—Game 31—

    As the clock chimes mutely into the deep night, the monthly poker night winds down. The ruckus outside having subsided greater in the past hour than the rest on the weekday night, the clock chimes nine, ten, eleven. The group of four sit at the table as they take in the final verdict of their games. At the cusp of thirty-first game's completion, only two competitors truly remain: Siv and Theo. In the final game they find themselves following the gambit of the queen in 'Follow the Queen'. A variation on the game type, 7 Card Stud, the queen is always wild— regardless of facing the field or in one's own shrouded hand. Yet, if the queen finds herself visible on the playing field, then whatever card follows also becomes wild along with said queen. Nevertheless, this additional wild card is always up for change as, if another queen gets to face the light of day, it will switch to the newest card behind the said new queen. And, there are currently two queens showing.

    A game type filled with far more betting opportunities than many others. The pot at the table's center full of black and colorful chips, the fullest it has been all night. The incentive weight becoming almost as tangible as it is suffocating for a competitive gambler.

"You've really come a long way, Barry. I'm sort of proud of you, in a way.", Siv taunts along with her piercing gaze.

Theo pauses, disgruntled, before mundanely pleading, "Please don't start using Mr. Riou's cruddy new name for me. It's somehow worse than 'T'.", in such a deflated, displeased tone.

"That hurts, Allen.", Arturo adds pointing to his heart,"Right here."

    The chimes strike for a twelfth time. The time has come. The final cards crash down upon the table. The final contenders reveal their final play. From the victorious shout from Siv to the calmly, nonchalant demeanor of Theo, the winner is revealed.

"Huhh!, an aggressive yell from Siv fires out, "What the hell?!"

"Hmm.", Theo unsurely acknowledges, "What happens when something like this happens?"

    The two have the near impossible: they both have a full house. Albeit with different combination of wild cards, they both have the equivalent to a three-of-kind of aces and a pair of eights. Yet, their base hands were still comprised of the same cards: pairs of aces and eights. Theo with black and Siv with red, even their shown cards were divided equally by color. While a full house only encompasses five cards, the victor is then dictated by the highest value of the remaining cards. In the case of 'Follow the Queen', they have two extras to choose from. Out of the two extras, they, of course, would choose their highest card. Thus, Siv throws down her highest, and Theo his.

"You're kidding me, right?" Arturo states in the most well-meaning he has been all night, "This has got to be planned."

Theo and Siv both threw down kings. If that wasn't enough, they were both of the red coloration.

"If we planned this, we wouldn't be as weirded out by it as you," Siv corrects Arturo, "Would we?"

    Bewildering to them both, the sheer coincidence isn't unheard of, but instances like this would be obviously weird to even the most greenhorn of players. The three share a look with each other before trying their best to move on and put it in the past— for a winner still hadn't been shown, and, for competitive individuals like them, that is a far worse feeling in comparison. Thus, Theo and Siv reach for their next, and last, card in their dwindled arsenals. An air of adrenaline rushes through their various levels of anxious hands as they peek at their card— double-checking, just in case, for their own sanity. The two flip over the said cards swiftly. Black eyebrows rise from the head of the person opposite of Siv.

"Huh.", Theo unconsciously lets out.

It was a three of spades against a four of diamonds; Theo wins by a single digit.

    As the two competitive gamblers are frozen in the midst of a few types of quagmires, one's tongue has always been quicker to the punch. "So, does that mean we get to keep our money? Since Barry isn't actually betting anything and all.", slips out from Arturo's tongue.

"No. No. He won fair and square. We should pay up accordingly.", Siv begrudgingly relents to Arturo, and her herself.

    A series of long sighs grow from the pair of gamblers as they reach for their wallets. Stifling through the cards and cash, they start slowing pulling out cash to match the losses. Suddenly, Theo raises his hand! "It's fine. Nothing risk, nothing gained. You don't have to pay me—"

"Oh, ok. Good good. Thanks, Bar—Theo.", Arturo instantaneously jumping in, "I knew you were a good g—"

"Oh, wow. Cutting the guy off that's giving you a break.", Siv interrupting Arturo's interruption,"You're classy."

