A 'special feature' if you will.
"Ok gentlemen, the game is fifty-two pick up!"
A full deck of cards sprung from the girl's hand and fluttered across the felt top table, hailed by all six men surrounding it groaning loudly.
"Ah! Mélodie." The tall one groused.
With some lack of enthusiasm, the assembled Goons began to gather up the small, finely decorated squares, peering within the upholstery and under feet for any particularly aerial strays. The pyjama-clad little girl at the head of the alcove, astride a tower of cushions so high she could have stretched out her legs and propped her fuzzy Moogle head slippers on the table top, smiled and shrugged sheepishly. The ridiculously over-sized green visor on her head shifted down and covered her eyes.
"Sorry, I couldn't help it."
"Knew you shouldn't have given her the cards." Grumbled one of the Goons as he handed over a wad of them to the gunner, who in turn only passed them to the Dr. Goon opposite.
"It was Ormi who encouraged it. Indris, you deal."
"Fine." The doctor slung back a vial of stiff liqueur and commenced shuffling.
"I's don't know." Chuckled Ormi, heading up the other end of the table. "I's thought it was kinda funny."
"Of course you did."
It hadn't taken long for Mélodie to return to her usual rambunctious demeanour, though it had still been a good couple of months. She was back to classes now and appeared to be much more involved, though only time and her next report card would tell. She had also attended four training sessions so far, to which she had applied herself with great zeal, albeit a little disappointed there hadn't been any more guns. Logos had concentrated more on unarmed combat and since they had started he had got some of his batman Goons to keep an eye on Mélodie to ensure she wasn't trying to practice on other children. No incidents...yet.
"Do I have to give Indris the hat?" Mélodie whispered to Logos, pointing at her headgear and looking a bit put out.
"I'm not wearing that stupid thing." Indris responded dryly, not peeling his attention away from the cards.
"Oh good." She took up her mug of gysahl green root beer in both hands and took a hearty swig.
The Dr. Goon gave the pack a final flourish before flicking a hand to each patron.
"Ok gentlemen, the game is actually Luca Hold 'Em. Bevelle rules since we're mostly Yevonites here."
"Aw c'mon!" Blurted a blonde haired man seated next to Ormi, his brilliant green swirled eyes expressing insult. "That's not fair!"
"Five ex-Yevonites, one Al Bhed. Sorry, Jaffa, you're outnumbered."
"What? But Zekiel's an old Leaguer."
"Yeah, but I was a Crusader before that. I know the rules."
"Ok, ok. Four ex-Yevonites, one Al Bhed and one Leaguer, if you want to get technical. You're still outnumbered."
"Tysh ed." The blonde man grumbled. "Ajena desa."
"Don't sweat it, Jaffa." Spoke the scruffy Goon next to Indris, casually scratching his scraggly excuse for a beard. "The only actual rule in Bevelle rules poker is Al Bheds can't play, soooo shove off."
He flashed a jesting grin at the Al Bhed, Ormi and Zekiel snorted into their drinks.
"Yccruma." Jaffa griped. "Shut up, Bortho."
To her left, Mélodie spied Logos's long fingers rummaging around in his breast pocket, they slowly drew out a roll of white paper, the other hand emerged from under the table with the silver flip lighter in its grasp.
"Can I have-?"
"No."
"Hey, kid's got the right idea. Logos, can you sub me one, pal?"
The gunner, extinguishing the flame and sucking in a long drag of ochu pollen, glared at the Goon with beady eyes.
"Don't you have any of your own, Zekiel?"
The man ran a four-fingered hand through his unruly copper hair, his face painted with a guilty smile.
"I did. Then I told Nahuri I was giving up and she chucked them away."
"You're still fumbling about with that one?" Logos spat, a plume of smoke spluttering from his lips.
"Yeah, what? She's alright."
"She's a blasted nightmare is what she is."
"How do you know? You just don't..." The man trailed off, before flopping against the back of the banquette. "Yevon damn it, Logos! Now you've ruined it."
"Oh it was years ago, and I had the better sense not to go back." The tall man puffed another stream of smoke up to the ceiling of the nook. "What's the problem with that anyway?"
"Because now every time we're at it I'm gonna end up picturing you and Nahuri getting nast- ah!"
One of Logos's jodhpurs had smacked Zekiel in the shin. The Goon peered up from where he was rubbing the fresh bruise to see the gunner motion his head towards Mélodie, who was thankfully gazing into the base of her emptying mug with her chin in the air. The Goon shook his head irritably.
"Bud, you're gonna have to give me a list or something. Are there any girls here you haven't fu- ow!"
A fresh, unlit cigarette had hit him in the eye. Then the bare mug was snatched from Mélodie's clutches and plonked in front of the Goon.
"Go fill that up, would you? Bottle's on my desk, there are matches in the drawer too."
