@a-ofspades "Excuse me, darlin’."
His voice slides through the smoke like molasses over warm bread, that long, lazy Georgia drawl stretching each syllable until it drips with sweet indifference. Doc lounges at the edge of a recently vacated poker table, half-shrouded in haze. A modest pile of winnings still rests untouched before him, his by right, after the two poor souls he’d been playing saw fit to fold more than just their hands once they learned his name.
"I couldn’t help but notice your glass is empty, and not a single one of these fine gentlemen has had the decency to remedy that."
A faint smirk curls at the edge of his mouth, that old Southern politeness wrapping itself around a core of dry sarcasm.
"Please...allow me."
With a slow, deliberate motion, he dips a gloved hand into the pot, selecting a bill with a gambler’s practiced grace. Rising from his seat just enough to lean closer, he offers it to her, not with a flourish, but with a kind of quiet reverence, as if it were a rose instead of cold, hard cash. His smile deepens into something devilish then, half-drunk, half-daring and for a moment, there is a brief glimpse of the gentleman he used to be, the sight disappearing as quickly as it came.
