[fic][dgure] Poker Face
I HAVE TO SHARE IT WITH THE WOOOOOORLD. Because Allen playing poker will never get old for me.
Title: Poker Face (like the sooooong but with less crack!)
Author: Vikki
For: lelek (comment!fic)
Rating: PG
Summary: Allen's really, really good at poker. Outside!POV fic, maybe a week before the series starts.
An hour after sunset the bar is packed; the fire is roaring, the tender is pouring beer by the gallon, and Matthew is damn glad he got here early. Everyone wants a spot by the fire, but he parked the poker bench there and no-one who isn't willing to lose a few pounds is going to have a spot as warm as Matthew's.
Tonight's players are here: a heavy-set man called Anthony, a thin banker named Mark, a mill-worker, Zachary ... Thomas keeps coming in and out, splitting his money between losing to Matthew and buying rounds for them all. He's well on his way to drunk as usual, but this bar might as well be his home. Matthew's letting him win only as many hands as needed to keep him in the game and buying the beer. It's Matthew's home turf, this little tavern on the fringe of the port, and Matt can always guess what boats are coming and going based on the clientele; right now it's a tourist Channel-hopper going out and a peasant-boat coming in. Kickback to the tender James will be moderate, he guesses.
He'd feel bad about cheating the poor folk out of their money, but truth be told, not many people who can't afford the game ever play. That makes Zach the one to watch out for, 'cause normally mill-workers crossing the Channel are sending money home to their families, not dropping it on poker games in port.
He's all set to deal when a narrow-shouldered fellow with a wool cap and a ratty coat elbows in between Anthony and Zachary. All of them turn to stare at him; the man shakes snow off of his hat and dusts it off his shoulders. White hair peeks out at his temples, but other than an ugly-looking scar on his ruddy cheek he's curiously young in the face. "'ello," the man says, smiling, voice shockingly alto and Cockney. "Snow in south England! Never thought I'd see the like." A kid, then? Matthew decides he's got to be despite the hair. He sits on the bench next to Anthony, who gives him an unfriendly glare. "I was told this was the poker table," the newcomer continues. "Deal me in?"
He's kept his hands under the table other than when he dusted his shoulders. Matthew narrows his eyes. "Buy-in is three pounds," he says, curious if the kid has that much.
"Of course." He fumbles at his breast, pulling the ratty coat open; he's wearing one fine, white glove and the other hand is an ugly red, scarred and startling. Mark visibly recoils at the sight; the kid doesn't seem to notice, putting down the required three pounds. "Can we use Francs too?"
"Money is money," Matthew opines. "Your name, kid?"
"Allen," the boy answers, and smiles before pushing his sleeves up - customary in London, Matthew remembers from when he played there - displaying 'no cards up his sleeve' and revealing the red scarring goes all the way up his forearm.
"You're a little young for poker," Mark says, still staring at the hand.
"Hm? Oh," the boy says, shrugging. "Well, if you feel guilty about taking money from a child, maybe you'll let me win a few times," he laughs.
"Can you play?" Anthony asks warily.
Allen just smiles. Matthew sees the smile is his poker face and he nods, and starts dealing. Kid or not, Allen knows the game. If that makes Mark falter, well, more money for himself; he intends to take all of them for all they've got. "Hands always above the table," he says as he goes. "Two is high, joker wild." Zachary nods, checking his cards as he gets them.
Matthew has perfected his sleight-of-hand for fifteen years. If he so chose, as the dealer, he could never lose a hand. Of course that would be suspicious and he likes it here - James likes him too, since he always pays back for the space, and a barfight wouldn't be much help - so it's best to just cull a little off the top for a while then clear them out suddenly an hour later. So for the first two hands he keeps his eyes on Zachary, testing him with a low hand. Zach's poker face is pretty much perfect, but he plays accordingly - folds immediately. No foul play there, probably. Mark gets a moderate hand and he purses his lips - turns out by round three that's his tell. Anthony lights up between rounds two and three and puffs hard on the cigarette, tapping the ash against the edge of the table, but Matt's fairly certain he just likes to smoke and he's not signaling a second out in the bar. And Allen just smiles, smiles, smiles - folds on the first two hands, both low while Mark keeps his eye on Zachary. Mark wins round two, Matthew round three, and Anthony round one.
On the fourth round, Matthew deals Allen two sixes, an eight, and two queens - maybe he'll let the kid win a round, because he can before he gets serious. Allen wins with a full house after returning a card and beams. Kind of cute, Matthew thinks. "What brings a kid like you into a bar like this?" he asks as he deals the fifth hand.
Allen smiles at him, then glances at Mark, who's looking interested in the answer. "I'm finally going home," he says, and that's all he volunteers while Matthew deals himself a high two pair, for the win.
"Straight," Allen says, triumphant, when Matthew calls.
Matthew does not blink in surprise, but he is shocked. Impressed, even. He does laugh. "Nice, kid!" he hands over the cash; the kid, his veneer of good etiquette standing, keeps it all in play. Matthew watches Allen's hands, determined to catch him in the act.
