Post by Deleted on Apr 22, 2018 1:41:49 GMT -5
The sound of cards escaping the friction of the thumbs that guided them, was perhaps among the only thing at the table that brought music to the dealer’s ears. A euphoric symphony of drunken stool perched patrons, revelers, salty wenches, and a rather awful bard manning the churn of a hurdy durdy in the farthest corner, would fill the run down tavern. It was sufficient to say, this popular watering hole provided a collage of the local colors of life. Any man or woman whom was down on their troubles, could find solace the bottom of a tankard hither. As among the guarantees that anyone could return here for a reprieve from their parched throats, so it was there also stood the chance one could happen upon some coin.
This chance of course, would not stand relevant tonight.
The tavern offered a variety of distractions for the players at the table. Of the remaining five from the starting eight, one by one each of these local gamblers had proven the worth of their merit, and the fortitude of their hearts. For the dealer that would meet each of their eyes, with possibly the brightest blue orbs any of the buccaneers had witnessed, the prominent noise that dominated the room did little to sway his focus. As he so often reminded himself, windows to the soul were found in the eyes, when the door to a man’s ambitions stood shut. The man in black had gauged and weighed his competition, measuring each of the surrounding players against his own fortitude.
These players were sharp; testaments to the single thought that had been weighing down the cloaked man’s thoughts for the last several hands. Luck, it would seem, did not accompany in this endeavor— Or at least, this is how he wished it to appear to the other players. For what did it matter? Were he so certain of defeat, an avoidance of this game would have been a certainty would it not? What fun was there in betting, if one already knew the outcome? A few folds of the cards had been enough, to convince the man to his left there existed a chance of victory. Another decorative shuffle of the cards was made, passing from one hand through the air to the other. The dealer recognized the lack of munny in his pockets upon his arrival merely hours ago, and how frivolous a group of pirates could be with their coin.
A smirk would play on the man’s face, then the cards were dealt. Two cards to each player, as were the rules of Blackjack, nothing more, no less. With the deck returned to the table’s surface, eyes of the owners would set upon their respective cards. They went around the table, every player putting in bets, whether blinds or a raise, in no time at all the pot had grown to hold all the remaining chips. Electric blue orbs would read each poker face present, finally resting upon the scruffy man to his right. An air of confidence radiated from this one with a chuckle, perhaps in possession of a high pair, of that Luxord had little doubts. The Gambler could only muster an approving smile in return.
”Let’s see em’ cards brit. Bottle o’ rum says n’ I be takin’ th’ last o’ yer coin t’night!”
”A challenge is it?”
Very well, if that’s the way they wished to go about it, he would have no qualms about letting them down hard. After an hour of listening to tasteless sonnets, and excessive brutish taunting, it would be nothing short of a pleasure to close this game out on this particular hand. With a confident shrug, Luxord would flip his cards, revealing an Ace and a King of Hearts. The air of hope in each of the buccaneers was dashed almost instantly, each tossing their cards down on the table out of disgust. Reaching out to pull the winnings to his side of the table, the Gambler’s gloved hands would stop just short, as a knife pierced the table inches from the gold. ”Th’ bloody hell y’think yer doin’ brit!? I’ll not lose t’no tea suckin’ pond hoppa’ in me own port!” Luxord would shoot the disgruntled player a rather indignant look, before raising his hands in a seemingly genuine apology.
”Surely we’re both men of fair sport, even if you lack proper mannerisms?” The disgruntled loser wouldn’t take kindly to the blond’s words, finding the refined accent and vocabulary more annoying than the losing to him in cards. Luxord watched on as the other man’s eyes would flash with temper, moments before he pulled the knife from the table. By this point each of the other players all stood around the table, silently observing the developing confrontation. Onward continued the churn of the hurdy durdy, as though serenading the tense situation at the card table. As the buccaneer raised his blade high to the air, another patron would seize him by the wrist. A struggle would break out between the pair, each finding the others actions unwarranted and beyond offensive to contain their emotions any longer. Inevitably a fight of fisticuffs would erupt in the tavern, as each of the pirates and revelers began to throw hooks left and right. This in turn prompted a more upbeat tune in the bard, as Luxord used the opportunity to slip the winnings of the game into a black pouch. As tables began to flip as bodies began to fly, the Gambler of Fate took this as cue to make his leave for the door, taking care to avoid what glass bottles had also become airborne. Upon slipping out the front door into the salty air, the blond would pull the shroud of his hood over his head, before starting on a casual stroll through the British port. The onyx coin pouch bouncing up and down within the palm of a gloved hand.