Casino Night!

[broken_brushes]

When I'd first come up with the idea of Casino Night, I wasn't sure if it was even possible on the island. In retrospect, that might have been naive of me, because if there was anything I'd learned in over four years on Tabula Rasa, it was that its residents were capable of doing just about anything save getting home

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[grabmyballs]

Cook thinks as little as fucking possible of this place most days, but a party is a party, booze is booze and gambling makes dressing up almost worth it. He doesn't care about money; yeah, it had been useful that his mother was loaded (in more ways than one), but he got along just as well with as without. But winning. Winning doesn't have anything to do with money.

His bowtie's undone and hanging around his neck, his jacket's been ditched somewhere and his shirt's untucked before 8 o'clock has even rolled around. He has also made good progress towards his goal of blacking out from alcohol overload when the evening ends. His feet still under him at this point, Cook grabs a bit of wall to lean against and spends his break from the tables by playing another game. Squeezing his right eye shut and tucking his tongue into the corner of his mouth, he takes very careful aim and tosses a chip into a passing drink. That's the plan anyway.

[[The chip can land in your pup's drink, hit them in the head, whatever you desire to happen. Feel free to tag him just standing against the wall, too.]]

[cpt_invincible]

A streak of bad luck at the roulette wheel-- that game's shit anyway, and he's convinced it's rigged somehow-- means Nathan's got no chips left to his name. So as far at the night goes from the casino perspective, he's done, but that doesn't mean he's not about to take full advantage of all the free booze and the many drunk and impressionable women about.

He's just gotten a new drink and is surveying the room, when something hits him square in the face, rebounds, then plops right down into his poor excuse for a lager.

"Hey!" he shouts, whirling round to see who the culprit is, when he notices the chip at the bottom of his glass, "No, wait. Never mind. Cheers for the free chip, mate."

[grabmyballs]

Cook crows with triumph before the skinny fucker can get his words out. It only helps that they're grateful and the broad smile never leaves Cook's face.

"Any time! Your head makes a beautiful bounce board," he laughs. "That was epic."

[cpt_invincible]

"It's one of its many talents," Nathan says, because he can deal with having a gambling chip chucked at his head if it means he'll get to keep on gambling. Besides, it's not as if he's having any luck with any of the ladies tonight. Maybe later, once everyone's had more to drink.

He reaches into his glass, sending alcohol sloshing out of the sides and retrieves the chip.

"I'm keepin' this."

[grabmyballs]

Cook's got no problem with this, the questionable fate of the chip a given when he started this game. He nods and raises his glass in a show of no hard feelings.

"Means fuck all anyway, so have at," he says. "Unless you actually win something with it. Then it means I get ten percent," he adds with a toothy grin.

[cpt_invincible]

"That's not how it works, man, what's done is done," Nathan says, putting the chip into the pocket of his jacket to gamble with in a bit. There's no use being hasty, since it's the last chance he's gonna have at netting any sort of profit from the night.

Even though there's not any money on the island or anything. It's retarded.

[grabmyballs]

"Oh really?" Cook's face immediately hardens, his brows drawing together. He pushes away from the wall, just to bring him one step closer to the other boy. He's wiry and taller than Cook, but Cook's pretty sure he's got more muscle in one bicep than he has total.

"You think that's how it works, mate?" he asks coldly.

[knowthyexits]

Her drink is splotchy on her shawl.

Sarah takes a moment to figure out the trajectory of the chip and turns to return it to its owner, tucked between two of her fingers. She holds it out for him, twisting it back and forth so she can see all sides. "Yours?" she asks. "Or are you just overwhelmed by the generosity of spirit?" she deadpans.

[grabmyballs]

Cook's not complaining that, so far, she's who shows up when he's bored. It's not a bad reward for being a trouble-making pissant. Would be even better if she acted as hard as she played, all hard faces and unamused looks, if only because he enjoys getting under the skin of someone like that. But, really, he's not complaining. His long glance over her dress as she comes closer is definitely appreciative, not complaining.

He shrugs before answering. "Makes no difference, does it? Not real money. Most of the shit on auction, I can get any other day. You keep it," he says with a broad smile. "Go crazy."

[knowthyexits]

She flips the chip back to him, considering she's got plenty of her own to deal with. "Don't," she warns, her voice pitching down into the lower registers where it's a lot less warm, "look at me like that." Maybe she can't give him a reason why not to in public like this, but she thinks she can be convinced to do that elsewhere.

"So is this another existential crisis?"

[grabmyballs]

His eyebrows jump up and down at the warning, because he does just so love when people speak at him like he's a dog or someone on whom threats work. "Don't," he counters, but doesn't bother dropping the register of his voice, "dress like that then."

Chuckling softly, Cook starts trying to flip the coin through his fingers. He's not very good at it, but he's not trying to be flash and look like an idiot in this regard. "I thought this was a community sponsored event. Pay to enter: one hour of service. Clearly my life has meaning again. At least for sixty minutes."

[knowthyexits]

"I dress like this for adults," she replies, as calm as she can remain. For all that he reminds her of John in ways (the age, maybe a little sliver of demeanor), he certainly edges away from that in a hurry. "Not the children." She watches the coin, then glances up to his face. "And you don't care about trying for anything? I know there's a good number of decent prizes. Lessons, products, weapons."

[grabmyballs]

Honestly, he had been expected some feminist chatter from her in reply. That she doesn't snap back like that is almost, in a way, refreshing. Girls who say they dress like sluts, even classy sluts, for themselves are lying. No girl cares that much about their own cleavage. It may not be pretty or good to say, but it's true.

Of course, her saying he's a child is not pretty, good or true, but it's also standard and easier to work with than a stonewall of dick hatred.

"Like I said," he replies with a shrug, "Could get them any other day. There's nothing really special there. And I was really hoping for a yo-yo anyway," he adds with a pout.

[knowthyexits]

That gets a bemused look from Sarah and she shakes her head, glancing at the table with a list of the offerings. "Tell you what, then. If you do happen to win any amount of chips, how about you contribute them to my fund? Because you might not want anything, but there are definitely worthy prizes to me."

[grabmyballs]

A slight frown skips across his brow at that one, bemused at the fact that she thinks him that generous or that stupid. "What do I get out of it?" he asks, settling back against his spot on the wall with a barely there smile, waiting for a good answer.

[knowthyexits]

"The generosity of helping a fellow human being," Sarah suggests with an edge of sarcasm to her words, as though even she doesn't believe such a thing is possible. Not anymore. "Or maybe a share of the winnings."