[OPEN] deal me in

[unshut]

WHO: Fitcher + you and also you
WHAT: A weekly card game
WHEN: At some point every week, without fail
WHERE: The Gallows
NOTES: Catch-all mingle space; threadjacking encouraged and time is an illusion. Threads are not required to have anything to do with cards or even include Fitcher; may be before/after the game etc. No rules, just right; get your banter and gossip on.

There are really only two rules to play at Fitcher's table: you mustn't be a bad sport, and come prepared with conversation.

In theory, an invitation and the lady in questions presence are also required but both those guidelines have been broken: anyone who shows up in the the dining hall on the right evening who displays any interest in the game being played at one of the tables earns themselves an invite; and at least once Fitcher has appeared, slung back a single glass of wine, then announced, "I've work elsewhere tonight, but I expect a full account of all that occurs," before disappearing into the night.

It's sometimes loud and it's sometimes quiet. There are nights where more drinking is done and others with only a single shared bottle. Sometimes there are enough players to warrant splitting the game and sometimes it's just Fitcher, lying out a spread for Solitary as she smokes from a pipe and occupies herself with a little evening bookkeeping.

It's pleasant. It's a good distraction. One should never think too hard about these things.

Comments

[unshut]

"Why serah, we are as peaceable as lambs this evening." This as Fitcher turns up one of the unused cups on the table, gesturing for the bottle-- "Pass me-- ah there. Good lad." --and filling the cup accordingly.

It is quiet, due in part to the fact that they've strayed this night from Wicked Grace. Having to pause to think has, she finds, a tempering effect on most things.

"Are you familiar with Hen's Head, Mr Silver? I've just lost my partner and could use a fresh replacement."

[hornswoggle]

"Does it go by other names?"

John levers himself down onto the bench across from her as he speaks, eyeing the cards with interest.

"I'm willing to lose a few hands getting familiar with it, either way."

Hard to say how truthful either statement is. John's willing to play, at least. Willing to lose? Actually unfamiliar? Who knows.

[unshut]

"I believe it's sometimes called Euchre in Ferelden. I am willing to be your mentor of course, but you must swear that you will rally before we are bankrupted. I'd prefer not to leave with an empty pocket tonight, as I owe a small sum in a Lowtown gambling house at present and was hoping to work it off here among friends."

With a nod to the other pair of (painfully anonymous and definitely not just placeholders) players about the table.

"You and I are to be partners in this, sir. I trust you to apply yourself."

[hornswoggle]

"Well, you're in luck."

For a given definition of luck.

"I'm a fast learner."

And someone willing to cheat at the drop of a hat, though John is obviously not volunteering this information. He taps his fingers at the table, watching as the cards are shuffled. Fitcher's eyes are bright and sharp, and her easy confidence seems to John a sign that there are far worse partners to have.