♫ Gambling Hall - Hargeon |
Interacting with:
@Milkman ♫
Current Song: None
Repertoire: Unavailable
Tristan's face went red when Renard remarked on the unsavoury implications of his actions, turning away from the boy with a forced cough.
"
I... Uh, sorry. Perhaps that would appear suspect." He stuttered, pretending to be intensely interested in the fragmented remains of a beer bottle. The awkwardness didn't last long, thanks to Renards infectious smile and bright persona. A snicker escaped his lips when Renard brought up being good at keeping his head down.
"
Hard to imagine such a loud-mouthed pipsqueak like yourself suited for stealth. Color me surprised." He snickered, letting Renard climb up his clothes and nestle inside one of his pockets. He pulled the buttons of his coat together up to his neck, making sure his ally was completely hidden. With that sorted, Tristan inconspicuously stepped out from the alley and headed to the gambling hall at a steady, relaxed pace.
The bouncer cocked his eyes towards the Bard, staring at him like he was a piece of meat. Keeping his composure, Tristan returned the glare before jutting a thumb in the direction of the hall.
"
You gon' let me in or what?" He spoke brashly, trying his best to act more like the regulars of such an establishment. While onlookers would find it hard to see, Renard most likely could feel his heart pounding. The man shifted to properly face Tristan, lowering his arms down by his sides in balled fists. Tristan shifted his weight onto the balls of his feet, half expecting the brute to take a swing at him. Instead he pounded his huge fist onto the side of the building with the force of a battering ram. Tristan couldn't help but jump a little at the display, which brought a grin to the bouncers face.
"
Knock yerself out, pal." He sneered, just as another man of equal stature swung the door open.
"
Cheers, mate" Tristan said, doing his best to regain the tough guy composure. The bouncer chuckled returning his arms back over his chest and resting against the wall. The Bard stepped through the door; the distant chatter from outside now a riot of shouts, laughter and jaunts. There were a few rows of gambling machines; slots, poker and roulette, but the bulk of the gambling took place at the tables. Smartly dressed dealers flourished cards with tricky sleight of hands. Most wouldn't have picked up on it, but Tristan could immediately tell from the subtle movements of their fingers that they were cheating. Nothing too unexpected, the house always wins after all. Renard spoke out from inside his pocket about the gambling, clearly intrigued. Yet there was something about the way he was acting that Tristan found strange.
"
Think again, friend. The games are all rigged." He began, sensing a similar feeling pulse through his being. The sound of cards being shuffled, the clink of glass pints and the rattling of a mountain of chips being thrown into the pot all melded together into an alluring jingle. He could feel his breathes quicken, quickly losing track of why he came to the hall.
"
Well, perhaps one game couldn't hurt. I can see how they're cheating so we'd have an advan-" Tristan paused mid sentence, his stomach churning as he clutched the side of his head. "
Wait, no! That doesn't make sense." Tristan quickly peered around, noticing that all the patrons had a strange gleam in their eyes. Suddenly their laughs sounded hollow, their banter empty. Tristan had been standing in the center of the hall for a while now, and a few dealers had begun to take notice. One clicked his fingers and gestured towards a bouncer, pointing at the Bard before returning to his game. He felt a heavy hand tough his shoulder, spinning around to meet with a well built lady with a rapier and flintlock pistol at her side. Her head was completely shaved and she had a wicked scar across her face. She was about the same height as Tristan, looking into his eyes with a menacing glare.
"
You ain't lookin' right there, buddy. Don't you go puking over the floor you hear?" She rolled her eyes at Tristan's blank expression, spinning him around before pointing to a little nook past the bar. "
The cans in there, mate. Take it easy on the drinks, alright? The Bard gave a short nod before stumbling towards the restroom. His head was spinning with conflicted thoughts; he knew the games were rigged and he'd win nothing, yet there was an insatiable desire to try. He'd never have to perform on the street for food again. He could live in fancy hotels where he'd have servers at his beck and call. Attend glamorous orchestras and the opera! He struggled to release his jacket, which felt like it was starting to choke him. When he finally succeeded, he quickly plucked Renard from his pocket and placed the rat on the side of a basin. Turning the water on, Tristan splashed himself in the face while taking deep breathes.
"
Something is very wrong here little mouse. I don't feel like myself." He was panicking. Whatever dark force had hold of him, he clearly wasn't coping. He tried his best to think of a solution, but his thoughts were clouded with visions of all that could be. All he had to do was take his place at the tables. Join everyone else at the tables. Everyone was happy at the tables. He could be happy too. He clutched his head, pressing his forehead firmly against the mirror.
"
Get out of my head!" He cried, smashing his fist into the mirror with a frustrated grunt. Wincing at the sudden pain coming from his hand, he noticed that he'd shattered a part of the mirror in his anger.
