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 Posted: Mon Jun 25, 2012 8:19 pm
As nights at Plumb's went, this one wasn't too terribly shabby for Paul. Usually, by nine in the evening, he'd lost enough money that he was considering putting down the cards for the night and indulging in a little bit of what he called 'spirited debate' in the sitting room, settled beside the fire with a cup of something in one hand and a cigar in the other. Of course, Paul's idea of political debate was absent conversation about cravats, his conversation leaning toward discussion of the most recent plays, and only recently had it more and more often turned toward the hassle and troubles of dealing with an estate...
But no. Tonight he was not only still in possession of his money, he was actually up. Admittedly, not up much, and he'd dipped several times, but at this moment he had more money than he'd come in with. The result was an almost feverish gleam in his eyes, the certainty that he was somehow blessed tonight.
Tonight he couldn't lose. So he sat at the table surrounded by men he knew, and when one of them moved to give up and leave, he was the loudest to object.
"...can't leave now! I'm on a roll!"
"And, naturally, that's why I must."
And good luck finding someone to fill that cursed seat.
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Posted: Mon Jun 25, 2012 8:41 pm
"Mind if I join?" The man who slid into the empty seat didn't seem perhaps as well-off as some of the others at the table, but his dress was suitable enough, even if his accent was a bit lowbrow. There was no arguing with the heavy purse that he plopped down on the table, however. "Who's dealing?"
Anyone who knew Harpswell would be surprised at his forwardness -- the dark-haired man was usually quick to shy away from crowded rooms and social situations such as the one he was apparently eagerly engaging in right now. His bravery, however, could be easily explained by the drink in his hand -- his fourth or fifth of the night. The usually restrained, self-contained man tended to get a little overeager when he had a few drinks in him...and his deft little pickpocket's fingers began to itch for the amusement of the card tables. Hopefully tonight he wasn't too drunk to keep himself from getting caught in his little sleight of hand.
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Posted: Tue Jun 26, 2012 4:49 pm
Harpswell was not alone in that, not at this table: Paul's eyes were a bit too green, a bit too bright, his perfect complexion for once marred by a hint of color, spread like a rash across his nose and the top of his cheeks. He immediately grinned at the newcomer, his teeth bright in his face.
Paul didn't have much of a poker face.
The retreating fourth flicked Harpswell a look as he went, with a muttered 'better you than me' under his breath. For his part, Paul gestured too broadly, almost knocking over a glass in the progress, encouraging him to sit. "I do believe it would be your turn, fellow."
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Posted: Fri Jul 20, 2012 10:40 am
Harpswell grinned at the man welcoming him -- he was clearly inebriated and confident in his current winnings, which would make him sloppy and (hopefully) easy to cheat. It would be a good night. He slid down into the vacant seat and reached for the deck of cards.
"Luck seems to be with me then, friend," he replied to Paul as he shuffled, his deft fingers moving quickly across the cards. "Though previously it looks as if you had the majority of it." He nodded toward the other man's pile of winnings. "Name's Everett," Harspwell lied, keeping the men at his table distracted with small talk as he ever-so-subtly stacked the deck as he shuffled. "James Everett. It's a pleasure to meet you all."
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Posted: Tue Jul 24, 2012 8:47 am
Oh, if only Harpswell knew the prize he'd stumbled upon tonight! Cheerful and excited, Paul shifted immediately to offer his hand. At the best of times, Paul was sloppy and easy to cheat. At the worst, he sabatoged himself, and all unknowing. There was one famous story of him flashing his entire hand when he turned around to order a drink.
Not that the story every got back to him.
"Paul Blair." There should have been a title at the start of his name; a Lord at the very least. Paul didn't give two shakes of a rat's a**. Not at Plumb's, at the very least. Here, he liked to think, they were just men.
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