Ion, Trib
In Absentia	2015-03-07 "We're family. It's a good one."
Location <NYC> Kingpin Lanes - The Bronx
Kingpin Lanes is a bowling alley built into a converted warehouse in a corner of the Bronx right off the Bronx River. As a matter of fact the back of the building backs up right /to/ the river, though that fact is almost certainly irrelevant. Out front, so far from the heart of the city, customers of the bowling alley can come and go in relative privacy. Speaking of customers, it doesn't seem like that many people come out here to bowl, but the place seems to be doing well enough. The building is in good repair and all of the letters in the sign still light up. Inside the door is a counter where one can pay for lanes and rent shoes. There's also a bar serving drinks, but you have to get yours in a plastic cup if you want to take it over to the lanes. And tucked away towards the back of the bar, past the bathrooms and the video games, is an innocuous little door that just says, 'Employees Only'. Some people have a strange idea of what a good celebration should be. Some people like a fancy dinner. Some people want to have drinks and a party with lots of people. Ash is not one of those. He has chosen his location very carefully. Kingpin Lanes. It's out in the Bronx, so the prices are lower, and it's never crowded. Ash strolls in sometime in the late afternoon with a very sleepy electrokinetic in toe. He heads for the shoe rental station and forks over some cash for two pairs of shoes and a lane before looking hopefully over at the grease pit they call a concession stand. "You want anything? I might be peckish, but... well, I don't know if I'm hungry enough for their pizza yet." Friday nights aren't usually nights out for Trib. Between training and actual bouts, a Friday night does not generally include bowling in the Bronx. But never the less, here he is. The boxer has a lane all to himself, next to the last empty one. He's dressed in jeans and a grey tank top and his hair is pulled back into a sloppy ponytail, a few strands hanging loose to fall in his bruised-looking face every time he leans over to claim his ball. His feet are socked; too large to fit in any rental shoes available. The big man is letting the automated system keep score for him, more intent on flinging the ball down the alley with his half-hand than doing actual /math/. "{Shit yeah, bro, I need like /seventeen/ fucking hot dog, the biggest goddamn curly fries, a boat full of Coke, and maybe a pizza --}" Ion holds his hands out -- then holds his /arms/ out, spread wide to indicate the size of the pizza he is talking about. THIS big. The gesture is soon followed by a yawn, a rub at his eyes. One eye, anyway; the other he leaves alone; it's sporting a rather impressive shiner. He has a motorcycle helmet in hand, jacket with a small MMMC insignia on the breast, tall shitkicker boots, dark jeans. His hair is a ridiculous mess achieved both through not-brushing since getting out of bed /and/ then having it tucked under the helmet. "Oh and they got some cake? Pie? Maybe a cake." "{Well, we'll figure out a fucking cake when we get out of here, unless you want one of those tiny ones that comes in a wrapper. Oh, I wander if they have the tiny pies too because I used to love those apple ones - when they weren't moldy.}" Ash is still carrying both pairs of shoes as he glances to their assigned lane - coincidentally next to Trib's - before looking over at the concession stand. "{want to drop our stuff first? Pick out balls?}" He doesn't tug Ion one way or another until he figures out what is more important. Trib glances over at the counter near the door expectantly, as if he's waiting on someone. But, whoever it is, it is clearly not Ash or Ion, as his golden gaze only skims them with little recognition. His own attention drifts over the concession stand, and he chews his lip thoughtfully as he waits for his ball to return. To snack or not to snack; that is the question. "{Yeah-okay first we do --}" Ion swipes his pair of shoes from Ash, heading over to their lane with a bit more restless energy than he really should have in his step given his sleepy-eyed yawning. "-- balls, right, they got any with a fucking lightning bolts? In them? And then, then, /then/," he's dropping his helmet into a seat, dropping his backpack into a seat, propping his foot up on a /third/ seat so that he can start unlacing his boots. "/Then/ seventeen hot dog. Twenty three hamburger. /Ten/ cakes, shit. They got beer here? We get fucking margaritas? Isra she looking in on my tinymonster all /night/, I'mm'a get smashed. Kay he won't mind if I already fucking blitzed when he get here right? I roll better drunk. Shiiiit yo," he's asking this of Trib, now, "/you/ got any lightning-balls over there?" These... may or may not /exist/. But Ion can hope. "They're probably all custom. If you really want one --" Ash switches to English when Ion does, settling into a chair to start to switch footwear as well. He looks up at Trib then finishes his sentence, "It'd be all permanently yours and shit, and I really only go bowling on Freedom day. You know?" He manages to get one shoe off and adjusts his grayish brown sock to pull his toe out of the hole before cramming his foot into the bowling shoe. "Kay won't mind. He's pretty okay with the partying, yeah?" He glances over at Trib again and reaches up a hand to scratch at the back of his