I don't own Eric or Divergent. A quick little one-shot inspired in part by an interview with Jai Courtney about the skull tattoo on his arm. Let me know what you think if you have a moment! I'd love to know what you think!
Eric had expected last night to be boring, especially after Frank had insisted on moving the game to his apartment since his wife was working and he couldn't find anyone to watch his kid. He had wander in late, exhausted and in a horrible mood thanks to Four cornering him to jabber on and on about an incident between two of the initiates. Why was that his problem? He didn't care about any of these maggots, but it would work itself out without them taking time out of their busy schedules to guide the situation. The stronger one would prevail or they would both find a way to suck it up and get through; either way conflict would weed out the weak.
By the time he had freed himself from the former Stiff, stopped by his apartment to change, and run by the story to procure the massive amounts of alcohol it would take to make this evening fun he was half an hour late for the game. He didn't bother to knock, he just threw the door open and stomped in. Frank, Marc, and Sheila were spread out in the living room waiting for him so that they could start their weekly game of poker.
"Let's get started, losers," He called as he set his purchases down in the kitchen and started fumbling around in the cabinets for something to eat since he had missed dinner. "You all have points sitting in your accounts, calling for me to liberate them."
"Dude, lower your voice or you'll wake up Ember," Frank chastised as he followed Eric into the kitchen, "If you wake her up, I'm making you baby sit while the rest of us drink and play cards."
Eric snorted, "Yeah, because if Monica came home and found out that you put me, of all people, in charge of watching your four year old, I'm sure you wouldn't end up sleeping on the floor of the pit."
Frank sighed and rolled his eyes, "I'd at least make you let me sleep on your couch, but I can see your point." He started poking through Eric's liquor haul while the young leader continued to raid his cabinets. "This is a lot of whiskey, you think the four of us are going to drink two bottles during the course of one night?"
Eric emerged from the cabinet over the fridge where he had found a bunch of Monica's snacks hidden, grabbing a bottle of whiskey as he made his way to the table, "No, this one's mine."
Eric plopped down and started shuffling, taking a long drink from his bottle as he waited for his friends to file in. "You know the deal people," He announces once the other three had all sat down, "Forty points to buy into the game. If you run out of points you can leave in humiliating defeat, or you can put something else up instead, as long as the rest of us agree that said prize is of equal value to the number of points at steak."
"Enough talk," Marc growled as he popped the cap off of his beer and grabbed the hand of cards Eric had dealt him, "Let's do this."
The game had started off in Eric's favor, but his luck seemed to run out about four hands in. Soon his pile of chips seemed to have migrated from his end of the table to Sheila's, and she was all too happy to watch him start to squirm.
Eric managed to hold on and keep himself in the game as long as he could, but the more time passed the more he drank and he seemed to be having a harder time keeping chips in front of him. He only had five points left when he ended up with a full house in his hands. This was his chance, he had a good hand and if he bet enough he could get himself back in the game. He bet his remaining points, but Frank raised him another two, clearly only because he knew Eric would have no choice but to get creative. The smirk on his face told Eric that he was enjoying his younger friend's frustration.
"Okay, I'll see your two and raise you another three. If I lose this hand," Eric started, drawing out the word hand before taking another drink and enjoying the warm feeling that washed over him again. "I'll let you pick out a new tattoo for me, and I have to get it inked on my flesh, no exceptions."
Frank considered this for a moment before nodding, "Deal."
Eric saw Marc climb out of his chair and head toward the bathroom out of the corner of his eye, but he didn't think much of it until Marc tripped over the small table next to the couch. The lamp that had been sitting on the table flew to the ground, the sound of the porcelain base shattering echoing through the apartment. This was quickly followed by the sound of shuffling in the second bedroom and Ember calling for her dad.
"Nice going, Marc," Sheila yelled before pushing herself out of her chair. "I'll get her, you two finish this hand since you're the only ones still in."
Much to Eric's dismay, the full house in his hand was not enough to assure his victory when Frank laid down a straight flush. He heard himself growl loudly, cursing as he gathered the cards to shuffle again, only to be quickly shushed by Frank as Sheila emerged from the back of the apartment. Frank had them deal him out for a hand while he went to read a couple of books to his daughter in the living room. The man was far from the Erudite Eric had known before they both defected, but he still owned an unusually large collection of books for a Dauntless.
