In the Cards [Setzer Gabbiani]
by Shuji-kun
Gambling isn't a once-yearly ritual, you know. You can't simply travel to Kohlingen's underground casino on vacation once or twice every few months. Gambling is a lifestyle. A lifetime of boldly staring in probability's face, even when the odds are stacked against you ten-fold; a lifetime of sacrifice and minimal gain, and it all paying off in the end when that one terrible hand turns into that beautiful Royal Flush after discarding all of your cards, save one. The 1/649,739 chance at attaining glory in thirty seconds flat—not to mention attaining a large amount of profit with the glory. That's always nice, too.
Out of everything, the cards were always my favorite. Dice were too predictable, too cold; the slots too automatic. But the cards were warm, life flowing across air with that familiar woosh as my other hand waited patiently for the gentle patter en route. Shuffling is mundane to some, but to me it's as important as the game being played. It's like breathing to blood cells. Stop breathing, your blood cells die. Don't shuffle well enough and you die.
It's a tired cliché, but crime is in gambling. The two are practically synonymous now-a-days. It's one of those unfortunate circumstances that didn't apply to me—I played by the rules, cheating only where there was room and not a gun. Besides, it was more fulfilling when one wins by his own luck and skill alone.
I wasn't unbeatable at cards. Don't get me wrong, I was known world-wide and that wasn't because I won once or twice. I was one of the best in the world, in fact, but I had my losses. Everyone does. That's the way with cards. If you're patient with them, gently calculating your plays, they let you win. But they also let you lose. Even after you've been losing for a while, you always crawl back to them. And they bless you with their love all over again. They can reduce men to idiots who lose their lives trying to get them back, to have a little bit of that feeling once more. It's a marvelous power, and I've only seen one other thing with it: women.
I was beaten by a woman, once, outside of gambling. Well, strike that—we had a bet. She made a wager, I told her I'd match it, and she set off. I was going to go right after. It was a little foolish, but we were young. That's what naïveté is all about.
She ended up dead. Her name was Darryl.
Most people don't know our history. They don't know how we met, and how we parted the morning after, only to jump back into each other's embrace less than a week later. And frequently after that. We liked to hold each other, in the morning when we were soaking in the afterglow of our love. That's something no one will know.
No one knows how I tried to follow in her footsteps after she crashed. And how I too tried to crash, but wasn't fortunate enough to fall out of life, like she. It cost me hundreds of poker games to get it back to pristine condition, and I never tried to do anything like that to myself again.
Some moron once talked about how things that don't kill us make us stronger. Personally, I'd be stronger if I'd died then. At least I'd be with her. But life goes on. People lose at cards for their last game ever; people win for their virginal game. But no one always wins, truthfully. An honest win comes from a real man. Just like love. My love for her.
Fate, that day, decided to let me lose. When I win—not if, because I'm too good to lose at the same thing twice—it'll be at the right time. Not today, not tomorrow, but eventually. The day I finally see her again won't be by my hand, it'll be from luck. As people often say, "Luck is all in the cards." And they're absolutely right.
by Shuji-kun
Gambling isn't a once-yearly ritual, you know. You can't simply travel to Kohlingen's underground casino on vacation once or twice every few months. Gambling is a lifestyle. A lifetime of boldly staring in probability's face, even when the odds are stacked against you ten-fold; a lifetime of sacrifice and minimal gain, and it all paying off in the end when that one terrible hand turns into that beautiful Royal Flush after discarding all of your cards, save one. The 1/649,739 chance at attaining glory in thirty seconds flat—not to mention attaining a large amount of profit with the glory. That's always nice, too.
Out of everything, the cards were always my favorite. Dice were too predictable, too cold; the slots too automatic. But the cards were warm, life flowing across air with that familiar woosh as my other hand waited patiently for the gentle patter en route. Shuffling is mundane to some, but to me it's as important as the game being played. It's like breathing to blood cells. Stop breathing, your blood cells die. Don't shuffle well enough and you die.
It's a tired cliché, but crime is in gambling. The two are practically synonymous now-a-days. It's one of those unfortunate circumstances that didn't apply to me—I played by the rules, cheating only where there was room and not a gun. Besides, it was more fulfilling when one wins by his own luck and skill alone.
I wasn't unbeatable at cards. Don't get me wrong, I was known world-wide and that wasn't because I won once or twice. I was one of the best in the world, in fact, but I had my losses. Everyone does. That's the way with cards. If you're patient with them, gently calculating your plays, they let you win. But they also let you lose. Even after you've been losing for a while, you always crawl back to them. And they bless you with their love all over again. They can reduce men to idiots who lose their lives trying to get them back, to have a little bit of that feeling once more. It's a marvelous power, and I've only seen one other thing with it: women.
I was beaten by a woman, once, outside of gambling. Well, strike that—we had a bet. She made a wager, I told her I'd match it, and she set off. I was going to go right after. It was a little foolish, but we were young. That's what naïveté is all about.
She ended up dead. Her name was Darryl.
Most people don't know our history. They don't know how we met, and how we parted the morning after, only to jump back into each other's embrace less than a week later. And frequently after that. We liked to hold each other, in the morning when we were soaking in the afterglow of our love. That's something no one will know.
No one knows how I tried to follow in her footsteps after she crashed. And how I too tried to crash, but wasn't fortunate enough to fall out of life, like she. It cost me hundreds of poker games to get it back to pristine condition, and I never tried to do anything like that to myself again.
Some moron once talked about how things that don't kill us make us stronger. Personally, I'd be stronger if I'd died then. At least I'd be with her. But life goes on. People lose at cards for their last game ever; people win for their virginal game. But no one always wins, truthfully. An honest win comes from a real man. Just like love. My love for her.
Fate, that day, decided to let me lose. When I win—not if, because I'm too good to lose at the same thing twice—it'll be at the right time. Not today, not tomorrow, but eventually. The day I finally see her again won't be by my hand, it'll be from luck. As people often say, "Luck is all in the cards." And they're absolutely right.
