Drake/Chloe/Quen/Cian/Open
Poker didn't wait for storms. In fact, when the stakes were high enough, poker didn't wait for a hell of a lot. It might have been pouring, but the table set up in one of the docks district's abandoned warehouses earlier this evening had been full; the few who had knowledge of the when and what wouldn't have allowed a little water to get in the way of their opportunity to make - or break - their fortunes.
He had been losing. His luck had faltered somewhere around his second hand, and he had known it, but stayed on. Sometimes, the house had to lose; it kept the visitors from becoming restless or paranoid, and they would be back another day, ready to be fleeced when his luck was with him again. He knew it; the only certain thing about luck was that it was bound to turn eventually. Tonight, it just happened to be fucking awful.
He really hated losing.
When the warehouse door had burst open and the monsters had flowed in, he had taken the giant crabs as a sign from fortune; the softer players were screaming, hiding, barking orders to bodyguards. He had simply drawn his weapons and set on the enemies, pushing them back. It wasn't the easiest fight of his life, but not the hardest, either, with a few of the hired mercenaries lending their swords and pistols to the cause.
A man had to protect his business interests, after all.
It took some time to clear the warehouse, longer still to re-latch the door as a small protection to those left inside. He knew, as they did, that they would owe him a debt - and it was never a bad thing to remind people how he had earned his reputation. He had a bleeding gash across his cheek, but that was all right; the rain would wash it clean. Outside was chaos - far from the quiet night, perfect for a game on the wrong side of legal, that he had expected - there were people and monsters everywhere, and the rain pounding down like the wrath of some primeval god.
Someone was taking shelter under a nearby awning, gender indiscernible in the dark and the storm, their backs to him and the door. Just behind the shortest of the figures one of those floating, misshapen midgets was raising its arms. "Watch yourself!" He shouted, and threw; the metal card flew true, separating the creature's head from its body, leaving it no opportunity to scream before it died. With a scowl, Cian strode over to retrieve the card. "Why don't you get inside, kid," he said, realizing as he approached that the figure was a girl with a painfully young, innocent face. "This isn't the best night for a damn stroll." He looked over the other two - a man with the hard, lean body of a fighter and a woman with fairly stupendous curves, and crossed his arms. "What the hell is going on out here?"