Chapter Text
Daphne saunters in the door in tight designer jeans and a lace bra peeking through the strategically ripped neckline of her vintage-look Stones tee, and Nineball rolls her eyes. It’s like something from a Vogue covershoot with a “dive bar” theme. The outfit probably costs more than the pro-grade pool table Nineball’s shooting on, and that’s without the shoes.
The corner of Daphne’s lips twitch up when she sees Nineball looking, and she crosses the room toward her with more sway in her hips than is strictly necessary. A third of the people in the room clearly recognize her, and another third are clearly trying to convince themselves they don’t. Because 9ball’s is a classy hole, sure, but not that classy.
“You here to make a scene?” Nineball asks, raising one eyebrow. Daphne raises both back, a mask of innocence.
“Why?” she says. “Were you hoping for one? I could have someone run over a headshot to sign, you could put it on the wall.”
Nineball snorts. “Not a chance. You’re going to ruin this place’s reputation just by being here.”
Daphne takes a pool cue off the wall. “They’ll be cool,” she says, gesturing with one hand at the bar at large. She turns half around towards the other patrons, who are all looking at the two of them now, and gestures again. “You guys will be cool, right?” It’s half letting them in on a friendly secret, and half a challenge. Playing the role of someone you don’t want to disappoint.
To Nineball’s faint surprise, many of them nod, and most of them turn deliberately back to their drinks and conversations.
Daphne turns back around and smiles at her. “They’ll be cool,” she says. Nineball has to laugh.
“That’s not gonna stop em going straight to a tabloid,” she mutters as she hands Daphne the chalk. She passes it from her palm to Daphne’s, their hands sliding against each other, warm and smooth.
“You’d be surprised,” Daphne murmurs back. “I had a great deli on the down-low for like, a month. Ruined it myself in the end by not shaking a paparazzo tail.”
Nineball laughs again. This woman handles people the way Nineball can handle a mainframe, and she can’t help but be impressed.
Obviously handling a mainframe is harder. But, you know, it takes all kinds to make the diamonds go round.
Daphne folds her hands over the end of her cue and watches Nineball clear up the table, ball by ball, and it occurs to her that if Daphne could keep from being recognized, she’d probably be great at hustling pool.
It further occurs to her, glimpsing the ghost of a smirk on Daphne’s fire engine lips, that she might be about to prove that. Nineball might even let her.
She racks the balls again under Daphne’s hooded gaze.
“Shall we make this interesting?” Daphne says. There it is.
“You may have noticed,” Nineball answers, “I have enough money.”
Daphne keeps staring steadily at her, only breaking eye contact to drag her eyes deliberately down Nineball’s body and up again.
“Money isn’t interesting,” Daphne says.
Nineball feels herself start to grin.