[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

[ketterdamn]

"Not many here do. The distraction is worth its weight in gold." Wartime did that to people. He remembers the bedraggled and dazed looks of the Ravkans who managed to make it to Kerch. Refugees, with hollow cheeks and hollower eyes. There'd been similar looks, during the Queen Lady's Plague. And there's always the ones in the Barrel, people who've lost it all or damn near.

(He thinks of water, rising to his ankles, and–)

"If you're offering."

[tender]

His response hints towards something heavier, darker than Derrica had intended. She watches his face for a moment before hooking the handle of his cup and pouring a generous amount of whatever it is in that bottle into his cup. It smells nice. Sweet. Derrica clearly plans to swing from the bottle herself, as there's no extra cup in sight.

"Do you play in pairs?"

A little easier than asking for a follow up on his opinions about distractions.

[ketterdamn]

Whatever she sees, if anything, she doesn't comment on. And for that, he's grateful. The years have done what they could to lessen the severity of his expression any time he thought on the past, but he knows someone with sharp enough eyes may be able to take a guess.

Here, she fills his cup without a word and takes a swig herself, the odd ripple in the conversation steered easily into better places. Kaz sips from the cup, surprised at just how sweet the taste is. Not his usual fare, though he'd be hard pressed to waste it.

"Normally, no. Think there's enough joining in that we could get teamed up." Too many hands and not enough cards in the deck to go around. He can see the dealer waiting for the chaos of people coming and going to settle, counting just how many heads have come to sit.