play your cards right

re: execution

He could have fucking cheered when Retriever punched Theo; it’s something he’s wanted to do himself for a while now. But he doesn’t, instead watching, riveted, as they trade blows, breath caught in his throat. He flinches when the cane pops out, barely, and watches Retriever go down.

Christus.

Before he can do anything, though, Theo says- that. Kneejerk reaction. He slams his hands on the table and stands. “Don’t you touch him!” he spits, “I’ll kill you, I’ll-” And Theo just walks away from him and he shouts, “Get back here! If you touch him I’ll fucking kill you–” with enough force that it runs his vocal chords raw and his voice breaks. It takes all the restraint he has not to run after Theo.

A pause. Breath is heaving in his chest. He looks like - hell, he feels like - he could actually murder Theo and fucking finish the job. There’s a raw wound in his heart that’s open and bleeding again.

Seething, jaws clenched, he turns to look at Retriever’s corpse. And slowly, with his thumb, he wipes a spot of hot blood off of his face. “Christus,” he whispers.

Carefully, deliberately, after a moment or two to cool off, he says, “Seventeen secrets. Sixteen players… and Theo.” As if that means something. He’s thinking, and hard. And still looking at Retriever, he says, to the corpse this time, “You’re the goddamn bravest one here.”

And he stalks out of the room.

re: results

He’s hardly moved a muscle. Hell, he’s hardly even blinked. But now it’s time to vote. What to do? He finally stands up, one of the last to go, and goes to Theo. He leans in, and whispers, “Eat my dick.”

Then he practically drops back into his chair and stares into nothingness for a little while longer. He hardly reacts to the results, or to Retriever’s words, or anything.

After a while, he finds his voice again, quiet and a little raspy, and he says, “Couldn’t ask you to die and not expect it of myself, too,” he says. And really. If Retriever deserves it, right here and now, then he himself deserves it too. The only difference is he didn’t quite hit hard enough. He’d made up his mind on this one well before anyone said anything about resisting or whatever.

“Es tut mir Leid.” And there’s nothing else to say, really.

Trial 3.10 | Re: Retriever

He gets it. Bad memories dredging themselves up, not leaving you alone, haunting you day in and day out? He gets it. He almost says something, something to reassure Retriever, maybe, but the words choke in his throat.

And he’s thinking about how, if he’d just been a little braver, if he’d had the guts to just go through with it and finish the job, maybe Tank would be alive, and Retriever wouldn’t be facing his own demise head on. Maybe it should be his own neck under the guillotine - he doesn’t have a death wish, but maybe it would be fair.

But he’s a coward, and doesn’t say anything.

(And hey, Retriever’s facing this bravely. What did he himself do last night, turn and run?)

So he sits there with his fingers laced in front of his face, eyes red, and stares silently at the table, and waits for the bitter end.

Trial 3.9 | A Casino in Nuremberg | Re: All

“I’m not deranged!” Nines snaps, “There’s nothing wrong with me! What do you know about me? Nothing! None of it! But you’re right. I’m weak. I’m too weak even to kill him!”

He stands, pushing the chair back behind him with a screech. He slams his hands onto the table, and in a hard voice he starts talking.

[♫♫♫]

“You want to know? Start here. Two years ago, at 2 in the morning on the Ninth of April, outside a casino in Nuremberg, Nikolas Verstael stabbed Adonis Adler in the back.”

“When Adler tried to fight off his assailant, Verstael fell down the steps and broke his skull. Both men were rushed to hospital. Adler survived, and Verstael died. Easy, right? Verstael was the aggressor, Adler was just defending himself.”

“But before that, both men had been in the casino all night. Verstael had played conservatively – low risk, low reward. Adler, though, had been drinking heavily, and played more and more aggressively. He pushed stakes higher and higher, and won every single game. He made more money that night than he’d made in the past year.”

“Finally, Adler and Verstael met at the same table, and Adler was aggressive. Both men ended up putting their life savings on the line. Adler won. He won, and he rubbed it in Verstael’s face, and then took Verstael’s money and bought the most expensive booze he could find. Half an hour later, both men were bleeding out in the street.”

“So who’s fault is it? Verstael stabbed Adler, but Adler provoked him, right?”

Nines rubs a hand at his face; he’s started to cry, angry tears burning hot streaks down his face. His accent is gone now, replaced by a received British accent.

“You know what they said afterwards? That I got off free because I’m an Adler. Because my family’s so rich and powerful, that the jurors were too afraid, or bribed, or something. They didn’t care that I’d been cut off for years! They didn’t care that I’d been thrown out onto the street, that I’d made my own goddamn money scamming people in casinos! They didn’t care that I hadn’t been allowed to even see my brother – my own brother!” And he’s weeping openly now, voice broken and raw.