"The classiest, of course.", Arturo comedically adapts.

    Arturo, after hearing Theo's 'generosity', claps his wallet shut before placing it back into the safety of his back-pocket. Letting out a sigh of relief—for him and his wallet—Arturo turns towards the fridge to refill his plastic red cup with some more of his personal drink of choice, an opened bottle of Beaujolais wine. A walk of victory—a sliver-lining of sorts, of course—of nothing lost had the deviously calculating eyes of the Scandinavian schemer hot on his trail. A creak of a devilish smile craves itself upon Siv's face as a thought formulates, a fact the Frenchman seems to have forgotten. Turning her eyes away to her colorless, clear polished nails, Siv reminds to all aloud, "Don't forget. Although the newbie is excluded from paying out, the rest of us aren't."

Inciting an immediate crack of the neck from Arturo, his head snapped around back to Siv in a chilly sweat. Not mumbling a peep, he knows of what she speaks—words to his own comfort hours before now his waking downfall. Wide-eyed and trepidatious in how to finagle around this obstacle, her devious eyes make there way back Arturo's way. Looking joyously into his eyes, Siv stings, "Just so you know."

    The final tally of tonight's poker games were: Theo with six hundred and forty-nine dollars worth of chips, Siv with four hundred and thirteen, Arturo's dismal pot of a hundred and seventy-three, and, in dead last, John having just coupled together a measly seventy-two dollars worth. The clear winner of the night, by a wide margin, being none other than the new hire, Theo. The plan had backfired, and his wallet felt it. Arturo deflects, "Nah. You know what? This was simply beginner's luck. Just that. We all get it at times, it's only natural. That works, just getting it out of the way this time is all.", as he shakily reaches into the overtop cabinets for a bigger cup.

    Garnering a hushed snickering from Siv and a reserved chuckle from Theo, the mental gymnastics were a nice flavoring over the course during the exchanging of payouts. All were mellowing out from the high, competitive spirits of the night thus far as serenity reenters the streets below— as much as city streets can. All except John.

In a trance sensible towards washed out melancholy, John's attention had been latched to the confidential thing on the rug behind him. The steel briefcase laid dead center between his coffee table and entertainment center that held his aging television. A classic CRT tv—nice as it is, to be sure—lording over the metallic alloy case from up high, in it's sizable stature, hadn't received the lusting rush of power in days. Angled in just a way to reflect some of the finer details of said case off the television's blackened screen. It's on this reflection that has caught John's lapsing consciousness in such a hypnotic state. Something was off, something strange is apparent with this reflection— this case he brought home. A bit hard to make out from the distance he sits at, yet a marking etched by case's shiny handle seemed different from his own. An initial, 'D', he had marked on his case weeks prior should've been in the same location, in the same fashion. Nevertheless, it was crudely made then, and probably has worsened with time. Worse comes to worse, he could walk over a look at it in mere seconds— but, would his mind give him the energy to care this night?

"Hey, John, are you okay?", Siv asks as his blank silence has engulfed much more than this irrelevant trance he has seemed to be in. The three staring at him, unsure what to make of this divided attention span as of late, as they await a verbal reply to stroll breezily across his chapped lips. John turns back around the table and of the three. Without a single word spoken, John's sight is drawn to the only thing motioning enough to notice. As they all remain silent, Arturo points to his wallet and back at John as it takes his whole arm doing so.

"Oh.", John lets out. He connects the pieces, pulling out his own wallet shortly after. Soon catching Siv's attention, a mean-mug glance and a slap can be heard. "Agh!", Arturo reacts. The slap to the shoulder causing an involuntary snicker or two from Theo and John.

