My regulars murmured to each other as the game
progressed. We rarely had anywhere near
this much energy in the bar. I kept
Tommy supplied with fresh beer, and before long he had the teddy bear down to a
single remaining cup. Several other
patrons were already jostling and queuing up to take his place.
“If your opponent makes the last cup, you get two shots for
rebuttal,” Tommy announced to the surrounding patrons. “You get your ball back for each shot you
make, but after two misses, you lose. If
you clear your opponent’s cups in rebuttal, it’s sudden death mode – one cup
each.” Tommy’s second shot landed in the
teddy bear’s final cup with a splash, and several patrons cheered mildly. The bear missed both his rebuttal shots and
dejectedly gulped down the remainder of his vodka and honey.
Tommy intercepted the bear as he waddled away across the
floor. “Good game, bro,” he said,
holding his hand down towards the top of the bear’s head. After a moment, the teddy bear reached up and
shook the proffered hand. It seemed less
glum as it ordered another drink from me.
The next hour was one of the busiest I have ever seen at
Flotsam. As I poured and shook out
drinks for those standing in line for pong, I watched the grin on Tommy’s face
grow as he defeated challenger after challenger. A second table quickly opened up to
accommodate the rush of interest. Ten
minutes later, Tommy had wiped down the old chalkboard on one of the walls and
had a tournament organized. There was
one tense moment when several warty amphibian mercenaries almost came to blows
with a battle droid that refused to disable its automatic targeting software,
but Tommy cleverly solved the issue by setting up a separate bracket system for
electronic patrons.
Three hours later, my arms were sore from shaking and
muddling and Tommy was draped over a bar stool.
Most of the patrons had happily filed out of the bar, chatting excitedly
in various tongues about the new game. A
plastic crown was perched precariously on Tommy’s head and a half-full can of
beer was resting on the bar in front of his head. I took the opportunity to duck around from
behind the bar and clean up the scattered red cups.
“Fun night?” I asked when Tommy finally raised his head from
the counter.
Tommy nodded groggily.
“I was on fire, man,” he said wonderingly. “I’ve never played so well in my life. Even against those blobs that could bend
their arms any way they wanted.
Seriously, best night of my life.”
I smiled. “It sounds
like you accomplished your goal,” I said.
Tommy gave me an utterly confused look. “You were looking forward to this night
because you wanted it to be the best thing in your life,” I explained. “From the sound of things, it was a pretty
good night.”
After a moment of consideration, Tommy nodded to
himself. “You know, I think you’re
right,” he said, the realization doing a much better job of sobering him up
than any number of cups of coffee. He
reached up and straightened his baseball cap.
“I actually feel way better than I did earlier today.” He turned to look over his shoulder at the
door. “I think it might be time for me
to head out. Can you call a cab or
something?”
“No cab necessary,” I replied. “Once you step out that door, you’ll be right
where you need to be.” I tucked his beer
can away under the bar.
Tommy stood up from the stool, but paused before he strode
towards the door. Bittersweet
realization bloomed on his face. “I’m
not going to ever come back to this place, will I?” he asked, glancing around at the few
remaining patrons still nursing their drinks.
I shrugged one shoulder in a well-practiced motion. “If we don’t see you again in here, it means
that you’re on the right track,” I replied, dodging the question with the ease
of years of practice. “Flotsam is always
there for those who need it.”
I saw the young man’s lips twitch upward, as if the evasive
answer was nothing more than what he had expected. “Until the next pong tournament then,” he
said, stepping out through the door. For
an instant, I saw another bar on the other side of the open door, this one
filled with similarly attired men swinging bottles in their hands and
singing. A single bar drifted through
the door as Tommy left, only to be cut off as the door closed. I knew if I rushed to it now and opened it
wide, I would see nothing.
Picking up my rag, I started wiping down some of the empty
glassware. One lone ping-pong ball
drifted slowly towards me on the counter, carried by a spreading puddle of
gently fizzing beer. I picked it up and
casually tossed it over my shoulder, towards the other end of the bar. I didn’t have to turn around to know that it
had landed perfectly in the last remaining red solo cup.
Ah, just another evening in Flotsam. And that one wasn’t even the wildest. In fact, it was pretty tame compared to that
time when the priest- but that’s a tale for another time.
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