To outside eyes, this looks dire. He's won everything I've betted so far, the last three turns in his favor. He barely notices the crowd starting to form around us, everyone pausing to watch the monarch themselves fail at their own game. Prying eyes watch our every move, at the smallest flinch of my wrist they stare and watch in awe. I'm acting flustered, slipping as he grins and laughs at each spin. I'm mumbling curses and avoiding eyes, pushing more and more chips onto the board. If this was a normal game, he would quit now and walk home rich. If this was a normal game, I wouldn't bother playing.
If he wasn't drunk before he is now, a light blush over his face and a slight slowness to his movement. His shirt is unbuttoned, revealing a bit of his chest as he watches me play. It's not hot in here, but he's laid his jacket over the back of his chair, brushing his hair out of his face each time it falls back down. He calls the passing waiters to give him another shot and places it on his tab, sounding more and more arrogant each time. I note that the tips of his ears glow the same pink as his face, soft and just barely noticeable, becoming more and more prominent each time I look.
The glass marble is placed into the wheel again, fast and heavy as it decides where to rest.
Again, my chips fall into his hands and join the growing pile. Mammon's full of himself now, members of the crowd throwing arms onto his shoulder and cheering him on, not a single demon wanting to watch him fail. It's been a while since anyones tried to challenge me, and for them it's always fun to see things change. He remains safe, keeping his money and gaining more, everyone's eyes moving to me for my turn.
My hand shakes a little as I push new chips into place, meeting his eyes and managing a small smile as the dealer spins the marble.
"Sinners luck, nothing else." I say, watching him as starts to sip a new drink. He flashes teeth again as he smiles. He cheers as the marble lands, making a show of my fourth loss. I try to say something, but get drowned out as he meets lusting eyes in the crowd. He blows kisses and winks at people he's never met, men and women alike swooning at the sight.
I'm barely three feet away from him, his features softley highlighted in the colored lights. After he's done playing with hearts he moves back to the game, plotting his turn.
Quietly, he whispers plans to himself, and I can almost hear his thoughts. A comment here, a promise there, a cocky prediction hidden under his breath.
Thinking he's gotten to me, thinking he's won the war. I always enjoy that part, when they think they've gotten control of the board. I can tell that they're focused and confident, masters of their own fate in this small moment, the music dimming in their ears as more and more money is risked. It's...entertaining, to say the least. I can see those thoughts run through his head as he calls the next bet, all or nothing. Everything about him is always all or nothing, he's either there or he's not, he'll decide on the way.
"It's such a shame our little game is coming to an end sweetheart" he chuckles lightly, getting full of himself. Drunk on alcohol and adrenaline, the crowd's energy and applause fluffing his power trip.
"Be a doll and guess already, we have an audience" I laugh with him, playing off the edge in my tone.
"Oh no need to be sour, just cause you're losing doesnt mean you need to be a bad sport" he's teasing, trying to provoke me.
"Sweet as candy, low on patience. What, afraid you'll lose? You've come so far" I reply, looking him in the eyes.
"Lose? Hah!" his laugh is cut off as the dealer gives him a ten second warning, reminding him he's still on a time limit.
He's being cocky, fast and confident as he places more pieces down, every chip money spent as he tries to avoid careless mistakes. He takes a piece of everything, after all, he has the money, finishing just as the dealer waves her hand over the board. I stare at the scene, different piles here and there, individual bets mixed with rows. He didn't take black, and I note with disdain that it's a reference to my loss streak earlier, a new cut of my money given to him each time the color lost me a round.
I can't help but feel a pit of nervousness grow in my stomach, what if I manage to lose this? It's my style to play the loser, acting afraid and unsure until the very end, but this feeling of dread is something new. I've never felt this before, always on top of these games. Fooling my opponents when they think they have the upper hand to only be knocked off their high horse with my trump card. I've never lost a match, so why am I doubting myself?
Finally, the dealer laughs and places her marker down on the space that was spun.
"Four, black, even."
Dread fills his face as we both meet eyes. I won.
-End of chapter 1
