And that accent. Crowley's smirk bloomed, tilting his head in a confirming nod. "Very well. Ten thousand it is." He slid the remaining five thousand chips over to Watson, along with a pair of dice.
"Place your bets, and take your roll then, good doctor." The new drinks had arrived, and Crowley slung his arm around the waist of the waitress, bidding her to stay and watch Watson at work. And, if she perhaps provided a good distraction, well. Advantage of the house.