Rubbing his eyelid and sticking the cigarette in his mouth with an annoyed grunt, the Goon slide out from the wall seat and headed over to the desk for the refill.
"Bring over the pálinka too!" Indris beckoned.
"Oh, you're not drinking that garbage!"
"Hey," Mélodie piped to the gunner at her side, "sorry about the snacks by the way. I got hungry on the way here."
Logos looked at Mélodie with an air of sincere sarcasm.
"Yes, I forgot how long that hike from the kitchen is." He drawled.
Her face broke into a coy, toothy grin, a new expression she had begun to adopt since the Monolith. It roughly translated to 'I know I've been cheeky but hey, at least it's not as bad as before'.
Logos wasn't really sure where Mélodie had heard about their poker game but he suspected the most likely theory was Ormi had blabbed something at too high a volume. In all honesty, if that was the case, then Ormi was happy to accommodate the girl regardless. This was his 'soiree' after all.
Once the stitches from Logos's shoulder had been extracted and the gunner was more mobile, Ormi had beseeched Leblanc to allow him a few more days off in order to go to the western isles, as he said he had some 'unfinished business' there. An understanding and perceptive Leblanc had permitted and off he went. On that occasion Logos had slightly regretted abandoning the crutches so early, pride had got the better of him, greater ailments than a busted knee had not stopped him before but he was still hobbling a touch even now, he cursed age. The wide warrior had returned to work a week later, mood poignantly jovial and whistling merrily. Logos barely had a chance to inform Ormi he was late to clock in before the round man had blurted out,
"She's said yes!"
Remembering Mélodie telling him he must act surprised, Logos gave the performance of a lifetime. He raised his eyebrows a fraction higher than usual, nailed it. The news travelled fast and Ormi received many a firm pat on the back, shaking of hands and chants of congratulations. Even Leblanc was enamoured with excitement and flung her arms about the man's beefy shoulders for a hug that Logos inspected was much longer and exuberant than usual. The tall man had scanned over the throngs of well-wishing Goons to try and spot Treza and suggest a faux marital proposal in the hopes of perhaps getting the same attention from his Boss. He had also acquiesced and agreed to be Ormi's best man, it had been the very next thing the warrior had bellowed after initially breaking the news to his friend.
There was an earnest and fervent proposition of a good drink between some of the veteran men, all to the excuse of 'this calls for a celebration!'. However, it had been difficult to set a time until now since a lot of important Syndicate work had fallen by the wayside, what with Mélodie's monster run-in. And Leblanc, over the moon or not with the announcement of a wedding, would always be steadfast and unwavering in her ambitions; it was back to business. They had simply concluded that it was easier to ship in a crate of booze and settle on an evening of losing all their wages to Lady Luck, it did feel a bit unspectacular. Logos was sure he had some cigars somewhere and was racking his brain trying to remember where.
"One root beer for the little lady." Zekiel announced, returning to the card table booth at the back of Logos's office and passing the girl the mug. "And here's ya sugar water, Indris."
He shook the bottle of arylide coloured liquid before dumping it down in front of the dealer.
"Ugh." The Al Bhed's nose wrinkled up in distaste. "How do you drink that stuff?"
"I know." Zekial concurred. "It's so sweet."
"Meh, I like it." The doctor uncorked the bottle and began preparing himself another tipple.
"What are you a vespa?" Bortho jabbed.
The Dr. Goon's thumb glided over the top of the deck in his hand and laid out five cards in the middle of the table, in a line and face down.
"Right," Indris began, placing down the pack purposefully, "blind time."
The doctor turned to his left, to where the little girl was staring at the line of cards perplexed.
"Huh?"
Logos took up a pair of cards settled in front of Mélodie and waggled them in her face, his own hand poised between his bony fingers.
"Here."
"Oh." She accepted them cheerily.
"Now take one of your chips and place it on the table."
"Why?"
"To show you're betting."
"I thought we were going to play Sphere Break?"
A couple of the Goons groused boorishly, Jaffa had his head in his hands.
"I came to gamble, not piss my money away." Bortho hissed to his comrades out of the corner of his mouth.
"Did the cards not give you a clue?" Logos mocked. "Now, bet."
"But what if I don't want to bet?"
"You have to bet, Mélodie, you're the small blind." Indris instructed.
"What? I'm not blind, I can see fine."
Mélodie could hear Ormi's jolly laugh from within his tankard at the other end of the table and stuck her tongue out at him playfully.
"No, a blind bet," Logos tried to explain, already nettled, "just take one of your chips and put it in the pot."
"What pot?"
"On the table!"
Mélodie glanced down at her pitiful pile of colourful chips. There were three little towers, the tallest was full of yellow and red striped chips, the next green and white and finally, the shortest, blue and purple striped ones. She tentatively picked up a blue and purple disc.
"One of these?"
