peter pfeiffer

"Lying Odysseus replied, 'I will tell you the truth completely.'"

[leepackett]

"You're fucking shameless, man," Lee replied, throwing a handful of hay at his friend. He was right though. Lee would choose dropping into his parents house to tuck into the feast she was always cooking any day over Taco Bell. Even high. It was a perk that came with having a mother who's soul purpose was to look after the pack. "But of course she is. Just don't be weird like last time."

[peterpfeiffer]

Laughing, Peter swatted the airborne hay away before it could hit him. One stray straw made a home out of his hair, but their colors were so similar it was almost impossible to tell.

"Dude, I wasn't weird last time..." Peter insisted, but the trailing off of his voice said otherwise. "You'd've done the same thing if it was your first time eating artichoke. Right there in the name! Artichoke. How was I supposed to know you didn't swallow it whole, huh? And I only kissed your mom two times too many too near the mouth once after she saved my life, because the second time was an accident on account of the wonky chair leg and you know it, since I was only stuck in that seat because you won the coin toss."

[apiratereject]

Mari narrowed her eyes at him, her hand retracted after he’d all just given her a high five instead. “So, you’re telling me if I give you the money, and then I go to Stinky Saul and tell him I just paid you what he owes you, he won’t immediately try to cut me like a fish?” she asked. “Because honestly, I’d be very curious to know how Saul feels about cutting him out.” 

Mari scoffed at the idea. “You know, I could just cut your hand off now and then Saul wouldn’t have to do it for you when he finds out you tried to con me out of my money. Might even forgive my debts.” She looked down at her knife as if seriously considering the idea. “Or, I could give him someone else’s hand and say it’s yours and get out of my debt that way.” She paused. “No, because then he’d see you next time and you’d still have two hands.” 

[peterpfeiffer]

"I'm telling you if you give me the money, and then you go to Stinky Saul and tell him you just paid me what he owes me, he will thank you--no, praise you--for your thoughtfulness and generosity, Mari. I'll even knock a quick hundo off the top." He had a soft, honest face when it suited him as it did now. "Because we're friends, and it really was a community good I did. The fucking reek of that place when the line burst. Peeeeeeheeew. Who else was going to do it?"

In an effort to avoid any loss of limb, he occupied his hands holding his nose and fanning the air between them. A moving target would be harder to hit, though he did now also run the risk of losing a nose, too. Time to change tactics.

"But if you really don't believe me..." Both hands raised in surrender. He took note of their number: two. Incidentally, it was the same amount of hands he wanted to have at the end of this conversation. "I have the receipts."

[leepackett]

Lee, obviously, hadn't slept. He loved a nap as much as the next bloke, maybe even more, but weed would always have the opposite effect on him. Restless, stupid, giggly. Whilst Peter had been slumbering away on the hay like Sleeping Beauty, Lee had been up and down, occupying himself with whatever stupid idea he had after another. He was starting to get hungry though, and was just about to shove Peter off the hay bale when his friend woke. "'M fucking starving." He declared, an answer, without a solution.

[peterpfeiffer]

“We could go to Taco Bell,” Peter supplied. The old leather wallet that hung halfway out of his bluejean pocket was thin with lack. A fiver and his ID, maybe a stained business card from an illegitimate business he'd changed the name of sixteen times. It was flimsy and far from full, so Taco Bell was about all he could afford. Lee, however…

“Unless you think your mom might be cooking something up?” Peter forced a believable yawn and rolled his neck until it cracked. He flexed his fingers so they would pop too. “It’s really no difference to me, but I would feel bad is all. If she set you a plate…” He tilted his head back to look up at Lee, but the sun that silhouetted him was blinding. Peter pulled a long piece of hay from the tightly wound bale and stuck it between his teeth, which tasted like nothing as he chewed.

[apiratereject]

Mari had a steak knife out in the blink of an eye, the rusted metal probably more terrifying due to the potential tetanus hazard rather than any sort of slice it was unlikely to yield. “Hey!” Though upon recognizing the familiar face, she was quick to lower the weapon, though she still clutched it in her hand.

She scoffed. “As if,” she said. “I owe Stinky Saul money, but I definitely don’t owe you anything. If anything, I’m pretty sure that you owe me something.” She held out her hand. He didn’t owe her anything, but Mari found that if you were confident enough about it, people were more likely to believe you. Fake it ‘til you make it, right?

