Really, when he'd first learned of the vice men call "gambling," he thought it a game for poor men to wile away their hopes. Gambling inherently requires that one be risking something of some value in order to win something of equal, or more likely greater, value. Risk is the key factor, the essential element. It is what turns a hobby into an addiction. It is what gets blood pumping and palms sweating. It is why men keep coming back to put it all on the line, in the hope of winning a better future. There can be no business or revenue stream without calculating this risk, and turning it in favor of the institution. In a casino, there are no odds in your favor. Every machine, every die, every dealer is out to get you.
Luxord is the exception. What Luxord does can not be considered gambling because he is not risking anything. He operates with the full certainty that he will win his wager and collect his money and be on his merry way. This attitude has never failed him, not since he was a child in the shipyard, playing for enough money to go buy bread for his mother. Luxord simply does not lose, and this fact is something that perplexes and infuriates all the casino execs. in the New England area.
Statistically, his luck can not hold. It would be like overcoming all odds and winning the lottery three times in a row. (Not to say he hasn't done that -- just never in the same state.) If it were to fail him right now, it wouldn't be as though he hasn't had a good run of it. No, instead Xigbar will look at him as though he were an idiot, and a lying idiot at that, and oh, that's right, he'd die for his trouble.
Yes, sometimes his good fortune is a burden.
If he were to ever to say he was a gambling man, which, god forbid, he wouldn't (what a tacky, cliched title), it would be this moment that defines him as such. This time it is not merely money, but his life that hangs in the balance.
He cradles his wrists as soon as they are unbound, and winces at the chafe marks the ropes have made. "I don't suppose you had access to anything less abrasive on the skin," he questions nonchalantly, as if this man did not have a gun and certainly hadn't threatened to kill him, say, about five minutes ago.
"You're one funny dude. Let's see if I'm still laughing, and you're still alive, after you show me this little trick of yours."
Trust Xigbar to remind him of his perilous situation. "Indeed, we shall," he says with his most congenial grin. He takes the pair of dice Xigbar has been holding out for him since he's gotten up out of his, exceedingly uncomfortable, metal chair, and kisses them. They are casino quality, weighed exactly to the micro-ounce and perfectly even on every side. They are the greatest symbol of chance, the representation of an opportunity just waiting to be seized.
Luxord has never been so poetic. Perhaps it's the impending doom in the air.
"How would you like to do this, Luxy? I call out numbers, you roll the dice? Please, enlighten me so that I may fully appreciate the breadth of your skill." Xigbar manages a halfway decent interpretation of the Queen's English at the end, accent and all, but it's the sneer on his features that reveals his true skepticism.
"If that is what you wish, I would gladly oblige."
Since Xigbar's return, Luxord has recognized a more intense scrutiny of his person than before. The gunman is looking for any sign that he may be false, for any sign of a cheat on his part. Luxord excels under pressure.
"Fuck man, let's just get this over with. Four."
And so it begins. Lady Luck has not abandoned him this night, this night that means the rest of his life. With every roll, Xigbar's expression becomes increasingly incredulous, while Luxord's confidence grows in leaps and bounds. He is going to live, the dice have foretold it. It is his fate. It is when he rolls three (three seems to be his "lucky" number) pairs of snake-eyes in a row that Xigbar finally snaps.
"I fucking give up. They don't fucking pay me enough to comprehend this... this... whatever the fuck this is." He turns his gaze from the dice on the floor to their handler, their master, whatever Luxord can be called because nothing about this is natural. "You're unreal, man, and I don't fucking understand what the fuck is going on, but this is unreal and I'm this close to freakin' out so excuse me if I just stare at the floor for awhile."
Thirty whole seconds pass before Xigbar speaks again. "Is this, like, some sort of voodoo magic?"
That manages to tear a laugh from the back of Luxord's throat and, finally, the tension dissipates from the room and Luxord can, finally, be assured that he will continue living. At least if Xigbar has anything to say about it. "I assure you, this is no magic that I am aware of. What I told you earlier is what I believe. This is fate."
"An' this, me almost killin' you, and you... and you... this is fate?" He laughs. "We are too small for fate, man, not to kill your ego or anythin'." But Xigbar's tone doesn't match his oddly colored eyes. He's a man presented with something he isn't quite sure he believes, or want to believes. Luxord knows this feeling very well.
"All of our lives are ordained by fate, even the most mundane and trivial occurrences contribute to the grand play our existence has been." Luxord expects more silence from the man across the room.
But Xigbar bounces back quickly. Instead of thinking on it too deeply, it appears he has simply accepted what he's seen as reality, at least until he has the time and space to truly contemplate the governing laws of the universe (or at least the law of probability) Luxord's presence just demolished. For now, seeing is believing, and Xigbar's gold eyes alight with something far different from confusion.
"I knew you were more than just a pretty face, Luxy," he says, and the glint turns predatory. "There's somethin' up there after all." With the grace of a man half his age, Xigbar has suddenly appeared right behind him, and is pressing his hands into Luxord's shoulders. "Don't go quotin' me to everyone, but I think Xemnas is goin' to be very interested in what you have to offer us." The words ghost over his shoulder, Xigbar's hot breath in sharp contrast to the chill of the air. "'Least, if you're interested in what we have to offer you." He stresses the "we" with a squeeze to Luxord's shoulders before he is gone again, as though he can teleport or something equally ridiculous.
Luxord has to pay an inordinate amount of attention to standing straight, as his knees are quickly becoming too shaky to support him. He draws in a shaky breath before responding. "I'm not going anywhere."
Xigbar grins widely. "Good."
- -
AN: I'm trying to refrain from unnecessary author's notes, but I think this one is required. Chapter 1 has been edited/revised so that it flows better. I don't have a beta, so I revise as I go along. Also, I hope this chapter isn't too different, like, in a jarring way, from the last chapter. These first two chapters are sort of like an introduction to the universe I've created. The following stories will be more stand-aloneish. And as one last note, I'd like to thank my only reviewer, FinalFallenFantasy. Seriously, your review got me working on this chapter.