She went to toss it into the middle of the table but her wrist was snatched up by Logos (thankfully the unbroken side).
"Aeon's wept Mélodie! That's 50gil, let's not go mad just yet!"
"Oh, sorry."
"Here," Logos swiped up one of the yellow and red chips, "just put a 10gil in."
Mélodie hesitantly took up the token and, leaning forward on her hands on knees, smacked it down into the felt proudly. She returned to her pillows, smiling.
"Right," Indris declared after a moment, "big blind." He motioned to the gunner.
"Hold on!" The patrons turned to Bortho, who was sitting bolt upright and looking baffled.
"Now what?" Logos grumbled.
"Is she," The Goon's eyes darted between the gunner and Mélodie, "is she playing with real money?"
Logos, a bit perturbed and a bit embarrassed, glanced around at the curious sets of eyes now boring into him.
"Yes." He replied simply.
"Where's she got the gil from?" Bortho rebutted.
"Yeah," Jaffa interjected, "I assumed she'd just be dealt in with some blanks."
"This one of your bright ideas, chubs?" Zekiel gave Ormi's shoulder a nudge and nearly broke a knuckle.
"Huh? Nah, I's don't knows where she's got's it. Mélodie, ya mum's didn't give you's any did she? Does she's know it's for gambling?"
"Actually, I gave her some." A low mutter came from the top of the table.
"Come again?" Bortho's head snapped round.
Logos cleared his throat bashfully.
"I gave Mélodie some money to play."
For a moment the men sat still, gawking at the gunner. Before bursting into laughter.
"You did what!" Bortho roared.
"That's hilarious!" Whooped Jaffa.
"Indris, count her chips I want to know how much this moron gave her!" Bortho craned across the doctor for a better look.
"Farplane on earth, she must have at least a 1000gil there!" Zekiel was gripping his sides and threatening to fall off the bench.
The Dr. Goon gave Bortho a firm shove back away from Mélodie's provisions and the scruffy goon, now wiping his eyes, turned to the gunner.
"What made you think that," he pointed at the girl with an imposing finger, "was a good investment?"
Logos only responded with a growl and an abashed eye roll.
"Pfft, listen Logos," Bortho lent back and began to fiddle with his cards, "if you've got enough money to be throwing it around like that then you're being paid too much."
"Big blind!" Indris repeated, trying to bring the group back to the task at hand.
Two red and yellow chips bounced into the middle of the table, before the hand that threw them plucked the cigarette from its owners mouth and flicked away a lump of ash.
"Brilliant, now the real betting can start." Zekiel said, rubbing his hands together. "Let the game begin!"
Over the next few minutes, the booth fell into an intense and smokey hush. Only three sounds would occasionally break the silence, the odd clack of chips pinging against one another, the subdued crackle of glowing cigarette ends and swallows of spiced beverages cooling dry throats. Until it got to Mélodie's turn again where it took another heated exchange to explain to her that she needed to match the bet. It only drew to a close when Logos snatched up one her chips himself and thwacked it on the table, all whilst Bortho and Zekiel snickered at the painful play.
"All matched," Indris said simply, "time for the flop."
His nimble fingers reached out and gently turned the first three cards of the line. A three of spades, a nine of diamonds and an ace of clubs.
"Ah shi-! I mean, hmm hmm." The Al Bhed rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
"Ha! Don't think your Bikanel rules would help you there, fella." Bortho chaffed. "You're a terrible bluff."
"Oh crid ib, telgrayt!"
With that the blonde man went to retrieve an ashtray from the desk, he was fed up of debris from the gunner's cigarette flaking onto his shoulder.
"Can we add another rule to Bevelle rules?" Bortho inquired. "Only Spiran spoken at the game table."
"So Ormi," Zekiel mumbled through an inhale of his smoke, "you and Kiku set a date yet?"
Ormi re-positioned the cards in his hand carefully and took another swig of his ale.
"Nah, not yet." He answered, smacking his lips. "We's haven't talked about any plans, still lettin' it all sink in ya know's. Maybe's in the summer though."
"Do you think the wedding will be here? Or does Kiku want to have it in the western isles?" Jaffa reappeared, thrusting a teeming ashtray in front of Logos's already waning cigarette.
"I's don't know." Ormi shrugged. "Like I's said, we haven't talked about nothin'. She's got family out there though, and she's probably gonna want the kids she's teaches to get's involved."
"Oh, if it's not in Spira do you think I will get to go?" Mélodie asked, looking dejected.
The warrior beamed and waved a hand to assure the girl not to worry.
"Ah don't sweat it Mélodie, both Kiku and I would want you's there." He theatrically cupped a hand to his mouth and whispered, "I's was gonna suggest to's Kiku you's be the flower girl."
Mélodie's eyes sparkled with delight and she clapped her puny hands feverishly.
"Ooooo! Can I get a new dress?"
