—Game 1—

    She gets up from her chair and walks to the sizable tube tv back in the living room— mere feet away. Obviously searching for something around it, Arturo takes this opportunity to act. "Hey, 'T', see that black chip there?", Arturo gestures to the stack beside Theo, "Throw one in."

Turning his head to the stack of variously colored chips stacked beside his left, outer arm, a nerve of uneasy ticks within his spine. White, yellow, blue, green, and black; each stacked to various heights, indicators to something of value indeed. Squinting his eyes, Theo may not know what exactly Arturo is pushing for, but it wasn't particularly in Theo's favor. Theo points to the stack of white chips saying, "There's some value to these you are not telling me. Not like what you told me at work, not like any 'party games' I've ever played before. It's a bit suspicious, you think? Your whispering doesn't help either.", at an average volume audible to all in the apartment.

"Uh. You're right, Art. He is pretty sharp. Figured you out easily.", John causally quips.

"Shut it, John.", Arturo defeatedly mutters.

    The two begin to get off on a conversation about this and that while Theo tunes them out. He turns around in his chair to look at the lady, unsure as to what she was looking for and intrigued to how it deals with the 'poker game' at hand. Yet, there lies a bigger question fermenting within his young mind— one he feels embarrassed for not asking any time before now. What is this woman's actual name?

    'Aha! There it is.", she exclaims as she pulls out a crumbled piece of paper from behind the wooden entertainment system the tv sits on. Moving swiftly to not waste anymore time than what has already been, she hands Theo the crumbled paper before sitting down. Continuing on, "John made this cheat sheet awhile ago. It has a list of hands and card combos useful to win a game. Art did the visuals. And, don't fret, you won't have to gamble any real money this time."

"WHAT?!", Arturo shouts.

John interrupts, "I agree with Siv. Don't be greedy."

"Bwhaha! That's what you get for toying with the newbie.", Siv taunts before turning her attention back to Theo, "For everything else, I think you're there enough to catch up to pace. Good luck."

    With a hesitant smirk of the cheek and a sinking feeling in his stomach, Theo matches the three white chips in the table's center with his own. An obvious feeling to express when finding oneself in a cruddy apartment, surrounded by—more-or-less—strangers late at night; 'Why did I agree to this'? That, and several other reconsiderations, fill his head as the poker games continue into the night.

—Game 3—

*Fwhh! Pop!*

    A litany of smaller firecrackers flare up and off on the crowded streets below the aging apartment complex. A series of joyous sounds soon followed by sirens a smidge less as so, the festivities reach their golden hour—and are far from over. Dealt a game of Texas Hold'em with each's chips still about equal, the table is quiet in comparison to those prior. Between sets of eyes filtering through fierce to lost, the battle of wages similarly drags onward.

    Irises dart person to person as Arturo and Siv look for any tiny twitch to give themselves a leg up on their competitors— and more money in their respective pockets. John taps the table without saying a word as all eyes turn to Theo. Jarring to him at first, he taps the table, too. The two suspects raise from behind their cards, ranging in expression. Surprisingly, Arturo begs the question, "Hey, 'T', you know what the 'table tap' is about, right?"

And, in-tandem, "He's probably figured that out, Art. But, are you sure that those cards are worth not betting on?", adds Siv.

"Yea, yea. The 'table tap' seems to mean to pass it on to the next person.", Theo confirms, "But, Ms. Siv, do you think I'll say what I have that easily?"

Finishing his statement with smug, Theo enjoys his moment to shine before he looks up from his cards. A sight most frightful; Theo recoils into his toned neck coming to face with it. Siv lightly smiling in his direction. It was nothing more than a pleasant visage to see— on the surface. What was hidden below such a bright expression is something, while unexplainable, dark that invoked danger into the deepest parts of one's soul. For her face may be gleeful in its presentation, it was her narrowing, overshadowed eyes that let you know. And, it is those eyes that are staring bullets into the unfortunately smart new hire.

"Who would've ever guessed? John was right. The new hire saw through you really quick. In every way.", a snarky Arturo nudges.

