In which terrible things happen

[desilusionante]

[In the interests of the timestream being not at all consistent in this journal, this must clearly have happened before the last post. And yet not after it at all. Because fuck the Loom, that's why

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[fittichundgrin]

[Oh dear. This could go poorly. Taking the seat of some man who had given up, clearly, on winning and walked off.]

Now, Yue. What, pray tell, are you doing?

[desilusionante]

...Making friends? [To her credit, she manages not to look entirely like some kid caught with her hand in the cookie jar (which, by the way, is to her left instead of in the kitchen).]

[fittichundgrin]

I see. Well, I suppose that there is no harm in making friends.

[Sitting down. Maybe he can keep her from getting murdered.]

Deal me in.

[desilusionante]

Yessir. [Well, it helps that she's not really smug about winning, just having fun. Probably. A little.

But dealing him yes have some cards.] Hmmm~

[fittichundgrin]

[Looking over the cards, shifting them between hands with a flourish. Sorry, Yue, you might have maths, but Aitor might also be quite expert at this.]

[desilusionante]

[Well, that is also fun--did she just bet a hairpin?

...Yeah, that seems par for course here. It's a very nice hairpin, at least.] ...So many fancy little flourishes to everything. Do you practice them in private for every situation?

[fittichundgrin]

Of course not. All it takes is an eye for detail and the understanding that if you're going to do something, you're going to do it well.

[You might notice your counts are starting to slide off some. He might be intentionally junking good hands here and there to do precisely that. But he's winning more than he loses.]

[desilusionante]

There's a difference between well and just being smug...[...Oh, she's noticing. She learns very, very fast, but from the looks of it, she...may have never played this before today, and it's starting to show.

Goddam solars.]

[fittichundgrin]

[Betting a ring of his on this hand. Is he just going to throw her game off by talking? Does the Lunar understand, pardon the pun, tells?]

Well, I suppose smugness is part of it. I can be fairly insufferable.

[-wo]

[desilusionante]

There's a high chance it's a toss-up between that or just being the product of being the oldest of eight.

[...She pulls another ornament out of her hair, one she always seems to wear in some way or another. That'd be a raise, captain owlface.]

Actually, there's a 84% chance it's a combination of the two.

[fittichundgrin]

It is a fairly decent chance that is the case, then. Do you always have to stay safely within the odds, dear Cynis? I thought you were a fair bit more adventurous than that.

[Undoing the bracelet he always wears, pausing, and removing his glasses as well. Someone means business.]

[desilusionante]

[...Well she just had an eyetwitch at you using her last name. Keep that up and she'll start calling you Itzal. >:|

They also appear to be growing an audience. Off come her earrings...and the last pin keeping her hair up at all.]

Does it appear that way? Funny, I thought you had a better eye for subtlety for that...or are those for your vision, as well?

[fittichundgrin]

[At which point, all he can do is smile, and undo his coat, placing it on the pile of items being bet.]

I know that many who talk boldly and speak as if they understand what they play at are instead out of their depths. Careful... You may say something you regret.

[desilusionante]

...[...I don't have a coat to call that with. Give me a minute to consider my options...

Welp.

There is now a shirt in your face and a cheer from the crowd. She was wearing something under it, but, well. What do.]

I might just have a slightly different definition of 'victory'. There's never just one answer to anything outside of mathematical formula.

[fittichundgrin]

[Matching. Well, now everyone gets a good look at those tattoos of his, not just her. The crowd is finding this quite amusing.]

Well, let's see who's idea of victory is in fact the better one, shall we?

[desilusionante]

Very well. [She lays down what is, in fact, a pretty good hand. Not insanely good, and probably not good enough to justify the, well. Heights to which this has gone. Or the smirk. She borrowed your smirk, Aitor, sorry.]