Young impressionable Youth

Who: Younger, Fiona

What: Younger teaches Fiona how to play Bishop

Loud, brassy Gobber music lights up the dank, smoky hall. A pall of cigar smoke hangs near head height, and the din of voices strange and familiar provides a backdrop to the music. Under the smoke, one can smell spicy food and exotic cooking oils. The Gambling Hall is /packed/! Tables are full, Goblins, Arvek Nar, and others, gather in the name of tokens.

Trays of food and drinks somehow make their way across the hall, steadfastly and surprisingly accurate. A Half-Orc lass delivers a heaping dish of food to Younger's table. He sits with a group of foreign mercenaries, gambling on an interesting game; Bishop. A person puts their hands on the table and use a knife, a rather terrifying knife in this case, to tap out an increasingly faster rhytm until one draws blood or loses nerve. An Orc is in the midst of a round; He wears massive platemail and looms over the table. His tapping is surpisingly fast, and the gamblers around him are roaring and throwing money on the table in a crazed frenzy, calling out their bets. The food is ignored.

Making her way into the hall, the young woman seems a bit out of her place, Well out of her element really. She gives a glance around her, pays for the chips, after doing so she makes sure the rest of her money is securely away. Its the game of Bishop that draws her attention. Not to play, oh no, the young woman is just watching for now. Swallowing lightly the young woman lightly flexes one of her hands before burying them into each other, as if to protect herself from the game.

Then there is blood. The Orc knicks the inside of his middle finger, opening it up and instantly creating a hand-shaped pool of blood; it's not the first, either. There are a number of others in various stages of dryness. The Orc howls in pain, also laughing at the same time. Younger croaks out a laugh, the thick cigar of his clenched between his teeth, smoke rolling out with every exhale. Out of nowhere one of the Hall's staff dumps a bucket of water on the tabletop and splashes pink water against all the players and takes a number of coins with it. Everyone groans, and a Goblin sweeps up the winnings, soaked or not. The knife is passed; Younger looks over at Fiona, narrowing his eyes as he appraises her. He grunts and rolls his cigar to the opposite side of his mouth, where he pulls smoke from it a moment. His attention goes to the game once more, where he throws down a number of silver coins and mutters something indecipherable. He looks to Fiona again, sneering, "Ye wanna siddin', Rose?" He asks, gesturing to an open chair. One might notice his crudely bandaged hand.

Fiona lightly swallows and narrows her eyes, attempting to see if she could actually pull off this game. “And if I lose a finger.” She looks around before slipping into the seat. “What are the rules?” Fiona wonders. Fully expecting to get laughed at just a little bit. Her eyes flicker to his bandaged hand and her eyes narrow assessing him a bit.

"At's why dey call it gamblin', Rose." He rumbles, letting smoke roll out of his mouth, as the Mercs laugh out loud. He reaches for a bottle of viscous brown liquid, and takes a long pull. "Da rules is, make yer bet. If'n ye put down when'ee knicks imself, ye take it all." The Goblin's knife tapping is faster now, and the coins start to come in quicker, tinkling and rolling onto the table in errant piles here and there. He smirks, his brutally scarred face twisting stiffly; though he appears a brutish thug, which he no doubt is, his eyes have a certain sharpness, an intelligence. One might not say the same for his tablemates.

Fiona eyes this and nods slowly. “I see.” She states and gives a glance to the others about her before back to Younger. “I see.” She starts to wait for the right moment. After a bit she tosses a coin and then continues to watch. Her eyes watching the Goblin and the knife working, “What if he never knicks himself?” She wonders, “Or if someone from outside interfers?”

Younger laughs, more of a choking noise, "We 'ash it out, aye, der, chaps?" He asks, grinning. His gold tooth glints in the dim light. The foreigners laugh in the sort of knowing manner that usually indicates physical violence; "Moight makes roight, 'n allat, in da abscents'ah rules, aye?" The Goblin is sweating now, his eyes focused on his hand and the knife.

