Adam Burke
The Burke family Christmas was always an affair. Jessa got back from college or work or whatever vacation she was on with her famous boyfriend (it made headlines when one of the Burke heirs started dating a male model; she was so much richer than he was), I returned from weeks of papers and work and pretending to care, only to jump into more pretending to care, and of course, there was the Winter Olympics, where the young men and women of the business world competed in tennis and skiing and frost-covered golf.
The one thing I actually enjoyed out of that, including winning at tennis, was Christmas Eve poker nights with Father, Barry, the Worth brothers, and whoever else we could scrounge for a good old game of betting and bluffing - dealer's choice. Father had always told me to pick Five Card Stud, but Barry liked Texas Hold 'Em. If the girls were there, we'd play Bullshit, but they were usually drinking wine and gossiping in the living room above the den.
I wouldn't be the best at that table, but I could bluff well and bet smartly, and I knew enough about probability to guess my chances, so it was with a smile that I sat and the dealing began.
I didn't know much about my teammates, but they all seemed mostly capable. I was worried about the redhead and her neighbor, who looked too gorgeous to be good at bluffing, but the blondes who sat on either side of me looked confident enough.
"Mr. Orange, you post the small blind."
He threw in a few chips, enough to be about twenty. The girl next to him glanced at the bet, then stacked up fifty.
"Ready? First deal."
Zahra quickly dealt two cards to everyone at the table. I glanced, and mine weren't bad - eight of spades and jack of clubs. Not bad, especially if I could find a nine, ten, and seven in the flop. The betting started around, started with an old woman who checked, then me.
I glanced around the table and let a slight grin grace my face before throwing in a ten. "Raise ten," I announced clearly.
The next girl called, and so it went, raising by tens or twenties every few people. By the end, we'd gotten up to one hundred-fifty, already. It wasn't much, but with the way blackjack went, I was certain there was more at stake than a few dollars.
Everyone was silent, their breath near-held as Zahra burned one card and flipped the flop cards- one, two, three. In sequence, she revealed an ace of clubs, the eight of hearts, and the ten of hearts.
Not bad, I thought, glancing at my hole cards. With the flop cards, I had a pair of eights and was on my way to a straight, if I could get a nine and a seven or a queen. Still, there was a lot riding on the last two cards.
Around the table, three people checked quietly. I rapped my knuckles on the table twice and let it pass me - this time, I'd try to save my money.
The first fold came not two turns after I'd checked - the brunette who sat after the young blonde next to me glanced around the table and dropped her cards, face-down. "I fold," she announced.
A grin spread across the man's face. "And with that, my team is winning, Zahra."
"Quiet," the woman snapped. "Folding comes with a price. Tell us something, darling. Val, correct?"
"Yeah. My name is Val, and I need money to pay off my debts."
"Everyone's got debt, darlin'."
I don't. My family had been so different from theirs - I'd been born with a silver spoon in my mouth and eight hundred more in the china cabinet. My father had never let me have enough control over the money that was meant to be mine for me to be in any sort of debt.
Perhaps I wanted something like what they had, the responsibility, the worry, but why would I want to live without knowing where my next meal was coming from? For not the first time, I felt that I was in too deep, but my thoughts were cut by a joking comment from one of the men.
"Yeah, screw you, student loans!" He shook his fist at the sky laughingly, and someone laughed. The next person bet ten, which most everyone matched, except a young man, who threw his cards down and grinned.
"I made a bet with my friend that luck was real. This isn't really helping me out in that regard."
More laughs, and more people calling. I threw in my chips and kept my cards hidden.
As another two people folded, the secrets came out. I'd expected most to be about the reason for money - if I needed to fold, I knew what I would say - but one of the girls on my team told a story about her prom and running off to Mexico instead of buying a ticket or a limo or a dress - "Well," she added, "I did buy a dress, but I only wore it for the pictures and right after we crossed the border, that got left behind. Somewhere along the wall that Trump wants to build will be a pink, ball gown style prom dress that never saw a prom."
