The woman isn't as rattled as Rokuro hoped she would be, but judging by the force of her throws... she has a temper. After years of wrestling with his own anger, not to mention working for a man who has made a hobby out of irritating him, Rokuro could empathize.

"Oh my. Better luck next time." Obviously not. These people have attempted to bully, threaten, and steal from them. Rokuro won't be happy until they walk out of the bar with empty wallets and wounded egos.

Yes, Rokuro was trained in court protocol almost since birth. Encouraged to be submissive, passive, and polite whenever possible. To respect his superiors, only speak when spoken to, and put his own needs last. Etiquette was always rewarded over empathy. Then he actually met his master, and protocol went out the palanquin window.

There is a certain ruthless joy to watching his unassuming comrade take the highest score in the game.

"Beginner's luck, four-eyes." A low growl from the rebel man, who shoves past Tech to take his spot at he line, doing his best to knock him into the nearest table. Rokuro fights the urge to jump to Tech's defense, and simply turns his attention away from the rebel to inspect his nails.

Leaving the man to look back over his shoulder after he makes his first throw, and miss the next shot out of irritation and disappointment. The third is even more wobbly.

"What do you think, Tech? Shall I paint them blue, or silver."