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[OPEN] deal me in
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.
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.
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He takes his hand. "For your sake, I won't hold my breath."
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"No, I think your assessment is the right one. I'm also reasonably certain there are a few tragic poets out there who might be envious of such a novel description."
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Cities, or poets?
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Your turn.
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"Are you familiar with the translations of La Comtesse de Séces? Her translations are likely the best." He assumes she doesn't know Orlesian, at least, not well enough to read poetry in it even if she wanted to.
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"I'm not very good with names. Has any of her work been put to music?"
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"Are you asking me to sing?"
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"If you like."
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"As I have no reason to dislike you, I'll spare you the travesty. Have you ever heard If Ever Two Were One? I've heard that was popular in Trade."
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"I should have guessed the words were written by a woman of some means. That entire second stanza--" A click of the tongue. "Well, it's not really a song for the public house, is it?"
She lays a card, draws another.
what game are they even playing, waves hands ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
"I will admit the Trade translation is somewhat... bawdier," Mhavos says with a chuckle, "but it is fashionable for Orlesian nobles to write eroticism under a nom de plume. There are entire books of erotic verse-- not generally committed to song, though."
He lays down his card, matching hers in suit but not number, before drawing another.
fake fantasy card games is what
Beside the pair, she begins a new branch on the tree - matched in color, but neither suit nor number. The points are less impressive, but she's of a mind to follow up on it on her turn next.
"Tell me - are you a poet, serah?"
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He lays down another card on her branch, twisting it into a new shape.
"I appreciate poetry. I also appreciate rivers and oceans; I do not wish to be a fish."
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A card, a dagger laid down at the terminus of his branch, closes that particular path of play.
"Or is that something near to asking you to pick a favorite raindrop?"
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"Callum Nettling." He says it quickly and easily; he's known his favorite poet for a long time. "He only writes in Trade, but his attention to both meaning and form are beyond question. I've never read a poet who better serves those two masters."
He lays down another card, a new branch off the base of their twisted tree.
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Let no one say she is uninterested in a thorough education.
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