It was easy to forget that it was a contest for a second, with the laughter and the joking. My worries disappeared as I threw in chips - just another day when Barry was dealing and we had the den to ourselves. Of course, we'd played for real money, but the thousands we gambled away had never had a lasting effect. On the table in front of me, slowly depleting, was all I had for this game. There was no backup from Daddy, or a loan from the Worth twins. My worldly wealth for this game was sitting in front of me.
And I liked it. My father couldn't fix everything forever. I had to learn my own way.
"Call," I said finally, and the round ended. Only the ones who'd folded - five, three from the other team and two from mine - had a sizeable pile. The rest were about half the size that they'd been originally.
Again, the laughter disappeared as Zahra burned a card and flipped the next - the two of diamonds. Perhaps it would be useful to another, but it held no value for me.
I glanced at my cards, and as the bidding went around and another person folded, I decided. Once it reached me, with a fifty dollar bid, I threw my cards down.
Instead of my planned statement - my father has always provided for me and I need to break away from him - I surprised even myself.
"I cheat at tennis," I admitted, "which may not seem big, but my father is always proud of me. Ironically, he's the one who convinced me it wouldn't affect the game, but I always win, and I know I'm not that good. I guess it's part of why I feel like I can't even trust my own father, and, of course, he cheats at poker too."
The blonde to my left threw down her cards as well, and the game continued, but this time, I don't win, as I do most of the time with my family's money, my family's morals. I play on my own.
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Blorange Orange
T I T L E = N E V E R
Never have I ever believed in the word unfair.
To say that something is 'unfair' would suggest that it was possible for something to be fair, which is impossible. Since the dawn of time there has never been an instance in which all of the living creatures were on a level playing field. Quite frankly 'unfairness' is simply how Natural Selection works, the living organism with best traits for a given time period and situation has always prevailed. Even in small, controlled games or situations that people try so incredibly hard to keep fair there is still disparity. Genetics, intellectual capability and experience all come into play, helping to determine the odds of a person's chance at victory. Rules always seemed humorous to me as they tried to control something that simply was uncontrollable.
Perhaps that's why when it came it games I was obsessed with what most people would consider 'cheating.' I was utterly drunk on the thrill of thinking outside of the box to get to my end goal in the most efficient way without getting caught. There had never been any doubt in my mind that I was going to 'cheat' my way to that prize money when I entered the games.
The dead body killed my enthusiasm though.
If Adam had been killed simply for busting, I didn't want to imagine what they would do to a man they caught 'cheating.' A dead man hardly had the ability to change the world.
The thing that made me concerned for my own sanity though was not the fact I was still was planning to 'cheat' rather it was the fact that even if I had known that I'd be gambling my life I think I may have still signed up. My head knew I was mortal, but my heart was convinced I was untouchable.
I wonder if the Aces thought they were immortal. I saw a steel gleam in their eyes. They looked at all of the players as if we were as fragile and disposable as paper; good only as long as we were of amusement to them. I wonder if they knew that we were just as dangerous as they were, all they would have to do was push one of us a little too far and their house of cards would crumple taking them down with it.
They didn't even give us the opportunity to breathe as the last guy busted in Blackjack and then inturn was busted in the head with a gun before they ushered the survivors into the next game. The crowd bustled a bit in confusion as the woman with the purple hair retreated to the chairs that the Aces had been reclining in earlier and allowed herself to relax.
Her friends who took her place were hardly as serene.
The two bickered among themselves in hushed toned, gesturing at us only to collapse into hushed times again. The scene took me back to my primary school days when the gym coach would pick two of the athletic children to pick teams. The amusing fact was that the two children who looked like they were on some sort of performance enhancer were more mature than these two. I watched them begin to pull aside the players that displayed the most talent, slowly working their way down the pecking order until two moderately equal teams emerged.
