Here we are! ^_^

In response to the person who reviewed last chapter and said that Hiead didn't seem all that greedy, you obviously haven't seen the official material for him. Over and over again, his cast profile says that he's greedy and hordes his money and gets very clingy about it. So Hiead is actually probably the most in-character person in this fic, even if it is hard to think of him as being that materialistic!

Part seven of thirteen follows.

THE THEATRE
where it's another world
by Kay Willow

From a patron
Of the arts,
Or at least the
Phantom of the Opera--
Will I catch your eye?



It had taken almost another month before Erts managed to successfully lure his prey into initiating contact with him, and only then by wandering into a gray area that Azuma might not have approved of.

There was no guarantee at all that Erts would be any good at gambling. Pickpocketing he was good at; distraction and acting came to him far easier than genuine entertaining or honesty with others. The bums of the Theatre would never have chosen him for their representative if he hadn't been the perfect candidate for the job, and he hadn't let them down in any way; he'd already repaid the money they'd pooled for the purchase of his clothing, tenfold.

Gambling was not something Erts could fix -- not by himself, anyway -- so he stuck to the games of logic, games where he could use his intelligence to manipulate the odds in his favor. Card counting, trend identifying, and luck combined to make him a formidable gambler, and within a mere two weeks of haunting the parlors he had already made something of a reputation for himself amongst the nobles who resided there.

Few people really played at gambling with unwavering determination to win, in the Theatre. Why bother, when everyone there was a disgustingly rich lord or heir? There was no fun in losing or gaining what was essentially pocket change.

But Hiead Gner took his gambling seriously, and thus, so did Erts.

Soon enough, Erts found himself face to face with the young lord across a blackjack table.

The dealer was rattling off numbers and rules, but neither of the principal players were listening. They studied each other, both evaluating. Erts took in every feature of his enemy -- the fine white hair, the flat red eyes, the tanned skin and narrow bones; he moved very slowly, very deliberately (like a fighter), and there was a wiry kind of strength in Gner's slender frame that Erts had rarely seen among the dandies of the Theatre. Gner was not the sort of man that Erts would risk meeting in an alley at night: fighting was not in any way his area of concentration.

All of the beggarfolk had been coached in self-defense to some degree, in case they targeted the wrong aristocrat and found themselves having to fend off a knife or physical combat, or even a pistol. But Erts suspected that Gner would not fight with the stylized, refined tactics that the Theatre bums had been trained against; any battle with him would be crude, brutal, and violent.

The way all encounters with Gner were said to be.

"The house shows an ace. Would you like to buy insurance?"

"No," said Hiead, immediately.

"No," Erts echoed after a moment, relying on his gut instinct.

The other players all chimed in, negative, following their lead. Erts spared a moment of scorn for them as the dealer began flipping cards. The first player maxed out, and the second stayed at eighteen.

The dealer smiled at Gner, but the good-natured expression faltered and fell away at the unrelenting glare. "You... you have a king and a nine," the man said. "Nineteen. Stay?"

"Hit me," Gner commanded curtly.

A murmur of surprise went around the table. "But, but sir--"

"Just do it."

The murmurs escalated into shocked exclamations as the dealer drew the card, and reverently laid down the ace of spades beside Hiead's other cards. "Twenty," he murmured. "Just... just made it."

Erts barely noticed the next player overbidding. He had an ace and a five -- a good hand, six or fifteen depending on how he chose to play it. There was no risk at all in calling for another card, he couldn't lose on it, and the odds were decent that he would get a low card to play with the fifteen.

"Your call, sir?"

"Hit me," he said firmly.

The card was turned over. "A ten, sir," the dealer informed him, and Erts winced. Spectators once more murmured their response. "You have sixteen."

Sixteen was the very worst number, probability dictated, to have in a game of blackjack. A quick glance at the other players' hands confirmed that there were still two low cards in the deck, and the dealer could only have one of them. Still, the odds...

Erts glanced up, at Gner, and saw the smirk on his lips, and knew that he had to keep playing -- and he had to win. "Again," he said, defiantly, and enjoyed the stunned silence that followed.

Slowly, the dealer drew the next card, and even slower, laid it down beside Erts' others. "A five," the man said, grinning. "Twenty-one for Milord Cocteau." Gaining speed, the dealer flipped his other card, and announced, "The house has thirteen, and draws... The house stays at twenty. Milords Van Price and Harraway have overplayed; Milady Verlaine has lost at eighteen, and Milord Gner tied at twenty and loses. Milord Cocteau wins the pot."

Hiead Gner, Erts noticed gleefully as he accepted his winnings and the compliments of the spectators, did not look happy at all.

Next chapter: Erts discovers that Hiead Gner is also not the type to take defeat gracefully.

Am I evil? Yes.

--Kay