Thomas took Antonia’s proffered tangerine and ate each wedge with slow, silent movements of his jaw that allowed him to hold the fruit in his mouth as long as possible. It gave his mind someplace to expel the mounting frustration he felt without showing it outwardly on his features. His face was placid and still, save for the occasional chewing, and his copper eyes were distant and seemed to focus on nothing in particular. Behind those eyes was a mind that wrestled with the game at hand, and was inexorably moving towards a slurry of disappointment and annoyance.

Did they think him so foolish? Did the both of them think him a vain man, a man so lashed to his ego that his favor only fell upon those that stoked it? Thomas worked daily to appear the man in contrast to such men, so abundant among the scoundrel captains of the Caribbean. His reputation was supposed to have been built upon a foundation of reality, that his deeds spoke of his nature, and not instead filled with bloated tales of self-worth and embroidered heroics. Thomas was a confident man, to be sure, and he was never one to diminish his own abilities to anyone. He enjoyed the thrill of winning and the pleasurable kiss of victory, but he only found it pleasurable upon the lips of his own guile and sweat. What was transpiring here made his heart fall to his gut. 

Jax seemed to be teetering on the knife’s edge of enjoyment and disinterest, and so thusly was not taking the brunt of Thomas’ repressed ire. The First Mate however, had shown her colors. It was clear in the tactful skill at which she [i]lost[/i] that her mind had counted and manipulated cards more than a handful of times. She was no green maiden at this art, no, she was tactician. A tactician that in Thomas’ mind was taking the strategy of valiant retreat for an end he did not comprehend. Thomas had been taking money from the pair of them the entire night, and he himself was not playing at the level he was accustomed to. He was too distracted by his own displeasure to do so. 

When Nicolette pushed the last of her silver into the pot, Thomas laid down his winning hand without hesitation. He looked between both her and Jax with an expressionless face, though his eyes were now sharp with the irritation restrained behind them. Without a word he reached his arms to the pot, and withdrew the coins into his own pile. Part of him wanted to overturn the table, and sling the bullion across the Parakeet, raging against the offense he was suffering beneath. Instead however, he merely sat, his fingers gently shifting the pile of coins before him. He wanted their respect, and their genuine companionship, not some feeble attempt to bow before the veneration granted by the title of “Captain.”

Thomas took the wine bottle from the table, and poured a large helping of the ruby liquid into his empty mug. He took a long drink before setting it down gently. For a long moment he simply savored the taste, allowing the liquor to help was away some of the emotion held in his throat. He did not want to ostracize his crewmates, for as he thought upon the game he recognized perhaps the position that they were operating from. His anger diminished mightily, though his disappointment was still quite heavy upon his mind. 

“I have no more stomach for this game,” he said softly, a slight smile reaching his mouth. “In lieu of such things, I have an opportunity for us to discuss, if all of you are so inclined to hear it?”