RFC-Mini Arc 4: Night Life-18 (Patreon)

It’s interesting how similar this is to hunting. Observing, evaluating, choosing a target, choosing a moment to strike, debating what tactic to use.

Kierra’s making use of the bait tactic. She takes up residence at the end of a couch and orders a drink, sipping it with a casual atmosphere. She seems ambivalent to her surroundings, posed as if before an artist. People slowly make their way to her, employees and visitors alike, but she handles them coldly, barely glancing at them as she enjoys her drink.

Having checked up on her, my gaze moves across the room. It lands on a young woman secreted away at a corner table with a few others. In this room full of debauchery, they’ve chosen gambling as their pleasure of choice. The one whose drawn my attention looks like she’s on a winning streak, wearing a smug grin as she smiles over her cards. She has a youthful face and supple curves. Soft. The exact opposite of the women in my life. I find myself interested.

Plus, the game will give Alana something to do so she stops jumping at shadows.

“Come on.” I lead her over to the table.

The players glance my way as I approach. One man with an unnecessary number of rings on his hands sneers in contempt before turning away. Luckily, the dealer has far more manners. They conclude the round and the dealer stands up, a young man dressed in a sleek pair of pants and a vest showing off his well-defined arms. “Evening, my lady. The buy in tonight is fifty gold crowns.”

I raise a brow. Fifty gold on a card game minimum? Saints, I’ve waded into a pond with some large fish.

“No need to make such a face, dear,” an older woman wearing far too much makeup says. A man who looks half her age is standing at her shoulder holding a tray, dressed in a pair of incredibly small shorts and nothing else. “We arranged this game a week before. The games are usually for far less stakes.”

“Go and amuse yourself elsewhere,” the sneering man comments. He doesn’t have to add the word peasant for me to hear it.

“I’m fine where I am.” I undo the strings of my coin purse, putting the money on the table. The dealer sweeps it off the table and slides over a pile of tokens. “Alana, you want in?”

She looks a little pale. “I don’t have that much money.”

I give her a look and wiggle my coin purse. She shakes her head. Up to her.

We take up two empty seats, the players eyeing with the intensity of a competitor.

“The game is king’s gambit.”

I recognize it from my time tavern-hopping. It’s fairly simple. Players are dealt five cards from a deck. They get one chance to exchange up to three cards and, they can choose to either raise their bet or give up on the current pot. Royals are high cards, giving the game its name. It sounds like a game of luck but it’s really about reading the other players and lying through your teeth.

Before, I would have rated myself a decent player, well-accustomed to seeing beneath people’s masks. Now, I have far more to rely on than my eyes. I can hear the jump in heart rate when someone’s excited or their barely audible tsk when they hate their hand. I can smell their fear when they know they’re going to lose the pot. My eyes aren’t entirely useless either. I can pick up even the most minute details. For example, the current winner has a tell. The skin at the corners of her mouth tenses the tiniest bit for a fraction of a second when she has a good hand, likely from holding back a smile.

I don’t press my advantage right away, luring them into a false of security. My target has been steadily increasing her tokens, taking out two players. The older woman and the rude man are still hanging onto their money, but it doesn’t look good for them. I can tell from the woman’s expression she’s ready to cut her losses but while the man is getting frustrated, desperate for a comeback.

When I’m dealt a pretty good hand, I wait for the others to exchange cards before pushing all of my tokens into the middle of the table. “All in.”

The players at the table all look at me. One man laughs before mirroring me, but I can smell his nerves. “Don’t think you can fool me, girl.” Unfortunately, he doesn’t have enough to afford the pot so that’s one player out the game.

“Hmph.” I know the rude merchant is unsure about me but I’m guessing he’s too eager to take me down.

“I’ll play your game,” the woman says, ambivalent. My guess is she doesn’t care about the money much and wants a big move to go out on.

Of the remaining three players, one throws his token in nervously, the other drops their cards, and then there’s the current leader. She looks at me, meeting my eyes. I see her gaze narrow as she takes in my unusual irises, but she doesn’t dwell on it, trying to find the flaw that will tell her if I’m lying. I simply smile. It doesn’t matter what she sees, as she’s already loss.

“…I’ll play your game too.” She throws in her tokens, giving me a challenging look.