The streets of Saint Denis boiled under the Lemoyne sun; the swampy air permeated the lungs, clinging thick and hot. Near the docks, mosquitos shrilled, loud and obnoxious in the ears. None were spared from the intensity of a Southern Summer – from the wealthiest traveling dignitaries, to the most destitute and disadvantaged, all suffered equally in Nature's indifference. Horses panted, and tossed their heads in protest, as drivers impatiently pushed them on, they themselves desperate to get indoors, and out of the direct heat. Merchants shouted wearily, advertising their goods and services, mostly in vain to a populace so eager to find shade. More fortunate shopkeepers, such as the barber and the tailor, entertained the only affluent visitors to the city that day: contestants for that night's poker tournament on the Grand Korrigan, and the friends they dragged along to either watch them win big, or lose hard. Among this crowd, however, lurked some whose reasons for competing were less than agreeable. Four men gathered at the docks, cleaned and shaved, and dressed to the nines. They chatted quietly amongst themselves, discussing their plans over cigarettes.

"I just don't see why I have to be the guard," the youngest of them, a Mexican man, voiced his concerns. "You know these people are going to treat me like shit."

"They'd do that even if you stayed as you are, dear boy," a mustachioed Englishman chided affectionately. "Unfortunately, this is the kind of place where it doesn't matter how wealthy, or well-to-do a man is. The color of his skin is, still, often the one thing that matters in people's minds."

"Yeah, but…you don't get it, Trelawny." The Mexican took a long drag off his cigarette before continuing. "You don't know what it's like."

"You're right, Javier, I don't," Trelawny conceded, nodding politely. "However, we all have our roles to play, and they are all equally important! I am the well-connected socialite, Arthur is the new and upcoming oil magnate, Herr Strauss is the refined gentleman that enjoys watching others stake their livelihoods for a chance at tasting Lady Luck, and you-"

"Are the Mexican immigrant, poor and desperate enough to act subservient to an entire class of people that sees him as less than human," Javier snapped, throwing down his cigarette. "I don't enjoy your 'play acting,' Josiah, and I'd appreciate it if you didn't patronize me."

"Now, wait a moment, Javier," Herr Strauss spoke up. He hadn't initially intended to join the conversation, and so stiffened once all eyes were on him. He cleared his throat and collected himself, straightening his bow tie. "It's not ideal, no, but think about how much money is tucked away on that boat. What we 'win,' and what we, heh, acquire, will definitely help restock our food, medicine, and ammunition for a good, long while." Javier slumped his shoulders, giving the Austrian a thoughtful, but irritated glare. He considered the younger man's disposition, calculating his next words. "You can at least take some pleasure in the fact that you'll be robbing all the people who insult you."

"I can't believe I'm sayin' this, but, Leopold has a good point, Javier." Arthur finally chimed in, seeming to have made a decision on the matter. "We need the money, and this job is a lot easier, and safer, than robbin' trains, gunfights, rustlin' livestock, and stealin' wagons." He turned to face Josiah and Leopold directly. "But you two gotta keep in mind that Javier ain't gonna be happy doin' this. Be nice, and we'll all chip in to get him drunk later. Okay?" They nodded their agreement.

"Fine," Javier sighed, crossing his arms. "But after this score, I ain't letting you buy me cheap swill. Top shelf only."

Upon boarding, the dubious quartet split up. Javier went off to learn the lay of the ship, guard patterns, and an easy target to knock out and swap places with during the tournament. Arthur kept to himself, sitting and smoking out on the deck, content to wait for nightfall, resting in the sun. Josiah and Leopold took to the ballroom, which had already been set up with betting tables; servants passed out champagne to the early arrivals, and musicians sat at a small stage, tuning their instruments. Leopold half listened as Josiah prattled on and on about how the decadence of the riverboat reminded him of a luxury steamboat ride he once took from London to Paris. He'd gotten through describing the "sheer exquisiteness" of the food, and partially through how it had caused over two thirds of the passengers to fall ill, whetting and spoiling Leopold's appetite within a few minutes. He nearly made the poor Austrian queasy, when he decided he'd spotted a good target for scamming. Leopold took this opportunity to make his escape, and ducked away into the ever-thickening crowd.

He wandered over to the bar, taking note that his hands were shaking. When sailing to America in his late teens, he developed a strong distaste for boats, open water, and a dreadful combination of the two. The swaying and rocking, the cold spray over the sides, and the fear of the unknown which lurked in the dark depths, all clung to his memory like a malignant parasite. An image had burned itself into his mind; he'd looked over the railing one starry night, and had seen, or imagined he'd seen, a large, tentacled shape in the water. Its tendrils were illuminated with hundreds of glowing blue dots, and he could have sworn that it had smiled at him. That was one image that had never showed up clearly in his memory, and he was grateful for it. From what he could remember, the sight of its teeth had sent him into a wild, frenzied panic, and when he tried to show someone else, the creature was gone. It was a week before he could sleep again, and another two before he stopped having nightmares. He gave an involuntary shudder, and ordered a glass of fine brandy for his nerves. After a few heavy sips, his shaking ceased, and he breathed easier, pushing the memories back.

A few minutes later, he sighed to himself and got up. Taking a cursory glance around the ballroom, he walked slowly between the scattered cliques of passengers. He picked up on small bits of conversation; most of it was meaningless gossip, discussing scandals that had no real evidence to back them up, unfaithful spouses, and which saloons in Saint Denis had trouble with rats. Leopold rolled his eyes and walked on, cautiously examining bulges in coat pockets, and the thickness of ladies' handbags. Although lacking good information, he sized up many of the wealthier passengers to be tactless and unobservant, therefore decent targets for pick-pocketing. Satisfied, he searched for Josiah to see if the two could bounce ideas off of one another, but the flamboyant Englishman was nowhere to be found. Heading back out to the deck, he looked for Arthur, but he, too, had vanished. By that point, all passengers had boarded, the riverboat had left the docks, and there was no turning back until the job was done. He peered over the railing, taking a gulp of the hot, soupy air, and half-imagined that he saw a large, tentacled silhouette in the water.

