<strong>Name</strong>: Jack Harth<br/><strong>Time</strong>:  About a year ago<br/><strong>Tagged</strong>: Random NPC, Elena<br/><br/>Jack, meanwhile, came to this dive bar for one real reason: Pool. Sure, he drank a bottle of beer, blended in, but never had more than he could handle.  Meanwhile, the guy he was playing against was half-tanked, and screwing up left and right. Jack felt kind of bad for taking advantage of the drunk, tonight, like he did many nights, but hey, maybe they'll stop drinking when they're out of money; and that sober period will show them where it is they're fucking up.<br/><br/>He was able to get in without being hassled or needing a fake ID, simply because he was familiar with the owner; a member of the local chapter of Hell's Angels, whom Jack was putting much thought into officially joining. As bad of a rep as they get for a few rotten apples, he knew them to mostly be good men.<br/><br/>As he waited for his opponent to fiddle, fumble, and fail his shot, his attention briefly turned to the bar, drawn by the chanting. It was disgusting. But, if they wanted to kill themselves the slow way, who was he to judge? Their was already too much of everyone in the world, and not nearly enough of everything, and... wait a second. Didn't he recognize that girl?<br/><br/>He did not like the few words of the conversation over there he could make out; mostly the big dude being surly. It triggered a red flag in Jack's mind; drunks that are angry are likely to start fights, or do something else in an attempt to victimize whatever it is they're angry at. And with the way that girl is drinking, he seriously doubted that she'd be able to fend for herself for much longer.<br/><br/><strong>"Hey, your move, bro." </strong><strong>"Yeah, sorry. I'm goin'."</strong>He looks at the lay out on the table, and lines his shot up, sinking the six ball in a corner pocket, while the man he was playing with drunkenly comments<strong>"She has a nice ass, huh?" </strong><strong>"Why d'ya think I was distracted?"</strong>And the two laughed at that, though only one of them truly was enjoying it.<br/><br/>Jack had, a long, long time ago, learned how to blend in, when it suited him. And for now, it did.  Shots were traded back and forth on the game, the sound of the cue sticks hitting the round orbs on the table blending in with the music, and a few other games going on.  A small amount of money was clearly sitting on the bank of their table, pinned underneath an empty bottle of beer.<br/><br/>Soon, the man he was competing against was cursing and hollerin', but more so sad than angry at his lost.<strong>"You might want to call it a night, man." </strong><strong>"Yeah, prob'ly right, Jack. Next time, though, I'm anglin' to get that money back." </strong>As the pool player wandered off in a sullen state, Jack collected the money--fifty in total-- and slid it into the pocket of his pants.<br/><br/>In a good week, he made about two hundred bucks a week playing pool. It was nice, helped him to get the things he needed and wanted.  But for now, he was calling it quits for the night.  He didn't want to get greedy.<br/><br/>Retiring back to the bar, he made small talk with the bar tender, while nursing the bottle of beer, and occasionally watching Elena, making sure she was alright.