The girl, who I had learned was named Zahra though her bickering with Kol, choose me though she obviously wasn't excited about it as I was referred to as a 'leftover.' There wasn't even a doubt in my mind that red flushed into my cheeks as I realized how insignificant I was to them. I was foolish for wanting to be fought over, what was I? A teenage girl? I was unorthodox in my methods of playing cards, I certainly didn't need attention drawn to myself.
"Once again, welcome to Texas Hold'em. Here's how it go-"
Zahra violently shoved Kol aside, an irritable mood splayed across her face. "I don't trust you anymore, Kol, I'm taking it from here." She smirked dusting her hands off as the guy stumbled into a chair. "Firstly, get seated around the table according to your team. My team, Cinnamon Roll as I have decided to call you, is coming over here." Her hands gestured to a large round white table with eight chairs around it right beside another identical one.
I felt strangely irritated when I heard my team's name. We had a million dollars at stake as well as our lives and she choose to name us after a pastry, but then again, she wasn't the one who had her life on the line.
Without preference I took a seat at the table as Zahra picked up the cards, shuffling them with the ease of someone who had been doing it for years. "So this is going to work like any other game of Texas Hold'em. You can fold or you can continue to play. The winning team will be decided when we compare the two best hands of each team. All of the players still in the game on the losing end will be killed while the players on the winning team who folded will be in jeopardy."
I can't say exactly why I turned when I did, but somehow my eyes found themselves turning toward Florence who was sitting beside me with a sad look on her face. She brushed a curl from her face and beckoned for me to lean toward her. With a twisting feeling in my gut I leaned toward her. Hot breath hit my ears as she spoke. "I just wanted to let you know I saw what you did in Blackjack."
My heart stopped, my body completely freezing for one long agonous second. "I think outside the box and raise the stakes for myself as a consequence, what does it matter?" I whispered back after Zahra passed us, placing two cards and a thousand dollars for betting in front of me.
"It's not right."
"It doesn't matter what's right and what's wrong, what matters is what is and what is not."
"Right and wrong are the equilibrium between what is and is not."
"Is that just your perception I hear?"
"Don't be silly, without a clear definition of right this world would be chaos."
Our hushed voices came to an abrupt halt as Zahra clapped her hands for our attention, I couldn't quite take my eyes off of Florence though as she completely devoted her attention to the Ace. "Alright guys, shall we begin? I suggest we win, guys, because if we lose you're dead."
Florence finally turned back toward me, a frown still faintly visible on her face. "Never let me catch you cheating again." She spoke with the tone of a disappointed mother, making me wonder if she had children as the guilt that only my mother had ever been able to provoke began to bubble in my chest.
I wasn't even sure why I was guilty, though obviously I wasn't about to tell her that. "I'm not planning on it."
A sickening paranoia had taken to me though, if Florence had caught me in the discord of Blackjack there wasn't a way I could 'cheat' here, besides who knows what Florance would do if she saw me do it again. I mean she seemed kind, but really I didn't know her at all. I could never afford to be caught again.
I was beginning to wonder if 'never' was a lot shorter than I was led to believe....
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Milo Periander - *USED 13*
lol so like the cards were dealt to this redheaded guy who was like boom pow chicka wow wow in love with that other guy who was like "man, donut drink them alcohols" because the blackjack game was like hella emo & these two are gay af. like really gay af. and when they got the cards, Milo was all like "yo i gotta two and seven" and Ren laughed and was like "ahahah ho i got 2 9's" but it was okay because Milo still won because he's da bestest and every1 here knows it ;)
Okay, and then like some weird shizzle started to go dowwwwwwwn like every1 was about to yell "timber". Like, this guy who lost was like 2 secs from being shot & he was all crying and shiz and like "wow i just feel so attacked rn" and Milo and Ren didn't care bc they were like "lmao he aint as cute as us" and the guy who had the gun was like chantin some weird shiz like "I am not throwing away this shot" and there was almost a hurricane but then the guy like lol died all bloody and the murderer was satisfied.
milo lived lmao
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Rafael
In time we hate that which we often fear.
