drifter/anyone (bonus points for rarepair), 17
*cracks knuckles* You play a dangerous game with that one, Anon <3
Mahjong nights were so long in standing now that the Drifter didn't even remember exactly when it had gotten started anymore. Time was kind of a screwy thing when you lived forever, but it couldn't have been that long because Eva still looked the same, and so did Tess, sort of. Unless Eva was just unaging because she was practicing some weird sort of life-force vampirism on Guardians or something.
He wouldn't put it past her.
Wouldn't trust her for five seconds outside of game night and her little holiday shindigs though.
And he knew she was on the exact same level with him.
But that didn't matter on game night. Especially when Tess had brought a particularly fine bottle of aged whiskey as the winner's prize.
Now, Mahjong took three things to win: Skill, Strategy, and Luck. Drifter had a whole lot of all three, and he knew he could wipe these ladies right out of the tower every damn match if he really wanted to, but he liked to meter his winnings: keep it fair, and keep his true skills on the down-low. Sometimes he let them win for months before he took one, playing one dumb chip after another even if it hurt a little, because the Drifter was about playing the long game. For nights like tonight, when he was going to be taking that bottle home hell or high water.
"My, fortune is favoring you tonight my dear," Eva crooned, as Drifter laid down another piece, his hand getting smaller and smaller. "Not doing anything extra to help your luck, I hope."
Tess made a soft snrk and sat back, blinking widely at the old woman and Drifter. Drifter sat up, clutching at his heart as though he'd been deeply wounded.
"Yer not suggestin' I'm cheatin' are ya?" He crooned. "I'd neva! Not when I know you could tear the recipe for my favorite cookies outta that cookbook you give the Guardians every year!" He held his hands up, shaking them and showing his sleeves were free of tricks. "Jus' good ole luck for the Drifter tonight, 'fraid."
Eva eyed him up and down, a little smirk playing on her lips.
What the Drifter hadn't yet realized, was he wasn't the only one playing win-or-die for that bottle.
"Well thank you for your honesty, dear," Eva simpered. She reached out and patted his hand when he lowered it, then leaned in and gave him a wet, sticky smack of a kiss right on the corner of the mouth.
He shuddered, his mind going blank.
Oh! No! Not good! He was not into that!
Her lipstick was weird and waxy and her skin was fragile-soft and there was a weird sweetness to her breath on his skin and it was burned into his nostrils and he could taste it and he'd swapped spit with a lot of weird stuff but the self-proclaimed universal grandma to all was not on his to-do list and he'd never once taken an appraising eye to her and he never intended to.
Tess' eyebrows shot up and she stifled a smirk as she fought to keep from laughing as the Drifter struggled not to squirm, sputter, or do anything else uncouth. He was a professional after all, but this time his poker face faltered.
"Th-thanks, Eva," he wheezed, grimacing when he realized he probably couldn't get away with wiping his face with his sleeve.
Eva only nodded. She'd hit her mark. He didn't even realize how badly his focus had slipped, but his game was dreadful after that, and she slid right past him to eventually win. It wasn't until both women had trounced the Drifter into the ground and Eva had her whisky in hand, that he realized what had happened.
"You sly old bat," he drawled, eyeing her and finally giving his face a good scrub with his sleeve. "You did that on purpose."
She flashed him a viper's smile.