    John pays his due of the final tally accordingly and without a fuss. The lack of any sort of resistance nor petty argument struck Siv and Arturo as 'off'. John without an antic of his own, seemingly normal and accepting to the demands set in front of the guy. As much as things may pop into her mind and free from the constant distraction from prior engagements, the minor collection of drinks have also seem to catch up with her. Siv excuses herself to the restroom as the other three chat for awhile as things draw to a close for the night. Theo goes to check out his senior's apartment—if only limited to the living room a few feet away—as Arturo reverts back from his blinding, competitive streak. Now that he wasn't so focused in on the games of before, other notable things begin to take precedence in the forefront of Arturo's mind. He makes his way around the table to John, finding the perfect position to keep his lapsed attention span. Slapping his hands on John's shoulders, a thought—a question—presented itself brightly, boldly to the tip of his tongue. Theo retraces, "I saw the wine in the fridge earlier. It was a French wine, and you were the only one drinking from it. Is there something special about that particular wine? Is it from 'home'?", incidentally interjecting in Arturo and his own points of interest.

"Yes.", Arturo reluctantly answers, "My wife sends me some every so often. 'A little taste of home doesn't hurt once in awhile', she tells me." Handling Theo as sloppily as he is, saying whatever it takes to move on from it and onto something a little less obvious to him— albeit, honest overall. "Before you ask, Barry, it's Lyon. The wine is from Lyon.", hopping over a few beats and skipping to the assumed end of Theo's plausible curiosity.

"Ah. Okay, guess...", Theo gradually mumbles acknowledging slowly that of the figurative fencing being built between he and the other two. Even the most naive couldn't be blind to it, he had been blocked from whatever Arturo had in mind. However, this could be seen as a blessing in disguise. A thought similar to this streamlined through his frontal cortex. 'He's John's problem now. He'll say something else interesting. Probably.', Theo thinks as he plops down beside the messenger bag on the living room's couch.

    Arturo turns his head back to a nodding-off John. Taking his right hand off John's shoulder, three short taps to the face happen to be sufficient enough. Waking John proficiently well, Arturo begs an important question or two. Inquiring, "You mentioned that cabby and Sivvy's new color in nearly the same breath. Why do I get the feeling that this has something to do with you trying out some of those philosophical phrases like earlier?", with the bonus of a shoulder massage for good measure.

"What?", John cannot help but absentmindedly speaks, "I am so lost. What is it you're asking me, Art?" His hands still planted upon John's shoulders, the act of John trying to turn around to look at Arturo was already wrought with failure. Control for Arturo is relatively easy for someone in his physical position; perfect to garner some insight into John's new daily ongoings. Yet, this surprisingly wasn't the case— as much of such becoming the outcome hinged through John's groggy, clouded consciousness. Alas, an alternate choice was made and the atmosphere along with it. Bending at the knees with a twist around the chair where the poor guy sat, Arturo meets John halfway as they look eye to eye.

    Incidentally—this taking them by surprise—causing both, the perpetrator and fool, to flinch ever so slightly. Arturo recovering quicker than John, hiding his embarrassment behind his golfer's hat, closes the distance that, of which, John couldn't escape from his. Their fumbling antics scored by the rummaging of Theo in the background; crouched beside the chair, Arturo takes a momentary peek out at the mesmerizing fuchsia neon just beyond before delving into his internal nagging, his worry. "I'm not sure what all is going on with you. And, that's ok. That's fine. I shouldn't. But, something has been up with you for awhile now.", Arturo confronts under the sweet tastes of consideration coating every word, "And, I'm not sure it has been for the best, either. John, I'll be here when you're ready to talk. Si tu en avais besion."

    Uncertain of what those final words are supposed to translate to, the general intent isn't lost without them. "Ok, man.", John warmly confides, "If that time comes, you'll get my call." While somewhat disappointing to hear, Arturo nods his head as he has little left to say but accept those words. The accompanying sounds of life grow as Siv returns from the restroom to see a suspicious Theo. Arturo raises back to his feet, neither man none the wiser to the happenings behind them. As Arturo leans back to stretch out his sore back, the guy beside him begins to mumble something else. "Unless you know of a emaciated, ashy-haired white chick, of course.", slip between John's dry lips.

"Ashy-hair?", Arturo roughly hearing the low mumbles, "John, what—".

*Schezzzt!*