Hellfire ✞ a.f.i.

2: lurker

I wanna hold 'em like they do in Texas please,
Fold 'em, let 'em hit me, raise it baby, stay with me
LoveGame intuition: play the cards with spades to start,
And after he's been hooked, I'll play the one that's on his heart.
Poker Face; Lady Gaga

                     "No, Michael, I mean it. I don't think you should have more than two drinks, tonight." Eden rolls her eyes playfully at her blonde best friend as they draw nearer to the Fremont Hotel.

         "Okay, but, wait, hang on. Define two drinks for me, please," Michael insists, reaching out and tugging on her wrist to stop her mid-stride, eager casino-goers pushing past them on all sides, "Two shots? Two beers? What are we talking?"

         "I don't know if my gut feeling gets that specific, Michael. Mix and match, just don't go past two, I suppose." Eden laughs, shaking her head.

         "Does your gut have any feelings whatsoever on what drinks I should order or avoid?" His eyebrows raise, waiting for a genuine answer.

         Michael often gets this way when he's stressed out. Everything has to fit right into place, or he risks experiencing a panic attack. Eden could tell Michael had been on edge all day at the fortune shop. They had planned on going out and gambling at the Fremont for a few days now, and now Eden hopes that it will serve to cheer him up more than anything. She hasn't yet gotten the chance to ask him what's bothering him this time. For some reason, he seems much more attentive of Eden's lucky gut feeling than usual. Yes, Eden's intuition is typically unmatched, but it isn't always perfect, nor is it always detailed.

         "I feel like it's a good rule of thumb to avoid tequila, perhaps." Eden giggles, starting to walk again, her ocean-colored dress catching the Vegas lights and reflecting them like fallen stars across a midnight sky.

         "Fair enough." Michael nods, shoving his hands into the pockets of his slacks, following Eden closely, just diagonal to her left side.

         "Oh, shit!" Eden groans, pausing to dig through her small clutch purse. After rifling through her bag for a few seconds, she sighs in exasperation, obviously unsuccessful in her search, "Do you have a lighter, Michael? Of course, I have my cigs in this purse but not a goddamn lighter."

         "I got you." Michael nods, pulling his silver, engraved Zippo lighter out of his pocket and tossing it gently in her direction. 

         Eden snatches it from the air. She places a cigarette gently between her teeth before flipping the lighter open and igniting the stick. She tosses the lighter back to her anxious friend and exhales deeply, allowing the smoke to unfurl across her cheeks.

         "Remember, just stay at the main table and do your skill-based shit. I'll stick to the slots, tonight." She winks at him, the red neon light now bathing her in an ethereal, almost hellish glow.