Drinks all around, or maybe just for him (Murdoch)

[Daeva Timandre]

87th of Winter 510AV Tag Doc! “Hit me again.” There was a rustle of movement then the sound of a wooden cup slamming against the wooden counter. Cold liquid swished around in the mug as slender blue fingers raised it to an akontak’s lips. She downed it in three gulps. “Again.” “Miss, are you sure you want to drown yourself in wine? I’m sure there’s more produ--” “Are you sure you want me to shove my suvai up your ass? Again.” Nystir chuckled half-heartedly and obliged, filling the worn mug to the brim and sliding it over to the woman who sat impatiently in her seat, one finger tap tap tapping away and occasionally chipping off corroded wood. This time, at least, Daeva attempted to ration her drink for it to last longer than eight seconds. It wasn’t worth it, not when there were men in this world that held lecherous stares and couldn’t keep their pokers in their trousers. The cup slammed against the counter once more. “Fill the pitcher, I’ll do it myself.” She barked. “As you wish, m’lady.” When he returned with the heavy pitcher, he set it down beside Daeva’s cup. “Might I inquire as to the reason for your palpable appetite to the wine, tonight, m’lady?” “It’s what I call ‘wasting time.’” She said, with a smile.

[Murdoch]

There was a rumble of cursing and a few groans from one corner of the room, and a single man's throaty laughter rose above it.

"Sorry gents," Murdoch said, scooping up the silvers he'd won at tonight's hand of cards. "Looks like your luck is better spent on the sea than on the cards. Better to you next time you're in port, eh?"

There was another chorus of rather unkind words as Doc made his way across the tavern to collapse in his favorite chair at the bar. He blinked for a moment as he realized that Daeva was not a Konti, as she'd looked from the back with that white, white hair - her skin was blue, and wasn't that a strange thing? He recovered quickly, though, and between one moment and the next no one would have guessed that he'd been caught off guard. "Funny how they don't seem to enjoy the game as much when I win," he said, shooting a carefully-closed lip smile first to Daeva and then to Nystir as he simply plunked the entirety of his winnings down on the bar and shoved them towards the owner. "No one plays for the love of the game anymore," he said with a sigh, as if it pained him that this might be true.

He tapped a finger to the bartop and pulled another two silvers from some pocket somewhere, fingers too quick to reveal the location. "A pitcher of ale, friend," he said with a nod to the bartender. "We can't all chug wine like the lady here."

[Daeva Timandre]

Daeva glanced over to Murdoch, the cup an inch from her lips. “A handful of swears is better than a shank in your gut.” She said, returning the grin with a demure smile of her own. Rarely had she seen a human male in the city of Akalaks; she’d always assumed they avoided the place because they were afraid to compare sizes. “So you’re a gambler?” She asked, curiosity and the influence of the wine taking sway over her words. She didn’t give a damn. Another cup down the gullet. Then she grinned to herself, her white eyes boring into the pitcher of wine sitting an inch from her hand. “I’m sure a poor man would share his love of the game if he won some coin too.” The akontak picked up the pitcher, poured more wine, took a sip then continued, “My name is Daeva, if you’re curious.” “I never knew a human to have the balls to put themselves at stake in a game with these apes.” She said after a moment of pause, a finger tracing the rim of the cup, “But it’s refreshing to see someone not so blue. And this wine? Tastes like zith-shyke but at least it gets the job done.” Glancing over her shoulder to the rowdy men crowding the corner of the tavern, Daeva asked inquisitively, “So your love of the game. Can it be taught?”

[Murdoch]

"Daeva?" the man said, as if tasting the word on his tongue. "Well. A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Daeva. Most people just call me Doc," he said, touching a fingertip to a temple in mock salute. She would notice, then, that the nails of all his hands were black - the darkest black, as if they'd been stained with ink though his skin showed no such sign. It wasn't dirty - no, more as if they were made of something else entirely, like the oil-slick iridescence of a beetle's wing. "And it's not about being rich or poor," he said, leaning just a hair closer and glancing around the room to make sure none of the employees were within earshot. "Sure, I could put the coin in my purse and claim them as my own. But should there be trouble, should one of those big blue bastards decide to go with a shank instead of a cuss, well, Nystir has no real reason to see to my safety, eh? Just another patron, and an ale-loving, gambling human reprobate at that," he said, his smile twisting into something that was at once wholly charming and utterly self-depricating. "If he gets my winnings, though, he's a stake in my playing. It's not about being rich or poor, and it's not about having balls. It's about being smart. What coin I turn over, it's a shield, you see? And if my fingers slip between standing up from the table and sitting at the bar, well, I doubt he'll hold it against me," he chuckled.

