2021-09-16 - There's nothing like money between friends

The first thought that goes through Ravn Abildgaard's head here is, Where the hell...

Then, Who the hell...

And finally, Fucking Gray Harbor, wasn't a twelve week time skip bad enough?

Of course it's not enough. It's never enough. Storm Cimaron seemed to go on forever, and then it's gone, and now it's twelve weeks later which seemed to pass like the snap of a finger, and he went to bed in the high school shelter only to wake up in a house which he -- still isn't sure whether he owns, rents, or just passed out in. Life is complicated.

He looks at the men around the table. Smells the smoke. He looks down; is this one of those floors with sand on, and a spit pail in the corner? Lyrics from an old Tom Paxton tune creeps to the Dane's mind uninvited:

>You getter get ready to shit some blood
>When the name of the game is Stud

He's not much of a poker player.

Here's to hoping this is one of those dream experiences where someone else knows what they should be doing, because this time? Nope, Ravn Abildgaard is not it. American speakeasy, Old West saloon, whatever the hell this is, it's way out of his field.

Isi's hand is poised in the air and her expression is one of 'seriously what the actual FUCK Karen' before she shivers into this --- NOT her office place. "....Karen?" She ccalls out experimentally, that poised hand moving to sweep away the smoke to try to get a clearer view of what is happening. She even half stands before she gets a clue and sits back down with a thud. "Well, fuck." That's very much to herself.

As she peers around though a small smile spreads on her lips. "Poker over telling Karen why it is NOT okay to award the contract to her brother's company simply because he'll 'do a good job?' Yes. Fuck. Yes."

She leans forward and gathers up the cards before and takes a look at THEM before noticing the people. Ravn gets alighted upon and she arches an eyebrow. "This is one of those dream things right? Are you real?"

"Fuck." are the first words out of Seth's mouth when he opens his eyes inside the smoky room. "GOD DAMN IT," are the second set of words as he looks down and realizes that once again he has entered a dream in what he was wearing while napping, but at least this time he was fortunate enough to have a pair of blue boxers with little duckies plastered all over them.

It's only then that he notices the rest of the room, the poker table, the players. "Aw shit." His shoulders slump as he resigns himself to his fate and makes his way over towards the table, pulling out a seat and taking a glance around the table. "Someone has a fuckin' sick sense of humor..." He shakes his head, loops his thumbs into the waistband of his pants, and anties in the only thing he has of value.

"You all better fold so I can put those back on, or I swear to god I am going to murder someone."

"For the love of God, man, you could ask to borrow something," Ravn murmurs at Seth. The Dane's expression as he too wanders over to pull out a chair is a strange mix of horrified and a desperate attempt to keep himself from laughing out loud. This, if anything, is a challenge to even his otherwise quite remarkable composure -- no, really. Maybe he's starting to suspect a few things about the big Irishman. There were those times he showed off his legs in a kilt. And that story about that one time he ran around the Veil wearing nothing but Joey Kelly's barbecue apron.

Thank you, Veil entities, for snatching me into this after I found my jeans and shirt on the dresser in that room. Because otherwise I would be here wearing nothing but underoos and Aidan Kinney's pink shirt with little puppies on.

He shakes his head and tries really hard to not laugh. Isi's question is far more serious, and warrants an answer -- and if Ravn's tone is a little choked, it's because he's absolutely, definitely not laughing, no sirree, nothing to see here, definitely not rolling on the floor laughing on the inside. "Pretty sure this is one of those dream things," he tells her in a (definitely not laughing) whisper. "I'm pretty sure I'm real. And the big, naked -- " (nope, not laughing) " -- guy there is Seth Monaghan. He's also real. Uh. Very real, it seems."

The Dane chews on his lip long enough to manage to whip out that old battered zippo of his and a pack of cigarettes. Is smoking indoors legal in the state of Washington? Definitely isn't, Chief of Police de la Vega even quoted him the law at the Pourhouse once just to mess with him, aaaaand -- this is not the Pourhouse, and the dreamscapes made up the Veil are probably not subject to state law, and besides, he bloody well needs something in his mouth unless he's going to be giggling like a schoolgirl. "So, what's the name of the game, boys?" Squeak. Snort. Snicker.

Isi keeps glancing at her cards even as the people about her start to speak - like the dude calling out profanities. A man after her own heart. The sight of his boxers is blocked at first until Ravn pulls attention to it. She'll rise to her feet and peeeeeerrrr over. An eyebrow arches upwards. "Cute. Your kid get your those?" Because Isi can't imagine why the hell a grown ass man would wear little duckies.

