"Raise."
Moran cocked a brow without looking up; his eyes remained trained on his cards, and he shifted a fag from one side of his mouth to the other.
The other player considered the movement, before slowly leaning back into her chair.
"Raise," she repeated.
Moran clicked his tongue against his teeth.
"You sure you wanna do that?"
Irene Adler smiled.
"Oh, yes."
The low-hanging lamp above the table cast a dim but comfortable light over the playing surface, and the tobacco smoke trailing from between Moran's teeth drifted in and out of the illuminated area lazily. Moran tipped his head back then, studying the hazy air for a few moments.
"Raise it is."
"I should think so, darling."
The more crisply dressed of the players nudged a stack of red chips forwards into the centre of the table with her nails. Ivory scraped on polished mahogany. The chips, carved from the tusk of a bull elephant, were souvenirs the former army colonel had brought back from India following his dishonourable discharge. They had travelled in his rucksack, wrapped up in newspaper, and given their own side pocket. Sebastian Moran checked on them after every sleep he took; they were the most valuable item in his possession after his discharge, and he was a cautious man. He was still cautious, but by now it was always disguised under thick and impermeable layers of nonchalance.
Irene watched him closely, over the cards held between her fingers. She did not speak, but kept her eyes on his face as he pulled himself back forwards again, and dropped a hand onto the playing surface.
"I call," he replied, as he sent an amount of chips from his side of the table to match hers in the messy kitty.
"Risky, Sebastian."
"Most of the money you win at poker comes not from the brilliance of your own play, but from the ineptitude of your opponents." Moran smiled at her, grey eyes calm. He was unperturbed by her. "I'm counting on it, baby."
"So it would seem. It's only a shame that ineptitude isn't a word that features in my personal vocabulary. . . Turn?
Irene flicked her tongue against her bottom lip, and held her spine straight, tipping her chair so the front legs came a little off the ground whilst the balls and heels of her louboutins remained flat.
They eyed each other for a few moments.
Moran sniffed.
"Sure. Turn."
He pressed his fingers onto the deck and rapped them against the scuffed back of the top card once. Then he pulled a couple off the pile, held them, and flipped them onto the wood, faces up.
A jack and an ace of diamonds joined the pair of queens already down.
Irene's chair fell back onto all four legs again with a resounding clack, and the both of them leant forwards so far their faces almost touched the tabletop.
Simultaneously, they glanced up.
"Interesting."
"Is it?" Moran murmured. He paused. "Wanna fold?"
"Oh, you'd like that."
"That's the point."
They slowly drew back again, like waves at lowering tide.