[Wager] Things friends don't do! (Victor)

[Bob Barton]

41st day of Winter 511 AV

Bob wanted to see what else Victor did in Alvadas besides staying in a tavern. In his opinion, Victor really needed to do something about his drinking. The first time they met in Ravok, Victor drunk himself silly though it would be partially Bob's fault for encouraging the boy. Now in Alvadas they met again. Even if Victor said that he was only working in the tavern, Bob just believed that it was an excuse for him to drink more. It was not that Victor was always drinking with Bob in Ravok, just...their first time would always stick to Victor like a picture he would never ever be able to take off unless he does something really unexpected. Only problem was that it would be accompanied by strong everlasting emotions from Bob as well.

Victor said he also worked in the Wager. A place that Bob always wanted to try so he decided to make visit there himself with the excuse of seeing what his friend actually does. However Bob came too early and Victor was nowhere to be seen. "Where is the bird...I mean Lark? Yes, Victor" saying that in a place of gambling made Bob feel like he was giving the impression to everyone else he was looking for some lucky victory charm but fortunately Victor had made a reputation for himself somehow. All that would change soon because Bob was in the house. Just how much better can Victor improve himself? It has only been a few years.

As it would seem Bob came to the Wager too early but one of their workers told him that Victor would be arriving sometime soon. "I need some way to pass the time" and Bob was pointed to one of the tables where the players were already finishing up a round. "I'll be buying in" Bob told them taking five silvers and putting them on the table which he would be using until the main event. Thinking through it a little bit more, even if he needed to take care of his finances until he got a proper job it was going to be too little to have any fun and one by one Bob added three...no five more coins. "Yes I am ready now" Bob told the man beside him with a tone because the impatient way he asked his question was just rude. Someone is going be more polite once he is able to see Bob's skills.

Too bad this was not one of those competitive games which set the players against each other because then Bob would really be able to make the man regret it but he did not want to commit too much time on a long game. Striving to reach 21 was a lot more quicker and he would be able to get out anytime he wanted to. The cards in front of him where he placed five of his prepared coins was already halfway there but the dealer...with his one card he was at the same spot too. Who was he kidding? Bob knew that it was very likely that the dealer was at an even more favorable spot that he was in now. The little man was not fooled by the direct illusion where they were both close and Bob was not feeling too comfortable especially since he would never know what that other card is until the end. The other players seem to be having problems with making their decision as well.

But it was only a game. A game with a little bit being tossed around. With that in mind, Bob was not stopped from finally saying "hit" and while he was not all there, he was happy enough just to be that close. There was no way the dealer could beat him now because he would have revealed his cards right away. Now the worst case of it would be that Bob gets back his silvers and only his silvers or in the unlikely event the dealer would get enough to touch the mark but if Victor took a long time, there would be other games. Victor was not the only one he was waiting for now since he was looking at how the other players were making their decisions, so that they can continue on already.

[Victor Lark]

The man at the door was still muttering his clever riddle when Victor burst through it, short of breath and shining with perspiration. It was true that he had set out later than he should have to find his evening’s destination, but neither had Ionu been very kind to his progress. The sun had set before he found it, and he was forced to run the rest of the way, turning every corner he encountered until he was certain he was being sent in circles. When he had seen the greenish wall and the high-slanted roof, he had not even stopped to relish his success.

Despite his tardiness, a smile hung from Victor’s gasping mouth as he wiped his brow and glanced around for the face of his employer. He greeted the disapproving frown with smug grin and a drooping salute, then looked away. It was the closest to rebellion he could conceive, without getting in too much trouble. As he searched the room for a place to put himself, the doorman leaned to his ear and mumbled of the guest that had sought him. Victor chuckled. His old drinking buddy was not hard to spot.

As he approached the table from behind, the dealer was already exposing his hand to the players, nodding the bulk of the winnings to Bob. The rest of the table was full of smiling glares, and the sight of them almost made Victor laugh.

