[Writer's Stash] Stars of Amber
"Skleg!" Though a grizzled word uttered by an even rougher voice, it travelled across the unnaturally still saloon as if it were full of shrapnel. For Amber, it may as well have been.
"I told you to lay down your cards! If you're too much of a chicken to show off your renowned bluffing skills, perhaps I should simply take my winnings and leave!" A large, scarred pair of hands slammed down upon the brew-soaked wooden table, and the coins between them rattled enticingly. On the other side of the table, a figure hidden by a hand full of splayed cards and cheap overhead lighting lifted it's head to reveal sparkling green eyes.
The tension in the air was felt as thick as water, and the small, timid company that accompanied each side of the table didn't dare cut it. Nobody stops a game at such a crucial time; there were at least sixty pieces of shimmering silver on the tabletop, up for either of the two players remaining. The other players had since dropped out, sometimes loudly cursing their luck, and other times sulking away into the darkness. Each time, the large brawny male had laughed in bad taste, and carried on. The other figure had remained silent through the whole ordeal, since the game had begun communicating his moves with simple and well-known hand gestures.
"This guy is pissing me off." Garret said under his breath, his large, powerful arms still un-moved from around the pile of coins. Slowly, the other figure leant forwards, and the room collectively inhaled. Even across the shaded saloon where business was going as usual, it seemed a world away from this betting table.
The soft sound of four card being laid out was heard, and a soft gasp from a nearby patron. "Six hearts, Five to Eight with a Jack kicker."
It was a soft voice, but what followed was anything but quiet. Tense muscles on either side had been waiting for release, giving no time for thought as Garret found this the perfect moment to release some tension. He brought his arms down the centre of the table as to not disturb the money onto the floor, and calmly discussed his views with his opponent.
"CHEATING SCUM! You can't have the Jack of hearts!"The slimy ball of bastard on the other end of this verbal abuse had given himself away and he hadn't yet even shown his full hand!
A quiet cough followed, led by a soft female voice behind the outraged loser. "A-actually, it seems he uh... does."
"No, he CAN'T have the Jack of hearts, because--" At this point Garret rummaged around in his pocket, whipping out a slightly bent card. "I have the Jack of hearts RIGHT HERE!"
A loud thud was heard, along with Garret's wooden chair creaking back as he stood up and replaced his arms around the coinage. He wasn't about to let this slime ball get away with what was rightfully HIS.
"What do you have to say, eh?"
Another gasp followed, and a worried silence ensued. The more expensive bottles were quietly removed from the bar nearby, and a few of the would-be partakers of celebratory drinks were starting to collect their coats and edge towards the exit.
"Funny, that..." Said the soft voice on the shaded side of the table as slowly, the mysterious figure leant into the lamplight, revealing a fair face with a small scar on his lower lip. Probably a bar fight that had previously gone awry, and fairly recent, too - although, it could just as easily have been from that toothpick he was chewing on in the side of his mouth.
Garret shook himself internally. Normally nothing like this would bother him in a fairly average game of poker, but something about seeing this enraging boy for the first time got to him. "What's funny about it, smartass? You're cheating, and this PROVES it!"
A soft flick fills the small space, and the world seems to slow down as an extra card was seen slowly descending towards the table.
"Did I say Jack kicker? I'm sorry, I'm rather new to this..." The young boy leant forwards once more and stood, his hands creeping around Garret's and, therefore, the pile of winnings.
"I meant a PAIR of jacks."
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There are not a lot of people who could beat a cheater at his own game, Garret reflected as he flicked the flint on his fire maker. He lit his paper pipe, took a hard drag and exhaled softly. No, not many people at all.
He'd acted pretty well in there, though; all of the patrons were scared he'd over-react, but believed him when he said he'd gone out to wait for the winner. He smiled at the thought of such a down-to-earth audience would follow along with such a tired narritive. In reality, he wasn't upset about losing his earnings - in reality, he'd only put two dollars into the pot the entire night. The rest he had accumulated from the rest of the players.
Besides, he thought as he took another long, drawn out drag, anybody who could best him honestly DESERVED that money. It's not like he needed it that badly to begin with; his job hauling bags of feed around paid just fine for his lifestyle, and he only gambled for fun. Not like some of those degenerates.
Once more, Garret found himself staring across the street at nothing, whilst his mind's eye had a clear image of the superior card-player's face in it. Who was he? Garret certainly hadn't seen him before, and even in the bar he barely showed himself. There was just something about him...
"It's the eyes, isn't it? Woah, calm down there, champ!"
The coughing, a mixture of surprise and being at mid-drag, slowly died down. Eventually, Garret managed to compose himself and remind himself of who he was meant to be out here. Drawing up to his full six feet (and one inch), he glared at the boy.