He paused to down a few gulps of ale, refilling his glass from his own pitcher as she asked her question. "Can it be taught? Ah, now," he said, leaning his elbows on the bar and giving her that dry twist of a smile. "No one can teach you the love of the game. That's something that comes from within you," he said, reaching to point a finger towards her chest but surprisingly careful not to touch her. "I can teach you the basics of the game, a few strategies to help you along, maybe even," he said, voice lowering as a spark of amusement lit his muddy hazel eyes, "a few ways to keep a card up your sleeve, hmm? But the love of the game? That has to come from you. The delight in holding a hand of gems over trees, the slick, quiet satisfaction of knowing beyond a doubt that your opponent is looking for a card you possess. The musical beauty of the coins hitting the table, of the man across from you sighing or grunting or tapping a finger, whatever his unconscious indication that he doesn't even know he's doing that tells you you've won. The winning - ah!" he laughed, sucking in a breath, and even that laugh was low and throaty. His voice had become almost sing-song, quiet and fervent, as one would whisper of the gods, of sex, of all things sacred and forbidden. But still that dry smile stayed in place, charming and compelling and always just a little sarcastic. "The victory sets your blood to spinning as surely here as it does in battle, for it's just a different kind of war. Of subtle moves and blank faces, and your prayers are sent to Ovek instead of Wysar. If you love the game, there is nothing in the world like being the victor. But I cannot teach you to love it," he chuckled, reaching over to lift her own wine jug and refill her cup for her - and there was something in the motion that had nothing at all to do with being gentlemanly, and everything to do with habit. "I can teach you the game, and tell you why I love it, but the rest? Well, darling, that's up to you," he said, smirking over the rim of his mug as he downed another gulp or two of ale.

[Daeva Timandre]

“The pleasure is all mine, Doc,” She replied with a wily smile. His words were oddly addicting. And petch it all, how he had a way with words. Daeva was hooked, listening to him speak was one of the better events in her entire life, and her hand, once preoccupied with simply holding the cup of wine idly on the countertop was now invariably lifting more of the alcohol to her lips. It seemed she was hanging on every word he spoke. “You’re one of the more fascinating humans I’ve met, to date.” Daeva said, “Your own love for this game would make me assume you were alluding to some long lost love across the sea. You’ve got guts, you’ve got balls, and you’ve got brains. But what you have most is a witty tongue, and it works. It works damn petching well.” She grinned, “What a charming little gambling thief I’ve stumbled upon, the best teachers, I say. So let’s see it then. Teach me this game, and I’ll let you know when I start loving it. And if you need enticing, I may have a coin or two in my shirt somewhere.” She accepted the wine with a smile and drank, “And maybe you’ll even allow me to see you in action?”

[Murdoch]

"Thief?" he murmured, as if insulted, and even went so far as to press a hand to his chest in affront. "Tsk, tsk, nonono, my new friend. I am simply a man of opportunity. Let no one hear you say otherwise," he said, playfully wagging a finger at her.

At her request to learn to play, he nodded and refilled his own mug. "It would be my greatest honor to teach you, Daeva," he smirked, tapping a black fingernail against the bartop as he considered. "Which game would you prefer? Portraits is by far the easiest, and I'm sure you could pick that up within a few minutes. If you've a mind to learn a true gambler's art, then Stammer and Blush is your game. There's a good deal to learn with that, but if you've a keen mind - which I've no doubt you do - you can pick it up with a bit of practice. Here," he said, pulling his battered, much-abused deck of cards from his pocket. "Are you familiar with the cards in the deck?"

[Daeva Timandre]

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Daeva said with a wink. Are you flirting with him? Citlali asked, incredulously. If you have to ask, then you obviously don’t know your way around a man. We have more important things to do than swoon a man over in a bar, Daeva. Daeva ignored her sister, finding no need to explain herself to her, although she felt Citlali prying for answers in the back of her mind. What was important to the Akontak was learning the way of the game, and, to a far lesser yet increasingly prominent note, take advantage of Doc’s willingness to teach. “Let’s start with Portraits. But I must admit that I’ve never held a deck in my life.” She scrutinized the cards in his hand, finding nothing familiar about them, other than they were generously man-handled for what seems to be either months or years. “No, afraid not. You’ve got a newborn here ready to soak up the information.”

[Murdoch]

Doc chuckled at the wink, and twisted in his barstool so he was more fully facing Daeva - to better facilitate the teaching, of course. The cards were quickly twisted and shuffled about in his hands, and within a few breaths he'd pulled a few specific cards and laid them on the bartop, then fanned the rest out.

"Well, the first step, my eager young pupil, is to know what the cards are, and what they're worth. Now, you can probably find a dozen different deck designs in this city alone, much less the rest of this gods-forsaken land, but they all follow the same general pattern. Once you get that down, the rest is just a matter of details." He paused for a sip of ale, then nudged four cards to the forefront. "There are always four suits, though what those are can change. This is an Ahnatep deck that I won off a sailor, so you're not like to see these around Riverfall. The suits for this deck are Palms, Skulls, Swords, and Water," he said, tapping the last card, which had four water droplets etched into it. "Every deck has cards one through nine - see?" he said, pulling out a few more of the Water cards to indicate the different number of droplets depicted as well as the numbers painted clearly in two opposing corners.