Fiona nods slowly, “I see.” She offers and then moves to toss another coin. A soft smile comes her lips, “But What if they distract them without meaning to.” She motions to the Goblin, “I mean I am talking to you, but what if he starts to listen to me.” She tosses another coin, “and misses. Interference was not intended, but still performed.” Fiona looks to the Younger now and offers him a broad smile. “You make much right, Don’t you?” The young woman asks now and tosses another coin.

Just as she tosses her coin, Fiona wins the pot. As soon as the coin touches the table, the Goblin slips and stabs his hand. He yanks it out and he slaps a dirty rag onto it, screaching loudly. The rest of the table wince, but it doesn't stop some from laughing, one of such slapping the Goblin on the back, talking to him softly in some obscure language. "Yer take, Rose." Younger says, nodding to the table full of coins. He reaches out and grabs the knife, stabbing it into the table's facade near her. "Yer Bishop." He pulls from his cigar as he takes his seat once more, the glow of the cigar and the smoke obscure his face.

“Fiona.” she corrects him as she collects her coins. A glance is given to the knife and then her eyes go to her hands, Attempting to figure out which hand would be the best to use. After collecting her coins, her right hand grabs the knife. Starting out slow, the knife starts to make it around her left hand. “Not Rose.” she winks at Younger.

There is a silence at the table. Safe to say, nobody at the table expected her to go through with it. Younger chuckles, softly, almost incredulously, his eyes following the knife.

The knife starts to go faster. Though its not at the speed of the veteran player. She turns to focus on the knife. Her dexterity is proving to be someone of slight skill as she hasn’t stabbed herself yet. “OH silence for me.” She coaxes as she goes slightly faster.

Her daring paired with her comment cause the table to break out into a roar of laughter, and coins begin to hit the table. A suprising amount of coins. Younger tosses a number of copper into the table, and blows a number of increasingly smaller smoke rings. "Don' cutcherself now." Younger rumbles, in a taunt. He swigs from is bottle of dangerous-looking swill. He hands it off to the Goblin who was just Bishop. He smells it, and wretches slightly, and Younger laughs, "Dringit, dun smell it, ye dafter." Swigs are taken, and Younger snatches the bottle back.

Moving faster yet the rounds go a few more times. Fiona almost gets as fast as the Goblin before SLAM! right into her pinky. For her credit, she doesn’t scream in pain, rather her eyes close and the hand that was on the dagger lets go of it. Shaking it slowly starts to back off, “OOH. That hurts.” She swallows lightly, looking slightly sick to her stomach before biting her lower lip. Its a good cut, nothing that will take her finger off, but it will need to be bandaged. “OH This game is horrible.” She laughs out as she pulls the dagger from the table. Her hand is pulled closer to her body.

The Orc roars with victory! He reaches out and swipes at the coins. Younger slams the bottle down in front of Fiona, "Drink, Rose. Won' be no pain affer tha', naw." He smokes his cigar, pausing a moment. "Jus' a sip. Too much, y'll be sleepin'." He warns. The Orc throws a rag in Fiona's direction, grinning, "You... Brave." He nods once, to finalize it.

“No.” Fiona corrects. “Just stupid.” She states and takes the rag before wrapping her hand. Fiona grabs the bottle and takes a sip as suggested. Choking a bit from it she looks at the bottle to see what it is. “OH..shit...” She licks her lips and looks at Younger, “Gods be...” she motions to the bottle. “What is it?”

Younger nods, "Aye, aye." He agrees with her. "Stupit but entertainin'..." He pulls from his cigar, and grins, "Me fam'ly rec'pe. Li'l tea, some rum, an Soup," Sopor Venenum, the powerful alchemical sleeping agent. His eyes are glazed over from the effects. "It'll getcha."

Fiona nods slightly and pushes it back closer to him, “Remind me to get some for those nights I can’t..” She stops and then lets out a hiccup. “Mm...Raspberry. sleep.” She eyes him and then leans closer. “I do think I missed your name.”