Cutting off her violent gaze from Theo and turning it to the French-man to her left, John stays back and nervously chuckles under his breath. Going for Arturo's forehead, she pulls his golfer's hat in front of his eyes with a retort, "Bet your wife would love to hear you say that, baldie."

"Ok, ok. Sheeh!", Arturo concedes before cooling the tense air, "You're lucky I'm normal."

"Sure. But, I guess it depends how you define 'normal'.", Siv jabs.

Without a second thought, Arturo acts on instinct. The concept of normal triggers something in Arturo— something Siv has previously, partially, known about for awhile. A concept different from the topics his hobby deals with, but one that has gained momentum within as he has gotten older and matured. Yet, this is not a sophisticated moment. Speaking reactively, "Normal is normal, unlike not normal people."

With a pointing gesture, Siv twists, "You're not normal to me, Art."

"That's not the kind of 'not normal' I mean, Sivvy.", he blankly states.

"Then what is 'normal' and what is 'not normal'?"

"Well, you got normal, and then you got abnormal, ok."

    As the two trail off onto parts unknown, Theo turns to the muffled sounds of tickling air puffing out from his right. Hidden behind the cover of playing cards and under the disguise of coughs, there sits John desperately trying his best to hold back his laughter. Theo, cards in hand and the same gut feeling since arriving to this city, shrugs his shoulders as he gives John a look that's rapidly becoming his most popular: a wrinkling of confused cluelessness spreading across his young face. This wrinkling broke the final line of resistance between lips and breath. John, unable to keep it in, belts out his laughter as it echoes loudly throughout the apartment and into the Art Deco hallway. The laugh becomes more audible to the thinly separated, neighboring rooms than the partying down below. Yet, just as soon as it made it's presence, the man's laughter subsided into tearful light chuckles as his lungs desire air once again. After he wipes away a tear, the sights of three tell a different story.

    A pair of faces are in unison to their opinion on this. The busting laugh being enough to break up whatever the argument of 'normalcy' had then become, their new target now verbally defenseless. While with little difference in their word choice, they speak the same sentiment simultaneously. The two stoop to their go-to response for the guy, "Shut up, Johnny/John!"

    As he looks back at the two and forth to John, the stranded new hire Theo can only bring himself to rest his head down upon his free hand. In placing both on the wooden table in front, he rubs those strained eyes of his to the absurdities experienced in the past two weeks of arriving to this bustling, quiet city. Left nearly speechless, Theo barely eeks out, "What is wrong with this place? How do I always find these types of people?"

    Eliciting from the trio around and the immediate neighbor, John shouts his apology through the walls and continues on with their game night.

—Game 14—

    "Aha! Ace high. Read it and weep.", a victorious Arturo announces at the end of a game of Seven Card Stud. Amongst all seven of those cards, there laid little more than an anemic collection of unconnected cards. Even as pitiful as this looked, the man managed to come out on top— and snatch up the largest pot of the night in one swoop. Arturo, as giddy as he might be, the hothead beside him had other thoughts coursing through her veins. As things stand, the chips are quite heavily in John's favor, yet, now, Arturo isn't far behind. Being in last place and general attitude being far removed by this point, the fevered intensity boils to her surface.

Exclaiming in the pains of a sore loser, "Gah! Son of a burning asshole!"

This took Theo by surprise. This type of language matched nothing from the effortless coolness that she had displayed since he started four days ago. While the outburst might have taken Theo this way, the other two happen to not be fazed at all. The lack of a reaction from John especially so, much unlike Arturo's prodding ways. Unable to let things hang, Arturo sarcastically has to riposte, "My, that sounds just the worst. Tried any ointment?"

"Oh shuddup, frog-licker.", Siv sharply shoots off through her squinted eyes.