Five people dead, five bodies without a soul lying on the floor of the casino waiting to be dragged away. Rafael watched with cold eyes as one by one those bodies were taken away he felt no sorrow for them, it was their fault they were here.
The boy was supposed to be listening to the two squabbling over who gets who but he could not care a less. If he ended up on a good team so be it, if not well he would just have to win anyway. He was sure as hell not going to end up like those bodies.
"Here are your teams" The voice of Zahra broken into his bleak thoughts and he found himself at the table as he glanced over his team. 'Are they any good...they had better be.'
It turns out he was seated next to a rather pretty girl who went by the name of Dawn and a really old lady who had an appalling Irish accent. Rafael drew in a deep breath and looked down at the table where his two cards lay.
Now I'll set my teeth, And send to darkness all that stop me.
The first round was simple enough with Florence and Adam playing as the small and big blind. Placing his bet which equaled Adam's Rafael sighed and sat back in his chair looking first at his cards then over at the dealer.
As the game progressed a frown began to cross Rafael's forehead, his hand was getting worse as yet the forfeit was something horrible. Already the man with the orange beard had folded and was made to tell a secret. If I were you I would have to drink to get rid of these memories, A smile broke out on Rafael's face as he saw the next card being dealt down on the table. His hand was now raised from a Two Pair to a Three of a Kind.
Take but good note, and you shall see in him, the triple pillar of the world transform'd into a strumpet's fool.
Granny, as Rafael had named her in his head was still playing strong, a small smile floating on her lips while Dawn seemed to be struggling. A sigh past his lips and Rafael slouched down in his seat.
He left like he was on tenterhooks but on the outside the boy made sure not to show any emotions, although as the next round progress and two more people dropped out his body started to tense.
As it stood three people were now out of the game, Milo, Florence, and Adam all had folded and now sat watching with different expressions on their faces. Rafael glanced up at Florence and met her eyes briefly before raising his bet higher. Four people left with two rounds to go, his heart began to speed up but he still remained lax in his chair.
Wondering for a moment what was going through the heads of the other players he glanced over at the other table to see that only three were left in that game. His eyes swept over their faces and knew that the girl called Coraline would fold next. Rafael was right but he turned away before he could hear her "secret."
Secrets were dangerous knowledge and he wasn't going to go down the same path as his father.
Turn Around, could he win?
Since Cleopatra died, I have liv'd in such dishonour, that the gods. Detest my baseness.
Rafael looked down at his hand as the second last card was dealt out and found that he only needed another 7 ranked card to receive a Four of a Kind. But glancing over to his left he watched as a smile appeared on Granny's face. She had a good hand.
The air seemed to thicken and grow even more intense and Rafael could feel the sweat trickle down the back of his neck as Dawn folded with a sigh. Rafael tuned out and looked down at his cards repeating in his head the phrase his father told him.
"Secrets are a dangerous knowledge." His father had repeated it to him as a child, When he was little, when his name was still Christian until it burned bright in his mind. This very phrase was the one he had lived his life by. No secrets, no secrets as the final round approached.
The very last card was dealt out and once again Granny smiled and Rafael saw that her body language showed her confidence.
His mind raced as two sides fought together in him. Don't fold, you will have to tell them, don't fold! Fold, you will lose, you will die, fold!
But something happened something which made Rafael's heart leap inside his chest as he took the chance.
Finish, good lady; the bright day is done, and we are for the dark.
Slowly he glanced over to his right as Granny turned her body to stare over at the other table where a girl with vibrant red hair was crying loudly as she lost the game. Catching a glimpse of the old ladies' cards Rafael quickly looked away down at his own cards and shut his eyes for a brief moment.
It was with a strange feeling of guilt that Rafael placed his cards down on the table to show Granny, her Flush was outranked by his Full house.
All strange and terrible events are welcome, but comforts we despise; our size of sorrow, Proportion'd to our cause, must be as great.
