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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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?"