But he stepped silently, for the time being; he stopped just behind the small man and touched a single fingertip to the inside of his shoulder. The move was meant to send a shiver down weaker spines, and he was testing the strength of this man’s. Though Victor could say he knew him, it had been a while since the Ravokian had truly spoken with this traveling trickster, without the distraction of a lover and a woman to come between them. There was no telling how he had changed.

The warmth on his voice did not match the chill in his touch. In the next second, he was slapping Bob on the back and emitting an amiable guffaw, happy disbelief of his laughing shoulders. A little too loudly, he said, “Bob, my man! How have you been? Getting cozy with the symenestra girls I presume.” A sideways glance around the table showed a mixed reaction among the masses. “I hear you were looking for me.”

[Bob Barton]

The game went on round after round as Bob waited for his tardy friend. No excuse would be accepted, not even the city itself. Everyone seemed crazy when they talked about Alvadas and Bob never wanted to believe that one bit even if he has been experiencing it himself, instead convincing himself that it was only because he was still not used to the city. Getting quite impatient, Bob mimicked the man beside him the way he did earlier in a mocking fashion as he asked "come on, I don't have all day!" drumming his fingers on the table as loud as he could just to try and drive him over the edge even more. Feigning disinterest as he looked blankly at the cards, he simply asked barely loud enough for those close to him to hear "he probably has enough trouble deciding which side of the bed he wants to sleep in" as he increased the speed of his fingers like the time he believed that he was wasting right now just for the birds.

It was enough to force the man to act rashly when he asked for another card. Bob was relieved and gave a grin because if he was the one who took the card, he would have been done for so his harassing worked rather nicely. "Hit!" he told the dealer again and saw the card he needed just to stay in the game, more importantly allow him to tell the man "I don't even need to think..." which is an absolute lie of course since Bob had more than enough time to do all the thinking on the other player's turn, especially the man he just wanted to piss off just because he could. There was already so many of the high values on the table he could see with the exception of the dealer so he had a chance of getting one of the l- ooh! "See?" Bob asked the man again when he saw he won and took part of his winnings to the side leaving the rest to continue on as long as Vi-"iiik!" That squeal of shock when he felt the finger was just as unsightly as all the victimizing he has been trying to do earlier.

Bob would never admit that he gotten any weaker. Never ever even with that squeal. His time in Sunberth of course which was long after his time in Ravok made him stronger, physically because the weak are easy prey there but he became very paranoid as anyone would be with monstrous people and disgusting ghosts. Even his favorite pastime which was gambling took a hit because pissing off the wrong person could easily turn his victories into losses. One of the reasons why he was so eager here in the Wager to get back into his game. His worries were thrown out as soon as he found out it was Victor and just to make himself seem less weak the way he did with the squeal he answered that "they are a lot more better than those zith girls" while he collecting his mizas. They really were because at least they were not trying to kill or eat him. He was pretty sure that the masses would feel the same even if what they were thinking now is a lot different.

But they already fulfilled their role as Bob's needed distraction since "yes, looking. You think then was enough" for them to catch up? Too many distractions with both of their other friends who did not seem like they liked each other. Forget about friends though because "you got a sweet thing going on here" Bob commented about Victor who was not only a tavern owner but also working in the Wager. From his earlier game he could see that "the people are more fun the ones what we used to fool around with. Wish I got me some of that action." It would keep himself in practice as opposed to Sunberth where he got stuck in a job that was useless to him and had to focus more on surviving than playing. Now it was time for Bob Barton to start again and since Victor was around "what do you recommend?" because when he looked around he could see that most of the games are the normal ones. Hardly expected in the so called city of illusions.

[Victor Lark]

Hesitant laughter rolled through the losers at the table, amused by the winner’s retort but not by the pile of gold beside him. Victor joined them heartily; it was easy enough, with a lingering smile at the ready. A few men rose from the table, eyeing the hall for more profitable ventures, and the rest left them at the present dealer’s request, spurred by his associate’s dismissive wave. They left the table empty, and Victor sat. “A good thing,” he echoed, pondering the words, relishing the irony in his old friend’s jealousy. “You think?”

