Dirt has found a new home on the Card Master's face. It was mixed with water, sweat, and droplets of crimson. His hat nearly came off his head, and those long strains of raven hair had fallen to make it appear that he just came out of a bar fight. He was on the ground, a bloody arm in front of him. Sitting with his legs spread. He stared up to a former ally that he thought would of changed, and forgotten the worst between them.

Instead, a mug to the face, the man was down on the ground. He bled from his forehead, sitting on the muddy dirty as he stared at the Outlaw on the stairs. He didn't have his gun, but he certainly did have another weapon. And it did make a punch. Fate stared up in a rage, but couldn't bother to get up. His cards could leave a mark, yes. But Malcolm had a better build. A better weapon and could certainly kill the man if he tried.

"How could you be so careless?" The Outlaw asked, as it stormed over a small bar in Bilgewater. The waters were rough, becoming violent and flashes of lightning began to show. Fate's hat was damped by the wetness, sagging as he couldn't put words together. He sat there like a useless child, looking up to their father who punished him for something so unforgivable.

Taking a deep breath, the gambler looked away, down to the muddy grounds that splashed each time a droplet of water landed. Some of it mixed with the blood that dripped from his nose. It's times like these where he wished Fate wouldn't of said anything. Or even did anything before hand. Malcolm chuckled, and said something that the Card Master couldn't hear. The storm blocked it all out. "Next time, Fate. Ima straighten you out with Destiny."

Swallowing, Fate did the only thing he could do. And just snicker. Snicker that things had to go in Malcolm's favor. Although, his luck will soon run out. For when the gambler recovers, it won't be a pretty scene.

Funny how all this started because Fate poked at the Conman about his poor card playing skills. It's a sad, sad thought that Malcolm was actually better than Twisted. But he'll never say that. None of them would. Graves actually had respect. Trent on the other hand, didn't. At least, not with this man.

The Conman was about to throw the beer mug in his hands to the ground, right in front of Fate. But decided against it. "True gentlemen settle this on the Fields. Or in your case, the card table." Malcolm chuckled again, before turning around in his footing, going back inside the bar.

The gypsy rogue sat there, staring down at the ground. He picked himself up at some point, as the coolness of the waters and harsh weather was starting to get to him. There's no reason to be here anymore. All he wanted now is a hot bath, and some alcohol. Perhaps a few cigarettes. And Fate did just so.

Once completely on his feet, his shaky hands went inside his pants pocket, pulling out a small box of cigarettes. Pulling one out and putting it between his lips. He snapped his fingers and a red card appeared. The card caught on fire just long enough to light the man's cancer stick before the storm had put it out. Taking a deep, deep puff from it. Twisted Fate put his hands in his pocket, quietly walking away from the area with his eyes still focused on the ground.