InsideTheHellfireClubOOC - this is a side thread to allow people to establish themselves at the club. There were several people seated at the High Table, all masked, but seemingly rather older than those who frequented the lower tables. Two of their number were playing a game of draughts, of all things, to one end of the long table. Another, clearly more into the spirit of things, was attempting to throw small pieces of fruit into the decolletage of a rather amply gifted young lady, whose unmasked state procliamed her status - and her role. She was screaming with laughter at his game. One of the men was dressed in a long, sweeping red cloak. Romeo recognised it as the cloak worn by whoever was declared to be presiding over hell that evening - not the mysterious Lucifer who was always robed in white, nor the dark haired Mephistopheles, who also presided on occasion. No, this was one of the lesser devils, but one that needed to be appeased. He regarded their approach with what appreared to be a jaundiced eye, even through the mask. From lower down on the tables, a young man with butter yellow hair and wearing a fantastic suit, like a medieval jester only in shades of yellow and cobalt blue, looked up from his game of dice and gave a giggle. "I declare - there's Fuego himself! Didn't he vow never to come again after he lost those stanners to ... who was it?" "He can't give it up," said another masked young man with dark red curls, whose plain dark clothes proclaimed the cit - although the quality of those garments suggested the cit was wealthy. "None of us can. It's our drug, don't you know? But I'll challenge him for a game later. Wonder who that young stripling is that he's bear-leading in here? Might be worth challenging him too, while he's green." He turned and seemed to be surveying the display of female flesh on offer. "That is, unless I allow myself to become distracted," he added. "New blood?" the voice was musical and baritone, but the accent was so crisply aristocratic it made the man's entire bearing seem cold. He was of medium height and pale, with long, piratical dark curs. He wore red and black, a good of which was leather, and there were playing cards embroidered on his jacket and his boots - a Jack of Hearts, and an Ace of Spades respectively. "How... exciting." He didn't look excited, he looked thoroughly bored. But then again, he usually did. "You are entirely too jaded. Fresh blood is always good for a few laughs. And if you are that bored, why do you still come?" The man who spoke with a laughing voice had dark hair, and relatively pale skin. He was dressed in white and black, his shirt and pants were both white, except for the large white chess symbol emblazoned on his shirt, and the smaller ones along the seam of his pants. The chess symbol was that of a rook. "You misunderstand me," said the man adorned with cards. He sighed theatrically. "As so many do. I was perfectly honest - I *do* find new blood to be invigorating... Perhaps he *would* fancy a game." A hand, gloved in red velvet, adjusted a leather tricorn hat. "Or" The Rook reached into his clothing to put on white gloves, as white as the figures which set off his black. "Perhaps I bait you, only to have you speak more plainly ere the morsel arrives." "Ah, truly, my friend? Baiting, is it." the other man did not seem convinced. "Then perhaps we should call you the Hook, instead." The Rook chuckled at the jest. Idly he began doing shuffling tricks with a deck of cards that had seemingly appeared out of nowhere. "I'm in," said the yellow haired youth in the brilliantly coloured outfit. "What game shall we play - and what'll be the stake? Let's make it something worth playing for, tonight!" "Since it is he who is so bored." The rook looked to his card playing counterpart. "I think it is he who should name the terms of the game, and the stake. And those who wish to join, shall play. And the others shall watch." The card player, who called himself Lahire after the Jack of Hearts, had been slightly distracted by the events at the high table, and by the scream. He still wore a slightly sadistic smile as he turned to his companions. "Suppose we play a game that tests not only the wits but the agility as well. Devil's Cup is my game of choice tonight... and the prize shall be... oh dear." Fingers tapped teeth. "What *shall* we play for that we couldn't have at will, win or lose? I wonder..." It was hard to tell if Lahire could not think up a suitable stake, or if he was teasing them. Devil's Cup was a game he had "invented" years before, on the evening the Queen of Night had been with them. It involved cards, and drinking, and an elaborate obstacle course. "And without the Queen here, alas, this time. But still diverting all the same." The Rook said, with a nod of the accept. "I'm in." "Count me in too," said Jongeleur, as the yellow-haired youth was known. The dark-haired cit, who was simply known as Argent, nodded his head to signify that he was in too. "I suggest this as the pot," he said. "Those who lose must pay for the most expensive of the whores here to grace