Younger takes the drink, and pulls from it once. "Ye didnae miss it, Oi didnae give it, Rose." He replies, rumbling. "Bruce Da Youngah; If'n ye dun wan' me tah knick ye one on da face or 'ead, ye'll call me Youngah, ya hear?" Bruce The Younger. Alexandrian War Veteran, career criminal, and Sewer Steward. Tales abound. "Are ye lost?"

“Found completely.” Fiona offers with a chuckle. “Younger. Fiona.” She offers no last name and leans back in her seat. A glance is given to the game. She doesn’t seem to react the way most would to hearing his name. Perhaps she really is new to the city. Her hand goes to the injury, squeezing it lightly. “Well Younger, How are you sure that isn’t going to put you to sleep?” She motions to the bottle.

Younger snorts, "Yer not da typical patron, Rose." He offers, and laughs at her question; "Prac'ice. Lotsa prac'ice." The foreigners laugh, and Younger glances at Fiona as he offers it around the table. Defensive hands and shaking heads signal a unanimous 'NO.' He laughs and takes another drink, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“New.” She offers simply in reply. “Practice.” She eyes the knife, “Like your hand.” Fiona gives a glance to each of the people and then back to Younger, “Fiona.” She presses again, “not Rose. You are going to keep calling me this Rose and soon people are going to think its my name and that isn’t fair to any other woman named Rose.” She sticks her tongue out. “At least it won’t be after I get famous.”

Younger shrugs, "Jus' anovah scar." He pulls from his cigar, "Oi'm made've scars, and piss runs in me veins." He grins, smoke running through his teeth, "Get used tah me doin' what Oi please, cuz there ain' nuffin' ye kin say 'r do tah sway me course, Rose. Dats yer moniker now, ya heard."

Fiona raises an eyebrow at him, “So you name me after a beautiful thing..” She raises an eyebrow, “You sir, have not seen many Tsuran’s have you?” She wonders and leans forward. “I am bud, simply just beginning to bloom. I doubt I have the ability to truly live up to the name.” She smirks and tosses a coin down. “YOu are used to getting your way aren’t you?”

Younger snorts, "Oi named ya, dat bein' dat. Der's more tah dis worl' than ah pre'ee face, Rose." He chokes out a laugh. "Oi met many ah Tsuran, aye. Useless once ye get below da earf." He points downward, into the earth. He nods then, smoking his cigar. He is used to getting his way.

Fiona looks at him and studies him for a long time. “I am named.” She offers an eye roll slightly. “I thought parents were supposed to name the young.” She chuckles and then stops. Her eyes narrow even more at this. She tosses a coin on the table. “Not random men in the bar. How do I know you aren’t some out la..” she stops and looks around, “Never mind.”

Younger laughs out loud, the crazy glint showing in his eye. Shortly thereafter, with some time to translare, the rest of table bursts into laughter, some slapping the table or their knees. The laughing goes on, laughter tears present.

“Well my mother would be happy that I could bring happiness to men in great quantities.” Fiona rolls her eyes and motions to the waitress to bring her an ale. “You can tell them to stop laughing now.” She offers and sticks her tongue out.

Younger pulls from his drink, shrugging, "T'ain't nuffin' Oi could do 'bout it, even if Oi wanned tah." He grins, showing his gold tooth again.

“WEll then. I guess I should listen to the wise words of my father.” Fiona starts and downs the drink that was brought to her. “Leave when you have their money, and never trust a man who calls you Rose.” She stands up and winks at him. “Good day Younger.”

Raising his bottle, Younger laughs, "Your Faver'as woise. Walk safely 'n swif'ly... Rose." He rumbles, nodding his head toward her. Then he's Bishop. Someone stabs the knife into the table in front of him. He chokes out a laugh, pulling the knife from the table top. He glances over toward her one last time before the rhythmic tapping begins...

Ooh its tempting to stay. And she does for a few coins. “Be careful. Fingers are useful.” She offers and moves to head out. Stopping at the door, she peeks back and offers him a wink, attempting to see if it causes him to miss.

It doesn't.