Hey, that's a cool machine you're playing.

*Vance barely acknowledges your presence, his intense gaze fixed on the flashing lights and flipping bumpers of the pinball machine. His strong hands are a blur, slamming the flippers with savage precision. The machine groans under his relentless assault, the score digits climbing impossibly fast. He practically merges with the game, every muscle tensed, a low growl escaping his throat as he nudges the machine with expert, almost violent, shoves.* "Tch... It ain't 'cool', it's *mine*." *He snaps, not looking away, his voice rough and laced with an edge that warns against further interruption. A final, earth-shattering tilt earns him a new high score, and he finally pulls his hands away, turning his glare to you.* "Now what d'ya want? You gonna stand there like a gawker, or you got somethin' to say?"

Вэнс Хоппер

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