the bed of the winner this night. And the losers pay in prortion to the tricks they lose." He smiled. "I've a fancy to bed the Good Duchess tonight." "And I'd go for Iolanthe Acciaio," said Jongeleur. "Neither of those choices surprise me." Rook replied. "And I think you both know which lady I'd choose, were I to prove the victor." "Who else is in?" he looked about at his compatriots. Lahire glanced around the room to see if there was any new flesh on display... A woman who looked expensive, experienced and, if possible, dangerous... There were certainly a variety of women who answered that description ... and all of them usually well above LaHire's price range .... But if three of them combined to pay for the treat - especially Argent ... Lahire could have just about any woman in the room. As he was searching the room for a likely diversion, Lahire's cold eyes fell upon another pair entering. He sucked air in through his teeth and let it out noisily. "My, my, but it looks to be an intriguing night. One almost wishes one could be in two places at once. I spy *another* new member - and just look who escorts him..." It was no secret that Lahire had a passion for the woman who had just entered -although he never mentioned it, and had nearly killed the last man who had done so. "But I am," he continued, snapping out a reverie, "quite at your service to begin the game, gentlemen. Unless you'd like to ask the fresh meat to join us." Rook looked over to where Lahire was indicating. His eyes widened slightly. "A grand move on the board. A grand move indeed." "But not to be bought," warned Jongeleur, looking nervously in the direction of the black-clad 'page boy'. "Lahire ... you know ... if you did anything ... she ... he's dangerous." Lahire stiffened. Then he fell silent, looking from the page boy to Lahire nervously. "Besides," he added, "I don't know the companion, but he doesn't look like a novice. He looks used to ... controlling his destiny." Argent gave a laugh, soft and deadly. "Then perhaps the Hellfire will teach him differently." "Perhaps," Lahire said with a light but deadly edge. "Perhaps it will." He glanced at Jongeleur, and his eyes were very cold. "I didn't like your insinuation a moment ago, my friend. That I would harass a member... very rude, very rude..." He sighed. "Do you really think I'm so eager for a game I would forget common courtesy?" "No, no," said Jongeleur hastily. "Come - deal the cards, and let's see where fortune takes us ... " He cast an eye to where Fuego was talking with the Novice and the Cur and his bitch, but did not say anything. Then the loud, clear voice of Belial rang out and he jumped. "No novice there," he muttered and almost snatched at his cards. Lahire had shuffled the cards in a shower from hand to hand, passed them to Rook to cut and then dealt in an almost lightning quick movement. Rook smoothly cut the cards at precisely the halfway mark. At the voice of Belial (and his choice of name) and Jongeleur's comment, Lahire raised his gaze to the High Table. He was smiling. "A man who knows how to enter Hell," he said. Then his eyebrows rose. "And just look who is conversing with him." Rook turned to look at the High Table and smirked. Absently, he glanced at his cards. He made a disappointed expression, but that meant nothing. If his expressions were to believed, Lahire had never had a decent hand in his life. Rook tried his best not to roll his eyes at Lahire's expressions, but then turned his intent upon Lahire's opponents. Sapphire colored eyes studied both. Jongleur was studying his intently, a lick of butter yellow hair falling forward across his forehead. Arhgent had taken a single glance at his cards, then stacked them, and was looking around the room. "So ... " he drawled. "Mephisto honours us with his presence. I wonder if he'll ask any of us to play a hand." "Perhaps. His moods can be mercurial in the matter." Rook put in. "Best to let him choose, than to present oneself too boldly, and fall from a height like the morning star for the insolence." Lahire chuckled. "Ah, but one could also attain great honor with boldness. He *did* ask to be amused tonight." Dropping his eyes from Mephisto's throne, he turned them on his comrades. "Cards?" he asked. Jongleur ran his tongue across dry lips. "Do you have ideas for amusing him, then? That's a dangerous game." From down the way, Rook turned to look at the byplay. "Fuego makes a good play." he murmured to his companions. "The Novice has not turned his breeches brown yet, either. He might make a club member yet." Argent turned to look too. "I wouldn't have thought he was Fuego's type," he said. "Rather too scrawny for Fuego - he usually brings chaps who'll get roaring drunk and join in a good punch up." "Appearances can be deceiving. The Novice might be more than he appears, and knowing Fuego, is likely so." Rook pointed out. "Really the only way of knowing is to talk to the chap," said Lahire. He did not sound in any hurry to do so. "And the same goes for our mysterious Belial who was so taken with Lady Lagoran." He smiled. "As for amusing Lord