"Hahah! Why don't either of you do this routine at work? This is great!", John states, unable to take any of this seriously anymore. The guy grabs up all the cards and begins to shuffle, the neon from outside the window shines through the dwindling firecracker sparks in on his busy hands as he does these deeds. As the cards effortlessly float into each hand, the white chips make their audience at the table's center for a better view. Each chip placed by their respective owner as their questions and bickering subside into the shade of fuchsia neon peering in through the apartment's wall-sized window. The basking from the neon, and from the quieting calm, reflects some things left by the wayside of this busy, urban Thursday.

    The calm so sought after by this mentally ragged straggler—desiring these minuscule minutes since before the sun originally rose—feeling bitter-sweet in these same moments. There has been something that has bothered John since opening his door on this night. It bubbling down in his deepest chambers of his empty stomach every time it shines off his fuchsia stalker. He knows it to be of little importance in general, but this drastic change cannot be good. As the minutes pass and the other three simmer down to more causal talking, this detail gnaws at John's voice box as his desire and worry reach a stalemate. If only for the length of this short shuffle, he internally debates; the unexpected newness of this isn't big in any grand scheme, yet it is huge on a more down to earth way. It has never happened before, but that time has been short as well. Regardless, the sole solution John comes to is to be ahead of it than surprised by anything later on. The cards come closing down upon John's right hand, and so has his stalemate. He takes a swig from a bottle and begins to talk. John says, "So, Siv, I li—"

Theo blurts out, "Did you color your hair? You're hair wasn't always like that.", as soon as he recalled the change.

That was it, that was the thing John wanted to inch his way into. The drastic change in hair color, he knew could've been one of two things in his mind: either a simple 'felt like it' or an indication of a change coming. John slumps his head as the conversation flows out without him.

"Oh, you picked up on that? I thought it would be really obvious to everyone else. But, I didn't know you saw me at any other time 'till today?", Siv answers.

"Yeah, it took me awhile to connect the dots after seeing you in the file room earlier today. It was only for, maybe, a few seconds, but I did see ya in one of the hallways during my orientation last week."

Arturo adds, "Huh? What were you doing in that department, Sivvy?"

"If you hush, I'd be able to say it, Art.", Siv chides, "I'm shocked you saw me there, Theo. I was in the 'computer technologies' area for only, about, 2 or 3 minutes delivering some disc thingy. That's impressive. Or, creepy."

Arturo teases, "Quick and a memory bank? Think I got a better name than 'T' for someone with your 'talents'."

Matching John in more ways than one, Theo looks at both of the interesting characters in front of him with weary eyes. Draining as it may be, Theo can only let out a heavy breath. Concluding in the only way a fresh underling can skirt on by, "That's greeaatt. It'll be a pleasure working with all of you.", before bowing out of the conversation.

As if almost trading places with Theo, John raises his head from the slump from before. The cards are dealt, a distraction of sorts having been played. One thing still remained unanswered for him, and things have stayed calm longer than expected for the night thus far. Best now rather than an uncertain later. John inquires, "So, why ginger-colored hair?"

Tapping her cheek, "Eh. I haven't a particular reason, I guess. Just felt different enough from blond.", Siv nonchalantly explains.

The question, and the subtle shakes after Siv's answer, causes concern enough of an eyebrow raise out of her and Arturo. John had his eccentricities at times, but this was something different. Something had to of spurred this cryptic, round-a-bout course out of their fellow coworker. The two look at each other as the etchings of something foreign cracks through. An unusual smirk cracks and develops upon the face of the Scandinavian office worker. They have a mystery on their hands.

    The reasoning eases John, if but by slim margin. The coloration dug under his skull, gnawing at things pushed to his mental depths— either voluntarily or otherwise. Shades of the bloody color had been haunting his day already hours earlier. Of fire and faint semblances of agony teasing his conscious thoughts. The kleptomaniac of hair like fire. That annoying enigma; the connection to that unknown scares John—it does—but not as much as the faint thing hidden behind it. That unshakable semblance hidden in the blank spot of his conscious mind, a murky, dark color of crimson is all that he can recall from sight. Yet, there was something more; more than the strange woman of ash, more than the taps at his stories-high window. It's on the tip of his tongue. Everything glazed over by a mental swampy fog as if mud replaced what should be air. An aimless wonder into a shattered mindscape; it could've easily been assumed to be fading remnants of a dream, except there remains just two holdovers. The trapped woman of ash and a flowing of maroon hair. And, now, the close individual sitting adjacent from him at his apartment—the natural blond for, what's been, a year and a half— suddenly dyes to ginger. The shades of red meet in the ides of August. "Is this all just coincidence, or am I going crazy?", John ruminates to himself.

