Cian (thebettingsort) wrote in emillion, |
“I never thought a city of this stature would pose the same adventure as a backwoods town.” And really, he hadn’t. “From my position the cleaners can make all the killings they want, as long as it’s not directly in my backyard.” An amused noise slipped out, almost a scoff but not quite. “Not sure if I’d bet on that,” Cian said. After all, there had been that earthquake not so long ago right in the Nobles’ District; if the dead rose again, or fuck all knew what else, he doubted the rich and spoiled would be immune by basis of their social class. “Still, a little optimism never hurt anyone.” Much. At the bar, the silent bartender was already sliding a mug of the pale, watery beer he favored Cian’s way and he took it with a nod of thanks. More steps sounded on the stairs -- that would be the last of the lot, or nearly. “Make your order and let’s go ahead and settle in,” he suggested. “Nearly time, now.” “A wise estimate of my chances for a gamble.” In fact, if a man who made bets for a living - which from what Edgar had heard seemed a legitimate estimate of the man he stood near at this time - wouldn’t wager on such a chance, it was telling just how much danger this city had been under in the recent months. Eyes flickered over the contents of the bar before a scotch was ordered, his mouth retaining a slight smile - even if faint - the entire time before eyes shifted, taking in Cian once more. “And your wager on the type of impression I need to make this evening to assure my returned presence at your games?” Cian chuckled. “I wager you’ll do. Our requirements aren’t that stringent: know how to play, win or lose without making a fuss I have to deal with, and don’t piss off the regulars.” A moment of thought before he added, “You can probably manage to get away with the last one, depending on which regular you piss off.” A slight laugh, muted by a closed mouth, shook his chest, although it might seem a bit dismissive at the same time. “And your wager on the amount of gil I’d need to lose to make a good enough impression in case I wanted to piss someone off later?” A joke of course, a bit of an odd one, but a joke regardless. That earned a laugh from Cian -- and an odd look from some of the players. Cian wasn’t the sort of man to laugh often. “Now that you’ve said that? I don’t think even your pockets are deep enough, buddy.” He toasted the newcomer with his mug, adding, “But by all means, try. I won’t stop you.” The toast was met with a low chuckle of his own, a bright smile taking over his face. “I always have been a betting man.” Another joke of sorts, but if he couldn’t gamble on a hunch here, then there was nowhere else in all of Ivalice he could. “Well then,” Cian said, “seems to me you’ll fit right in.” |