Author Games Compilation [Cycle 2]

Task 1 - The Year is Hot [AS]

AUTHOR GAMES: GOLDEN AGE - TASK ONE

The year is hot and moves slowly, bogged down by the sun's beating rays and cold nights, day after day after day - all filled to the brim with nothing but the strain of muscles and a general inclination towards daydreaming whenever attention isn't immediately required. This night is just as cold as the rest, really, but only for those who've got to keep their eye on the top deck. Most everybody else sticks to the stuffy atmosphere of the ship's lower barracks, revelling in the sweat on their backs and the dim light flushing through the browned underneath. Asa does, at least. Asa's always been good at staying content under undesirable conditions, though, so that might just be him.

People beneath him complain and try to unstick the fabric of their shirts from their skin. If they find that tedious, they simply strip the shirt entirely and lounge around bare-backed. Asa thinks it's a fine idea, but the burning cold of the tag on his chest hasn't ever been a pleasant feeling, so he stays rooted up there on that flat mattress and sits through the sweltering warmth. His feet are booted and hang off the edge; his stomach leans into the thin sheet and springs; the bed props an elbow props a chin while the other hand twirls a pencil half the size it should be. Teeth marks litter the thing - how he hasn't accidentally swallowed the thing, he's got no damn clue.

The eraser presses up against his lip out of habit. He rubs it there a moment, thinking deeply before pressing the lead to paper.

Jan 25 1944

Dear Family,

I know you are all probably worried sick about me leaving so far away. I haven't had a chance to write back since boarding, but they say we'll be docking in England tomorrow. Figured I might as well write as late as possible to write the most updated letter before shipping it off when we arrive. I got your letters about New Years'...

"Are you fucking with me, man? You're telling me you've got a straight flush in that hand? Has your ability to bluff properly gone down the hole?"

The voice strikes out and (unintentionally) upwards, making Asa skid a pencil mark through his sentence. A little sigh leaves through parted lips as he stares at the streaky mess - damn shame, they'll think I've gone sloppy on them - but then curiosity filters through his ears, and he takes it upon himself to rest from writing and peer his little eyes over the edge of the bunk.

A circle of three sits on the floor just beneath him, heads either bowed over what they've been dealt or staring at their competitors straight on, eyes hard and penetrating. It's a low-stakes game - Asa can tell by the three cigarettes that are up for grabs in the center of their circle - but they take it all too seriously.

The accused - Lloyd - bites his lip before broadening his shoulders. "Who said I's bluffing? Straight flush ain't impossible. That's why it's a hand that exists. Who's to say I ain't got a straight flush in this very hand of mine?" He waves the backs of the cards in the other man's face, a man named Charlie, and uses his other hand to wipe beads of sweat from under the blonde curls of his forehead.

Charlie cocks a brow, quirking his lip downwards. "Oh? Then you're telling me not to call your bluff, s'that it?"

Momentarily, his green-eyed glance shifts upwards, towards Asa, and the younger of the two ducks behind the healthy abode of his mattress before catching the smile on the elder's chin; what a prick, Asa thinks, no wonder we're such good friends.

Charles Eldridge is a man of dodgy conversation that still comes around to a straight and direct point. It's his own little complex way of things, a systematic wrap-around that goes unnoticed to the man himself. Asa Swan is a man of words that situate themselves in a clever and applicable manner - always against another style of speaking, though, another trail of thought. The two stick like the uniform against his back for exactly that reason, and as such, they've had plenty of time to develop these little smiling cues and eye glance symbols.