“We held each other through two long years in a cold orphanage in Russia and I wasn’t even allowed to see him anymore! The Adler family didn’t give two shits about me-“ He slams his hand against the table again- “So what did they have to do with this?”

“All the court cared about was whether I murdered Verstael or not. And they decided I didn’t, and I don’t know why, why, why.” He stops, breath heaving and ragged.

“Who was it? One of you asked if it’s hard to make a living off of poker?” He laughs a bitter, sharp laugh. “It’s so easy. It’s so fucking easy, if you don’t have a heart. You make your money by fucking with people and taking theirs. That’s it!”

“It’s so easy, until someone dies and you catch feelings. Don’t you see?”

“I took everything Nikolas Verstael had and then I killed him.”

Weakly he sinks back into his seat. “I haven’t sat at a poker table since. Every time I do I see him. I see his face. And last night… Last night, I really tried to kill Orion. I really did. But the first hit didn’t kill him. I had to hit him again, or stab him, or something, but when I tried… I saw Verstael. And I choked.”

He puts his elbows on the table and his face in his hands, and these last words are mumbled and muffled. “Mother was right. I’m weak. I’m a coward. I can’t even kill someone right.”

#ch 3 #in the game #>:)

Trial 3.8 | Confession | Re: Schrödinger, Agaricus, Arsène

Nines’ poker face has finally shattered, and with his jaw clenched and anger in his eyes he wheels on Schrödinger, Agaricus, whoever’s closest. “Fine! You win, old man.” he exclaims, and then to the rest of those assembled, he says, “You’re right. I tried to kill Orion. I was scared. I didn’t want to die! Can you blame me for that? The nightmares were getting worse – he wouldn’t leave me alone, kept telling me I’d die too. I had to do something!”

“It almost worked, too,” he says, voice going almost-manic, “If I’d known the old man was so rabidly anti-England he spelled shit wrong, it would have worked! I got Schrödinger so fucking drunk he wouldn’t even remember his own name, but that worked out so much better than I’d expected. In the process, I got him to show me his handwriting – he picked that stupid phrase, but whatever works, right?”

Something odd is happening to his voice as he talks. It’s like his accent is… falling apart. Certain sounds that have been commonplace until now – a v instead of a w, a z instead of a th – are getting skipped here and there. And if you listen closely, his accent almost sounds… British?

“I used it to fake that note, and then once he passed out I carried him to the parlour and left him there so that he’d see this mess when he woke up and think he did it. Then I slipped the note to Orion, waited for him to show, and then I hit him.”

He flexes his jaw, inhales sharply. “But he didn’t die. I didn’t feel any vaccine. So I went to hit him again, but…” His gaze drops. “I saw his face. And I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t kill him. I couldn’t do it again.”

Trial 3.7 | Re: Schrödinger

Nines stiffens in his seat. Colour’s just starting to bubble up in his face, but he turns to Schrödinger all the same.

“Of course I-”

He cuts himself off mid-word and glances quickly between Agaricus, Miss Carmine, and Maestro, the three he’d been with during their investigation. “Someone told me about it,” he said, “I don’t know who. I’m fucking tired- Don’t talk to me about knowing this or that, old man, you can’t even remember trying to kill Orion.”

#in the game #ch 3 #oh you know

Trial 3.6 | Re: oh, you know

Nines looks like he’s about to rip out both Maestro and Arsène’s throats with his bare hands.

“If you two idiots are so interested in my balls, you can choke on them after this is over. I didn’t kill Tank - so maybe figure out who did.”

Trial 3.5 | Re: Retriever, Carmine, Arsene, Orion, ...

Wow, okay, accusations? This is new. Nines’ eyes narrow, although his face remains rigid otherwise. But maybe that rigidity says something itself, and someone watching Nines very closely could see the muscles in his jaw tighten.

“I didn’t kill Tank,” he says, “Don’t say stupid things. She was- I don’t know, she was like a grandmother to me. She was nothing but kind to me. Besides, what would I have strangled her with, my tags? They're on a chain-” he holds them up and jangles them over the table “-which would leave a nice distinct bruise, I think. Or cut her. I don’t know, I’ve never strangled anyone.” He allows a stray glance at Retriever. “It’s either Retriever’s word or Fräulein Carmine’s, unless anyone else can prove where Retriever was last night.”

And then he turns to Orion. “Fine, you’re right, I threatened to break that keychain, and I’m not sorry it’s broken. I’m only sorry whoever broke it only managed to break the chain and not the stupid little noisebox itself.” He pauses for half a breath. “I didn’t brain you in the parlour. My handwriting doesn’t even match the note. It wasn’t me.”

