The first game ends in victory. And then the second. And a third. Itachi takes his time and slows it down for the fourth. The saké was just now beginning to warm his bones and ease the pain that has bloomed between his lungs.
Yet even as he continues to sip on the cheap rice wine, Itachi knows that he could not afford to relax. He is already taking a chance by leaving his Sharingan off and remaining in the same spot for several hours.
So of course he knows the moment he is recognized.
She sits at the bar, a drink to her lips, sharp eyes watching his every move. Attractive in a unique way - short hair and stylish clothes gave her an image of someone who came from money. By the way she held herself and the style of clothes she wore, he could even guess where she was from - Kirigakure. Â
Nothing he could do about it, however. So he kept her in his line of sight until she made her move. A subtle movement out of the corner of his eye and he watched carefully as she sashayed her way over to the table.
âYou donât mind if I join, do you? Excuse me.â
She plopped herself into the seat next to him, far enough to be polite, but close enough to confirm his suspicions. She buys in and is dealt her cards alongside him.
Itachi leans back into his seat, cards in one hand, and sake in the other. He is the picture of relaxation as he calmly begins to raise and watch the faces of the players around him, including the woman beside him.
Her face is warm and inviting, a picture of lady-like sophistication⊠but something about it seemed flat. Almost like a mask one would wear for a play. She was definitely concealing something, but without his Sharingan, he couldnât tell for sure what it was.
She continues to raise the pot, clearly looking to make this game worth something. Itachi takes a few rounds of checking until she eventually shows her hand by betting the silver broach pinned to her clothes.
Something like that was worth a pretty penny. Something like what his mother once wore. Clean, simple, yet elegant enough to show her status.
His eyes narrowed. She was revealing far too much too soon. What was her end game?
She looks him in the eye when she flips her cards. His seven pair doesnât hold up to her eights, and she smiles in a ânice to meet youâ way before moving on. It feels nice to take his money; he concedes like he has in previous rounds, like everyone in the room is his equal. A laugh tries to creep itâs way out, but it doesnât show on her face.
The broach reenters in the pot, and itâs the same story all over again.Â
"This isnât really our crowd, is it?â she interrupts before he can call, âYou could do a lot better than a broach the next town over.âÂ
Hopefully, he would take the bait. There wasnât much data to go off on, other than the fact that heâd single-handedly murdered his entire family. Nothing about what he liked, or who he was before. Was he violent before that night? Did anyone see it coming? She could understand the pressure of being the firstborn of a prominent family, she knew plenty, but this... Maybe flashing her money was a mistake. He didnât seem to be bothered. Maybe he wasnât a sore loser. That seems like something she would have heard about.
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