"Yeah Logos will buy you one!"
Zekiel made an ugly noise and threatened to spit out his mouthful of beer at Bortho's dig. After a testing few moments, he managed to swallow it down.
"So Kiku's got some family, will they help pay for the big day?"
Ormi was taken aback, bemused by the question, it was clear finance was something he hadn't considered.
"Ugh, nah, she's just got's some sisters and a brother."
"Maybe the boss'll give you something towards it." Jaffa said, desperately battling to uncork the bottle under his arm so he could add some of it's contents to the ice in his tumbler.
"The Boss? Give over." Bortho sniffed.
"I don't know." Zekiel scratched his neck, contemplating. "I mean you and Logos have been here longer than, well, pretty much anyone. It's not totally ridiculous that she might slip you some dough."
"She gave Drehne and Yalika some money when they got married, remember?" Jaffa added.
"Yes, but that was a present, not to fund the ceremony." Indris uttered, recounting his chips.
"Yeah but this is different," Zekiel remarked, turning to the large man at the head of the table, "this is Ormi we're talking about, eh big fella? Besides Leblanc was freaking ecstatic at the news."
The auburn-haired Goon gave Ormi a warm pat on the back. The warrior smiled but still appeared ill at ease.
"Ya know's," Ormi began gingerly, "you's say's that but since I's first told her she's ain't brought it back up once. In fact, I's even say she's avoiding the subject or summin'."
"Weird." Jaffa had finally been able to release the bottle top.
"Yeah's it is." Ormi pondered. "Hey, Logos, do you's know what's up with her?"
Logos, who had just accepted a fresh owed cigarette rolled to him by Indris, had remained quiet for the duration of this discussion. It was for good reason, because he knew exactly why Leblanc was acting so odd.
The morning after Mélodie's excursion Logos had shuffled up the purple-clad stairs and rapped on the boss's office door with a quivering hand. She'd welcomed him in blithely and insisted he take a seat so he wouldn't have to stand awkwardly on his crutches. Thirty minutes later Logos left the office, and had punched the corridor wall with such burning vehement force it was a wonder he hadn't caused another injury. She had cried, it was also the first time he had ever seen her cry, and he'd hated it. Apart from required business, the pair had not spoken since. He had yet to get a chance to speak with Mélodie on this subject, and to confess he may have divulged some difficult, but important, news to her mother. Somehow though, Logos sensed the girl already knew this, perhaps Leblanc and had had a heart to heart with her daughter. He hoped so and she didn't seem at all distrustful of him, so that was fortunate.
"Haven't a clue." Logos replied blankly, engulfing the end of his cigarette with the white flame of his lighter.
"Ok, next round of betting."
"Chill out, Indris." Zekiel vented. "You looking for an early night or something?"
"I can help with that. Put ya money on the table, Doc." Bortho smirked, fanning his cards at the physician.
Indris ignored the gripes and gestured for Mélodie to put in.
"Just tap the table for Fayth's sake."
"What?" Mélodie blared.
"Tap the table." Logos repeated.
"Like this?" Mélodie lent forward haphazardly and knocked on the table as if it were a door, the chip piles wobbled a bit.
"That'll do, that's a check." With that two of the tall man's long fingers tapped twice on the felt top firmly. He took a sip of whiskey, popped the cigarette back in his mouth and returned to his cards.
Jaffa lazily bobbed the back of his hand against the surface also, gaze not shifting from his cards. Ormi too thumped his burly knuckles into the table after a brief mindful pause. A red and yellow chip rolled into the centre of the table and Zekiel reclined back again, taking a healthy glug of beer. Bortho glowered at the old Youth Leaguer.
"Is that it?"
"What?"
"Is that your bet? Is that it, 10gil?"
"Meh, it's early." The Goon shrugged. "Least I bet."
"10gil when she's a contender?" One of Bortho's thumbs was directed at Mélodie. "Pah! You lot can be so boring, I think we need to liven this up a bit."
Much in the fashion of a miniature crane, Bortho's grubby fingers hoisted up two purple and blue tokens and flung them onto the table.
"100gil!" He decreed. "Who's matching?"
The gaggle of men stared at the small bright discs, interests peaked. Suddenly, another two blue and purple chips joined them to make four.
"Go on then." Indris sighed.
Before Logos could implore Mélodie to fold she had propelled two of the same discs into the pot. His thumb and index finger came up and pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration, before reluctantly matching the bet. Jaffa, Ormi, and Zekiel obediently added their own chips also.
"I still cannot get over Logos trying to win his own money back from a little girl." Bortho chattered under his breath.
"Well, at least I gave the money to her freely." Logos sneered into his drink. "Rather than get it mugged off me on the job."
The group simpered, recalling the sticky fingers of The Gullwing's former thief.
"You better hope Lady Luck's on your side tonight, buddy." Bortho scowled. "Cos I'm planning to rob you blind."