Allen senses the attention, like any good cheat would. He glances at Matthew, his poker smile faltering only in his eyes, and the game narrows down to the two of them immediately.
And then Allen starts to win every hand, one after another, until Mark leaves in disgust, and Anthony starts glaring at Matthew, suspicious that Matthew is at fault. Matthew can't see him do it. He's never seen such a good cheat. It's horrible even as it amazes him. "Beginner's luck," he laughs when Anthony gets up to go.
Matthew is startled when Zachary suddenly grabs Allen's scarred red wrist. "You little fag, you're cheating!" he snarls.
Allen looks up at him innocently. "Cheating? How?"
"I don't know, boy, but you're cheating and I'll prove it," Zachary snaps.
Allen blinks big, blue eyes at Zachary, swallowing nervously - even Matthew's impressed by the con - and glancing at Matthew as if for help. "I'm sorry, I dunno how I coulda cheated!" he babbles.
"Strip off that coat! I wanna see the cards!" Zachary's grip tightens.
But Allen's small next to Zachary, and looks so cowed, and James' wife Meena comes out of nowhere, narrow-wristed and with a big frying pan. "Scuse me!" she snaps at Zachary. "You leave that young'un alone!"
"He's a cheater!" Zachary cries.
"You want me to break your head!?" Meena weilds the frying pan threateningly; Zachary gulps and lets Allen's wrist go.
"I'm done with this place," Zach hisses, and he throws down his cards, takes his money, and storms away.
"He hurt you?" Meena asks, suddenly gentle and beautiful again. James is a lucky man.
Allen shakes his head, and smiles like the damn sun. "No, ma'am," he says. "Thanks for your help ..." he blushes and hands her a five-pound note.
Meena's not above taking it - which is one of the things Matt loves about her. "Keep your head outta trouble," she advises, and she's off into the crowd again, to keep down any other troublemakers.
Allen looks back at Matthew. "I'll call it a night," he says, now directing that sweet, sweet smile Matthew's way, but Matthew puts his hand down on what's left of the pot. He's got to know.
"How'd you cheat?" he asks. "I've been winning everything for five years here, and ten years elsewhere, but you - you can't be more than twelve."
"Fifteen, actually," Allen says, bristling slightly for the first time. "And I never cheated. You're just an unlucky dealer." His smile has teeth, now.
Matthew laughs. "Trade secrets must be kept, I suppose."
Allen eyes the last pot as he sweeps the rest of his earnings into his pockets. "I learned from the best," he says. "Better luck tomorrow." He grins, and then he's trooping out the door, pulling his cap down around his ears.
fin
Title: Poker Face (like the sooooong but with less crack!)
Author: Vikki
For: lelek (comment!fic)
Rating: PG
Summary: Allen's really, really good at poker. Outside!POV fic, maybe a week before the series starts.
An hour after sunset the bar is packed; the fire is roaring, the tender is pouring beer by the gallon, and Matthew is damn glad he got here early. Everyone wants a spot by the fire, but he parked the poker bench there and no-one who isn't willing to lose a few pounds is going to have a spot as warm as Matthew's.
Tonight's players are here: a heavy-set man called Anthony, a thin banker named Mark, a mill-worker, Zachary ... Thomas keeps coming in and out, splitting his money between losing to Matthew and buying rounds for them all. He's well on his way to drunk as usual, but this bar might as well be his home. Matthew's letting him win only as many hands as needed to keep him in the game and buying the beer. It's Matthew's home turf, this little tavern on the fringe of the port, and Matt can always guess what boats are coming and going based on the clientele; right now it's a tourist Channel-hopper going out and a peasant-boat coming in. Kickback to the tender James will be moderate, he guesses.
He'd feel bad about cheating the poor folk out of their money, but truth be told, not many people who can't afford the game ever play. That makes Zach the one to watch out for, 'cause normally mill-workers crossing the Channel are sending money home to their families, not dropping it on poker games in port.
He's all set to deal when a narrow-shouldered fellow with a wool cap and a ratty coat elbows in between Anthony and Zachary. All of them turn to stare at him; the man shakes snow off of his hat and dusts it off his shoulders. White hair peeks out at his temples, but other than an ugly-looking scar on his ruddy cheek he's curiously young in the face. "'ello," the man says, smiling, voice shockingly alto and Cockney. "Snow in south England! Never thought I'd see the like." A kid, then? Matthew decides he's got to be despite the hair. He sits on the bench next to Anthony, who gives him an unfriendly glare. "I was told this was the poker table," the newcomer continues. "Deal me in?"
He's kept his hands under the table other than when he dusted his shoulders. Matthew narrows his eyes. "Buy-in is three pounds," he says, curious if the kid has that much.
"Of course." He fumbles at his breast, pulling the ratty coat open; he's wearing one fine, white glove and the other hand is an ugly red, scarred and startling. Mark visibly recoils at the sight; the kid doesn't seem to notice, putting down the required three pounds. "Can we use Francs too?"
"Money is money," Matthew opines. "Your name, kid?"