A serving boy, no older than ten, passed them with two giant mugs of ale in his hand. Victor asked him for two more with a brief gesture, then laced his fingers on the table and glanced at Bob with a shrug. “It’s high stakes here. You could call that fun.” He winked.

Syliran suits were still strewn around the table where the players had left them. Victor dutifully flipped over the ones that had not already been shown, giving an appreciative chuckle to their poor luck. He was beginning to realize the opportunity in the little man before him, his chance to play the Game and win. He gathered the cards, stacked them, and began to shuffle. They would probably not play them; it was a trick like any other, a distraction from the real task at hand. Bob wanted Victor’s life, for some reason. Maybe he had to learn the hard way, like Victor had, what it meant to be ensnared.

The inviting gleam in his grey eyes fell then. In the new moment, there was a forlorn look on the Lark’s sagging shoulders, his wistful brow. He breathed a heavy sigh.

Warnings whispered through the wailing cards as they fell into place beneath his thumbs. Victor shut them up with a few knocks against the corner of the table and set the neat stack between them. “There’s always cards,” he offered. “Or dice. A physical gamble is out of the question, I suppose...” A smirk ebbed onto his mouth as he glanced at the indiscernible distance, as if deep in thought. It remained on his face, strained and sad, as he looked back to his drinking friend. “What of a game of questions? Or riddles?”

The drinks arrived and he obliged the server readily, pushing one toward his guest and taking a long draught of his own. He savored the drink, which was colder than it was rich, and sighed again. His arms were stiff as he brought them to his lap, leaning heavily against his chair’s back. “You choose. I’m tired of these games. I’m tired of this place.”

Sometimes honesty is the best deceit.

[Bob Barton]

What? Did no one like those zith girls? They had those claws and fangs but if someone were to look beyond that and the fur they would be able to see their well endowed body. Of course they would also have to live but that was besides the point, Well worth the risk in Bob's opinion since there might be some interesting things he could do with the wings but he of course preferred to live as well. That was something Bob thought of as...

"A good thing" he agreed. High stakes or not, Victor was playing with another's bank and though "I wouldn't call it fun," Bob saw it as an opportunity to push himself to the brink of the madness which came with gambling while improving his skills without much risk except angering his employer unless there was something more to those "high stakes? But I thought you enjoyed those?" Bob asked smiling knowingly about some of the messes that the both of them have gotten into because of it.

What would actually stop Victor? See? He was already taking advantage of his job and jumping straight into the cards for a game just like he did back in Ravok with his family name. Of course Bob envied the Lark's life. He was here to catch up with an old friend but Victor took the liberty to issue a challenge which Bob would use to get "a physical gamble just for a chance to hurt you" and if he was only in it for the money. But here with the Lark, Bob wanted to teach the man again what he might have already forgotten and what better way than beating him in what he was good at?

"I'll let you choose what you want" he said learning back on his chair's hind legs with a confident smile opposing the other's weariness. Victor Lark tired of the fast life? What a whole lot of shyke because "if you're tired why are you even wasting your time here?" Victor was a real sly one using that since Bob would know that Victor is never honest even when he is and now thought he was trying to hide a good thing from him.

Pushing the coins that he already won earlier in front of him, Bob told Victor that "if we're going to do this we might as well go all the way. No hard feelings whatever the result?" It was only a childish dispute among a couple of old friends, or so Bob thought.

[Victor Lark]

A sigh dipped his eyes to the precarious state of his guest’s tilted seat, an image of deliberation over the idle fidgeting of cards. Victor sat up and edged forward, snaking an unseen foot into the air beside the chair’s hanging legs. He tipped the toe of his shoe against one of them, and pushed it over.

“Of course not,” he answered coolly, even as his foot hooked around the weak wooden bar between the chair’s legs and his whole body jerked with the effort of saving Bob from toppling. In the next moment the chair was righted, all four of its legs to the floor returned firmly to the floor. He spoke through the loud clatter of wood on wood. “No hard feelings. You want my job? You want this life? How much are you willing to bet for it?”