"Hey, John", Siv softly beckons with a tapping of a white poker chip,"you look tired."

Nodding at what he can't ignore, John follows it up, "Yeah. It's been a long day."

"I know with what they've been having you do at work has been intense, but I didn't think it would be that insane.", Arturo tags on.

    The conversation at hand has changed from absurd to ear-tinglingly concentrated. 'Finally', Theo is thinking; learning more about his new employer yanks his attention to the forefront. Memories spurred from days prior about the other division he's told that he has no business knowing about. Trainers and coworkers alike on the job whisper of the self-imposed metaphorical iron wall between Fujx's two inner city departments amongst the companies many divisions across the globe. Being apart of the new division of 'computer technologies', any news or details about the main division's 'Music and Record' department is scarce at best to him. While Theo feels a knot of guilt in his chest about such a selfish intent, the opportunity is too tantalizing to be passed up for the young man. Theo carefully rejoins the conversation with, "Oh. What has Fujx been doing with John? Something with the 'Music' department?"

John turns his head fluidly to his left. If but an instance, a chilling spark jolts down Theo's spine; the eyes of the two men meet. Seemingly more tired than Theo had anticipated or did he strike a nerve? These, and various other questions, were left in the remnants where the cold jolt travels down— as if discarded debris meant to tell the sender's tale. Those eyes of a tired man; what stared back at Theo weren't simply that of an enforced, workaholic's dread, but something even less vacant than that. Those eyes, those empty eyes.

    This staring contest lasted an handful of seconds, leaving importantly little to suspect something amiss— if there was anything to derive from such a hollow sight. The impromptu match is broken by lucid Arturo, "I don't know. Not even Sivvy knows. I don't think really anyone knows, or is supposed to know. The only one that seems to know anything is his boss, Mr. Boudreaux."

"Then someone does know, Art.", Theo replies.

"Hé! Who said you could use that nickname?", Arturo reproves.

    The blank stare of a hazy glaze washes over Siv, this left turn at the topic on hand has noticeably disconnected from her goal. Far less than a peep, the silent contempt boiling underneath her model-like face. All these pointless, verbal distractions dig into her skin, in-between each of the layers, as they culminate into a point as the minutes pass. She sighs, loud enough to break the remedial back-and-forth between two rosemaries. A sigh with fiery vigor, the two squabbling fools pipe down as the straggling third looks up from his cards. With a twitch of the lips, it is more than sufficient to incite Siv. Leaving some reasoning at the figurative, rosy red door, Siv reacts, "What? No!... don't smirk at me, John!"

The smirk transforms into a light chuckle as the words escape her mouth. The returning bags under John's eyes evaporate ever so slight, if just for a few seconds. John teases, "How can I not with timing this well?",as he looks at her rosy, embarrassed cheeks.

    Albeit gaining groans from Theo and Arturo, it was ample in clearing the air for topics more interesting than work. Siv, massaging and stretching her decreasingly rosy cheeks, does her best to regain composure before much else. The new round continues, Game 15 is a-go. The game: 5 Card Draw again. John signals Theo to bet.

        Evident to both, and their silver-tongued onlooker, things were on the table left unsaid— wet skeletons hung out to dry, aimlessly in the dark. This had been a game of theirs for awhile now, and since steadily gotten worse as things wore thin to time. This, also, had been apparent to Arturo— much to his bother. Siv and John were known to have their own unique ways of talking about things.