head. "It'd really make his day." When the pair from the door tumble into the lane next to his, Trib is in the middle of a roll -- er, fling. That's all his style can really be called, the ball bouncing a bit before settling into its roll. The big man watches as the ball wobbles along the gutter, threatening to tip in before correcting itself in time to take out two pins at the back. Trib grunts a bit in possible disappointment, and turns back to head to the ball return. When Ion addresses him, he glances up, and furrows his brow in thought. "Didn't see any," he rumbles, finally, sniffing a bit. "There's a blue one over there that's...whatayacallit. Marble? Like a storm cloud or some shit." He shrugs one shoulder. "Looks pretty fuckin' cool." "I really want. Who make bowling ball? Where you go to get yourself a /own/ bowling ball? If I had one," Ion muses, "then I guess I /have/ to bowl. Like /all/ the damn time." It's hard to tell whether he considers this to be a burden or not. "Today, today, /I/ think throwing heavy things around it's perfect. Only wish it was fight club /tonight/. I fight every-damn-body -- Storm?" It's possible he's already forgotten about asking because, though he perks up at the mention of storms he doesn't seem to connect it to the previous conversation. He /does/ sling his arm around Ash's shoulder, dragging him nearer to point him out to Trib -- "My boy and I, today we gonna bring all the storm." "I think they got stores for that kind of thing." Ash grins as he glances over at the cut out gear store in the corner, not much visible from the outside except the fluorescent lights shining from the hallway. "But it'll never get ready enough for tonight. I think they gotta cut the holes and everything for each ball. Hand sizes... and shit." Ash leans over and words on his other foot, removing his boot and sliding on the shoe - this sock is luckily holeless. "Where's the stormy ball? Gotta use one that's at least a 12'er. Those eights flyyy too far. Too fast." "Custom balls are fuckin' expensive," Trib notes, reaching for his ball as it comes up. "Alley balls are good enough, if you ain't in a league." He nods at the rack just outside their particular pit. "There," he says in answer to Ash's question. "On the bottom. I don't know how heavy it is, though." He looks up at the projected scoreboard, which proclaims in in the bottom roll of the fifth frame, and a whopping score of 27. Which probably says a lot about his form, or lack thereof. Ion's procalamation gets a lift of the side of the boxer's mouth, and he exhales in an almost snort. "Looks like you got the energy for it," he says. "Long as the storm ain't more fuckin' /snow/." "Pfff stores I broke as fuck." Ion releases Ash so that he can return to removing his boots. Putting on his bowling shoes instead. "Can you get /these/ with some lightning? Maybe in like," the wiggle of his fingers perhaps indicates /bling/, "some-shiny crystals, there, lightnings? These shoe they horrible. Ugly. Who makes these?" His head shakes. For /shame/. "No-no-no, not more snow, our storm it gonna be fire and lightning and earthquakes, make the whole-damn-world tremble." "They make'm this way so no one steals'm." Ash snorts, nudging his shoulder lightly against Ion's side before he is released. Once his shoe is tied, he pops to his feet and heads over toward the racks of balls. "It's a dumb game. It's lots of money or it's silly looking stuff." For his part, Ash picks out a bubblegum pink ball that some how manages to fit his fingers. He turns around and shows it to the other two. "It'll rock. Believe me." Trib snorts. "I don't think there's such a thing as a not-ugly bowlin' shoe," he says, moving to take his second roll. Which is only slightly better than the first in that /three/ pins go down this time. Slowly. "That's the case with most sports," he says as he comes back and hears Ash's comment. "You should see some of the shit I got to buy." He watches the scoreboard as his total is updated and makes a small noise of approval. When the pink ball is revealed, he shakes his head slowly, giving Ion a disappointed look. "I always knew the worst storm would come in pink," he says. "There ain't fuckin' ponies on it, too, are there?" "What's wrong with ponies? Me, I'm putting a -- powderpuff? Powers puff? Those little girl superhero? I'mm'a put them on my fucking bike, yo. Bubbles she the shit." Once his shoes are on Ion heads over to Trib's lane to grab the marbled blue ball out of his rack and return. "How you start this machine -- oh fuck we didn't get the margarita! And all the hot dog! -- What's your sport, dog? Don't look to be bowling." "Nope, no ponies, but hey, look at this cute bow." Ash turns the ball so the tell tale Hello Kitty bow can be seen on the otherside of that beauteous ball. He heads back to the lane and settles the ball onto the returned ball holder, peering down on the little vent that blows perspiration drying effects from the motor. He looks over at Trib's toss before glancing back at Ion. "Aye, I would say bowling is no one's sport, but I saw it on tv once, so that must not be true." "Hey, superheros is different." Trib says, holding up a meaty palm in deflection of the question. "But there's somethin' unsettlin' about the idea of something horrible bein' /pink/." He winces a bit at the revelation of the bow, but he doesn't comment further on it. "Probably the best ball in the alley," he