He deftly tapped his downturned hand with a yellowing fingernail, before his wiry hand curled around his drink and lifted it to his lips.
"Then again," he continued, "we know how quick you can be with the ladies, she'd probably get bored of you after a round."
"Hey!"
"Whoa!"
Mélodie, who had, unbeknownst to Logos, stolen his flip lighter and was trying to decipher the Yevon inscription, now found a hand from each of the adjoining men clamped over her ears. She noted how they were all frowning and looking appalled at Bortho, she hadn't even really been paying attention, something about Logos being fast and girls too, maybe the gunner had out swam one at Blitzball once? Who knows.
"Come on, Bortho, there's a lady present." Ormi scolded.
The shaggy Goon held his hands up but still wore an expression of indifference. Logos plucked the lighter from Mélodie's meddling mitts with an 'I'll take that' and ensured it was secured in his furthest jacket pocket.
"Can we please keep any fights until after we're drunk." Indris droned. "Anyway, the turn."
The Dr. Goon pitched one of his fingers under the fourth card in the line and flipped it over. A seven of spades. Each man deliberated over his own hand.
"Vilg ed! I fold." The Al Bhed cried, smacking his cards down on the table.
"Cool it, fella." Zekiel tried to placate him. "It's not even your go yet, Mél and Logos might have just checked."
"Oh, there'll be no checking in this round." Another purple and blue chip was being twisted through Bortho's scrawny fingers.
"It is kind of ungentlemanly to not wait your turn," Indris admitted, regaling the laws of poker etiquette, "but whatever, if you fold, you fold. Mélodie?"
"What's it called if I don't hit the table?"
"Mélodie." Logos warned.
"If you don't check? Then you have to bet, at this point it's called a raise." Indris explained.
"Ok then."
"Mélodie!"
"Raise!" Two white and green chips rolled their way along the fabric and settled in the middle of the table.
"You better have some bloody good cards." Logos hissed at the girl through gritted teeth.
"Bet is raised by 50gil." Indris announced. "You're up Logos, call? Raise?"
"Fold? Fold would be pretty wise about now." Bortho jeered.
"Oh, give me a minute, I'm thinking." The gunner grumbled, trying to prevent his cigarette from tumbling out of his mouth.
"Man's choked," Bortho muttered.
"Let's hope he doesn't do the same when it comes to his best man's speech."
"Wahay!"
The Dr. Goon, being of a more, not reserved but tepid nature, was often so subdued that any joke made by him was a cause for profound observance and gaiety. He lazily raised his own lanky arms in mock triumph, just for a brief instance, then poured himself a victory drink.
"Has you's started writing that already, Logos?" Ormi asked.
"Course he hasn't," Bortho replied in words.
However, Logos instead replied with action, he noticeably shuddered and popped his neck a bit.
"Oh speaking of things that make your skin crawl, that reminds me." Zekiel had just cracked open a fresh beer, using the table as a bottle opener, Logos winced at the thought of the woodwork being marked. "Bit off-piste I know lads, but guess who I spied making a flying visit recently."
The men drew closer to the old Leaguer.
"Well go on..." He teased. "Guess."
They stared at each other blankly.
"I's dunno, that Ronso guy?" Ormi tried.
"Um uh," Zekiel mumbled through the froth of his beer. "Nah, you'd know ol' Whiskers was here, those great hairy feet padding about. No, try again."
"Shinra?"
"Nope, last chance."
The patrons rubbed the backs of their necks and took pensive slugs of alcohol whilst waiting for inspiration to strike.
"Oh I know, I know!" Mélodie trilled.
"Yeah but you're a clever-clogs," Zekiel said spiritedly. "Let the dumb boys solve it this time."
"How does that phrase go, Mél? You know when you want a hint?" Jaffa appealed to the girl.
"One two give us a clue?"
"That's the one."
Zekiel tutted and rolled his eyes.
"Ok, if I were to say he used to be my boss before The Boss..."
"What, Nooj?" Jaffa blurted.
"It can't have been surely." Logos concurred.
"Well, unless you lot know of another pony-tailed guy with metal limbs, a cane and a pair of specks, then who else could it be?"
"He's not been up to Gagazet in nearly two years. Why the sudden change of hea-?"
"Achooo."
Logos stopped mid-sentence, interrupted by Mélodie's wimpy little sneeze. He didn't have to say anything, she could tell from his eyes he was inquiring.
"He came to see me when I was sick." She revealed. "He brought me a new dolly and some taffy. I would have brought some tonight but I ate it."
"What flavour was it?" Zekiel asked.
"Eskir berry."
"Ah that's a shame, that's my favourite."
Logos had to admit that Mélodie was sick for some time. He supposed it wouldn't have been a total impossibility that her father might come to be at her bedside after hearing the news, even if it were for but a fleeting period. Her high fever and hoarse cough had only worsened over the night since the pair returned to the Château.