His words were heavy, but he let Bob believe he had lightened his old friend’s mood, if he dared to care. He pushed the cards aside with one hand as his hand dove beneath the table again. From his side, Victor produced an old dagger. It glinted in the low light of the small hall, clearly having been cleaned recently. But why? He set the unsheathed blade in front of him on the table, closer to himself than to his latest opponent. “Don’t know know, Bob? The first rule of gambling is never make the dealer choose.” He laughed, picking up the dagger and carving a short line in the soft wood of the table. “Well, not the first, but that’s certainly one of them, right?”

He slid the item across the table, within reach of Bob’s little arms and pointed to the shallow indention between the grooves of patina. “A game of dares, then. One man makes a mark, and the other must match it. Then that man makes a mark and the game continues. The first to admit his cowardice loses. My job—” He hesitated. “My job, my livelihood, is what I’m putting on the line. How will you match that?”

[Bob Barton]

Oh it was on. Has Victor been so used to the nice life of security that he forgot how to have a little fun and has to deny Bob of his? That sudden landing on the ground which almost got to Bob's tongue would say otherwise. Emotions getting more tense Bob replied that "I don't have anything equal to your job" or life heaven forbid since he only arrived in Alvadas but "how about a season of my previous pay" back when he was in Sunberth which was actually good. Who knew that Bob could use that cheapskate job's pay to his advantage this way? Well he did now.

But that rule? He already knew it long ago and it was his confidence in the games that allowed him to admit that "its true but its not everyday that the dealer faces a Barton" unless Bob frequently visited. Still skills could only get him as far as luck would allow him and skills was what allowed him to have his own pretty dagger and put it on the table as well thinking that it was also part of the wager. It was nice but it might be old as well since it was one that the akalaks always carried with them throughout their lifetime.

It was not part of the wager but it would help when Bob use his obviously superior dagger to make his own short line on the table. "Hmmm..." how is he going to top Victor and put him in a position that he cannot follow? "You already know what I an putting unless you think that is not enough?" Bob asked with a grin when he was done because he knew "you can always back out if you are not satisfied...or bring in more" which means more winnings. But wait, the game already started so that would mean Victor is forfeiting at least to Bob's own logic but he was going to keep that card until later.

He decided to get on with the game first, to test the limits of these dares. After all, the only true way to control the game was to know the rules first. Following that line of thought, Bob decided to follow Victor with carving another line only this one was longer than the last that went right across the table itself. A fine establishment like this should have better tables which do not catch the dagger's tip when it was digging through but it did not change the fact that it was "property damage. I wonder if your boss would like that?" Bob asked hoping to at least get a bit of a reaction out of Victor.

[Victor Lark]

“It’s a deal.” He did not bother to shake on it; in the den of the risk-takers, a man’s word was worth his life and no petty gestures could change that. While Bob’s word was not the most dependable, Victor suspected that he would hold true to a gamble. And if he lost, a season’s wages would put a dent in his debt—or, perhaps, buy the tavern a well-needed upgrade. “A lifetime’s career for a season’s wages. No more, no less.”

He eyed the other dagger as if he thought it was impressive. Flattery got him far in most situations, and did not expect this one to be any different. It did not much matter, to him, how sharp or how pretty his blade was. They all went through flesh, and they all spilled out blood. A dagger was a dagger was a man’s best defense, whatever his rank or prowess. Victor chose to keep to his own. He pulled its edge against the already heavily scarred planks, drawing a line of similar length. Satisfied with it, he flipped his dagger into the air and caught it again. As his hand lowered, his eyes remained ceilingward. A smirk stretched over his lips as he stood, climbing deftly onto the table between them.

The iron of his eyes daring to mark the wooden beam above them, a surface which the dwarf would have some difficulty reaching. He laughed, glanced down and up again, and lifted his dagger to the wood above him.

But he did not make the mark.

