[indent][indent][color=934641][h3]Ｅ ｉ ｍ ｉ  Ｎ ｏ ｘ[/h3][/color][/indent][/indent]
Eimi's wrist made a small twitch; bent fingers aligned with the movement; and the stump of gray ash on the end of her cigarette shed into the chipped and worn tray next to her Spar-Letta soda.  Both arms rested on the aged countertop.  The sleeves of her blazer were pulled, baring thin, faintly colored forearms, and her eyes focused (surprisingly) not on her newly obtained Holo-Link S3 but instead on the cracks and dents of the bar’s countertop.  Eimi was mixed on the current situation.  She found it both, kind of funny and kind of sad.  However, she was having a more than slightly hard time trying to understand what the situation even was.  

On the outside of her contemplation, the atmosphere — taking place in The Shaggy Yak Pool Hall was just, yet again, another worn out place, and by the quick puerile glances she had given her crew-mates just moments earlier, they were all just, yet again, another bunch of worn out faces.  She was having a hard time actualizing the problem even if her expressionless face seemed just as catty and pensive as usual. It was easier to hide in her head when no one knew the difference from one expression to the next.  Although, her lack of interest in her gadget was a little peculiar -- if anyone drowning in his own sorrow cared enough to notice.

Her eyes shifted over to Poole. His large mass moved from his place and took heavy steps down the Hall. The scraping of stool feet against a hard floor was audible from his strength and size. [i]He better pick something good,[/i] she joked to herself, eyes quietly narrowing at his back.  She really couldn't have cared less what he picked. She was a ‘musicunt’ as her super intellectual and well-versed generation would say. Although, Mars never settled well with her, and the music might as well be just as nauseating.  She had her reasons, ironic as it was.  Who even fucking cared?  The worst thing that could come of this was she would have to sit and listen to it.

Turning her attention away from Poole, she scanned the dark, depressed screen of her Holo-Link.  Her free-hand moved and plucked it from the counter top as her thumb tipped the touch screen.  The Holo-Link lightened, and the holographic projection smoothed into her view.  She had been playing one of those Martian Children Strategy Games (MCSGs); and her opponent was seemingly good; but he had not made a move in a while even though, he was running low on time and had that adolescent energy for stupid boyish taunts. She was starting to think she might win by forfeit. [i]Loser.[/i]

She thumbed a few scrolls through the device, and pricked several commands and rays before resting the Holo-Link on the counter-top, again. The slim cigarette was brought meekly to her lips and warm breaths fogged her mouth.  Her knuckle turned, and her elbow bent, relaxing her head on the back of her hand.  The smoke slowly curled in the thick air of the Hall, but despite such a hollow, condensed atmosphere, her mind was running in circles.  She was going nowhere, though, and in this precise point in time, she kind of envied Hosoi.

And with a look that went right through everything she closed her eyes, to hear Poole’s selection and the tail end of some senseless cop story by Lynnette. She felt like she had nothing in common with these people, and yet, they were so familiar at the same time. It was a bit frustrating, but really, should she have expected anything else in [i]such[/i] a mad world? Her brows furrowed a bit. [i]That loser better not forfeit.[/i]