Are you a blackjack dealer? Because you just hit me with your charms. kafka
"Would you prefer I hit you with something else?" @finalvictor
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Are you a blackjack dealer? Because you just hit me with your charms. kafka
"Would you prefer I hit you with something else?" @finalvictor
The air was almost too thick here. The clunk of slot facets falling into place, the shuffle of chips slid to another hand, the whoops and claps of success — a pat at his empty pockets betrayed Vash's desire to join in, a lukewarm beer filling his each and every short-lived fantasy. Escaping to the shadows was a go-to tactic of his, 'specially should he stay in the realm of sleep: how was he supposed to know his wetter-than-usual bed was a teleport into some weird... thing?!
(Was that what the guy was talking about on the way to his room? -- Conversation slipped through the yet bridged gaps in his mind, particularly whenever eyes were dancing from wall to wall, hoping the tint of his frames forbid, if only temporarily, any recognition of his all too famous ... reputation.)
“Wha-agh!”
A none too graceful trip, a stammer over his own spindly limbs. This area, while not obscured, while not lacking people, hadn't had someone right in front of him! Probably! Vash, in truth, was too focused on the passing plate of finger foods, cheeses and fruits and--oh good, Vash's sound of anguish was enough to avert their attention!
“'Ey, fanks! Been mheaning toh' try summa'this,” through a mouthful of saltines, Vash offered a hand free of crumbs. “You c'mere of'ten? This's my first time!”
There was a gulp somewhere, replaced shortly by another fistful of foods.
@finalvictor.