He had won but the look on Granny's face and the feeling in his heart almost made him stand up and confess that he had cheated. All his life Rafael had promised himself that he would never cheat, that he would win his way to the top without bending so low. But now...now there was no turning back for Granny started to speak her secret.
Rafael had won but he had sacrificed a little bit of his childhood to do so.
Men's judgments are
A parcel of their fortunes; and things outward
Do draw the inward quality after them,
To suffer all alike.
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Garson Blake
Entry not received
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Ren Cayse
What was it that did the best of such righteous citizens in?
Was it the confident stares and straight backs weaving between hunched lowlifes with a low self-esteem to match? Or could it have been the pretty smiles on young men and women flashing at the older, less genetically gifted of the lot? No, perhaps it was none of that. Maybe it was just a growing weight piling atop every head, hunched and smiling alike, one that would lower as the night went on until it was settling nice and easy upon thick heads of hair. They would hold it up as best as they could, as long as they could, all while radiating a relaxed air: nothing could go wrong.
But, like all anchors that have been falling for some time, not even the strongest arms can uphold the wreckage that results when it strikes rock bottom. The rules were the same for boulders, books, even spitballs projected from a high place - when something that's been falling for a long time finally strikes a mass, there is damage. Dents, chunks, cracked skulls, broken bones, they all come from the same thing.
In the case of the new inhabitants of Milena Seble, a cracked skull was far more likely than a mere dent in the woodwork. Terribly tacky woodwork, to specify.
If you can't carve a decent image, leave it blank. Ren tilted his head curiously at the doorframe, eyes digging into the small engravings that were marked into the side. His fingers traced curls and curves with the harshness of a critic, but the softness of a newborn child's rear end. He paused to recall just how many times he'd been told how brilliant his hands were before zeroing in on a cluster of carvings at the edge of the frame. He scoffed.
"And if you can't tell if your picture's of an angelic bear or a penis, it's time to pick a new career."
Only slightly disturbed by the images he came across, he turned around, thankful to zero in on an image much more pleasant to look at. While the others began to congregate around a green table in the center of the room, Ren made his way to a table piled high with beverages of every shape and size, eyes glued to the back of one particularly eye-catching redhead in the room.
His elbow squeezed its way to Milo's side, gently knocking at his rib like they were neighbours checking for entrance to the other's house. In this case, it was an entrance to conversation.
Milo glanced at him. Ren smiled his bright 'ole smile. "And we meet again!"
The door was swiftly slammed in Ren's face.
"You should be over playing Texas Grab 'Em or whatever it's called with the others," Milo said. His fingers stretched out over the edge of the table under Ren's stare, a few knuckles popping in the process, almost perplexing in a pointlessly metaphorical way. Milo was, in fact, perplexed; why else would he be eyeballing such an array of gifts at the very tips of his fingers?
Ren dug his tongue into the corner of his mouth, an old habit he'd rather go without, before swinging his hand forward and sweeping it over the rim of the table. Milo tensed, took a step to the side. A roll of the eyes accompanied Ren's thrust of a hand. "Well, we can't play with two players hanging on the sidelines, can we?" He tossed an obvious gaze at the dollars in his hand. "Plus I was thinking a drink was in order."
Milo shook his head. "What-"
"Be a dear and take the money, would you?" Ren said. "Hurry now, Granny can smell the cinnamon rolls burning and a woman in her hundreds can only move so fast."
It took only a few seconds for Milo to hesitate, sweep a tongue over his lips, and tug the bills free. No sooner had he taken the cash did he request a drink from the bartender - someone who was seemingly unaffected by the goings-ons of the night. Soon he was glancing down at a solution thick with alcohol, desire clear in the dilations of those pretty blue eyes of his. Ren smiled a toothy grin, crinkled the corners of his eyes, might've even laughed.
Then he plucked the drink right out of his hand and took a great big sip.
Milo stood there, still staring down at his empty hand. "Okay, either you're fucking with me, or you seriously didn't intend to let me have that drink."