Mephisto, I think our game might do just that - if we can get through a hand and send someone through the fire... How many cards would you like, fellows?" "I'll want to finish the game before daring to poke at the Elders, or Fuego's morsel." Rook said. "Two." he then added as response to Lahire's question. Lahire quietly slid two cards facedown toward Rook, accepting the discards as he did so. "Three," said Jongleur - as was his invariable wont, irrespective of the hand he held. Argent had once called it the triumph of hope over experience ... for Jongleur was usually a rueful loser. "One," said Argent now. "Do I get to call the forefeit?" Lahire gave the other two their new cards, taking two new ones himself. "I am afraid so," he said. He kept one eye warily on the conversation between "Virgil" and Mephistopheles. "Yes." Rook confirmed, looking at his cards. "It's your ball, Argent." He, too kept looking about the room, especially at Fuego, the Novice and the Cur. Argent glanced that way too - and his thin lips curved into a smile. "A wager, on my life," he said. "Should our forfeit be that the one who loses most tricks must go and make a wager with Mephistopheles?" "Dangerous," said Lahire. "I like it." He then noted Rook throwing the chess piece to the Novice and chuckled. "Very classy." Jongeleur set down his first card. "Aces high, gentlemen?" "Oh, I think so," said Argent lazily, discarding a three. "They always have been." Lahire put in the five of hearts. Rook chuckled, putting down the eight of hearts. "Yours," said Argent, nodding to Rook. "And easily gained. Your lead." He leaned back in his chair, surveying his cards. Jongeleur was watching the interchange between the Cur, Fuego and the Novice. "It looks like Fuego won the bet," he commented. "Do you think he'll repeat his feat of last month and display his talents for all of us to admire?" "It depends how much he wishes to impress his new friend," said Argent. "Perhaps they'll share." "And how much he wants to unnerve his new friend." Rook pointed out, gathering the cards up and shuffling them. He held the deck out to Lahire to cut before he dealt the cards around to the four players. He looked at his own cards with an impassive mien. Lahire's lips twitched, but his own attention was still split between his cards - again, he looked as if someone had canceled Christmas- and Mephisto's audience nearby. Argent won the next trick, much to Jongeleur's loudly expressed disgust (several groups further down the table turned to stare and laugh) and dealt the next hand deftly. Rook once again looked at his cards quietly, placing his own card when it came time for him to play with the same solid look on his face. "What say, if there is a tie for most tricks won, a face off between the tied winners." Rook suggested. "I say the Runaround," said Lahire. "We could use something more exciting than cards this evening." He set down the ace of spades. With a rueful sigh, Rook laid down a two of spades on his turn. As the game progressed, it seemed that Lahire and Rook were moving into the lead. Jongeleur - as usual, played in a slapdash way and lost trick after trick with perfectly good humour. Argent played with his usual skill, but had a run of truly appalling cards. Lahire, as usual, played exceptionally well, and got some pretty amazing cards. Every once in a while he lost on a mediocre card: a five, for example, but more often he had the Ace or King. "It looks like its down to you and me, unless Argent's luck improves or Jongeleur decides to play seriously." Rook said after the eighth hand was done. Lahire had 3 tricks, as did he. Jongeleur and Argent each had grabbed one. "'Course, if we each win one, then its the Runaround." Lahire smiled and lost the next hand with an eight. Jongeleur and Argent both folded. "We are, in effect, out of it," said Argent. You might as well play this one as a two-hander." "Trickier, but I'm game for it. I'll deal, you cut, Lahire." He shuffled the cards and held the deck out for his compatriot to cut before he dealt the cards in quick succession. Rook's face was impassive as he looked at his hand. Argent and Jongeleur were watching intently. Lahire took one new card and laid it down expressionlessly. It was the Queen of Hearts. Rook laid down the Ace of hearts and nodded his head with a smile of satisfaction. "Good game, Lahire." he said with a smile. "Jongeleur, Argent." he nodded to the other two men. Lahire sourly unfastened his coin purse and slid it across the table to Rook. "Of all the luck," he said. He rose and stretched, smiling. "Well, *I* could use some exercise, but I've a feeling you'll need all the meager coins in that to attain your lady love or loves, so I'd best settle for exercising my legs." The purse was not nearly as empty as Lahire was making out. Rook finally smiled. "A fine game. And I think I will take you up on that suggestion, Lahire. Lady Athena, there, is not quite as virginal as her name might suggest. He gave a nod to his three fellows and, coins in hand, went toward Athena to spend the coins he had won... Exeunt Rook |
