eyes on fire [o]

[hook ¿]

Orwell didn't understand the point of this game. Neither did Kristoph, who he allowed to surface for a few minutes solely for the sake of finding out what was so enjoyable about gambling for all the other patrons of this establishment.

He'd played at the slots, then put money on dog races, and finally sat down for a few games of blackjack. So far, there was nothing enjoyable about this. Kristoph, unsurprisingly, was keen to leave and go stab somebody. Orwell put a quick end to that.

He tried having a drink, under the theory that gambling wasn't an activity meant to be enjoyed sober. It didn't make throwing money at a roulette table any more entrancing.

Still, he put a few coins on black--because he was ahead, and it was somehow very hard to quit while ahead.

[2tsunz]

Sabina had returned to the scene of her defeat to avenge herself. If you'd asked her point blank, she would have insisted that it wasn't a defeat, that Ignatius succeeding where she had failed was proof that there was nothing wrong with her calculations, only her method of execution, but the very fact that she was back was proof of the fact that she knew she had lost. Winners didn't ask for second chances.

She'd also picked blackjack instead of poker. Blackjack was much easier to cheat at via math in theory. But theory was where Sabina did most of her work. The bartender slid another drink in front of her--courtesy of the gentleman by the door, ma'am. Now that she was here alone, she'd resorted to handing out drinks to strangers. It was untraditional, but she suspected it went over better than her meager attempts at small talk. As her father had always reminded her, everything besides science counted as out of Sabina's element.

Sabina lifted the drink (cosmo, garnished with orange peel) and put it front of the person next to her.

"Would you like it?" she asked.

hook ¿