The gunner had gone to check in on her the following morning, but not before tending to things with The Boss and barking at a Goon to fetch someone to see to the now damaged plastering. He had creaked the door open as softly as he could, and found Arissa sleeping on the job. Still far too shaken and raw from his talk with Leblanc he couldn't find the strength to reprimand her, instead he told her to clock off and get some proper rest, he would take up the post in her place. Settling himself into the appointed wing-back chair he had observed Mélodie's slumbering form. She was half seated thanks to a mountain of pillows and her cast clad wrist laid upon one singular plump cushion. Her skin was white, translucent and glistening from heat, she had heavy eye bags, her lips and fingertips were an off shade of mauve and with every laboured breath, you could hear the crackle of her lungs and the rattle of her ribs. The pair remained in a hush, the tempest still rolling outside, snow caking the window ledge and mistral air whistling through. Occasionally, when not gazing over the feeble girl and deep in rumination, the gunner would get up and tuck the blankets up a pinch tighter to Mélodie's grazed chin or limp over to the simmering fireplace and stoke the wood.
After about an hour, whilst Logos was still as alert and as vigilant as a Great Dane, another nanny Goon crept in to relieve him. He'd gathered his crutches, lurched to his feet and headed for the door, but not before giving the girl's able hand a tender pat.
"Bye." A tiny voice bleated.
He had spun around from the threshold and witnessed Mélodie peering at him through weak, bleary eyes. She'd been awake the whole time.
"Fold, fold, fold, fold, fold." Bortho's annoying tones chanted from across the table.
A blue and purple chip bounded into the amassing mound on the table.
"Match." Logos said coyly through a haze of cigarette fumes.
"Jaffa? Oh, that's right you folded." The Al Bhed, nose in a glass tumbler, thrust a finger at his abandoned cards for the Dr. Goon. "Ormi?"
Ormi's pudgy face distorted as he tried to address this delicate quandary. His black eyes kept switching between his cards and the decorative pile of tokens by his side. Eventually, he decided to gather up two green and white ones and match too. He had taken so long deliberating that Zekiel had already made up his mind and his own chips ended up landing at the same time as the warrior's.
"Bortho?" The old Leaguer gave a derisive bow to the bearded man.
"Do you need to ask?" Another pair of purple and blue tokens pattered onto the felt. "Raise, by 50gil."
The Goon gave a throaty cough and turned to the doctor. Indris tweaked the corner of his downturned hand, resting on the table, to remind himself of their value. His expression turned serious as he consulted them.
"I fold." He conceded.
"Figures." Bortho scoffed. "You and Jaffa are no fun. So, who's still in, it's 50gil to play on."
Before any of the men could even consider their next move, Mélodie, totally oblivious to Logos's burning sideways stare, clapped another pair of green and white discs onto the table.
"Match!" She shouted. "It is 'match' right?"
Indris nodded to her, smiling faintly at the gunner who as now massaging his temples.
"Ha! You got to give it to the kid, she's got balls." Bortho grinned. "No brains but balls."
"Hey!" Zekiel retorted to the ex-Yevonite's put down.
The gunner, on the other hand, was glowering at his opponent through slim, icy eyes. On this occasion he didn't even confer with his cards, a purple and blue chip settled in the middle of the table. Logos's long fingers tapped gently but rhythmically against his cards, his glare unbudging, Bortho gave a short tip of his head, so minute it was almost a tick. At the far end of the table, Ormi's pudgy hand was twitching above his collection of chips, again his head was swinging between the tokens and his cards. His stumpy fingers delicately selected a blue and purple chip, then placed it back down again.
"Nahs." He yielded. "It's not worth's it. I's fold."
"What!" Bortho squawked. "It's your damn games night and you ain't even gambling?"
"I's gambled, what you's call this?" He heavy-handedly prodded the heap of betted chips. "I's got's to save my cash now. This is all I's got, I ain't gonna be buying back in if I's get screwed over."
"It is only the first round, Bortho." Indris's voice rose with the vapour of a just-lit cigarette.
"Don't sweat it, bud. I ain't gone soft on you."
Zekiel's partially present hand threw a purple and blue chip onto the surface, a little awkwardly as it nearly slipped out the gap where his little finger should have been before he was ready.
"All matched." Indris derived it was wiser to jump in before Bortho had a chance to raise the stakes all the more. "The river," he asserted, flipping the final card, the ace of spades. "Final round of betting."
Logos's keen eyes were counting the current total of the pot. He tallied 1,390gil, but that didn't make sense...unless...oh no.
"Mélodie! What is wrong with you? Why didn't you just check?"
Bortho was sniggering at them from across the table.
"But that's no fun." The girl pouted.
"Well just bet a 10gil or something, not a hundred!"
