Chapter Text
Damien feels intrusive as he waits for the Freelancer to change. He stands awkwardly shifting from the balls of his feet onto his heels, hands stuffed into his shorts’ pockets. The living room is nice, with stuff on the table and dishes in the sink, making the apartment feel lived in. His phone buzzes.
“Sorry, just didn’t like the other shirt.” The Freelancer closes the door to their room and pockets their phone.
“It’s fine, though I think people are waiting for us.” Damien notices a scar peeking out from the collar of the new shirt. It looks old, the skar slightly darker compared to their neck. They adjust the shirt.
The Freelancer sucks their teeth and beelines for the door, “Then let's head out before Lasko wears a hole into the floor.”
“Sorry we’re late, I wanted to change my shirt.” The Freelancer says as they walk up to Huxley and Lasko, who are sitting by the bowling ball dispenser in comically small chairs. A look of relief passes over Lasko’s face and Huxley shrugs.
“It’s no big deal.”
The Freelancer is tying their shoes as Damien weighs the bowling balls and Lasko sets up the little display to show play order and each of their respective points. After a moment of quiet, Lasko lets out a small triumphant noise at getting the display to work. The image transfers to the overhead TV and the Freelancer sees that they’re first, then Huxley, Lasko, and finally Damien.
“Ready for me to sweep the floor you all?”
Damien rolls his eyes and puts his hands on his hips, “Don’t think I won’t put up a fight.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it.” They pick up a ball, holding it at their shoulder. “That would make it too easy.” A flash of dark ink catches Lasko’s attention, but it’s gone before he can analyze it.
The Freelancer did in fact, sweep the floor easily winning twenty points ahead of Lasko.
“How are you so good?” Huxley asks as he slips on his regular shoes by the door.
The Freelancer shrugs, “There wasn’t much to do when I was younger.” They scratch behind their ear. “So I just went bowling a lot.”
“What do you mean?” Huxley eyes a scar on the Freelancer’s thumb as they fiddle with their keys.
“I lived in a small town. The next town over had a bowling alley, so I spent a lot of time there when I was a kid.”
“No wonder you’re so good! It must be like muscle memory.” Lasko suddenly appears by Huxley’s side and he jumps in surprise. Damien returns soon after Lasko, shaking off the extra water from his hands.
“What about muscle memory?”
“The Freelancer apparently spent a lot of time bowling when they were younger, right?” Lasko explains, looking to the Freelancer for confirmation.
“Hehe, yeah I did.” The response is awkward, with the Freelancer scratching the back of their head and shifting foot-to-foot slightly. Huxley raises an eyebrow but doesn’t mention it.