      Game 15 rolls on seemingly well, as disgustingly plain as that feels to some at this table. As the cards are swapped for those of better, falser hopes, the suppressed spoken words have found their wiggle room. After Theo trades in his couple of cards, Siv soon follows in order. While the two other men zeroed in on their standings, this is her opportunity to inch closer towards her 'mystery'. As Siv trades four, she inquiries, "I know you love leaving last, that part of you never changed. But, that never caused you to have these kinds of bags. Even your briefcase is sprawled across the carpet over there. So, I have to ask: how long have been home, John?"

Their hands touch as Siv holds his captive until an answer is given. A nudge to the right or a tug to the left, neither are adequate in freeing himself of her delicately deceitful vice-grip. Turning his head to the wall clock behind him, John focuses on its' thin lines at the odd angle he currently is being held. In rhyme with the escalating tapping from below the table, John reads out, "It's 11:38. So... about four-ish hours, I suppose."

"You were only out for, like, two hours?", Theo interrupts.

John opens his mouth as his lips begin to move. Yet, it is not his words that can be heard. The chance to answer the new hire seems to have been a fallacy for the spoken words heard were far too feminine to be John. "We all get off at five. What took you so long to get home this time?", ripping the words straight from Arturo's brain.

"Oh ho ho! ... That's a long story, Sivs.", John bemoans in a hundred yard stare towards his neon stalker from outside his window.

Replying in an instant, "Rayst, right?", Siv assumes.

"Yep, Rayst. And, this funky festival thingy."

"Please don't say it like that.", Siv disappointedly corrects, "And, 'thingy' is my word. Unless, we trade wo—".

Unable to keep himself back from his own mysteries, Theo evolves his voice to something louder than that of Siv. Unsure of this Rayst guy and who it ties to, questions make their rounds as they swirl around the new hire's head. The many faculties of Fujx continue to be shrouded in shadow, and a tired John might just be the perfect mouthpiece to unravel some of these casted shades. Theo, nearly bouncing in his chair, excitedly asks, "Who is Rayst? Is he a musician? How does he tie into Fujx? Is that someone important to know in the future? Is he your boss's boss?"

    The questions flew by—left, right, and center—the questions as horribly misplaced as they were obnoxiously assumptive. The game continues on—as much as it can. Hitting the final round of bets, it stalls once more—and now on Theo. From a disgruntled Siv walking away to the fridge to an impatient Arturo checking his watch, the flurry went mostly ignored. Sitting there scratching at his hairline, dumbfounded and sympathetic by this surprisingly misplaced assumption by Theo, John meekly smiles through the barrage. The words passing through from his emptying lips, Theo takes a deep breath before starting in again. However, before he can, John swiftly slides his index finger over Theo's lips. The shiver of anxiousness returning again, the unprepared, sleep-deprived John comforts Theo in the only way he can: avoidance, or advice. Nevertheless, John puts on a face braver than his, and masquerades under the confidence of a fully rested man— or, at least, that of one matching the 'leader' Theo may think him to be. With John providing, "If all you do is live for the future, then you'll forget to make it all worthwhile here in the present."

    This is good enough to damper Theo's rapid intrigues. Clear as the hour Theo walked in, getting an answer from John wouldn't be so easy— even with the guy in such an enervated state. Although, it wouldn't take much to reopen pandora's unintended box of inquiries. Sadly, it was more than adequate in invigorating the silver-tongued Frenchman to whet his own appetite for saucy mischief. Akin to playing the naysayer to Theo's Icarus, Arturo bites, "John waxing philosophicals? Please~ That stuff should be reserved for deep thinkers. Don't you agree, John?", with a witty, refined cherry on top.

A pause holds high under the vague insinuation from such a sharp tongue. Yet, it is instantly overshadowed by something much more impactful to the group of once distracted gamblers. A faint breath hangs in the air. John, still in his chair, hesitantly darts his eyes back to Theo. Theo lingeringly saying, "... What?", before a calming voice comes from in front.

"Oh, hey, I won.", Siv speaks in a pleasantly shocked, understated demeanor. A third drink in hand and a close win setting on the table just below in her return.

A shout comes from beside her, "Nom de Dieu!", from the same, supposed silver-tongue from the game before.