Then he's pulling them OFF and Isi's other eyebrow decides to join it. "So. You're a stripper then?"

It's a logical question, but Mr. Texas Drawl is speaking and at the nod to her elbow Isi rubs her hands together briefly before choosing a small sapphire earring to toss into the pot.

"No," Seth grumbles as he looks angrily at his cards. "No, I am not a god damn stripper, but it is the only thing I have to bet and I know the Veil well enough to know that if I don't bet something, there will be 'consequences'...but get as good a look as you like because what the hell, it's just a body."

Seth tosses his cards back onto the table and takes a deep breath...and then notices the little pile of belongings next to his elbow. "Oh for fucks sake...."

Ravn pats his pockets down; the silver zippo would work as a bet, no doubt, but he's loath to risk parting with it. What else has he got -- from the looks of it, these boys aren't playing for toothpicks or for that matter, US dollars. Rings, movie tickets? He almost regrets giving Baba Yaga his engagement ring -- mostly because it means he can't get rid of the damn thing twice.

Getting engaged a few more times to have backups is probably not the answer.

Well, he's got the keys to a rented car that he plans to get rid of anyway. They're silver and they jingle. Car's worth a bit of money too inasmuch its engine is working, the brakes are fine, and the upholstery of the seats is looking all right. Into the pot the keys go, and if he loses them? Well, Jim's Car Rental, Seattle is going to be less than thrilled sure. Life is hard. "He's just an exhibitionist, that's what he is."

"Ah fuck," Isi hisses, slapping down her cards as it is clear that Ravn has won. She leans back as a cloud of smoke assaults her senses, waving a hand up and missing the apparent agitation of Old Texas.

Instead to Seth, "Want my cardigan? Or you fine just," yes, she does lead over to look him up and down again, "hanging out? "

"Well depending on what Ravn does, he can just give me my damn shorts back," Seth grumbles, tossing his cards into the center of the table. "If he doesn't, well, it's not like you all haven't seen everything anyway. What's the point in modesty now. Odds are I would just end up having to bet it's well."

Seth looks to Ravn, folding his arms over his chest and stares at the Dane. "Come on, Darth. Don't be a sucker, take your winnings, and then give me my damn shorts back."

Ravn smirks a little at Mr El Paso Represent there. "As long as you don't let me shuffle the deck or deal the cards, surely you can't think I'm cheating," he points out -- and makes a mental note to not actually offer to shuffle the deck or deal the cards because his hands would abso-fucking-lutely do all the things they shouldn't, and it probably would not end very well. Can't end up on Boot Hill here until at least Seth's won a pair of boots to wear.

He contemplates generously donating Seth's underpants back to him for at least a second or three, before the call for double or nothing goes out. That prompts a chuckle. He has yet to discover any piles near elbows. The Dane is perceptive but, let's be honest here, he's still too busy laughing. "Well, if I give them back you're only going to have to bet them again, apparently -- but here goes. Will Mr Monaghan's nice, blue duckyroos be acceptable for double or nothing, gentlemen, or shall I have to add my jacket to the pot on top of my car keys?"

Isi's eyebrows so that thing where they try to touch her hairline again. "What the fuck....?"

"Look, all I want is my shorts back. I didn't want to be in this damn game anyway," says Seth with a grumble. "Can we just get this over with so I can go back to sleep and forget that this ever happened? Ravn, just call the man on his bet or not. Personally, I'd advise against it, but I might be biased seeing as you are holding my shorts in your hand."

"Favourite enemy?" Ravn murmurs, eyebrows shooting up. "There's a tempting thought. What happens if I bet an enemy and lose him? Because I can think of a few people in finances and politics that I'm not really sure I'd miss all that much. Do I have to actually know them?"

He slips out of that expensive Italian leather jacket bought for its not at all expensive look (but the quality and comfort, though, unmatched) and puts it on the table. It's a little big to go in the literal pot but the intent is obvious enough. "Keep telling me about favourite enemies. I am interested in your concept and I would like to subscribe to your newsletter."

Then he glances to Seth. "Very tempted but -- ever read or heard a story in which the man in the white hat goes into a saloon and joins a poker game only to skip town on the first hand? You know how this shit works -- there's a narrative. Bet you the narrative isn't 'How Seth Monaghan Lost His Nice Blue Duckies.'"

Seth flips Ravn the finger.