Those cards were pushed back into the general pile, and the first few cards he'd pulled were then pushed towards her. "Each suit also has what's known as high cards, and these will also differ with each deck. But each suit will always have four. For this deck, the highest card is the Pressorah," he said, tapping a delicately painted card of a woman with six scarves emerging from a pool of water. "Then the Sceptor," he said, showing a black sceptor with a skull instead of a jewel, "the Hawk," now touching a red hawk clutching a sword in its talons, "and finally the Jackal," he said, and the final card showed a dog-like creature staring out from amidst a bright green pile of palm fronds. He'd purposely chosen one from each of the suits, but if she looked at the other cards she could easily see that there was also a Jackal holding a skull in its mouth, and one drinking from a pool of water, and a final one pinned beneath a sword.

"Here," he said, pushing them towards her with a smile. "Have a look through, get used to them. Arrange them into suits if you like - sometimes that helps," he chuckled, taking up his mug of ale once more and leaving her to it, though muddy hazel eyes stayed on her the whole time. "Any questions?"

[Daeva Timandre]

Without being aware of the movement itself, Daeva leaned in closer to Doc, with her eyes practically plastered onto the cards he held in his hands. The wine-filled mug, however, never left her fingers. She nodded occasionally as he spoke of the different sets of decks, and of the suits that he now displayed in the form of the water clearly depicted on the card. “So far, I’m not lost. Hopefully this will continue into the more extensive lessons.” She set the mug down after a long gulp and flipped over various cards that Doc had offered her to scrutinize. She touched the worn painted symbols and figures, mentally repeating them to herself as she went along. Pressorah, Scepter, Hawk and Jackal. One, two, three four, highest to lowest. Then she went on to the numbers, one through nine, and arranged them based on the suits that were on each corner of the card, with the Skull-suited cards stacked in the front of the row followed by the Palms, the Swords and the Water. After she was satisfied, she took a long swig from her wine. “I think that about covers my extent of organization. You mentioned the four from highest to lowest, do the suits also come in high to low? And if so which is which?”

[Murdoch]

He watched her go through the cards, studied her the way she studied them, and the occasional unseen smile tilted one corner of his mouth. There was a mystery there, something he'd seen, the tiniest flicker and then gone again, but he was a patient soul and he'd figure it out. Enough to learn just watching her.

God-touched, this one - no, not this one, not exactly. He tried to figure it out as she began organizing the cards, and it took him the entirety of that time to finally come up with it. It wasn't until Nystir came to check on the state of their drinks that it occurred to him: it wasn't only the blue skin she'd inherited from her father. Two, then. That was why she was harder to read than most. He quietly glanced down to the mark on her wrist. A bridge yet unbuilt between the two? Hard to tell. He had learned a good bit in his weeks in Riverfall, but this was a whole new exercise in interpreting what truths he could see and deductive reasoning. Which he was quite enjoying.

When she finally stopped to swig her wine and turn her attention back to him, she'd find him watching her with a sultry little smile on his face, as if it were a pleasure simply to gaze upon her for that time. "Oh, there are games which give preference to suits, but in general there's none that's more important than the next. In Portraits," he said with a chuckle, reaching over to gently take the cards from her hands, "it doesn't matter a whit. Now! For the rules of the game."

He separated the Skulls since she'd put them on top, and spread them out along the bartop with a quick flick of the wrist. "The only real thing you must know for Portraits is how much the cards are worth. The numbered cards are worth their face value - the four is worth four, the seven is worth seven, and so on," he said, giving a sudden grin as he teased her just a little. It was the first time he'd bestowed upon her his full smile - dazzling and dark, revealing teeth as black as his nails, the same shimmering ebony as if his teeth were made of onyx instead of bone. "The first three high cards are worth ten points," he said, pushing those up a little to separate them from the rest, "and the highest is worth eleven."

He raised an eyebrow and gave her a few moments to absorb that before he gathered the cards up and, with deft fingers and little attention, began shuffling them thoroughly. "The game is simple. Suits do not matter, only values. You are dealt two cards - one which only you will see, and one which everyone will see. The goal is to get as close to 21 points as possible without going over," he said, holding up a finger to emphasize this. "You may ask for more cards by saying 'Gift', but if your cards add up to more than 21 points, you must fold and call yourself out. Now, you may stop at any number you wish," he said, dealing each of them a card face-down, and then another face-up. Daeva was graced with a Jackal as her down card and an eight of palms facing up. Doc's visible card was a Hawk. "However, you must know that I, as the dealer, cannot bet until my hand totals at least sixteen. The strategy, then, is to decide when you should stop, and what to make me think you have. For instance, you have an 8 showing - which is a good card for you if you have a high card under there," he chuckled, glancing at her secret card. "You could stop there by calling Halt, which ends your betting and freezes your hand. And if you do have a higher card, it's dangerous to ask a Gift since it might very well put you over 21. But you also have to consider what I have showing - a high card, which means I might have Portraits, or a high card and the Pressorah. Or I might simply have two high cards, which is the next best thing. You see? The game itself is simple, just get as close to 21 as you can without going over. The strategy of it can be as complicated as you're willing to make it," he chuckled.

Another dry smile framed his mouth, teasing once more, as he waited for her to examine her cards and decide whether she would take a Gift or Halt.