Post by katya on Jul 22, 2011 2:51:40 GMT
(( At last! I can finally post this MFer. Again, I am sorry that this is so damned long! ))
As soon as Griff had claimed a bed and locker at the pokemon center, Volta dragged him out to the wharf. Between all the eee's and mol's and gaa's, Griff hadn't even figured out where she was leading him until he arrived at The Dancing Ducklett, a bustling gambling den with the smell of intoxication, cloves, and tobacco reaching as far as the entrance. It was a traveler's joint, for rangers, trainers, sailors, airmen, and anyone else that was on the go and fancied a game of luck, a stiff drink, and a blow of shisha. Basically, it was just Griff's sort of place. If anyone remembered him, or remembered having more coin on hand than before they met him, they'd be out of town all too soon, so it wouldn't much matter.
Griff had a certain personality he used for places like this.
He wasn't picky about poker tables and joined one with mostly older men that immediately took to calling him "son". Everyone at the table soon discovered that he was a hilariously awful card player. Luckily, he seemed to be having a good time, chatting enthusiastically, smoking a hookah, and listening with genuine wide-eyed interest to the older men's stories and banter, likely reminding them of this son or that nephew back home. Every now and then, beginner's luck came onto his side to the great entertainment of the entire table, winning him enough coins to keep playing and boisterous slaps on the back of congratulations from the table.
No one noticed Volta in the dim, yellow light that filtered down to the tables through the rafters and tobacco smoke, her fast fingers filling up a coin case of her own as on-lookers looked on rather than at their pockets and purses. To stay in the game, Griff kept a few cards up his sleeve, carefully counting the deck to make sure no mishaps happened. ...Until now.
While the dealer shuffled the deck, Griff gave Volta the signal: a few lines of an old hit song, hummed pleasantly and slightly off-key. He didn't see Volta when she stacked the deck, but he wasn't supposed to, and by the time the next round had been dealt, the emolga had probably already flown out a bathroom window to return the pokemon center.
They went about the table, raising and folding as they saw fit, and this time Griff bowed out when the sailor across from him grinned toothily with pig-eyed confidence over his mountain of coins. When he finally showed his hand, it was an impressive straight flush, running from the Nine to Queen of Spades.
As the table congratulated the winner, Griff frowned, more confused than upset. "Wait, that doesn't make sense," he said. Griff bit his lip in ponderous thought, a young man's gesture of discomforted anxiety, then glanced at the others at the table before flipping over his folded hand. He had nothing to show but a second Jack of Spades."That makes two Jacks. I thought we were only playing with one deck, right?"
An old ranger scowled, casting a suspicious look at the sailor, and scattered the discarded pile for everyone to see. Griff's spare cards were mixed in there: an extra four of hearts, king of clubs, and ace of diamonds. A silence fell over the table, eerily quiet under a haze of smoke before the entire table stood up in outrage. Yelling, screaming, and threats of violence degenerated into actual violence, and Griff stumbled back and away from the table, clearly not the sort of boy that liked being near big, burly, enraged men, and who could blame him? The Dancing Ducklett's management had a no tolerance policy for cheating, and its clientele felt the same.
The fight drew an audience that mobbed around the table, cheering the fighters on. Bouncers shoved their way through to extract the sailor, still protesting his innocence to a deaf audience in-between throwing uppercuts and jabs. Out of sight and out of mind, Griff shouldered his way through the crowd, a snapped-off blade nestled between his pointer and middle finger. Sure, the bulk of tonight's haul was already safely scurried away in Volta's hands, but she'd laugh at him if he came back empty-handed--nevermind that he'd done more than his fair share of work to distract the other players at the table.