As the night continued, Eric drank more and placed a couple more creative bets. Things were a little blurry after that, although he did vaguely remember betting Sheila that she could pick the location of his new tattoo if she won the next hand. Which she did.
The next thing Eric knew he woke up on his stomach, sprawled out on a couch that wasm't his. Instead of the blaring alarm that usually woke him, he found himself being dragged from his sleep by the feeling that someone was trying to smother him. His eyes flashed open to find a tiny hand squeezing his nostrils together.
He lifted his head, just enough so that he wasn't talking into the couch cushion before mumbling, "What are you doing?"
Ember giggled, her brown eyes sparkling with mischief before she scurried away, "I did it! I woked up uncle Eric!"
"Good job!" He heard Frank praise her before the floor creaked as the older man approached. "You'd better get going," He informed him as he flopped down into the recliner across from the couch, "You're already late for training and Monica was pissed that you were still here when she got off this morning."
"I'm not afraid of your old lady," Eric replied, his forehead resting back on the cushion.
"Yeah, but I am. And you don't want to get stuck listening to another Four lecture about being punctual to set a good example for the maggots, do you?"
Eric groaned again and pushed himself off of the couch. He noticed a little soreness in his lower back, it burned too as he started to move, but he didn't think much of it. He sat up, finding a coffee cup sitting a couple feet away. He grabbed the mug and raised it slightly, nodding his head to silently thank his poker buddy. He pushed himself off of the couch the rest of the way and headed for the kitchen.
"What are you doing? I thought you needed to get to the training room," Frank called.
"Oh I am," He called back over his shoulder, "But not until this coffee gets a bit more… Irish."
He could almost hear his friend roll his eyes but he it didn't bother him. He got what he needed before wordlessly leaving the apartment and weaving his way through the complex. When he walked into the training room, he was greeted by Four's obnoxious voice.
"Nice of you to join us, Eric," The other man called.
He ignored him and kept walking, shooting an annoying former Candor a murderous glare when she mumbled something about him looking like hell as he walked by. He set his coffee down on the floor and moved to sit on the table, but Four's voice range out again.
"I was about to show the initiates some punches again since they were all so sloppy in their first fights yesterday, but now that you're here I'm sure you'd rather show them yourself."
Eric growled, sending his longtime rival a glare before standing and tugging last night's t-shirt over his head. What was the point of having these guns and a six-pack if he wasn't going to use them to intimidate the transfer? He made his way over to the punching bag, raising his fists as he waited for Four to start narrating, but instead all he heard was a couple of people behind him mumbling.
He turned around and they all shut up, avoiding eye contact as whatever amusement there had been on their faces vanished. Infuriatingly, though, when his eyes landed on the usually sulking former Abnegation man, his face was alight with enjoyment.
"New tattoo?" Four asked, although it was obvious that it was more of an observation. It was then that Eric remembered his series of bets from last night and the soreness in his back this morning.
He shrugged, adopting a mask of indifference and boredly replying, "Yes, because someone in Dauntless getting a tattoo is SO unusual." He had no clue what was permanently marked onto his back, so his only option was to own whatever it was until he could get to a mirror. "Now everyone shut up so I can keep you from getting all your teeth knocked out of your annoying little mouths during your next fight," He yelled before turning to the punching bag.
When training was let out for lunchbreak he wandered back to his apartment under the guise of wanting to change before they went to the shooting range for the afternoon. He wandered into his bathroom and flicked the light on. He turned and glanced at himself in the mirror, his blood beginning to boil almost instantly.
While the roaring t-rex tattooed on his lower back might be seen as somewhat threatening in the right light, if he flexed in just the right way, it was most definitely not something he would have chosen. The longer he stared at it the worse it seemed. There was something disturbing about the dinosaur, he couldn't quite place it, until he remembered the stack of kid's books sitting next to his coffee this morning.
They let the four year old choose his tattoo. They let the little wobbly creature who couldn't say the word 'woke' correctly choose something to permanently mark his skin.
He rinsed his face and pulled on a new shirt before leaving his apartment, off to find and stab each of his 'friends' repeatedly.
A/N: For anyone who reads my other stories I'm going to have a new chapter of Mistakes, a chapter of Monsters Aren't Born, they are Created, and a second part to Innocents up soon!