[peterpfeiffer]

Peter's palm connected with her outstretched hand making a resonating, deep clap as he low-fived the gesture for cash away, and preemptively angled his body further from the dangerous end of her rusty knife, and the capable hands that wielded it. He was pretty sure he didn't have health insurance. Or, for that matter, all his shots. If any.

"Well now wait a minute... that stinkin' son of a bitch never paid me for the community good I did in hooking his plumbing back up after the storm. So," leaning his whole body into the word he continued, "that money you owe Saul, Saul owes me." His eyes flashed to the knife and back, but he grinned, friendly. "Don't you just hate middle men? Let's cut him out."

[peterpfeiffer]

@apiratereject

The salt-worn pier planks shuddered unassuringly under Peter’s full weight and that of his muddy, untied work boots when he jumped down from the roof of the ramshackled fish and chip shop. A few shingles hit the ground with him, and a clattering of nails, most of which fell between the pier planks into the sea.

“Hey, woah. Mari–“ He cut off her path, spreading his long limbs wide. Peter stared at her hard from behind some too-long strands of sun bleached hair, greasy, trying to place a memory that didn’t come. “Don’t you owe me money?”  Just as likely to be the other way around, but he would be stupid to admit it. Lowering his arms to cross them over his chest, Peter considered the last time he might have seen her, calculating how likely it was he would be slapped across his sunburnt face. One half of his mouth turned downward. Or even take a knife to the guts.

[peterpfeiffer]

@leepackett

Peter stretched out across the pile of hay bales he had occupied for the better half of the afternoon, yawning. He swung the bill of his hat, once low over his eyes blocking the blazing sun, to the back of his head and propped himself up on his elbows, craning his neck for Lee and relaxing into the bite of the hay when he saw he was still there.

“Must’ve dozed off.” Peter patted behind both ears, checking for a joint, then looked all around his indent in the golden hay. All he found was a black spot of ash and a hole burnt straight through the bale. He stuck a finger in. “Reckon it’s time to eat?” There was a hopeful note in the ask. The last time he had been invited to Lee’s for supper, he gorged himself on flaky crusts and braised beef, sauces that made his mouth water even now. Yesterday he’d eaten 2-for-99c gas station hot dogs. The rumbling in his stomach seemed to repeat the word yesterday.

[screamingspector]

Zyrynd eyed Peter, studying him. He studied his overconfidence, the same overconfidence that people had when they were on a roll at the casino. He was definitely the sort of person who would find himself in situations that were way in over his head. Zyrynd could see the greed in the other man. It was something he was willing to take advantage of.

See, some might wonder why loan sharks ever bothered to lend money out to desperate, down-on-their-luck people. What were the chances of getting that money back? Wasn’t that just a loss? However, Zyrynd knew it was far more beneficial to have some debt to you, because they didn’t just owe you money, they owed you everything.

Zyrynd didn’t even bat an eye when his opponent doubled up. “Double or nothing? I’ll take that bet,” he nodded as he then pushed forward another neat stack of chips, looking over at the other man waiting for him to do the same. He smiled calmly, no real tell of whether he was confident or not on whether he could win.

[peterpfeiffer]

Like swirling wind over great plains, Peter's hubris met Zyrynd's opportunism and formed a vacuum through which Peter was about to be sucked up and spat out so, so far from where he had begun the day. His finger lifted off the pile of chips, all his winnings and then some, and his deal with the devil was done before Peter had even realized he'd entered into one. Like a game of chess, it was over before it was over, one move leading to the inevitability of the next and the one after that all the way to check mate.

Peter mistook the warning signals in his gut for excitement and went boldly and blindly into the bet, grabbing his cards up with a slap of his palm against the table, staring their numbers and symbols down like they were a bomb to diffuse.

It was a terrible hand. Fuck, it was a terrible hand. There had to be a way out of it. The other man's could be worse. It would be worse. Peter forgot how to swallow and held the last of his drink, sweet with liquor, in his mouth for too long before remembering again.

Thankfully, lying was his mother tongue. "How confident are you feeling?" Peter goaded. He kept a lopsided grin on his face and licked at the corner of it, thinking fast. He pointed to the growing mound of chips. "Cause I was just thinking, well... I guess that's a nice prize if you're a man that's easily satisfied. I'm not. Can tell you that for free. See, me? I could go two of three and really walk away with something to brag about." Peter was only thinking about the two more chances that afforded him to get the spark of luck back that had just flickered, not the debt three times what he was worth he'd be in if he lost. He could not see past the high, or the hope gambling lured him in with. This time, it's different. This time, something's on my side. This time it'll work out, you'll see. This time I'll be a rich man. Same thing he told himself every time. Unfortunately, lying was his mother tongue.

