A/N: Sorry this took so long! Life's been hectic…

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Tris scrutinised George's face, searching mercilessly for the tiny flicker that would give him away. His expression- sly eyes, crooked smile and all- was annoyingly unreadable. She frowned. He really was too good at this.

Was that a gleam of triumph? She bit her lip. She had lost enough money already today. Better not to risk it. "I'll fold." She said decisively, spreading her cards out in front of her. George grinned widely, scooping the pile of coins towards him. Tris gasped as he spread his cards out smoothly on the table.

"I had a full house, and you bluffed me for a pair of fives?" she shrieked, disbelief written all over her flushed face. "George Cooper, you are the most…"

He laughed, cutting her off in the middle of her tirade. "You can screech at me all you want, merchant-girl, you're still not getting your crescents back."

She glared at him. After just over an hour in the Dancing Dove, George had already adopted Briar's nickname for her, and she had already been cajoled into playing poker. If only her great-aunt could see her now.

Briar smirked, and leant over to tug one of her braids, making a little spark jump over the table and shock George. Tris giggled, than clapped her hand over her mouth, realising that she had just giggled. Tris didn't giggle. She raised her eyebrow cynically. Sandry was the giggle-y one.

To her intense aggravation, George yelped, shook his shocked hand for a moment, and than composed himself. He looked over at her, and raised an eyebrow. She scowled. Nobody but her was allowed to raise their eyebrow. Oh, dear, she was becoming irrational… She shot a dirty look at Briar. He had probably laced her fruit juice with whisky, or some such thing. He grinned back, completely unashamed as Tris let out a most unladylike hiccup.

"Briar," she demanded, her arms crossed, "Did you put something in my fruit juice?"

His eyes widened adorably, and he pouted, "Why, Tris, I'm wounded by your lack of faith in me."

She raised an eyebrow. Well, at least she could still do that.

George chuckled. "Shot of whisky never hurt anybody." He said, smiling that crooked smile at her. "Good for the pancreas."

She groaned. "You," she informed the thief-king, pointing an accusatory finger at him, "are incorrigible."

"I am a unique and beautiful snowflake."

She rolled her eyes. "You think you're funny, don't you?"

"I am, as always, a slave to popular public opinion."

"You couldn't hear somebody else's opinion if it danced up and down on your eardrum wearing nothing but a tea cosy and singing a song about happy little mulberries!"

He blinked. "I resent that, actually."

"I apologise."

"I quite like mulberries."

Tris groaned, burying her face in her hands. George continued, oblivious.

"On the other hand, if it was a song about bilberries… I'm not too fond of bilberries. You're sure it was mulberries?"

Tris gave up, and took another gulp of her fruit juice.