Nameless (a King Dice x reader ficlet)

Nameless: By Song_Birds

     The Devil's Casino constantly reeked of liquor, smoke, and the suffocating scent of flowery perfumes. It was a smell that King Dice had learned to bask in; to let seep beneath his skin and haunt him like the ghost of some long forsaken soul. There was an ease to his trade; a comfort that could only be found within the iron vice of wealth and mischief as the floor was lapped and deals were struck. Cheers would ring out every so often, applause and hollers following soon after as a seven was tossed on the dice or an underdog racehorse managed to pull ahead of the pack.

     Dice often found himself slipping beneath this veil of chaos, soaking it in like a lover to another's touch. It was a gentle sort of embrace; one that he had grown familiar with. Though faces changed and time passed, most nights looked the same as the one that had preceded it: Liquor; smoke; perfume; laughter; applause; repeat. The snap of cards against felt tabletops and the soft click of chips brushing against each other was enough to send his head reeling, taking it all in one hour at a time just to do it all over again.

     He liked to keep his focus on his work.

     Contrary to popular belief, Dice was in no way a "ladies man." Sure, he could be. He'd been pestered and prodded and plagued several times by several women to just loosen up a little bit; to let himself go. He didn't like the idea of "letting himself go," though. He may just forget himself that way, which would be rather detrimental to business, if he did say so himself. No, he'd wait and see where Lady Luck took him. If that included a beautiful woman, then so be it.

     Yes, Dice much preferred to just stay in the pit ; Stay in the pit, play the game, and enjoy himself. Very few were ever given the option to live a life such as his, after all, and he was going to exploit it until every last intoxicating moment had given all it had to offer him. Every last drop of luxury this life could spare, all his, tossed at his feet and left at his mercy. He could pick it up; stomp on it; step around it. It didn't really matter what he did with these splendors..as long as they were his.

     Perhaps this is why he had felt so drawn to you...you were a luxury he didn't have. A luxury he couldn't possess nor enamor. He'd tried –by God, he had tried– but you just weren't having it. He'd played every card he had to try and sway you: Charm; suggestion; abrasiveness; everything. Nothing worked. Nothing ever worked.

     You'd started coming into the casino on Friday nights. Friday nights at exactly eleven o'clock. You'd never been late, and he had never missed you upon your entry. How could he?

     Just look at you.

     The silken red dress you seemed to have such an affinity for hung from you like water, trickling down your legs to kiss at your ankles. Every step was as graceful as the last, swaying you to an imaginary tune Dice was simply dying to hear. Your neck was always speckled with faceted diamonds, glittering in the dim light as you would take a moment to shrug off your pearly white shawl, back arching slightly before hanging the garment up on the rack near the main entrance. From there, you'd slink to the bar, seating yourself with a smile to whoever was manning the counter that night. It was in times like this that Dice wished he were someone a little less important than the casino's manager; to be a simple tapster in exchange for that sickeningly addictive smile. From there, you'd order a glass of wine; You'd drink it; You'd leave.

     In all honesty, you were a terrible customer.

     What kind of person comes into a joint like this to have one glass of wine and leave? No gambling, no drunkenness, no late-night companions (which Dice was rather thankful for). Just...a glass of wine: Red, almost black in color; Dry; Rich.