Chapter One – Card Tricks

TWACK!

The slap of wax-coated plastic against the table cut through an otherwise silent room. A small table sat in the area, one of its legs a little shorter than the others. Huddled around the shaky little table, a group of men sipped cheap beer and guarded modest, little piles of poker chips.

TWACK!

Another playing card was roughly slapped onto the table. The hairy-armed dealer finished passing out the hands and chomped down on a burning cigar.

"Ante up, boys," he grunted.

The other men took their cards and eyed them.

"Y'know, mon ami," came a voice across the table from the dealer, "you keep throwin' dose cards down like dat, we gonna need a new table."

The dealer grunted, bearing his teeth.

"Somethin' wrong with how I deal, gumbo?" he muttered.

The other man, eyes glowing like red-hot coals in the dim light, merely shrugged and smiled.

"Hmph," the dealer said, scratching at his neck like he was looking for fleas.

"Go easy on Wolverine," piped a youthful, blond man sitting next to the dealer. "You know he has trouble expressing himself without punching."

The others snickered as Wolverine glared at the younger man beside him.

"Cute," he said. "Real cute, Popsicle."

"Oh, relax, Wolvie," the red-eyed man chuckled. "And lay off 'a Bobby. We just playin' around."

Wolverine grunted again as Iceman flashed a wide smile.

"If you boys wanna play," Wolverine said, spitting out puffs of cigar smoke, "make it Poker. Don't get your kicks by poking at me."

"All right, all right," a fourth, more calming voice came in, the words coated in a thick, German accent. "There is no need for such nastiness, meine Freunde."

Neatly, like a butler arranging silverware, the German placed his three-fingered hands onto his cards and arranged them in his grip.

"No nastiness implied, Kurt," the Cajun replied. "Just funnin'."

"Ja," the blue-furred man said. "And your definition of fun is just what I'm afraid of, Remy."

"You should try it, sometime," Gambit shot back at Nightcrawler. "It's healthy."

"I doubt it."

Wolverine shook his head as he fiddled with the chips in front of him. Whether that was an act of amusement or annoyance, no one really knew, although the latter would probably be a safe bet.

"We playing or not?" he said.

"Yeah, yeah," Iceman replied. "We're playing, old man."

The evening ticked onward, with the four gentlemen drinking and playing and losing small amounts of money to each other and making idle chitchat. After a few hours of Wolverine's cigar-chomping, a thick haze of tobacco hung stoically over the heroes' heads. Emboldened by a few rounds of beer, Gambit took the reins of conversation.

"Y'know, Wolvie," he began, slurring ever slightly, "if ya hate the criticism of your card-handlin' so much, you could always let me do the dealin'."

Wolverine snorted, cracking a half-smile. Iceman and Nightcrawler rolled their eyes, sensing the Cajun's bating for a response.

"Good idea," Logan scoffed. "Let's hand over a whole pile of potential grenades to the guy with the explosive fingers. See how that turns out."

"You do realize ah can charge more'n cards, don't cha?" Gambit said, pinching a poker chip between thumb and forefinger. "Don't take much to send up dis whole place in pretty lil' flames."

"You sure you wanna light up that chip, Cajun?" Wolverine retorted. "Your last chip?"

Gambit looked down at his end of the table, blinking. Wolverine was right. The tide of the cards had taken all but Remy's very last chip. Lady Fortune, it seemed, wasn't so sweet on the Cajun this night.

Or so it seemed.

Gambit took a long sip from his beer, the act masking the mischievous smile he couldn't help wearing on his face. By the time his drink had been lowered, the facade of a drunkard's confusion had returned to his face.

"Well, shit, Remy!" Iceman drunkenly cackled, slapping his knees. "Down to your last hand already. Guess you never stopped chucking cards long enough to learn how to play them!"

Gambit put on an exaggerated frown, but inside, he was nothing but smiles.

Dat's right, he thought, gazing across the table at his inebriated colleagues. Don't waste any thought on da fool.

Even the normally-hardy Wolverine was looking flushed and a little tipsy, though he hid it fairly well. Leaning aggressively over the table, he squared his eyes on Gambit.

"Well, Gumbo, what'll it be? You in or out?"

This was the question Gambit had been waiting all night for, and he was prepared.

"Deal me in, mon ami."