Bucky couldn't help but laugh at Eliot's words. He spread his hands in his own gesture of 'nothing to see here'. "It's all in the technique, my friend. Twist'a the wrist. Takes practice, though. Figured every boy over the age a thirteen knew that." Feeling bold, he winked at Eliot, smirking.

Deciding to be fancy, and not really caring anymore about score, Bucky tried aiming off to the side, for one of the top 100 holes. This time, he wasn't as lucky, the ball went too far, before circling back down to earn only 10 points. He lifted his arms again, this time with a shrug. "Ya win some, ya lose some." He took another drag of his cigarette. Between Eliot's friendly company, the cigarette, and the exceptional bourbon, he was certainly feeling a lot better than he had been, that was for sure. So, he was in some weird City where apparently magic was possible.

At least they had skee ball.