Too easy, said Victor’s taunting sigh, as he dropped to the ground and returned to his seat. He was grinning at Bob, clearly amused with himself. Elbows perched atop the table, he waved his hands and their contents in a sloppy shrug. “You’re not afraid of blood, are you, Bob?” The dealer teased, then suddenly and swiftly pulled the dagger over his left forefinger. Bright red bloomed from the fresh cut; Victor dropped the weapon before him with a noisy kathunk-thunk, offering Bob a proper glimpse at the mark he’d made. Then lifted his finger to his lips and pressed his tongue against it, soothing the wound with moist saliva and tasting the salty heat of his own blood.

[Bob Barton]

Pfft...then again, Victor was a Lark and they were more than capable of paying off a little property damage here and there. Heck they might even do some of that on their own accord just to get their kicks. Everyone knew that the Larks enjoyed living in the moment and would do anything to get that experience. His own fault for forgetting that fact but there will be other times to win that lifetime career or scaring off someone into victory with the threat compensations. If everything went right then both would not be too far.

And that might be very true because even if Bob did not suspect Victor trying to use the height problem he experiences to claim victory. In that magnificent yet unneeded motion which only made the Lark look like a glorified "poser." By the looks of it the only thing that comment did was boost Victor's ego, or confidence with that stupid grin on his face. Another way of putting it might be that Bob stepped on dangerous ground because when someone asked about blood with a knife in hand, you know what is coming next.

Especially in Sunberth where Bob has spent two seasons at so "why should I be scared of blood?" when nearly every other day he would witness it spilling. Even as far back as Zeltiva where his uncle tried to force him into being a doctor? Blood of course was the first hurdle to pass in that job and his uncle made sure that was not an issue as soon as he could. However that did not stop Bob from holding on to his dagger properly in case Victor had any ideas.

Ideas that were not self destructive. Bob's dagger echoed Victor's when it clattered on the table as soon as he realized what was going on because "that might get infected!" and so he was lucky that he had his own dagger to use. One that he knew since he got it was kept very well because he did not use it. After a few moments pause, Bob picked up his own dagger and quickly split the skin on his finger and showed it to Victor asking that "I hope you're happy" because he was not.

Now it was his turn. Wanting to get the attention off the dagger's in case Victor still wanted to cut through things, Bob looked around the tavern finally settling on Victor. "How about we try to settle this like men?" he asked putting a fist up front. "It'll be quick he said taking a punch only to stop right in front of Victor because "you're first." What would Victor know about throwing a punch anyway? Hopefully not as much as taking one.

A lot better than sharp, pointy blades at least in Bob's opinion but hopefully not for the spoiled noble. Even if that was not the case, Bob would make sure it will be. While waiting for Victor he shut his eyes. Hopefully the pain would not interrupt him too much because soon, there would be djed at his eyes overcoming the pitch black. When it was his turn, "I hope you're ready" when the djed moves to the other. Building the fear up in Victor as the false punches go closer and closer until the moment before the blow connects.

[Victor Lark]

“Woah, wait.” Victor raised his hands. “I’m not going to hit you. Those aren’t the rules of the game.”

And he was true to his word, at least in that moment. He stood, stepped to the side of the table, faced Bob like the man he wasn’t. The littler man was concentrating on something, and his chosen opponent’s hands drooped to his sides as he tried to discern what. As the fact escaped him, Victor instead resorted to preparing to avoid some inevitable blow, never the initiator. Victor was not ignorant to his own weaknesses, and he rarely gambled on his own fighting prowess. After all, he was working.

There was no way to tell whether Bob’s confidence was an act, but when he finally moved it was with surprising speed. Trained reflex pulled the dealer’s hand to his table; using it for leverage, he vaulted over the oncoming dwarf and scooped his dagger from where it lay. When he landed behind him, Victor turned brandished the weapon before him. If nothing else, it might make Bob hesitate before he charged again.

Victor’s left hand flared out at his side for balance, flushed pink around his injury. A thin line of blood glistened on the blade’s edge. “A bet is a bet, Bob. Make your mark, or lose.”