"You gave this money to me to play, right? Well, that's what I'm doing."
"To be fair, Logos," Indris interjected, "she has a point, it is now hers to do what she wants with."
"Yeah," Ormi bellowed from the desk, where he was refuelling his flagon with ale. "You's should have just given her's, like, a hundred or summit in the first place, not a thousand."
"Hindsight is a wonderful thing." Logos groaned under his breath.
Bortho leered over the table at his tall and irate comrade.
"Don't worry, slim, that money will be much better cared for once it's in my pocket."
The gunner forcibly stabbed out his dying cigarette into the overburdened ashtray. Collecting some fragments of his patience he studied his cards, then folded two purple and blue chips into his palm and placed them on the table neatly. The crew waited for an assured and cool Zekiel to make his move. He smiled briefly and raised an eyebrow.
"I fold."
"So much for not going 'soft'." Bortho griped.
"Buddy, I've had nothing since the flop. Fucked it ages ago -oh!"
The old Leaguer clapped a hand over his mouth and stared wide-eyed towards Mélodie, who was giggling impishly.
"Now, little lady, don't you go using that word, "he deterred, "And if you do, you didn't hear it from me." He winked and threw back a swig of his beer.
In all honesty, Mélodie had heard much worse before, often when sleuthing within Logos's vicinity. She had actually learned a handful of more colourful ones as of recent. There was this one time in a training session, whilst she was learning to parry with a bamboo pole, where she had caught the gunner a crack on the upper thigh. Suddenly her knowledge of vocabulary had been vastly expanded. His limp, which had virtually healed, made an unexpected reappearance and at full clout too, it perhaps even looked slightly worse than before. He'd called the session to an early close after that, garbling something about needing to go lie down for a while.
"Hmm, I don't know," she mused, "perhaps I was too thirsty to hear anything." She winked back and nudged her empty mug across the felt.
"Right you are!" Zekiel nabbed the mug cheerily and leapt up from the wall seat.
Mélodie was about to resettle herself on her pillows before she noticed something, Bortho was no longer staring at Logos, he was looking at her. His brow was lowered, eyes twinged with hostility and the corner of his mouth kept twitching upward slightly.
"Errrm..."
"Raise." He said slimily and three blue and purple chips hit the table top.
The men huddled closer together, as if the pendant ceiling light was causing the walls to close in on them. Zekiel had returned but was so distracted by the play he had forgotten to pass the girl her mug. Mélodie's eyes floated up from the chips, Bortho was still scowling at her.
"Mélodie?" Indris's voice broke the discomfort crisply.
"Oh, er..."
Bortho's vision didn't shift, his piercing little pupils burning into her. It was so awkward, she felt like the booth had just shrunk by two feet.
"Mélodie?" Indris's voice drifted in again. "You can either match the bet or fold if you like."
With some difficulty, she managed to break away from Bortho's gaze and instead stole a glance to the gunner on her left. She found he too was concentrating hard but not on her, on the side of Bortho's head. His hands were clasped together, elbows on the table, and positioned to cover the lower part of his face. His countenance was stony, much in the way a hawk looks when about to lunge for its prey.
Mélodie stuck out her chin and puffed up her chest.
"Match!" She cried and rained a fistful of chips onto the table.
There was a pause.
"Mélodie," Indris cleared his throat, "you already bet a hundred, you only needed a fifty to match."
She peered down at her wager and immediately realised her mistake, three purple and blue tokens stared up at her. She could hear a low, gurgling chuckle.
"Gutsy, kid." Bortho's voice was so oily she was surprised black ooze wasn't trickling out from between his teeth. "I like that."
"That's, erm, a raise of 100gil." Indris informed, still taken aback. "Logos?"
The scruffy Goons eyes had finally released Mélodie and now met the gunner's across the table. Without hesitation, one of Logos's hands unthreaded and cast two purple and blue and two green and white discs into the pot.
"Match." He drawled, slotting his fingers back together.
"Bortho, a hundred to stay in."
One of Bortho's grimy fingernails ran up and down the length of his tower of purple and blue chips. He stopped, and wedged it under the top three. With bated breath, the men watched as he began to slowly tip them into his hand.
"No." He said plainly. "No, I'll go easy on you, this time."
He replaced one of the chips back on top of the tower tactfully before sliding the two selected tokens into the middle of the table.
"Match."
"Ok, all matched," Indris breathed, "time for the showdown, gentlemen."
In terms of luck, there are many peculiar trinkets and customs people cherish in the hopes it may bring good fortune. A chocobo feather, a tonberry foot, a four pronged purpurea leaf. In Logos's case it wasn't something physical. In his youth, while serving in the Yevonite army, he had come to adopt his own subtle salute to 'The Showdown', and it had actually served him rather well. His hands separated and formed the shape of two 'guns', he cocked them in turn and made a light clicking noise with his tongue. Mélodie snorted into her root beer which Zekiel had finally delivered to her.