"Allen," the boy answers, and smiles before pushing his sleeves up - customary in London, Matthew remembers from when he played there - displaying 'no cards up his sleeve' and revealing the red scarring goes all the way up his forearm.
"You're a little young for poker," Mark says, still staring at the hand.
"Hm? Oh," the boy says, shrugging. "Well, if you feel guilty about taking money from a child, maybe you'll let me win a few times," he laughs.
"Can you play?" Anthony asks warily.
Allen just smiles. Matthew sees the smile is his poker face and he nods, and starts dealing. Kid or not, Allen knows the game. If that makes Mark falter, well, more money for himself; he intends to take all of them for all they've got. "Hands always above the table," he says as he goes. "Two is high, joker wild." Zachary nods, checking his cards as he gets them.
Matthew has perfected his sleight-of-hand for fifteen years. If he so chose, as the dealer, he could never lose a hand. Of course that would be suspicious and he likes it here - James likes him too, since he always pays back for the space, and a barfight wouldn't be much help - so it's best to just cull a little off the top for a while then clear them out suddenly an hour later. So for the first two hands he keeps his eyes on Zachary, testing him with a low hand. Zach's poker face is pretty much perfect, but he plays accordingly - folds immediately. No foul play there, probably. Mark gets a moderate hand and he purses his lips - turns out by round three that's his tell. Anthony lights up between rounds two and three and puffs hard on the cigarette, tapping the ash against the edge of the table, but Matt's fairly certain he just likes to smoke and he's not signaling a second out in the bar. And Allen just smiles, smiles, smiles - folds on the first two hands, both low while Mark keeps his eye on Zachary. Mark wins round two, Matthew round three, and Anthony round one.
On the fourth round, Matthew deals Allen two sixes, an eight, and two queens - maybe he'll let the kid win a round, because he can before he gets serious. Allen wins with a full house after returning a card and beams. Kind of cute, Matthew thinks. "What brings a kid like you into a bar like this?" he asks as he deals the fifth hand.
Allen smiles at him, then glances at Mark, who's looking interested in the answer. "I'm finally going home," he says, and that's all he volunteers while Matthew deals himself a high two pair, for the win.
"Straight," Allen says, triumphant, when Matthew calls.
Matthew does not blink in surprise, but he is shocked. Impressed, even. He does laugh. "Nice, kid!" he hands over the cash; the kid, his veneer of good etiquette standing, keeps it all in play. Matthew watches Allen's hands, determined to catch him in the act.
Allen senses the attention, like any good cheat would. He glances at Matthew, his poker smile faltering only in his eyes, and the game narrows down to the two of them immediately.
And then Allen starts to win every hand, one after another, until Mark leaves in disgust, and Anthony starts glaring at Matthew, suspicious that Matthew is at fault. Matthew can't see him do it. He's never seen such a good cheat. It's horrible even as it amazes him. "Beginner's luck," he laughs when Anthony gets up to go.
Matthew is startled when Zachary suddenly grabs Allen's scarred red wrist. "You little fag, you're cheating!" he snarls.
Allen looks up at him innocently. "Cheating? How?"
"I don't know, boy, but you're cheating and I'll prove it," Zachary snaps.
Allen blinks big, blue eyes at Zachary, swallowing nervously - even Matthew's impressed by the con - and glancing at Matthew as if for help. "I'm sorry, I dunno how I coulda cheated!" he babbles.
"Strip off that coat! I wanna see the cards!" Zachary's grip tightens.
But Allen's small next to Zachary, and looks so cowed, and James' wife Meena comes out of nowhere, narrow-wristed and with a big frying pan. "Scuse me!" she snaps at Zachary. "You leave that young'un alone!"
"He's a cheater!" Zachary cries.
"You want me to break your head!?" Meena weilds the frying pan threateningly; Zachary gulps and lets Allen's wrist go.
"I'm done with this place," Zach hisses, and he throws down his cards, takes his money, and storms away.
"He hurt you?" Meena asks, suddenly gentle and beautiful again. James is a lucky man.
Allen shakes his head, and smiles like the damn sun. "No, ma'am," he says. "Thanks for your help ..." he blushes and hands her a five-pound note.
Meena's not above taking it - which is one of the things Matt loves about her. "Keep your head outta trouble," she advises, and she's off into the crowd again, to keep down any other troublemakers.
Allen looks back at Matthew. "I'll call it a night," he says, now directing that sweet, sweet smile Matthew's way, but Matthew puts his hand down on what's left of the pot. He's got to know.
"How'd you cheat?" he asks. "I've been winning everything for five years here, and ten years elsewhere, but you - you can't be more than twelve."
"Fifteen, actually," Allen says, bristling slightly for the first time. "And I never cheated. You're just an unlucky dealer." His smile has teeth, now.
Matthew laughs. "Trade secrets must be kept, I suppose."
Allen eyes the last pot as he sweeps the rest of his earnings into his pockets. "I learned from the best," he says. "Better luck tomorrow." He grins, and then he's trooping out the door, pulling his cap down around his ears.
fin