rumbles, shaking his head. "Cause wouldn't it fuckin' /just/ be?" He takes up his ball, and hefts it a bit as he answers Ion. "I'm a boxer," he says, shuffling his feet in a small boxer dance of demonstration. It's not very graceful on the slick wood. "Heavyweight." "Oh /shit/ yo he a boxer," Ion repeats to Ash as though he weren't standing /right/ there for this. "See that's way the hell better than bowling you get to throw down all the damn time." Though his bruised face seems like maybe he does /too/. "How you know which ball the best ball? How do you find /that/ one? So many damn ball on this place -- fuck I'm getting the food." And still holding his ball, apparently, as he dashes off towards the snack counter. "I heard, I heard!" Ash repeats, an amused grin on his lips. "You pick it up and you swing it in your arms a little bit... get a feel for it, and if it doesn't feel like sex in your hands, then you put it back. but... you know, bowling sex. It's not actually anything to do with the groin." He shakes his head as Ion runs off and looks back at Trib. "You want anything? He'll pick it up. Yo. Ion, get me a burger, too?" Trib grins at Ion's question -- a hard line of a grin with a mischevious tilt to it as he waves his left hand at Ash. "You heard 'im," he rumbles. "You want to find the perfect ball, you got to get in there an' get a good feel of 'em." He makes a snicker-like noise, and turns back to his lane to take another throw. And three more pins meet their doom. Turning around in time to see Ion wander off, he narrows his eyes a bit after him, and shakes his head at Ash's offer. "I'm good," he grunts amiably, glancing at the score before looking back at the smaller man. "Thanks, though." He extends his half-hand, palm turned slightly upward. "I'm Trib." Ion just tosses a thumbs-up back towards Ash. Possibly there will be SEVERAL burgers given his earlier declaration of What Food Is Necessary. WHO KNOWS. All the foods. "I know, we used to live in the same building." Ash grips Trib's hand briefly before settling into seat to wait on Ion's return. "It was a couple years ago, but I still recognize you." He stuffs a hand into his pocket and whips out a phone, one that is currently wrapped in a couple extra rubber cases. He peels one off so he can see the face to make sure he hasn't missed any messages before turning it off and rewrapping it and sliding it back into his pocket. "Oh, hey, yeah," Trib says, offering Ash's hand a quick squeeze before he lets go. "You lived downstairs." Just in case Ash didn't remember that. "You find yourself a better place to live? Probably wasn't fuckin' hard, after that dump." He claims his ball again, resting it on his shoulder. The extra casing on the phones is noted, but the boxer doesn't ask about it, instead focusing on other things. "Your buddy looks familiar to me, too, but I don't think he was the guy that was your roommate." "Nah. He's not been my roommate, not for an age. I guess there was a short while where we might have done the same room for a while, but to be honest, I don't remember a lot about those days. We're more like brothers, grown up and living in other places." He gives a little smile and shrugs. "I still live with the same guy. Just elsewhere. I work in construction, so I was able to get in on the ground floor of a place I was working on before the prices hit the market." "That's cool," Trib says, turning to throw his ball down the alley before heading back and flopping into a seat. "I don't think I've heard from no one I knew as a kid. It's cool you guys are still tight." He leans back in his seat, throwing his arms along the back. "Yeah?" he says when Ash reveals where he's gotten to, lifting his eyebrows appreciatively. "That's pretty fuckin' smart. Least you don't get fuckin' gouged by the damned realty people that way." "We stay close. We're family. It's a good one. You kind of should stick with the good ones, you know?" Ash grins and scuffs his hand through the back of his hair as he gets up and looks over at the lane he's supposed to bowl down. "Well it's a perk. It doesn't always work. I just had the lucky experience where I knew or got to know who were all associated with the build. I kind of do handiperson work now for the apartments, along with my construction job. It's a lucky gig." Trib shrugs, whether it's to say he doesn't know any good ones or if he agrees is hard to determine. He nods when Ash explains his housing situation, and shrugs again. "Still. Luck's pretty fuckin' important. 'Specially these days." He waves a hand towards the few other bowlers in the place. "There's probably ten guys here who'd like to have a setup like that. So good on you, dude." He sounds sincere, although there's not much change in his facial expression, even as he pushes to his feet. "I think I'll get somethin' to drink," he grunts. "You want anything?" "Just ten?" Ash shakes his head and glances back to the concessions. "Your estimations are really low -- unless there's only 10 people here." He shrugs again and shifts so he's facing the place where the food comes from. "Sheesh. He probably ordered everything they have." He looks over at Trib. "No thanks, man, my brother's got me covered." "Skinny guys can really put it away," Trib says, scratching at his jaw. "Suit yourself," he says amiably when Ash defers, and waves a hand at his lane as he heads for the concession stand. "Hold the fort, yeah?"