oRagnar was having a drink with some of the city represantives in his office in Ragnarok and just as he was about to make a toast, his assistent came inside and said: 

" Hey boss, can i have a word with you real quick?"

"Yeah man, come here and tell me what's going on."-replied Ragnar.

" There is someone at the door asking for you, he said his name is TonyVega. What should we do ?"- asked again the assistent.

" Ohh Tony, yeah sure send him in. Excuse me fellas. seems like we have another arrival to our little party in here!"

With that said Ragnar lied back again and started pouring the drinks to the Mayor and himself.

Pete had a clean shirt now and was feeling a little less shy than he had been before, everyone he had met in Detroit since his last visit had seemed pretty friendly. He grabbed a beer and found an empty pool table at the back of the bar.

"who wants to play a game?!" He yelled from the back of the bar looking around for a friendly face. Maybe he had drank too much already.. whatever...

Sitting at the bar whiling away the hours until his flight home in the morning he was just about to finish his beer and head back to the hotel when he heard someone shout from the back of the bar

"Who wants to play a game?!"

Turning around Frankie saw what can only be described as a guy a little bit worse for wear issuing the challenge. "easy pickings" he thought to himself. Frankie couldn't resist the opportunity of making a few bucks so he ordered another beer and whatever his new friend was drinking and asked the waiter to bring them over as he made his way to the pool table.

"I'm up for a game or two, Fancy making it interesting?" he said approaching the man. This was going to be an easy hustle "PAYDAY" he mused to himself whilst extending his hand to his new friend.

"Frankie4Fingers from Vegas, good to meet you." shaking hands with the man.

The waiter appeared with their drinks and Frankie peeled of a $20 from his wad of cash and said "Keep 'em coming."

Turning back round to face his opponent and handing him his beer "Cheers bud" he said whilst clinking glasses before he asked

"Shall we start at $50 a game?"

"Hey Frankie nice to meet you, I'm Pete from right here in Detroit. "

Pete was still feeling pretty good and Frankie seemed like a nice enough guy. He did just buy him a drink after all. 

"Yeah $50 sounds good to me. Did you want to break?" Pete asked Frankie, he was curious to see how good his new friend from Vegas was at pool.. Pete was half decent but in his current state he was probably going to have a rough go of it.

Secra walked in looking around. She had heard some good stories about the place and smiled finding a spot to sit down and watch the others enjoying their games and chats. 

"I see.... just the place.... to hang out"

She stared wondering how everyone was getting along and looked down at the table.

Strike. Strike. Strike. Strike. Strike.

Over and over again, it is all Bachelor did while at the bowling alleys. The pins were his enemy and the ball his weapon of choice, eradication was the only answer -- it was time to win. His skill-set was being generally looking good and flexing for all the ladies to see, but those muscles helped in other ways that were more practical in nature, such as winning the bowling championship four years in a row. Before he joined the mafia, this was all he did with his time, day in and day out; hitting the gym and then knocking down the pins. Clockwork.

Yet fortune did not always favor the best and best looking, luck from time to time has another say in how the world works and this was no different. 

"Hey, Bachelor. Just take it slow, make sure to watch how you bend, and tuck your legs. You need that perfect form, yeah?"

"It's fine, I got this. Just one more strike and its all mine."

Doing everything his trainer told him, he readied his stance and threw down the ball. He had become the ball in that instant, working his way down the alley, nothing could stop him. The clouds and water all became one, the world was nothing and yet it was everything. Staring up into the air he had become a bird, soaring. Flying. 

Strike.

This wasn't that time, however. The best had won. He was wonderful. The many adoring people who had watched history walked over and hoisted him into the air, carrying Bachelor over to the gigantic bowling trophy that simply read - "Best Bowler - 1933" it was aptly named, as there were clearly none better. 

Present - Ragnarok Bowling & Pool Bar

Buzz. Buzz.

It was time to wake up and make his way to the local Detroit Bowling Alley, it was ran by a now deceased member of the mafia but the new ownership were still continuing on with its name and usage. Putting on his famous gloves, Bachelor was ready to go for his next championship in a long line of victories.

"Sir, you're.. not on the list of competitors."

"What? You must be mistaken? I'm THE competitor, I won a championship when I was 14, 15, AND 16! Surely everyone knows who I am? Junior Bowling Tournaments were changed forever when I started rolling as we say in the biz." 

"Did you sign up for the competition, sir?"

"Well, no, but I figured the engraved ball would have gotten me in. Look at that guy over there? He's using a standard ball, that's an amateur move.", pointing over to the teen holding a red ball in hand, he snickered; it didn't even have sweet flames on the sides like his. This was all one big joke and he was going to argue his case if it took him forever.

"How old are you, sir? 16 is the cut off age, you're aware?"

"Well, uh.. about that..." 

After a couple more moments of pleading his case, Bachelor gave up the fight. Sometimes bad luck just gets in the way of pure power and skill, sulking his way over to one of the pool tables he began to tap one of the balls with a stick - maybe this would be his new game? His brute strength could easily win him a match of the old billiards. Now to only find an opponent...