Backing away, he clapped a hand over his mouth, taking a deep breath and shutting his eyes. He regained his nerves, then eyeballed his glass of brandy, noting that it was nearly empty, and decided it was time to head back to the bar, and get as far away from the water as he could. His pace quickened as he neared the ballroom, a disquieting wave of nausea suddenly brought on by the combination of his surroundings, what may have been in the water, and the brandy sitting sour in his gut. Once inside, he took a glass of water from a nearby servant, his hands trembling and his heart racing as he sipped it. He took long, measured breaths, sinking into a chair near one of the betting tables, and watching a few gamblers play low-stakes games for fun. Slowly but surely, the queasiness passed, and he rose, swaying a little as he made his way back to the bar. He leaned forward, squinting to see the labels on the top shelf bottles. The bartender asked if he'd like another brandy, and he shook his head – no words would come out. Brandy wouldn't be good for his stomach, and he mentally chastised himself for thinking it was a good idea.

As he began to examine the selection of wine, he noticed a lone figure seated not far from him. He examined her for a few seconds, his heart skipping a beat. "Was augenweide…!" He gasped, the heat rising in his face as he examined her. She wore a long, flowing black skirt, and a white blouse that hugged her waist and showed off her cleavage, as well as a bright gold necklace with a red stone. Full lips kissed the delicate edge of a wine glass, and smoldering emerald eyes peered out from behind raven locks. Her caramel skin held a soft, warm glow in the low light of the ballroom. Just as Leopold was about to turn away, her eyes darted to meet his, and his breath hitched in his throat. She offered him a flirty smile, raising her glass to him. He nodded stiffly, raising his empty glass in return with as straight a face as he could muster, and looked away. The woman flagged down the bartender, and within moments had his attention.

"Two of the same, please," she said, her voice low and smoky, and carrying a flowing accent unknown to Leopold. He made quick, passing glances at her, watching her movements. His pulse quickened as she made her way over to him, holding two glasses of dark red wine. Passing one to him, she smiled warmly, and leaned against the bar. Up close, he noticed small gold tunnels stretching her earlobes, and a golden nose ring resembling that of a bull's. "You look thirsty," she remarked, his fingers brushing hers as he accepted the glass, and he gulped nervously.

"I am," he remarked, attempting to appear nonchalant.

"What shall we toast to?" The woman shifted closer to him; he almost found himself lost in her entrancing gaze, and had to shake off the feeling of being subconsciously pulled closer. "To your health? Perhaps your Future?"

"My Future, I suppose," he grunted, keeping his voice down to – hopefully – prevent it from cracking in his nervousness. "If there's anything I need, it's a good outlook for the Future."

"Don't I know it," she chuckled, touching her glass to his. Her radiant and alluring smile sent his heart aflutter. "Very well, then. To your Future! May it be prosperous, and fulfilling. May you find Peace, and happiness."

"That's awfully generous of you," he remarked, taking a sip in unison with her. "And what of you, Fraulein? You don't even know me, yet you wish me so well."

"Me?" She laughed again, the sound akin to a strange, warbling instrument. "Maybe I'd just like to dance with you, once the musicians are ready. Would you?"

"I must decline," he muttered gruffly, immediately growing suspicious of her. He looked her over again, reevaluating her features, and judging her to be a prostitute preying on lonely, older men. "I've no interest in whores and risky sex."

"Oh, dear!" The mystery woman laughed aloud, holding a hand over her heart. He looked at her inquisitively, growing embarrassed as he began to realize his folly. "You've got me all wrong, I assure you!" Her smile, bright and disarming, made him relax his shoulders and listen. "If I am to be honest, I'm simply curious about you. And if you're not interested in a dance, perhaps you would care to play blackjack with me?"

"O-oh, I-I-I'm sorry, Miss…" he stammered, lowering his face to hide his shame. "I meant no offense."

"None taken. So, cards?" She pulled out a deck, from where, he hadn't a clue.

"I'm afraid I'm not all that interested in gambling, either. I just came to, err, support a friend." In truth, he did want to spend some Time with her, and try to get to know her, but the alcohol was already beginning to affect him, and he knew he wouldn't be able to keep his poker face for long.

"I'm not interested in playing for money," she smirked, watching the cards in her hands as she began to shuffle them. "Information is the only true currency, after all."

"What are you saying?" He watched her closely, intrigued by her, unable to tell whether she was being genuine, or if she had any ulterior motives.

"If you'll play with me, we'll each have a predetermined amount of imaginary money to bet with – say, fifty dollars? Whoever wins the pot gets to decide the course of the evening. That is," she paused, giving him a suggestive grin, "if you're willing to spend the next several hours with me."

"Let's say you win," Leopold leaned forward, resting his chin on his hands, staring her down intently. Her shape almost seemed to ripple in excitement. "What would you have us do?"

"If I win, you'll dance with me." She cut and bridged the deck, taking a moment to give him a suggestive side glance. "And if you win, you get to choose what we do."

"Does it matter what it is?" He grinned in spite of himself, thinking fleetingly of the possibility of getting her alone. Unable to help it, he began to imagine himself undressing her slowly, taking his Time in appreciating her beauty.

"Not at all." She gave him a sly wink, as though she knew what he was thinking.

"Then, I agree to your terms. Let's play." Leopold took a long drink from his wine, and braced himself for what was sure to be an eventful evening.