Blondie walks away toward the bar
where his friend has already taken up a seat, watching. I glance back at
them. Blondie pulls off his hat. His companion has already thrown
his hood back. My eyes freeze on the marks on their foreheads. The
dark-haired one catches me looking and returns my gaze steadily,
expressionlessly. His eyes are green, like oak leaves, like
alligators. I've never really gotten a look at his face before, and now
that I do, I find myself staring. I think I'm drawn by his mark-- by this
thing that names us kindred in some way-- but I am not looking at his
forehead. It's his eyes.
I turn deliberately back to the table and study the faces
surrounding it. The men are not really strangers to me. I've been
watching them, and others. I know the names of a few, and the faces of
all. There's Pete Sumter on my right, who owns the cannibalistic butcher
shop. And across the table is Lloyd. He forges metal tools in a
stall on the east side of the Outpost. Jacob and Taylor Lane are brothers
who sell odds and ends in the marketplace, and supplement their income through
gambling. They're probably the best players here. But the man who
won the previous hand is definitely to be watched. I've not seen him here
often. When I have, he's usually had plenty of coins in front of
him. Other than that, he's a mystery. I don't like the unknown, so
I'll be watching him closely as we play. The others are nameless.
I've seen them come and go. They may be decent players, but nothing to
worry about.
The ante is a full silver. I toss mine in quickly,
carelessly, because I want to hide the way my hand is shaking. Jacob Lane
deals the cards. I scoop mine up and fan them discreetly. They're
not what I hoped for. I study the faces around me, place a small bet, and
exchange three cards. The replacements are no better than the
originals. I toss my cards down rather than call.
The second hand is equally discouraging. I fold right away,
after noting the glint in Lloyd's eye. A few moments later, he takes the
pot with three bosses.
Parting with another piece of silver makes my stomach turn over,
but I keep my face passive and toss it in. My cards are still terrible,
and I'm getting desperate. I bluff and raise the bet, but apparently
everyone got bad cards this time. No one takes the bait. I end up
with the pot, but there's not much in it. Enough to fund a few more
rounds. I press on.
My luck continues in this manner. Fate must have used up all
her goodwill on me already. I'm on my own. For quite some time I
manage to just scrape by, only winning enough to stay in the game. I'm
worrying that I won't be able to maintain it. And what will I do when my
two lovely assistants demand to be paid? The rest of this night could be
a fight to stay alive. I'm trying to make an escape plan in the back of
my mind. Then the right cards come up.
I almost choke on my own saliva, but somehow manage not to.
Not to even make a face. Deadly calm takes over my body. I cast my
eyes around the table and feel good about what I see. When I have a
chance, I raise the bet, putting the last of my coins in the pot. Sadly
it’s not enough to yield a dramatic increase, but it is everything I
have. The problem comes when the nameless man-- the one I have been
keeping my eye on-- sees my bet and raises considerably. I’m almost
certain he’s bluffing, but it doesn't matter. I don't have any money to
stay in the game. The world lurches around me as my heart jerks into a
run. I feel the color drain from my face. I feel like I'm going to
vomit.
"Did you need the rest of your money?" says a voice from
behind me. I take a slow breath, turn, and look at Green-eyes, still
perched at the bar. His eyebrows are raised, questioning. But there
is something else on his face that I can't read. All I know is that he's
seen through me like I'm made of
where his friend has already taken up a seat, watching. I glance back at
them. Blondie pulls off his hat. His companion has already thrown
his hood back. My eyes freeze on the marks on their foreheads. The
dark-haired one catches me looking and returns my gaze steadily,
expressionlessly. His eyes are green, like oak leaves, like
alligators. I've never really gotten a look at his face before, and now
that I do, I find myself staring. I think I'm drawn by his mark-- by this
thing that names us kindred in some way-- but I am not looking at his
forehead. It's his eyes.
I turn deliberately back to the table and study the faces
surrounding it. The men are not really strangers to me. I've been
watching them, and others. I know the names of a few, and the faces of
all. There's Pete Sumter on my right, who owns the cannibalistic butcher
shop. And across the table is Lloyd. He forges metal tools in a
stall on the east side of the Outpost. Jacob and Taylor Lane are brothers
who sell odds and ends in the marketplace, and supplement their income through
gambling. They're probably the best players here. But the man who
won the previous hand is definitely to be watched. I've not seen him here
often. When I have, he's usually had plenty of coins in front of
him. Other than that, he's a mystery. I don't like the unknown, so
I'll be watching him closely as we play. The others are nameless.
I've seen them come and go. They may be decent players, but nothing to
worry about.
The ante is a full silver. I toss mine in quickly,
carelessly, because I want to hide the way my hand is shaking. Jacob Lane
deals the cards. I scoop mine up and fan them discreetly. They're
not what I hoped for. I study the faces around me, place a small bet, and
exchange three cards. The replacements are no better than the
originals. I toss my cards down rather than call.
The second hand is equally discouraging. I fold right away,
after noting the glint in Lloyd's eye. A few moments later, he takes the
pot with three bosses.
Parting with another piece of silver makes my stomach turn over,
but I keep my face passive and toss it in. My cards are still terrible,
and I'm getting desperate. I bluff and raise the bet, but apparently
everyone got bad cards this time. No one takes the bait. I end up
with the pot, but there's not much in it. Enough to fund a few more
rounds. I press on.
My luck continues in this manner. Fate must have used up all
her goodwill on me already. I'm on my own. For quite some time I
manage to just scrape by, only winning enough to stay in the game. I'm
worrying that I won't be able to maintain it. And what will I do when my
two lovely assistants demand to be paid? The rest of this night could be
a fight to stay alive. I'm trying to make an escape plan in the back of
my mind. Then the right cards come up.
I almost choke on my own saliva, but somehow manage not to.
Not to even make a face. Deadly calm takes over my body. I cast my
eyes around the table and feel good about what I see. When I have a
chance, I raise the bet, putting the last of my coins in the pot. Sadly
it’s not enough to yield a dramatic increase, but it is everything I
have. The problem comes when the nameless man-- the one I have been
keeping my eye on-- sees my bet and raises considerably. I’m almost
certain he’s bluffing, but it doesn't matter. I don't have any money to
stay in the game. The world lurches around me as my heart jerks into a
run. I feel the color drain from my face. I feel like I'm going to
vomit.
"Did you need the rest of your money?" says a voice from
behind me. I take a slow breath, turn, and look at Green-eyes, still
perched at the bar. His eyebrows are raised, questioning. But there
is something else on his face that I can't read. All I know is that he's
seen through me like I'm made of
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