Rogue picked up on the speculative tone of Peggy's smile. "Does seem to be a shame that they've got so many of those chips, sittin' around, collectin' dust..."
Rogue's mind was quick. Intuitive. Peggy liked that -- not that her approval mattered much at all, she supposed. But it made it easier to stay seated beside the young woman when the young woman's company remained compelling. She nodded.
"One might even hazard a guess that they're hardly using them properly. I haven't seen any of them post serious stakes all day."
Implying, of course, that she'd been watching for a while.
Oh, Rogue hadn't played this game in a long, long time. She didn't used to be any good at it, not really, growing frustrated at things unsaid and much preferring quick, blunt conversation. That was before Loki. Rogue still preferred plain, blunt conversation when it came to important communication, but this... this was almost playing before the game really began, feeling out the other to see if they would be a worthy partner in crime.
She didn't mind that at all, anymore.
Rogue leaned a little more casually against the bar as she cast a lazy (speculative) glance over the game table. "Could be they just lack the proper motivation," she took a small, casual sip of her drink before her gaze cut to Carter. "Or could be they just haven't had a very good run of cards. So far I've only seen one ground where the bets went on more'n twice."
Her growing smile betrayed her satisfaction. For the moment, she spent longer watching Rogue than she did the players some feet away. After all, she'd already witnessed what she needed to from the table. What she wanted to know, now, was whether this young woman could prove herself a worthy accomplice in the nascent plan all-but-beginning to brew between the pair of them.
She tilted her chin, and said softly: "The one in the hat," she indicated one of the players. "He's got himself a tell. Have you seen it yet?"
What was this, an interview? Rogue's eyebrow quirked up slightly and then she gave a small smirk. "He shifts his weight ta the left when he thinks he's got a good hand, ta the right after he confirms it."
Two could play at this game. She took a little sip of her drink. "Guy ta his right?"
She bit down on her smile. Peggy had no need of a poker face -- not yet -- and so she relished both Rogue's observations and her own. With a precise tilt of her head, Peggy pointed out what she'd noticed a handful of minutes earlier:
"He's a proper prospector, that one. When he thinks he's hit gold, he digs 'round his back teeth with this tongue. Like a bloody archaeologist."
Rogue gave a quiet off of amusement at that. "Ya paint quite the picture."
She grinned. More than one picture, actually. "'course the thing would be, should anyone decide ta go an' offer them competition, not ta upset the balance they've got goin' too much."
"Oh, you're quite right," she added -- breathless and betraying a mind that raced well beyond her tongue. Peggy tapped her red-varnished nails against the bar's top. More than a few had grown chipped since she'd arrived with the fleet, but she hadn't yet sourced fresh polish. A niggling concern that still ate at the back of her thoughts. "We would need to ease them into it. Of course. Or else risk chasing them right off the tables."
A quick grin, a flash of light before it was gone. "Can't say I fully understand the game, now. Got the gist, but there could be an ace in the hole I haven't seen yet... no pun intended."
"So you and I might settle for jumping those hurdles when we get to them," she offered -- a bit more plainly -- to be Rogue's partner in poker-table politics. "Should you find yourself up for a small flutter, at least."
Rogue glanced down at her glass and swirled the remaining liquid around. "My drink's not gettin' any better, anyway."
The slow quirk of her lips may belay her mournful tone of mock reluctance. "Might as well see if we can rustle up some respectable coin in this place."
Her gaze flashed to Peggy then, all sharp enjoyment and competitive edge. Let's kick their asses, English.
She stretched where she sat. Nothing too ludicrous -- only a roll of her shoulders and a prim sort of expression of her readiness. Peggy knocked back what remained of her drink and slid smoothly from her stool so she might stand.
"I could use a few bobs. Enough to purchase a good set of clothing, at least. I'm a little tired of jumpsuits."
At first, it was a small challenge: to even coax the table to deal them into the game. The other players represented all sorts -- there was a great hulking sort of man, and a willowy one with a sneaky smile. The man who fidgeted. And the one Rogue had read so well. But the table warmed to them at the prospect of easy credit, especially when the pair professed to have never before played the game. With a sly look, they cajoled the group to run them through a 'practise' hand -- as if they'd ever needed it.
But a round or three later, the chips fell a little more in their favour. Oh, never all at once. And never at the same time. Rogue and Peggy (with fumbling and small steps) slowly found a way to intimate to one another who should take any given pot. By splitting their victories, they managed to alleviate the first few blushes of suspicion.
Come the fifth hand, however! One of the native players leaned his elbows on the table, began to growl, and accused Rogue in rough sort of voice of not being nearly enough the rookie she'd made herself out to be.
sorry for the delay, just needed space to process the awesome
"Nah," growled one of the more amicable players. His eyes crinkled with certain amusement that cut a singular friendly tone across the hostility exhibited by the others. He sat between Rogue and Peggy, and he'd been losing soundly before the pair of them had joined. Now, he rather enjoyed watching the ways in which the other players' worms were turning. "Stay, ladies. Show these bruised egos a bit more of how their own crappy game is played."
