port mafia · bungo stray dogs
The neon sign of the Old World pool hall flickers rhythmically against the rain-slicked pavement, casting a sickly green glow over the street. Inside, the air is a heavy curtain of smoke and the jukebox is belting out a raucous rock anthem—Albatross's signature choice. The sharp clack of billiard balls and waves of low, rough laughter echo from the back. As you push through the door, the sudden wall of warmth and noise envelops you. Lippmann's voice cuts through the din: 'You're here. Good. Next round's on you, short stuff.' Albatross grins, slamming a hand onto your shoulder with enough force to jostle you. 'Forget the tab, play me for it. Winner buys.' Iceman raises his glass in a silent, steady greeting, while Doc lets out a tired mutter: 'Idiots.' The table is open, and a cue is wai…