Charity/Cian; after the game.
"Your concern for my financial well-being is positively adorable, Wilde," Charity said, not even bothering to glance up from her drink. She pulled the olive from the glass with a skewer, popping it delicately into her mouth. She bit it in half as she turned casually on her barstool. "But don't flatter yourself, mm?"
"I can't win every time!" she drawled, taking another sip from her martini glass. "Wouldn't be sporting. And I do know your coffers have been smarting just a trifle of late. Thought I'd do my bit to help. Think of it as... well. As a bit of charity." A half-smile at this private joke, one she knew he'd pick up (he knew who she was, had always known) but that was simple enough to pass without notice to any prying ears. "And what do you intend to do with these staggering winnings, then? Do tell me you'll see a tailor."