"I'm good for it." He was good for nothing. "Trust you are too."

[apiratereject]

when: 5 february 2024 where: bar, port grave when: @peterpfeiffer

“…And then, can you believe it? He tried to stab me. Me,” said Mari, shaking her head. Sand and salt shook loose from the curls that seemed to be permanently imbued with the beach and sea. “Anyway, I stabbed him instead and took this.”

She held up a ring. “How much do you think I can get for this?” she said. Far be it from her to appraise anything, though there was a significant lack of shine that seemed to hint that it was made out of something cheap and dull. However, that also didn’t mean she wouldn’t dupe someone into paying far more than what it was truly worth. She had to survive somehow.

[peterpfeiffer]

Peter was already squinting from the four pints of lager and three-fourths of a joint he'd smoked, so when he leaned in to inspect the ring he all but closed his red-rimmed eyes trying to get a better look. "Hmm." Deep in thought, or at least appearing to be, he rubbed his chin. To this angle and that Peter tilted his head, inspecting. Sometimes he'd pull back, his brows would raise as if he were opening his eyes wide, but they would remain slitted and heavy.

Finally, settling on amount, he leaned back so hard in his bar stool it tipped dangerously far, hovered a moment away from catastrophe, and then slammed back down on all fours. "Shine it up and take it to bloodsucker town with some story about rare sunblocking properties. A stone mined on the solstace from the highest peak over the hottest valley. Getcha two k, easy. Three if you hang on to it 'til July."

[screamingspector]

Zyrynd looked almost amused now. He watched the man buy a round of drinks for everyone there. It was the stereotypical mark of a winning streak. He was sure he had done something similar in his past. Although nowadays, when he bought rounds, he did it purely to show off his enormous wealth.

“Seems foolish of me to get involved when you’re clearly on such a roll. It’s like inviting bad luck, but another round?” Zyrynd said as he put his own ships in, pushing them forward. He remained as calm and cool as ever. That was half the secret to these games. People who got over excited gave themselves away. Those who remained collected were harder to read and harder to beat in a bluff.

[peterpfeiffer]

"'Another round' man asks!" Peter howled. He guffawed. He smiled like his face had been split with an axe. "That's my middle name. Peter 'Nother Round' Pfeiffer." He was actually more commonly referred to as Peter Hey You Little Shit Come Back Here You Owe Me Money Pfucker, but that didn't win him many friends at the tables, so.

Peter eyed the bet Zyrynd had placed, and eyed his own pile. His fingers danced across the felt of the table, tap tap tapping at the speed his brain was misfiring. Peter saw him as a deep well of gold, and the bet he'd placed as a meager percentage of what there was to take. The gold was a magnet that drew Peter in. It was the fabled X on the treasure map.

He put a finger on another stack of chips but didn't take it off, and cast a friendly, inquisitive gaze Zyrynd's way. "Hell, why don't we go double or nothing this round?" The tip of his finger burned on the tall stack of chips he itched to push forward, thinking about how good it would feel to win them back and then more.

[screamingspector]

It would surprise no one to learn that Zyrynd didn’t just frequent the casino for leisurely purposes (after all, whether he won or lost, what was a couple thousand sunk or earned to a man who had a lucrative criminal empire), but also often conducted business there. Usually he would meet to collect on debts, ironically so as it seemed the casino was where people went to sink themselves further into the money pit.

After having sufficiently broken someone and put the fear into them, he sat down at a game, putting down a bundle of money that was quickly switched out with chips. He pulled out a cigarette, lit it up, and joined the game.

Zyrynd had mastered the art of having a poker face, but he couldn’t help but find the man next to him rather annoying. It was that sort of arrogance that often lost people their money, he knew.

“Yes, I did happen to see that,” he said, a slow stream of smoke left his nostrils as they flared ever so subtly. “I hope that luck keeps up,” he added conversationally as he was quick to summon a waitress so he could order a drink.

