the tide is high, but I'm holding on
It's been so long since I've seen Trigun that I kind of had to base Wolfwood more on my Outpost memories of him than strict canon, but here you go, lovely Lorna! ♥
"Full House."
Three tens and two aces. It's a pretty good hand, and it's obvious he thinks he has a pretty good chance at winning with it.
Her red-lipped smirk is telling, and when she shows her hand, he shakes his head.
"Royal Flush." Self-satisfaction radiates from her. A well-timed ace of hearts has never done her wrong, and she gets more than a little pleasure out of showing up a guy with sharp eyes and slouching shoulders. She doesn't hesitate to rake the coins they were playing for closer to her.
"I never thought I was all that unlucky at poker, Faye."
She recognizes how pointed the comment is even though it's said good-naturedly, and while her smile is no less satisfied than the smirk she gave him seconds before, it's somehow more genuine. Winning always puts her in a good mood. "You're not, padre. If you were any better," she goes on, shrewd eyes following the movement of his hands as he pulls out a pack of cigarettes, "I'd have to wonder just what kind of priest you are."
It makes him laugh -- they always circle back to this -- and he angles the pack toward her in offering, the crosses at his cuffs glinting as they catch the light. There's nothing for her to do but take a cigarette for herself, and she waits for him to light it as if she's a queen and royal protocol must be followed.
She'd be a dangerous splash of color in the dusty bars of Gunsmoke, a lot like someone else he knows but for very different reasons. Even so, he happens to think she'd be a lot easier to follow around.
It has nothing to do with the green of her eyes, a color he's hardly ever seen so vibrant in his entire life.
She picks up their cards, and when she opens her mouth to speak again, it's around her lit cigarette. "If you still trust me to shuffle, I'll deal us another hand."
"Go ahead. But remember: if you ever have anything weighing on your conscience, I still have this!"
She freezes in disbelief, cards in her hands, and looks over as he whips out the portable confessional. She has no idea where he stows that thing -- she was kind of hoping he'd gotten rid of it -- but if she keeps dealing, he'll put it away eventually.
Right?
"And for you, Faye, it'd be on the house."
"Great."
"Full House."
Three tens and two aces. It's a pretty good hand, and it's obvious he thinks he has a pretty good chance at winning with it.
Her red-lipped smirk is telling, and when she shows her hand, he shakes his head.
"Royal Flush." Self-satisfaction radiates from her. A well-timed ace of hearts has never done her wrong, and she gets more than a little pleasure out of showing up a guy with sharp eyes and slouching shoulders. She doesn't hesitate to rake the coins they were playing for closer to her.
"I never thought I was all that unlucky at poker, Faye."
She recognizes how pointed the comment is even though it's said good-naturedly, and while her smile is no less satisfied than the smirk she gave him seconds before, it's somehow more genuine. Winning always puts her in a good mood. "You're not, padre. If you were any better," she goes on, shrewd eyes following the movement of his hands as he pulls out a pack of cigarettes, "I'd have to wonder just what kind of priest you are."
It makes him laugh -- they always circle back to this -- and he angles the pack toward her in offering, the crosses at his cuffs glinting as they catch the light. There's nothing for her to do but take a cigarette for herself, and she waits for him to light it as if she's a queen and royal protocol must be followed.
She'd be a dangerous splash of color in the dusty bars of Gunsmoke, a lot like someone else he knows but for very different reasons. Even so, he happens to think she'd be a lot easier to follow around.
It has nothing to do with the green of her eyes, a color he's hardly ever seen so vibrant in his entire life.
She picks up their cards, and when she opens her mouth to speak again, it's around her lit cigarette. "If you still trust me to shuffle, I'll deal us another hand."
"Go ahead. But remember: if you ever have anything weighing on your conscience, I still have this!"
She freezes in disbelief, cards in her hands, and looks over as he whips out the portable confessional. She has no idea where he stows that thing -- she was kind of hoping he'd gotten rid of it -- but if she keeps dealing, he'll put it away eventually.
Right?
"And for you, Faye, it'd be on the house."
"Great."