"What in the hell do you think you're doing, squirt?" The boy, wearing a dark but decidedly clean brimmed hat looked up at him with a smirk, obviously not scared nor intimidated by the man's composure.
"Oh, keep talking like that and I just might."
"You'd better get on your way before something happens to you, boy." Garret hated resorting to cliché's, but they were classic for a reason. Most of the time, they worked, and he didn't have the time nor inclination to deal with some... confusing twenty-something year old piece of nothing right now.
"And what, pray, would happen if I didn't? What if for reasons escaping my verbal capacity, I decided to stay here?"
He winked. He f*cking winked. Who WAS this boy?
"Listen, if you don't get your scrawny ass out of here, I'll--" Garret was interrupted by the softest hand he'd ever felt grasping his own. He was vaguely aware that this was a hand-shake, but his mind was mysteriously clouded at the moment.
"My name's Amber, nice to meet you too. You can drop the act, by the way..." Looking both ways almost comically, 'Amber' leaned in with his cocky grin and whispered louder than he was previously speaking. "I'm pretty sure we're alone."
Garret's tongue, for once, had failed him. All he could do was stand there with one hand at his side, the other being held somewhat firmly by the young boy in front of him. He could see a rosy edge to his vision, and as he pushed his brain to think of something threatening to say, all he could muster was, admittedly, pathetic.
"Uh... my name's Gracion, most people call me Garret."
"Nice to meet you, Gracion."
The way the name rolled so perfectly and eloquently off of his tongue made Garret's heart skip a beat. None of this showed on his face, at least he hoped it didn't, as he tugged his hand back and turned away from Amber, leaning once more upon the supporting lumber around the back of the saloon.
"Yeah, whatever." he muttered, as he tried to get his brain back to some working order. Though, he did have presence of mind to add, in a sly tone, "Enjoy your winnings."
"Oh, don't be like that," Amber replied, joyfully leaning up against the same beam at a ninety-degrees away from Garret. "You know you could have won that if you really wanted to."
Garret turned his head just enough to glance out the corner of his eye at the boy's face, which was smiling up at him again. He hurriedly turned back to his street-gazing, which was currently other-side-of-the-ally-gazing. He was watching the smoke roll from his lips as he considered his next move.
"Huh, I don't know what you mean. You cheated, and won. I don't care, either way."
"Now THAT I believe!" chimed Amber, in a tone that made Garret wish for the silence in the bar once more. "You're here for the same reason I am, and if I'm not mistaken, you found it."
Was that a giggle? Did this guy really just GIGGLE? Guys don't giggle, that was as clear and plain to Garret as the sky was blue or the ale was watered down. He wanted to walk away, he COULD walk away, but entertainment was scarce in these parts, which is why he took to gambling in the first place. He took another drag, and took his time replying.
"Yeah? And what's that, exactly?"
"It's simple, Big Guy Gracious." Amber shifted his position, and as Garret glanced, he was turned to face the same direction as the larger man, leaning with his shoulder to the wooden support. "You found me."
Garret turned and kicked up some dirt for dramatic effect. "Just what in the hell do you mean by THAT?" he said, with genuine curiosity and offence. He even threw his ash-laden stub down to the ground and stamped it out.
For the first time, Amber backed down slightly. He stood up straight, looked at Garret's clothes and spoke more softly, evidentially choosing his words carefully.
"What I mean is... well, I've not been in this town long. I've got a lot to learn, y'know? But I've been travelling with some family and recently I've had to make some money. I learned what makes people tick, yeah? And you, my friend, can't survive without a bit of... entertainment."
It's at this moment Garret realises that the cute, juvenile boy in front of him had one hand subtly on his hip, and the other playing with the toothpick in his mouth. He still hadn't looked up, but with the way he was phrasing his words, Garret knew roughly what he was insinuating.
"I... listen, I don't know what you may or may not have heard, but I'm not up for any amount of cheap whores. Go take your business elsewhere, boy, you're too young to be a salesman of flesh." Garret turned back to his gazing, and enjoyed the crumbling architecture of the opposite building.
For a little while, that's all there was - the soft breathing from the two bodies, accompanied by the ever-droll sounds spilling out from the saloon's remaining patrons. Even with the candle-light bleeding out into the night, neither men were easily seen from any position that wasn't directly across the street - they were relatively concealed, at least that's what Garret had intended when he had come here. Before this... intruder had come into his space uninvited. What right did he have to even be here?
He turned, and pointed a finger threateningly. "Okay, time for you to lea-- uh... "
The threatening went unheeded by the empty street that was presented in front of him. Amber must have slunk off, he reasoned, like the greasy weasel he appeared to be.
...Suddenly the allyway seemed somewhat uninviting and cold. Garret shrugged and stepped back inside the salloon, the images brought forth by the young, handsome man still burning brightly in his mind like hot coals.
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