[peterpfeiffer]

"Thank you! Oh. Oh, hey! Hey, hey." Somewhat frantically, Peter waved a hand out at the waitress as if to stop her, but she hadn't been turning away. "I'll take one of those too. And, uh, hey. Hey, youse two." He looked at the couple to his side. "Drinks? Drinks. Yeah they'll have a couple. On me on, on me." Peter slapped a hand on Zyrynd's shoulder and gave him a beaming, wide and open mouthed grin. "On me, man." He looked like the type to have a lot and spend a lot. Maybe even the VIP table type. Peter wouldn't mind a seat at that game.

"Pay it forward," he was rambling. Even Peter was not listening to himself, and he didn't really expect anyone else at the table to be either. "Pay it forward, that's what I always say." He had not even said that once, not in any of the several languages he could have said it in.

He won another five grand and yelped as he pulled the mound of chips toward him, like they burned to touch.

[peterpfeiffer]

December 2023 Wail of Fortune Gambling Parlour @screamingspector

After winning a whopping $10 on the scratch off ticket he bought every time he dropped his brother off to work at the Gas Station, Peter could hardly deny that luck was on his side today. Not every scratch off yielded results. Statistically, most didn't. Had to be a sign of fortune favoring him that this one would. With at least eight hours to kill he thought to himself, Fuck it. Might as well, right? and deliberately drove his rusted out van past the exit that would have taken him to the trailer park, home. The old beater rattled and clanged, hitting potholes Peter sped over right to the casino parking lot.

When the engine powered down it made a sigh that sounded like it was not long for this world. Peter slapped one hand affectionately on the dash, with the other he felt around blindly in the back for the handicap parking pass he had for his medically diagnosed laziness and chronic liar syndrome. Both, he was told, were terminal.

He hung it on the rearview mirror, between the fuzzy die and air freshener that had not given off scent since sometime in early 2014, but the woman on it was tastelessly nude so it seemed a shame to toss it. "You wait here," The side of his fist bumped the hood of the van. "Papa's gonna buy you a new coat of paint."

Before he knew it he was 45k up at the Tails table — a card game so named after the sirens who were just as likely to lure a man to his death — and delirious with glee. He wrapped a long arm, surprisingly strong from manual labor, around the man next to him as another 2k came his way. "Did you see that?" he boasted too loudly. "Did you see that? Wheeeeeeew!" Peter whistled, pointed, hugged the man tighter to his side and suddenly let go to push the hair back from his eyes. By now, it stuck up at a hundred angles. "Every dog has his fucking day!" Woof, he barked. Woof woof.

[orlaithrose]

Orlaith [10.37pm]: put on your armbands, you'll be fine

[peterpfeiffer]

seen 10:37

[orlaithrose]

Orlaith [10.22pm]: well then. it depends on how lucky you're feeling tonight. and if enough of the time is enough to cover all your vital limbs. Orlaith [10.23pm]: and if you cut something off, put it on ice and get to the hospital fast

[peterpfeiffer]

PETER [10:25PM]: aye aye captain🫡 PETER [10:25PM]: iceberg, right ahead!

[orlaithrose]

Orlaith [10.16pm]: no offence, but you don't sound like a very good gambler. those are terrible odds

[peterpfeiffer]

PETER [10:19PM]: for your information I win at gambling all the time. PETER [10:19PM]: half the time. PETER [10:19PM]: enough of the time.

[orlaithrose]

Orlaith [10.05pm]: that depends on how experienced you are with power tools, peter Orlaith [10.05pm]: and how high you are when you're doing it

[peterpfeiffer]

PETER [10:009PM]: assume very high now and for all future reference to be safe PETER [10:12PM]: I’m more handy with powerless tools, brother included PETER [10:13PM]: but I have successfully driven a tractor before and I feel lucky tonight

[orlaithrose]

Orlaith [9.35pm]: hang on, i'll ask him Orlaith [9.42pm]: he said 'fuck no' Orlaith [9.43pm]: which i'm relieved about quite frankly because he's too tall to look anything but stupid on a moped

[peterpfeiffer]

PETER [9:51PM]: that’s not the response I wanted, but it IS the only respectable response PETER [10:02PM]: as a nurse, what is your official safety warning on taking power tools to the boot on my tire? good chance of landing in the ER or moderate chance of landing in the ER?

[orlaithrose]

Orlaith [9.18pm]: i could have read that thing a hundred times and i still wouldn't be able to tell you now peter

[peterpfeiffer]

PETER [9:19PM]: yeah that's fair enough PETER [9:32PM]: do you think your boyfriend would buy a moped?

PETER [9:32PM]: i'll throw in the surfboard free of charge