Presence
Mantle - Chilling breeze, summoning tiny leaves
Rhodes sat at the table, watching the man opposite him. They’d been working on this for over an hour, the two men, the back and forth, the give and take. This deal would keep a frugal Changeling in rent and food for a few months. If his time back had shown him anything, Rhodes had realised he was very good at two things – lying to people and reading them.
An Ivory-skinned True Fae watches the Flowering man keenly and speaks in riddles. He had to give an answer. Pitted against the other “ornaments” trying to see the Gentry’s inhuman motivations and games, to no avail yet again…
Rhodes shivers, a chill of fear from a memory dredged from the subconscious. He focuses on the sensation, letting the adrenaline flow, flooding his senses. The man in front to him didn’t have any options left. It was time to end the proceedings. The Fairest looked at his cards and smirked.
He pushes a stack of chips towards the pile. There. There is was. The twitch. The tell that the last player to beat was rattled. It’s too much. I’ve seen you bet. I’ve seen you play. You’ve never bet more than a third of this, and we can all see those four clubs on the table. But do I have a straight flush? The cards are there. And I know you don’t have them. It’s all over your face.
There’s a tense few seconds before the man mutters “Too much for my blood,” and throws his cards on the table. Rhodes stands and pulls the chips towards him, slotting them into a rack by colour. He inclines his head to the others. “Gentlemen,” he says, neutrally, though a shadow of a smug smirk plays over his face as he leaves to trade in his winnings.
Money wasn't his life, but it was a necessity. The card tables were an unpredictable way of making an extra buck, but if he was lucky for a week, the Fairest knew he may not have to work for a month. It wasn't something he felt he could make serious money out of, if he was honest with himself. Not that is mattered. This free life was about so much more than money. Money was just a tool. But playing people, in a game of skill? Challenging his own talents of control and misdirection? That was so very hard for him to resist.
* * * * * *The dealer clears away the final cards, and heads back to the bar. But he can’t resist. Opening the doors and dropping around the corner, he pulls the last cards out of the deck. Rhodes' cards.
The seven and four of diamonds. All that made was the pair with the seven on the table.
He drew out the next two cards. A Pair of Queens, making three on the table.
The dealer exhales loudly, and continues clearing away.
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