Aislin's answer told Dom everything he needed to know; she was ignorant. He was encouraged by the fact that she was open to the conspiracy theories about the city's gas leak, it meant she wasn't a sheep and that she might even be open to finding out the truth. He wondered how many articles she'd read and what they'd said. Not all proposed theories came close to the truth; very few had mentioned supernaturals, as far as he recalled - he'd had reason to research it when he'd lived with his ex, around the time he was debating coming clean about his, uh, kink regarding vampires. She probably hadn't found any articles that accused vampires of being real or the supernatural community as a whole of being responsible for the 'gas leak' disaster.
"Yeah. I was sixteen," he answered her question about the Apocalypse, not elaborating because it wasn't a subject he could discuss at length. The topic had served its purpose. She began wiping the table with him after that, which was embarrassing. He watched ball after ball go down, feeling a tightening in his gut at the thought of losing to this petite scrap of a redhead. He was a local, he knew this table well, he needed to get his head in the game and stop worrying about everything going on beyond the border of their table. He needed to focus!
All hope of that was blown completely away when the newcomer approached them and put his coin on the edge of their table. Of all the tables in the room, he just had to come to theirs? Dom, who'd been leaning forward to take his shot, straightened like a soldier called to attention, his eyes widening when he got a good look at the guy's face. Doctor Barrow. He remembered him, from Lazarus' trial. In fact, he'd had a burning desire to seek out this very man ever since that night and see if he could help him with his Lazarus problem. Obsession? Whatever. And now here he was, loud and in the flesh? A shiver ran down Dom's spine and he blinked, realising he should say something. He wanted to make a good impression and communication was key.
"Uh, sure. It's going to be Ash, at the rate I'm going," Dom answered, attempting a joke that came with a nervous smile and no mirth reaching his eyes. It was difficult for him to stop staring at the doctor, his mind a whirl of activity and calculation. If he played his social game right, could he score some time alone with Barrow? Had he effectively negated the notion that they were playing a tourney? He hoped Ash hadn't thought along those lines; he doubted it, because nothing had been discussed beyond the loser buying the winner a drink. Now, the winner would also be obligated to play the third in their spontaneous little trio. Focus! "I'm Dom," he added, because he couldn't remember the doctor's first name and he needed it. He didn't lean down to take his shot, waiting instead for his answer.