Ren shrugged. "A little bit of both, actually." When Milo still didn't move from his spot, and when that scorn still didn't leave his gaze, Ren loosened up, sighed, placed the drink far, far away where neither of them could reach it. "You don't need to be drinking. I've seen that look you give all this shit, I know that look. What comes after that look isn't pretty."
It was then that Milo finally glanced up, less scorn in his look than before, but still present nonetheless. That time, Ren was the one to stretch perplexed fingers across the edge of the bar - at least, until the bruise was placed firmly across his softer side once more. He straightened his back, made it like he was about to join the congregation.
"Plus, I prefer my men sober."
All Ren could hear as he waltzed away to join the expectant and all too patient crowd was the choking of Milo on air. He would much rather hear him choking elsewhere, but it was satisfactory. He wiggled his way between two of his team members (they'd gone over the groupings after Blackjack, no time wasted), both struggling to make room at the cramped circle. Rules and instructions, instructions and rules, sideways glances and downwards stares, all things Ren was all too happy to ignore. Contentment came with keeping out what brought in stress, for stress was a silent killer and he had no intentions of dying, at least not in a haughtily constructed casino.
He'd been in worse places he'd rather die; he would go to those places and lick every floor clean before he was felled around perfection, by perfection.
Then came a point where he was being rudely shaken out of his wide-eyed slumber. A scolding expression he didn't know had taken root quickly fell from his face and he took note of the waiting faces staring his way, tapping feet, steepling fingers. The attention - strangely, strange enough to make him question his real intentions of being there - made him fumble, and he mentioned a call without knowing the digits of what he was calling.
A dealer saw his confusion, pushed his chips to the center along with the others, moved to the person beside him.
Even though the attention had left him, and even though his sudden confusion had worn off, he could still feel the heat of blood in his cheeks. Well, that hasn't happened for a while. Maybe I've had one too many drinks tonight.
He felt a pinching pressure on his sleeve and glanced left, to a wrinkly woman who'd just raised. The scalding gaze she set upon his crimson cheeks didn't help, and he resolved to simply ignore his competitors. If he remembered correctly, though, she was on his team, and, putting his mental formula in check, his best move would be to appeal to conversation. So, he swallowed down his uncomfortable hesitation and motioned for her to speak if that was what she so pleased.
"You younger folk should read up on these sorts of things, you know," she said, nodding to the dealer who was currently placing down community cards in the center. "It's disappointing to see such youth falter under pressure." She tsked, tapped her fingers on the table.
And it is here that we see a two-faced prune attempting to intimidate its prey...quiet now, we don't want to startle the poor thing into cardiac arrest. That would be a deplorable thing, now, wouldn't it?
Ren coughed, having finally composed himself in one breath. "I agree. Pity and condemn the young while respecting the old with mindless dedication." He glanced at his cards, tucking them safely in the confines of his palm. "Oh, word of advice, try not to sweeten things too much. You can only put in so much sugar before things become inedible."
The woman opened her lips to let more syrupy words loose like the bloodhounds she probably had back home, but she was silenced by the dealer announcing the start of the Flop Round. When the dealer had quieted, the woman didn't jump for conversation.
Also, was that grouchiness that Ren was emitting? He certainly hoped not, but he couldn't deny that his mood had gone sour in the span of sixty seconds. Perhaps it had been the little daydreams he'd been sucked into, maybe it'd been the prune - all aspects went into a great big pot of boredom that began boiling as soon as the third betting round, the Turn Round, had begun. Each round was a repeat of the last, with betting and calling, wary stares at the opponent, basically just an installment of Twilight with all of those dramatic stares that made you want to groan and shout, "Just fuck already!"
Aggressively.
The case in Milena Seble was a little different, but Ren was just about to say those exact words when his turn came up and he was forced to take stock of his options.
On the one hand, he could call and place another couple hundred into the pot. On the other, he could end his personal suffering and sit back and watch; however, would a price come with that, too?
