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."
Zyrynd drew his hand. It wasn’t the best hand in the world, nor was it the worst. It sat firmly in the middle where he might have the upper hand, or he could lose. There was nothing extraordinary about it, nothing that Zyrynd even reacted to. His face remained emotionless. Instead, he spared no more time to gazing at his hand and looked over at his opponents.
Because it wasn’t as if this was about having the best hand. It was about the bluff and about who the better liar was. It was about being able to sway those around you to your whims based on whether they revealed if they something better or worse. Zyrynd’s advantage was that he was possibly more sober and a bit more skilled. Besides, he spent time watching people, just as he had spent time watching the man who sat across from him. He could see the subtle twitch in his features. He could see the sudden perspiration. It was all the hallmarks of someone who was worried. Yet, when he spoke, he still held something of that confidence he’d had previously. Yet, it was still a tamped down version of that confidence, enough to give away the cards he’d been dealt.
“I’m more than good for it. I’m definitely in,” said Zyrynd still sounding calm and serene. “I think it’s about time we lay out our hand.”