"Right, so Mélodie, you go firs-."
"Ah no," Bortho cut in, "kid's cards are main event, we want to end this on a laugh. Stretch, let's see what ya got?"
"That's not really how it works, Bortho." The bedraggled Goon gave the doctor a look that was somehow both jaded and imposing. "But, uh, I guess it doesn't really matter."
"Come on then." Bortho grinned. "Lay 'em out."
Logos, feeling the nuisance and annoyance of Jaffa craning over his shoulder and invading his personal space, fastidiously laid his hand on the table. A seven of clubs and a seven of hearts.
"Three of a kind, seven high." Indris notified.
There was a lull at the table, Bortho was studying the gunner's cards blankly. Logos reclined and swirled his glass of whiskey before seeing it off. Bortho's mouth slowly broke into a crooked toothy smile.
"Oh dear, that's a shame." He simpered and smoothly flipped his own cards. A five of spades and a Queen of spades.
"Ah a flush!" Jaffa gawked before Indris could get a word in.
"That's rotten luck." Zekiel sighed. Bortho gave an affronted sniff.
"Ya's got's to hand it to him's, Logos, that was pretty slick." Ormi had to confess.
Logos said nothing, the edges of his mouth only drew lower, a tad humiliated.
"Anyway, anyway," Bortho mitigated with all the modesty of a posing peacock, "we still have the little miss's to see. But, first, we should really give her a hand for being such a good bluff."
He had already begun to sweep up some of the chips from the table, Zekiel gave the back of Bortho's head a sharp knock.
"Go on." Logos uttered solemnly from his corner.
The little girl perused her cards one last time. She pushed the visor out of her yes then, shrugging, allowed them to drop to the table.
"I don't know," she sighed, "I don't really know what I've got."
The group loomed over the array of discarded cards and trophy chips to get a better view of the revealed hand. A seven of diamonds and an ace of hearts.
"Ha, pathetic. Well, you tried kid but poker is all about tough luc..." Bortho's words broke off as the cogs in his head began to whir.
"A pair," Jaffa read aloud, "and a three of a kind, ace high. That means..."
"Bwahaha! Kid's got a full house!" Ormi hooted. "She's got's you there, Bortho!"
"Good girl, Mél!" Zekiel punched the air. "Well played!"
"Fyo du cruf dryd tuilrapyk!"
"Will you stop jabberer in that stupid language!" Bortho seethed. "There's no way, check 'em again!"
"What's there to check?" Indris said smoothly. "The cards are, literally, on the table."
A confused Mélodie bumbled off her pillows and onto the table, the visor slipping from her ears.
"I won?"
"Mélodie wins, hand it over." Indris called, bringing his hand down firmly on the table in a chopping motion.
"I won!"
She threw her whole body over the bushel of chips, almost swimming in it.
"My, my," Logos smirked, "it seems we have a dark horse in our midst."
"Gah, beginner's luck." Bortho grunted.
"Now, don't be bitter, Bortho. You've got all night to try and win it back."
"Don't know why you're so smug, she's got your cash too, double in fact!"
"Ah give it a rest, will ya?" Zekiel plonked a fresh bottle of beer in front of the sore loser next to him.
Drinks were refilled and cigarettes traded and lit as Mélodie raked up her winnings, with some help from Logos and Indris. The group relinquished their hands to the Dr. Goon and, after an artful shuffle, he delivered them to the player on his left.
"Mélodie, your turn to deal."
"Ooooh, ok gentlemen the game is fifty-tw-!"
"NO!"
As the group protested in unison, Logos sprung across the table and snagged the deck from Mélodie's hand.
"I think perhaps it best if we skip Mélodie, after that earlier fiasco."
The girl beamed mischievously.
After a few minutes each man, and girl, was dealt their duo of cards, blinds were made with significantly less fuss this time, and the flop was revealed; round two commenced. Mélodie stared intently at her cards, held soundly between her tiny fingers, a two of clubs and a four of hearts, a feeble hand. She peeked over the top of the decorated squares and observed how the group were also all fixated on their own 'weapons', deep in contemplation. Her brown eyes cautiously turned downward to a small pocket of space where the corner of the curving wall seat was. Here, just a little way below her, under the table and out of sight from the other inhabitants of the booth, was a long, slender, open palm. It was empty, but then Logos, poker face in all it's glory directed away at his own cards, flicked out a card from his sleeve so fast that Mélodie had to debate whether it ever inhabited the intervening air. The King of hearts, adorned with a meticulously detailed etching of a Behemoth roaring fiercely. Once she had carried out one last check to ensure the coast was clear, she delicately took it up and placed it in her own hand.
She started to wonder if perhaps renegotiations may be in order after the night's festivities, from fifty-fifty to sixty-forty. After all, it was all her idea.