Isi has taken a bit of a backseat here, looking across the table at the two men's interactions with one another and with Old Texan. She's got a frown like she's attempting to figure something out, but isn't anywhere close yet.

".... talk about playing for keeps..." Isi mutters before she sweeps her cards up in her hands and shakes her head. Her second item she starts to put out but then stops dead. It's a picture of a woman not totally unlike Isi, but how she'll look in another fifteen years or so.

Seth doesn't pick up his cards yet, fist taking a look through the pile that is next to him on the table. "I feel like I am playing at a disadvantage here," Seth mumbles, "I don't even know what it is I have to bet with here. You should at least give me a minute to weigh the value of what I have in front of me."

"Tempting as it is to wish Jeff Bezos loses his bank roll and has to take a minimum wage job in his own damned company, wishing evil upon one another is one of those story tropes that come labelled with nope, do not, definitely not, don't even think about it." Ravn has yet to touch his little pile of three items. Maybe it's not dawned on him yet that it exists.

He's not usually that easily distracted from details. But much as it is tempting to suggest that it's Seth's current state of undress that's distracting him -- amusing as it is -- the real reason is Old Texas Spice. The Dane is a sleight of hand artist. If anyone's going to get away with cheating here it's going to him, and he's watching the other man's hands on the deck like a hawk.

He glances towards Isi, though, as she hesitates. "They've accepted underwear and jackets so far. Don't bet something you're not sure what means."

Isi continues to stare at that little card in her hand and pulls it back slowly towards her. Up she looks at Ravn, "It's a picture of my mother. I mean, how I saw her last. Why the fuck would there be a picture of my mother here?"

But that makes her think more closely at what she DID bet. That little earring she placed in the pile.

And she's going to go a little pale. It's fine. This is all good. She DOES gather up her cards and takes a gooooood look at them.

The objects in front of Seth seem to be a random assortment of nicknacks. A car key on a chain, a copy of The Prince by Machiavelli, and a single .45 caliber bullet. Seth picks up and frowns at each item in turn, eyeing the items, then looking to the cards on the table he has yet to pick up, then back to Big Tex.

"Nope." Seth says, dropping the items back onto the table, "Not gonna happen, Tex. You can't force me to bet and if I don't pick up those cards, I am not in the game. You got my shorts, and that is about all I am willing to give up to you tonight...and technically Ravn got those. I value these too much to wager them, and the gain isn't worth the risk."

Ravn glances to Isi; he can only hope that he's right about the nature of the game, and that she picks up on the cue if he is (it probably won't matter a whole lot if he isn't, but why take chances).

He glances at his own pile. An ancient key -- a large, cast iron affair that must go into an ancient gate or door somewhere. A violin string made from cat gut, still in its fancy wrapper -- because cat gut strings are the creme de la creme, and most violinists settle for synthetic (particularly those who like cats). A tiny plastic garden gnome poised to look like it is fishing.

He shakes his head. Each item has a certain significance to him, and while he's certain that they are replicas, symbolic only of the real thing, he's not going to take chances. (The real garden gnome, for instance, has been a pile of shards somewhere in Firefly Forest for months, but he has a fairly good idea what it actually represents).

"Let's see what you've got," he says, and hopes that his hand wins. It is a rather nice jacket.

Isi looks at her two items, the picture of her mother, and a small doll before glancing upwards at the Old Texan, then to the pot where the little earring now rests. Unlike Seth she DOESN'T seem willing to go down to her skivvies for the sake of the bet. Instead she pushes the two items like she's trying to decide which to bet.

Her mouth tightens and she abruptly tosses in the doll. "Like it matters anyway."

Seth leans back in his chair and crosses his arms over his chest, relaxing as best he can in his current state of dress. Better to project confidence than anything else under these circumstances. "Yeah. That is what I thought."

The enforcer looks over at Isi as she tosses the doll into the pot, and he shakes his head. "I don't know what that represents, or what it means to you, but I hope you are willing to lose it forever."

He turns his head over towards Ravn, "Shorts? Nothing in the rules of poker you can't give away your winnings..."

"Way to take away my amusement, Irish." Ravn isn't actually certain that removing the blue duckyroos from the pot is an option -- but there's only one way to find out, and here goes nothing. He picks up the garment in question and tosses it to Seth; his gaze still locked on Old Texas Spice who seems to be the person running this rather strange show. Isi's decision to gamble one of her tokens nets her a worried glance. What happens if she loses the portion of her childhood that he guesses the doll might represent? What if he wins it?