Peggy collected the cards in her palm. Her turn to deal, you see. And she distributed the cards with a deft flick of each wrist, but the other players -- the sore ones -- grew more agitated with each fresh card. Bad draws, it seemed. And bad manners besides.
She glanced at Rogue -- one last visual check-in to make certain the other woman from the Fleet was prepared to stand with her if things went south.
Honestly, men were such babies. Rogue's poker face was just fine, but the growing irritation of the men in front of her had her tensing in her chair. Well, it'd been a while since she'd been in a good fight, and as long as the dopes didn't pull a gun...
Rogue caught Peggy's glance and rolled her eyes briefly. No worries, English.
"Startin' ta wonder at the luck of these cards," said one of the more irritated 'gentlemen' at the game.
Rogue fixed him with a thousand mile stare. She'd tried playing nice. Admittedly, she wasn't very good at it, but she'd tried. If these babies were going to keep harping on the same theme, it was just going to rile them up further until they snapped. "I'm startin' ta wonder at the quality of manners. Ya got somethin' ta say, say it. Or did I join an' old ladies sewing circle instead of a bunch of men willin' ta take an honest gamble?"
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"One might even hazard a guess that they're hardly using them properly. I haven't seen any of them post serious stakes all day."
Implying, of course, that she'd been watching for a while.
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She didn't mind that at all, anymore.
Rogue leaned a little more casually against the bar as she cast a lazy (speculative) glance over the game table. "Could be they just lack the proper motivation," she took a small, casual sip of her drink before her gaze cut to Carter. "Or could be they just haven't had a very good run of cards. So far I've only seen one ground where the bets went on more'n twice."
Because, oh yes, she'd been watching too.
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She tilted her chin, and said softly: "The one in the hat," she indicated one of the players. "He's got himself a tell. Have you seen it yet?"
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Two could play at this game. She took a little sip of her drink. "Guy ta his right?"
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"He's a proper prospector, that one. When he thinks he's hit gold, he digs 'round his back teeth with this tongue. Like a bloody archaeologist."
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She grinned. More than one picture, actually. "'course the thing would be, should anyone decide ta go an' offer them competition, not ta upset the balance they've got goin' too much."
At least. Not right at first.
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We.
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A quick grin, a flash of light before it was gone. "Can't say I fully understand the game, now. Got the gist, but there could be an ace in the hole I haven't seen yet... no pun intended."
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The slow quirk of her lips may belay her mournful tone of mock reluctance. "Might as well see if we can rustle up some respectable coin in this place."
Her gaze flashed to Peggy then, all sharp enjoyment and competitive edge. Let's kick their asses, English.
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"I could use a few bobs. Enough to purchase a good set of clothing, at least. I'm a little tired of jumpsuits."
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At first, it was a small challenge: to even coax the table to deal them into the game. The other players represented all sorts -- there was a great hulking sort of man, and a willowy one with a sneaky smile. The man who fidgeted. And the one Rogue had read so well. But the table warmed to them at the prospect of easy credit, especially when the pair professed to have never before played the game. With a sly look, they cajoled the group to run them through a 'practise' hand -- as if they'd ever needed it.
But a round or three later, the chips fell a little more in their favour. Oh, never all at once. And never at the same time. Rogue and Peggy (with fumbling and small steps) slowly found a way to intimate to one another who should take any given pot. By splitting their victories, they managed to alleviate the first few blushes of suspicion.
Come the fifth hand, however! One of the native players leaned his elbows on the table, began to growl, and accused Rogue in rough sort of voice of not being nearly enough the rookie she'd made herself out to be.
sorry for the delay, just needed space to process the awesome
This did not nearly seem to placate the man, although his neighbor looked thoughtful. "Sure, if you're scared of a little challenge, I can just go."
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Peggy collected the cards in her palm. Her turn to deal, you see. And she distributed the cards with a deft flick of each wrist, but the other players -- the sore ones -- grew more agitated with each fresh card. Bad draws, it seemed. And bad manners besides.
She glanced at Rogue -- one last visual check-in to make certain the other woman from the Fleet was prepared to stand with her if things went south.
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Rogue caught Peggy's glance and rolled her eyes briefly. No worries, English.
"Startin' ta wonder at the luck of these cards," said one of the more irritated 'gentlemen' at the game.
Rogue fixed him with a thousand mile stare. She'd tried playing nice. Admittedly, she wasn't very good at it, but she'd tried. If these babies were going to keep harping on the same theme, it was just going to rile them up further until they snapped. "I'm startin' ta wonder at the quality of manners. Ya got somethin' ta say, say it. Or did I join an' old ladies sewing circle instead of a bunch of men willin' ta take an honest gamble?"