No, scratch that, the boredom of sitting through the tedious cycle was price enough, and he'd had enough of paying it. The others would eyeball him as though he had three heads, but he would uphold no breakage beneath the heavy stares. They had much bigger baggage than a man with no common sense, surely.
"I fold."
A silence fell over the table - not that anyone had really been talking before - and the group leaned back, Team Cinnamon-Delight and Team Too-Much-Icing alike, waiting to see if his choice had just cost him a little more than the chips he'd already pushed in.
One of the dealers, an Ace by the name of Coca Cola or something of the like, walked his way around and placed a hand on his shoulder. Ren furrowed his brows, but remained silent, attentive to what the Ace was there to say. He spoke in a relaxed manner with a request that meant Ren's relaxation would be abruptly stolen from him. "You're not off the hook just yet, pretty boy. You can always keep going, keep betting - or, you could tell us something you've never told anyone else before, just for us."
"Make it snappy, we've got to finish this game in the next twenty minutes," the other Ace added.
Ren was tempted to protest, but the icy touch of cool metal on his elbow, something no one else would see, brought out a more desirable answer. "All right. Personal and snappy."
Must keep these sneaky ringleaders satisfied, unless I'd rather die still mad at my previous mode of employment and the fact that I took a recovering alcoholics drink. The event seemed to remind him of his probably tipsiness, and he smiled, positive that it was the drink itself that had taken such an uncharacteristic toll on him during the ten minutes he'd been there. Already, he could feel his mind numbing and dumbing, dumbing and numbing, and for some reason he felt himself sympathizing with Milo because it wasn't half bad, not bad at all.
Maybe he'd buy the guy a drink for real next time. That would just be cruel.
"Now..." Ren began, searching his brain aloud for things to spread amongst people he'd never met and would probably never see again. Because of such a thought, embarrassment wasn't key. A rundown of his life, however, was.
The faces around the table were expectant, and Ren stared them head-on, one by one. An awkward silence had filled a gap between them. All the better.
"So...the time I accidentally did ecstasy, or the time I lost my virginity to a bearded redhead in a casino?" He paused, thought on these words, and squinted his eyes in regret. "No, no: the cops know about that first one and the second one hasn't happened." He fiddled with his fingers like a schoolgirl would, twiddling thumbs and everything. "Yet."
"Be serious here, kid," Zahra said, gaze set upon him like she were having coco cravings and he were a chocolate bunny on Easter.
Ren held up his hands in defense, shrinking into himself. "Okay, okay!" The looks given his way were unamused, and he finally submitted himself to the seriousness of the situation. Death was a nice incentive to not irritate such hospitable hosts. The smile left his face, as did his laid-back attitude he'd been trying to hard to uphold.
It was uncomfortable.
Teeth bit into lips, hands fiddled roughly before smoothing out, keeping collectedness in order. He had an idea of what he could talk about, of what would let him off the hook, but he would rather not spill what he preferred to keep to himself.
He figured that was the whole point. And then he got over it.
"I worked in a mental institution once."
Others seemed somewhat intrigued, but he hadn't finished; anyone could pull up records of his being there, but nobody could pinpoint where the sudden vocation had arose. Two maternal figures risen from the ashes of perfection came to dominate his memory, and he coughed as if the smoke itself had come through to smother him.
"My mothers sent me there so they could practice being perfect. In order to do so, I wasn't in the picture. Yada, yada, the whole blah damn thing, Aoife, wouldn't you like to go now?"
Long confessions were the expectation, but Ren was a man that liked to get to the point, and with his swiftness went the game, to the final round that passed in a flurry of cards and far more invested speeches from those who gave up their turn.
Ren didn't care for any of it. Not when the game had ended and cards were flipped, not when a particularly joyous member of the other team took to a game of Duck, Duck, Goose when he couldn't decide who to kill off, not when three gunshots went off and he felt a hand ruffling the hairs of his head.
"Duck."
For they were all squandering ducks in a cage, and the goose beside him hadn't been so lucky.