Better try to stay in character for the narrative. Cigarette hanging from his lower lip he drawls, "Show. Me. Whatcha. Got."

"That's the risk when you gamble, isn't it?" Isi replies with a note in her vote that hints this isn't the ~first~ time she's gotten herself into trouble with a game of chance. Poor Ravn might connect that with her oft-mentioned 'debts'. Maybe.

Either way she was ready to lay down, she even had a moderatly good hand! But nope. Seth and Ravn enrage the old man and the cards are knocked right from her hand. She has to scramble backwards to get away yelling out, "What the fuck!" To WHOM it is yelled can be a matter of dispute.

This is more his style. Cards aren't Seth's game but a fight is right up his alley, regardless of any lack of clothing. The moment the table is overturned, the enforcer is up and out of his chair, reaching behind him to grab it, then swinging it to club Old Text with it across the pate, "Oh shut the fuck up...!"

"When I said, 'show me what you got' I didn't mean you," Ravn murmurs at Seth and is honestly not even close to surprised. This is how the story goes -- in every old Western movie ever. You play. Stakes go up. Someone offers double or nothing. Someone cheats. A fight ensues.

It is perhaps not so fortunate that he is no scrapper. Life is hard.

Attempting to dodge the flying Texan, Ravn is quite happy to let Seth handle that first contact. He rolls to the side, off his chair, and looks around for something, anything that can be used as a weapon. Isn't there supposed to be a useful bottle, or for that matter, an automatic piano in a scene like this? A prostitute with a frying pan? A drunk sheriff? Something?

Isi hits the floor and she's just gonna crawl away, thanks much. She's not a fighter and has ZERO interested in getting in the way of two dicks fighting - especially since one of them is literally waving his right now. This is fine. This is normal.

On her belly she sees a sliver of flickering light that MIGHT be a doorway, and that's the direction that she's going. Along the way her hand hits the small doll and it is utterly smashed under her hand, leaving behind only the sad remains littered behind her. The materials are sharp enough she is also leaving a nice little trail of bloody palm print behind her.

The caught chair surprises Seth, he wasn't expecting that, but he quickly regains his composure and gets his head back into the game. Noticing that Old Tex has himself preoccupied keeping the chair from smashing down on his head, Seth grins, looking the Texan in the eyes and exclaiming, "Hi there. You have no idea who you are fucking with, do you? Should have just stuck with the chair." and switches tactics and launches a straight-up soccer kick to the Texan's jibbiles.

Let it not be said of Ravn Abildgaard that he's chicken. A fighter? Definitely not. An asthmatic with neuropathy, a fight is the last place the man should be. But his buddy is taking on a Veil creature of some sort or other on his own, and while Seth neither looks nor sounds like he's in serious trouble -- well, it's a matter of principle. Ravn picks up one of those -- oh hey there, spit pail!

Whether he actually hits Old Texas with it doesn't matter. What matters is that he took a swing at the man with the damn thing, sending a crystalline shower of droplets out over him, the table, and anything behind him, in the best of cinematic style. Bud Spencer would have been so proud.

That's what this is, after all -- isn't it? A bad Western movie?

Isi was NOT prepared for the old man to kick her in the stomach as he trips. Nope. She's smart enough to roll AWAY from what will probably be more kicks though. Old man over there, Isi over here. This is the way it should be.

She'll start crawling towards the doorway again. There's a serious hint of panic in her voice as she yells, "You boys having fun?!" Humor, a way to try to smash her abject fear at how this turned. Fights no please.

"Cowardly? I'm naked and I am kicking your ass. How is that cowardly?" mocks Seth as he rushes the old Texan again, preparing to tackle the poker player to the ground and get into some old-style Greco-Roman wrestling. "All I wanted was my boxers, but no, you had to get all pissy about me being decent, Well, tough nuts, buttercup. Now you get to get teabagged."

Thank God for the (possibly extremely deliberate) ignorance of a Danish guy who doesn't play video games. Seth is obviously offering the man a nice cup of tea when they've settled their little dispute, and Ravn is going to maintain this delusion until the day he dies, no matter how many visuals the enforcer might deign to provide.

He's still got the spit pail in one hand. Might as well use it -- so he does, throwing it at Old Texas' face like a very clumsy brass missile, hoping perhaps to at least offer a distraction and give Seth an advantage.

"Not sure 'fun' would be my first choice of words," he calls back to Isi. "Remind me to not only never sleep commando but to add an extra pair of underwear to my emergency kit!"

Seth 👍