Crimson and Clover

No Paths Are Bound - Part 2

It takes one word from San Lang for everyone in the Gambler's Den to up and leave. It takes a blink of an eye for the croupiers to become one with the shadows they're born from. It takes Xie Lian an eternity to take his husband's proffered hand and walk down the stairs to the main floor under the watchful, familiar eyes of the stranger who dared to challenge the god of fortune himself.

"Well?" San Lang growls as they pass the man by. "What are you waiting for? Sit down."

The stranger does so without a word, but his eyes never leave Xie Lian. It is... difficult, to be seen. He's been a shadow for centuries, the person everyone looked away from. Even San Lang's attention, one person that he is, takes getting used to. How can it not, when his husband has only ever seen a whole universe in him? The beginning and the end, the reason for living Xie Lian so selfishly requested of him. It will take time to temper that feeling; the time Xie Lian is looking forward to, the time he'll tear out of eternity with his bare hands if he must. It will take time, but it will be worth it, for it is an experience he will build together with San Lang and remember it.

"Cards or...?"

San Lang snorts as he often does whenever he deems someone's wit insignificant. "Dice. Who do you take me for?"

Xie Lian is keeping his hand wrapped loosely around San Lang's arm, but his eyes are on the man in front of them. Only because of that he sees a scowl flash on his face. It tugs at his memories like a rabid animal, insistent and relentless, but it's not enough to yank them back into his grasp. But he leans closer to his husband, and San Lang, in turn, wraps an arm around his waist and picks up a pair of dice from the table with his free hand. The scowl comes back to the stranger's face, but this time it stays there as he looks at them both.

"High or low?" San Lang asks in lieu of a croupier. They're still present, hidden in the shadows. When light falls upon them at a certain angle, their eyes shine amidst the darkness. But this game is not for them to assist with—this is San Lang's theatre of one actor, a dance of luck he himself controls.

He holds the tides of fortune in his hands and weaves them into a tapestry of his own making.

The man's gaze flits from him to Xie Lian and then back to him as if the answer is written on their faces. It is not. In fact, there is no answer, because the game has been won before it even began.

"Low," he decides.

"High will be a loss, low will be a win. Once the cup is open, there will be no going back." It's a customary phrase Xie Lian has heard from the croupiers. Now, spoken in San Lang's deep, emotionless voice, it becomes an invocation to a ritual that transcends the custom the same way a god transcends mortality. "Now please."

He puts the dice in a cup and gives it to the man. It takes him a while to accept it, and then even longer to stop turning it around in his hands and muttering something unintelligible to himself. His behaviour is familiar in the same way his eyes are – like a childhood memory of a thing seen once and then promptly forgotten, like an itch impossible to scratch. Xie Lian leans forward and ignores a curious glance his husband throws him. This is a puzzle, links to untangle, but their number is endless and for once he doesn't have an eternity to spend on solving this riddle.

The man stops fidgeting, shakes the cup and slams it onto the table without additional fuss. San Lang takes it from his hands. The dice stay on the table – a three and a five.

"Congratulations, you rolled eight." San Lang grins and swipes the dice up. "My turn."

He shakes the cup and puts it down gentler than the man did. Then he squeezes Xie Lian's waist and picks the cup up.