Luck of the Draw: A Limbus Company Drabble

Luck of the Draw

DISCLAIMER

This story features a mix of canon and non-canon details, particularly in regards to character AU identities. Also, as a novice Project Moon fan, I went light with the more lore/universe-specific terminology so as to make it accessible to a casual/non-fan audience. (YMMV on how successful I am on that part.)

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In District 10's Nest, the J-Corp branch casino is alight and bursting with excitement. On the ground floor, slot machines sing with each spin and chandeliers sparkle with each gentle sway. Civilians cheer or groan when they see the results of their gambling bouts.

Amidst the crowds, small clusters of unusual individuals gather in pockets of the space. One group of these odd folks don colorful Hawaiian shirts; another exposing all their massive bulk; and a third hide their expressions beneath oversized sombreros. Every now and then, one of them would eye the other with suspicion, clutching their weapons tightly, then turn to the back door guarded by a pair of men in suits. Only one thing is certain: Whatever lies beyond that door will determine their fate for the night.

Ascending upwards to the penultimate floor, the atmosphere shifts. Gone are the bright lights and loud noises, replaced with darkness and quiet. A single lamp cuts through the black, hanging over a poker table. Sitting at the table are three men, similar yet distinct in appearance to the strange groups of people from the bottom floor. Cards in hand and chips laid in front of them, they play on.

Emil Sinclair, the youngest, glances at his opponents from under the rim of his sombrero. His brows tense nervously, but he attempts to stay composed. Showing the slightest hint of weakness would lead to utter disgrace or worse.

Heathcliff, the largest, looms over his hand, his round paunch pressed against the table. The man is barely even attempting to hide his frustration, scowling at his personal archnemesis seated across from him.

Hong Lu, the most gaudily dressed, shifts his gaze from his hand to Heathcliff. Unlike his opponents, he plays his cards with a casual flair, his smile unreadable.

As time passes, the chip stacks grow and shrink in tandem with the players' state of fortune. Heathcliff, stubborn and lacking in strategy, comes up short. In contrast, Hong Lu's stacks are tall and numerous. Sinclair, trapped between the two thugs' rivalry, opts to play it safe–doing better than Heath, but not so well as to become a target of his wrath. As the night draws to a close, the winning hand is revealed.

"Well, would you look at that?" Hong Lu shows his hand: a straight flush.

The others gawk at the sight. None of them tried to cheat–everyone present gave their word and took every precaution to prevent it. Yet somehow, through nothing but pure luck, this unflappable delinquent managed to pull the best hand possible.

Heath is the first to protest. "This is fucking bollocks! How the bloody 'ell could you get a hand like that? Ya must be using a wish sticker to tilt the odds!"

The Hawaiian-shirted man lifts his arms, exposing a string of elaborate–but not extraordinary–tattoos. "Nothing up these sleeves, mate. I don't need wish stickers to win, anyway. All I need is luck and skill–two things you've never had much of."

Enraged, the heavyset man picks up his twin battle axes. "Who needs that crap when I can just chop you up here and now?"

Sensing the tension about to burst, Sinclair intervenes. "That's enough, bruto. Just take the L and sleep it off. Last thing we want is more trouble with la seguridad."

"That's right, don't wanna cause a ruckus now, do we?" Hong Lu adds playfully. In his hand is an unsheathed dagger, pointed at the brute's neck.

Heathcliff glares at the others, then lowers his weapons. "Fine. The sooner I don't have to see his cocky smirk, the better."

The situation deescalated for now, Sinclair takes his share of the pot and exits, satisfied to leave the whole thing behind him. With the remaining two left alone, a new sensation lingers in the air. Tense still, yet eerily calming. The nerve-wracking feeling of some hidden confession waiting to arise.

"You're damn lucky I decided to spare you, mate," Heath says. "I easily could've dismembered you and the Mariachi lad."

"Was it luck, really?" Compared to his earlier demeanor, Hong Lu sounds more sincere, almost flirty. "Or is there something else you have in mind?"

After a brief, awkward silence, he answers: "I'm thinking of calling a truce. Between our gangs, that is." His cheeks start to redden, betraying his tough guy façade.

"A truce... between us?"

"Yeah. Between my strength and your luck–"

"Don't forget skill."

"Whatever. If we work together, we'll be unstoppable." Not having thought this far ahead, he adds, "And if Jefe and his maraca-toting lot step on our turf, we'll make mincemeat out of 'em!"

"My, my, I wasn't expecting this from you! If you wanted to ask me out, you could've just said so."

Flustered, Heath blurts out, "The hell are you blathering on about? I wasn't trying to ask you out. I'm trying to talk business, ya prat!"

Hong Lu's grin grows wider. "Whatever you say, big guy. But let's continue this conversation another time, yes?"

The larger gang leader sighs, defeated. "Lunch at HamHamPangPang tomorrow?"

"Now you're talking!" He gives him a friendly pat on the back. "If you forget, you can kiss your life goodbye. Later~"

Watching Hong Lu leave, Heath's heart swells. Dealing with him is frustrating, but the fellow is irresistibly charming. Try as he might, he cannot convince himself that he hates the guy. Cheeks flushed, he mutters, "Good god, I'm losing my damn mind." Despite his reluctance towards his own feelings, when it comes to forming alliances, he very well hit the jackpot.

***

Elsewhere, Sinclair ponders over tonight's events on the way back to headquarters.

Though he always knew the boss of the Tieqiu Crew was brutish, there was something off about the way he behaved earlier. If he truly meant how he felt, the whole night would have devolved into chaos. Yet he gave in so easily. What is he up to?

Then there's the matter of the Tingtang Clan, particularly their leader. He shared a similar reputation when it came to impulse and bloodthirst, but he, too, held back. Could there be something going on between him and the Tieqiu boss?

Whatever the case, he has the sinking feeling that he needs to watch his back from now on.

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AUTHOR'S NOTE

Hello there! Thanks for reading this humble drabble. I wrote this on a whim late at night as a means to push back against a severe creative block I've been having. My other project has been a struggle to deal with, and I was suffering from burnout as a result. So instead of forcing myself to work on it, I decided to focus more on my current hyperfixation and create something new from that.

Truth be told, I made this with the sole intention of making "big boy Heathcliff" a thing, with everything else acting as additional flavor. Heath was originally conceptualized as a henchman/bodyguard working alongside Tingtang!Hong Lu, but then I realized that I was mixing up Tingtang and Tieqiu and had to change gears in response. While Heath shares the title of the TQ Boss, I based his visual design and weapons on the Crewmen NPCs, making him a composite character.

I know the idea of making a canon character overweight isn't everyone's cup of tea, but after years of doing it, I don't expect it to. One thing I like about Limbus Company is that it basically allows for multiple interpretations of the characters within it via AUs, turning the game into a sandbox for fanartists and fanfic authors alike. So even if my specific use of an idea doesn't strike a reader's fancy, if something about the idea itself does, they can take that and tailor it the way they want it.

If you enjoyed this story (for what little concrete plot it has) and want to see more like this, feel free to leave a comment (to fuel my E.G.O!). I also take readers' ideas into consideration, so leave any suggestions if you have any.