Moon hand-engraved Tankard
Sunday afternoon. A cold venue on the edge of a ropey part of town. The weather-beaten owner, large and resigned to his post now reserves his responsibilities to serving drinks when asked and cleaning the brass and wood-wear when everyone’s gone home.
Two snooker tables reside in a back room. An atmosphere of uneasiness and tension ebbs from that space as lumpy bodies skulk around the lit felt, features darkened. Only the occasional tattooed arm and cue piercing the wall of light falling on the table to teach another ball a lesson hints at the murkish state of those occupying the territory around the tables. They’ve been here for hours. Barely drinking. Laughing at jokes so crude Vikings would baulk at the telling of them. A smoke of threat permeates the air. The regulars, and their jocularity, have left early for the evening – guiltily avoiding meeting eyes with the barman – now silent and wiping the same wine glass he was twenty minutes ago.
But in you come. Having planned a snooker game all day you blithely addle to the snooker hall to discover it occupied. The smell of sweat and aggression meets you like a meat locker has been opened suddenly but you ignore it. Bulks twice your size brush by like glaciers in the dark as you continue whistling cheerily. Meat-curtained eyes glaze in masculine fury as you impose upon a space they marked as theirs. Still, you remain unfazed.
As you put your change on the table the leathery sound of large fingers constricting around pool cues, now weaponry.
Your goose is seasoned and looking ready to be served until you place your Moon tankard in the light on the edge of the table. The light slides across it’s curvature like the glitter on a late night temptress, catching the eye of every ‘man’ surrounding you. That’s when they realise. You brought that tankard. Anyone who brings their own tankard means business.
As the engines roar and the cloud of menace filters from the room – you enjoy a little more than a pint from this robust, powerful glass – reminiscent of the flasks of the great, the strong, the faceless and the silent.
Like our hero Moon – you need no words to save the day. This tankard proves it.