Trial 3.4 | Re: Agaricus, Maestro, Carmine

It seems Agaricus is throwing the proverbial ball back to Nines, but unfortunately he doesn’t have much in the way of a contribution. “Ja, I was in the storage closet. It was a mess when I got there.” He shrugs. “Don’t ask me what happened to it."

He turns back to the catfight taking place around him, something much more interesting in lieu of input from Luna and Retriever. "So Fräulein Carmine did it? Fucked Schrödinger up and framed him for murder? Or tried to, anyway. I can get behind that.”

He looks at Carmine, now. With one hand he turns his dog tags over in his fingers, fiddling with them while he talks. “Obviously you only spent time with him so you could frame him like this. If you don’t have anything to hide, just write some shit down on that paper. Give us an autograph and let’s get this settled.”

Trial 3.3 | Re: handwriting meme, Miss Carmine

Nines takes the paper and makes a face as he jots down the phrase. His nice cursive handwriting has been released into the wild, and now everyone will know. He slides the paper along to the next person.

“I don’t see why we’re doing this,” he says, “Obviously Schrödinger got himself blackout drunk, and took a swing at Orion. Then he passed the fuck out in the parlour, I guess. Case closed.” He looks at Schrödinger as he says this.

Anyway, he looks at Miss Carmine and frowns at what she has to say. “Agaricus said she found pillows and blankets upstairs. Like someone was sleeping up there, right? And… Tank was thrown overboard into the courtyard, right? So if you saw someone come down from upstairs…” He makes a gesture with open hands, as if the end of that sentence is perfectly obvious.“

Trial 3.2 | i keep fucking up the numbers on these post titles | Re:Maestro & Agaricus, mostly

Nines hasn’t seen the note and frowns at Maestro’s explanation. “Sphinx of black what?” he says, “Whatever happened to the quick brown fox or Victor jagt zwölf Boxkämpfer?” Honestly.

He turns to Agaricus. “A handwriting test? Like, we all write something down and see who matches that note? Fine, sure, do you have anything to write with?”

Trial 1.1 | Re: idk everyone

Nines has gone from looking shell-shocked to looking bothered, unhappy, and maybe a little distracted. Little wonder - he thought he was rather close with Tank, and now… she’s gone.

He sits leaning forward, his elbows on the table, his fingers laced in front of him. His face is set and unreadable, the definition of a poker face, as he listens to the others begin to talk. There’s a million things he could say to Theo, but it’s not worth it. He’s tired.

“That’s pretty convenient,” he finally says, directed at Schrödinger, “You’ve completely forgotten smashing Orion over the head. Plausible deniability or something, right? You’ve got a few screws loose, man; too bad there’s not a mechanic around to drill it into your head.”

Well, that’s an open and shut case. He turns to address the room in general.

“I was in my room all night,” he says, “Trying to sleep. And not having much luck of it, either. Cheers to Theo’s weird drugs for that one.”

heavy | open

#in the game #ch 3 #maestro

thegrandmaestro‌:

Maestro’s a little miffed that his Incredible Semi-Self Own went unacknowledged, but he gets over it quickly. He frowns at Nines’ suggestion that the poison might just be normal ass poison, and also at the reminder that, right, Nines might die soon. There’s an immediate visceral reaction to the thought, like a punch to the gut that almost makes him miss the next thing Nines says. He blinks, confused.

“<You thought that was just my personality? That… does explain some things, I suppose…>”

To be honest, he’s almost offended, but he musters up enough tact to keep himself from addressing it. Especially since it’s obvious that Nines is in a… very not great place right now. Sure, it’s a different poison this time around, but Maestro remembers lying on the cold floor of the Aggregate Gambit room with nothing but his anger and the steadily materializing reality that his days were numbered. It felt shitty. Nines feels shitty, and Maestro doesn’t know what to do about it.

But he can’t just sit there doing nothing. Tentatively, he shifts closer, reaching out to hover his hand over Nines’ arm with a feather-light touch before letting it rest completely. He’s still tense, poised to move away at any moment if it turns out this isn’t the right decision.

“<… It’s an awful feeling, I know… I’m sorry.>”

There’s no real point in apologizing, but it’s all he can think to say.

Nines rolls his eyes; he can tell he’s just offended Maestro. “<I didn’t know anything about you. Besides, I hated you already, remember?>” It’s said lightly. Those feelings have passed. He doesn’t really know what his feelings are now - are they friends? Sort of, he supposes, in an oddball way.

Maestro might feel the muscles of Nines’ arm tense at the touch, although he doesn’t immediately move away from it. (Really, he’s had hardly any physical contact with anyone in weeks, and even this is almost nice.) After a few seconds though he changes his mind and sits up, which knocks Maestro’s hand away anyway.

“<Nothing for you to be sorry about,>” he says, “<It’s my own fucking fault. I should be the one apologizing to the others. Me and the old man, but that’s never gonna happen.>”

heavy | open