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 Posted: Sun Nov 06, 2011 5:53 pm
Someone had gotten their hands on the new Florence and the Machine album, and it wasn't Tate. And that was annoying, because they seemed to only have three songs and also they were trying to play it over the bowling alley's piped-in "Bringing Sexy Back", which was only about two ranks above "Yellow Submarine" in Tate's musical estimation. Still, it was better than that song about the place being about to blow, blow-oh oh oh oh oh oh oh, and as she'd expressed to her bowling partner she was about to strangle someone if that song didn't end. The entire alley was a bit skeezy--most of them were--with carpeting that looked like it'd been there since the seventies and neon bowling pins lighting up the walls. The computer consoles were old and the entire place smelled a bit too strongly of vanilla air freshener; three birthday parties were gathered on the other side of the building, taking up six lanes and making a general nuisance of themselves. It left an entire side open for walk-ins, of whom there was mostly... Well, it was just Tate and Janice, really.
She really should have taken the general presentation of the alley as a sign that this field trip to the bowling alley was a bit ill-advised. They were two rounds in and their total pin count, between the pair of them, was something like ten pins. Total. Probably they'd be doing better if they'd owned up to being bowling amateurs at the counter, but neither Tate nor Janice had wanted to have the gutter barriers up. The number of gutter balls they'd rolled did nothing to dissuade their competitive drive. It might have been comedic if it'd been anyone else.
It also didn't stop, on Tate's half, attempts to mess her bowling buddy-slash-opponent's attempts at actually making it all the way to the end of the lane. "C'mon, Fitzpatrick, is that the best you can do? My mom's a better bowler than you. And she won't even touch balls." She was grinning, hands folded up under her chin as she watched Janice from her place leaning against their lane's console. "You can do better than that!" Nevermind Tate hadn't done any better so far. That wasn't the point.
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Posted: Sun Nov 06, 2011 6:57 pm
"Shut. The ********. Up. Tate," came Janice's punctuated reply. Her eyes were fixed on the lane as she replied, extremities making some attempt at assuming the about-to-roll-the-ball pose that seemed so essential to the sport. The posture was just about exuding passive-aggressive statements about how she was concentrating, in spite of all the odds put against her by the shitty music blaring from the speakers, the poorly sung Happy Birthday songs nearby, the pungent smell of junk food in the air and Tate's constant berating of her from the sidelines.
Her determination to not land another one in the gutter reaching critical levels, Janice took those crucial steps forward and released the ball into the lane. Murky, intent eyes watched at it wobbled its way down over the hardwood like a half-drunk man on a bicycle, until it finally gave up on its efforts, careening sharply to the left and ending its run in the gutter.
That was followed by a low growl drowned out by all the other noise in the alley, and Janice clenched her teeth irritably while she waited for her ball to return. "Could you please tell me, Konstantin," she hissed, "exactly why we decided to meet here, of all places?"
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Posted: Sun Nov 06, 2011 7:44 pm
Tate wasn't doing any better, but at least she seemed to be handling her frustrations in a socially acceptable way. This happened to be goading her opponent on, but hey, anyone who had the time to judge Tate's methods probably had time to actually teach the pair of young women how to bowl. And if they didn't, they could just shut up. Forever.
Or that was Tate's opinion, anyway. She watched the ball slowly spin its way down the lane, narrating its fall in her head: oh it's going left, is it going to make it? back to the right, could Fitzpatrick possibly--oh, no. It's in the gutter. "Tough luck," she said sympathetically, scooting closer to the ball lift and wedging herself between it and the console. "And I don't know the answer to that, Fitzpatrick. I'm pretty sure it has something to do with deep and long-abiding self-hatred, though."
She was talking like in about five minutes it wouldn't be her up there cursing and being irritable and demanding Janice turn her back towards the alley because she was judging Tate, ******** all!! If there was any self-hatred involved at all, it was equally shared by both parties for sure. "I wish we didn't have to wear the shoes, they're horrid," she said after a moment, rubbing her chin. "Oh, look. Ball."
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Posted: Mon Nov 21, 2011 5:01 pm
"Probably," agreed Janice. Heaven knows that she had plenty of deep and long-abiding self-hatred to spare -- perhaps moreso than usual, lately. Enough that it would take a while yet before it was overridden by the temptation to leave the alley in a huff and go find something she was better at to do.
That, and there was also the fact that she was determined to last longer than Tate in this masochistic exercise. Without acknowledging Tate's observation, she plucked the ball up from the list and stepped back front-and-center at the start of the lane. The look in her eyes suggested that she was trying to will the pins to go down with her gaze alone. Another deep breath, another repetition of that motion neither of them could seem to get quite right, and the ball was sent wobbling down the alley again in search of its targets.
It languished to the side again, and barely teased against the edge of the gutter for several feet, slowing to an excruciatingly crawling pace as it made its way closer and closer to the end, until finally it met its mark --
-- and hit one pin.
Most people would not have been proud of this. Against a mutual track record of almost entirely gutterballs, however, it put Janice ahead of the game, which she didn't hesitate to rub Tate's face in with a pointed glare back at the girl.
"Take that, Konstantin." She stepped away from the floor, giving the other room. "Your ball."
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