Lucky

Writers: Yvonne
Date Posted: 14th April 2019

Characters: Jakin, Daric, Hammol
Description: Jakin starts asking around to find out more about Polson/Olov on Taril's behalf
Location: Sunstone Seahold
Date: month 10, day 25 of Turn 9
Notes: Mentioned: Taril, Polson/Olov

The cards were not going in Jakin's favour, which was actually playing in Jakin's favour. The harper sat slouched in the corner of Taril's tavern squinting at his hand. A three, a five and a nine. Useless. He glanced at his tablemates, trying to decipher their luck by their faces. Hammol had an unusually bland expression on his face, although it was hard to tell underneath the giant beard the seaman had grown on his last voyage. He was probably trying to hide good fortune. His other opponent was a thin-faced guardsman named Daric. His eyebrows twitched. Jakin had learned early on in the evening that when Daric's eyebrows twitched, he had a good hand.

"What do you say, boys?" The fourth man at the table was barely a man at all. One of Taril's people, a kid barely old enough to grow whiskers who brought beer and dealt cards for gamblers to keep things honest.

"Draw," Jakin said. The other two men echoed his statement. It was a terrible decision for his beltpouch, but losing meant that the other two men might feel charitable toward him.

The next card was a Lady Holder. Jakin debated folding, but nodded when the kid asked if he wanted to fold or to draw another card. Jakin stayed in. It was a nine; he'd got a pair, but it wasn't enough to beat Daric's pair of Ladies. Jakin threw his cards down with a sigh. "That's it for me, boys. There's only so much losing that a man can take."

"If I buy you a beer, will you stay in?" Daric was grinning.

It was so tempting. Too tempting. Jakin shrugged his assent and Daric nodded to the dealer, who rose from his seat to fetch them another round. Jakin nodded his thanks at the guardsman. "Mighty kind of you."

"You're buying your own fecking beer anyway," Hammol said. "Your cards have been so lousy that Daric's took all your marks. Sure you want to stay on?"

Daric shot a warning glare at Hammol. "He _said_ he'd keep playing."

Hammol leaned back in his chair and spread his hands. "Your marks, Harper. I'm going to take a piss." The sailor stood, stretched, and wandered toward the door.

It was Jakin's turn to lean forward on the table. "Gotta say, I have better luck when it comes to betting on the fights. It's easier to read a man than to read cards."

Daric's eyes lit up. "When's the next one of those?"

The harper shrugged. "Can't say I know. Usually they plan one for around the beginning of the month. So, next sevenday or so I'd wager." He belched; his breath foul tasting and boozy on his tongue. Another beer would wash the stale taste away. His fingertips itched to hold a mug.

"You know who is fighting?" the guardsman asked.

Jakin shrugged again. "Depends on who is in port at the time, and who is desperate for marks." He paused for a heartbeat. "Maybe your colleague. Big guy-- Polson? I won a bunch of marks on him last time he fought."

Daric grinned at that. "Yeah, he's big old bastard, ain't he? Last sevenday he took down this sailor who was drunk on the docks-- this guy was spoiling for a fight. Came up to him and tried to start something. Polson broke his jaw with one hit. One hit!" Daric mimed swinging his fist. "It was a sight to see, let me tell you. Teeth everywhere, blood gushing from his mouth like a fountain, and him crying like a baby in the street."

"Where'd he come from, anyway?" Jakin asked casually. "Polson's been here, what-- a Turn? More?"

Daric picked up the deck of cards and began to absently shuffle them. Something to do with his hands, Jakin thought. The guard had large, scarred knuckles and dirt ground into the creases of his skin. A working man's hands. "About two Turns now, I think. Just after that business with the Headwoman's son getting eaten by felines-- remember that? Cor, I wish Polson had been around before then. I had to go out searching the woods for that son of a canine, and me-- I'm a man of the Hold. I thought we'd get eaten every night we spent without a roof over our heads, but I bet you-- I bet you Polson could take down a feline without a scratch on him. He'll break bones soon as look at you. Better to have him on the guard than have to deal with him for breaking the laws 'round here."

"Where'd he come from, anyway?" Jakin asked.

Daric shrugged. "Ask him yourself. Feck if I know. Why you so interested in Polson, anyway?"

Jakin leaned back in his chair and smiled the gormless smile of a drunken gambler. "I like to know things about the men I bet on. A little bit of courtesy brings the luck. And I now know which way to bet if Taril ever matches Polson up with a wild feline."

The guardsman snorted. "Don't let Polson catch you asking about him. Last time someone asked, they were in the Infirmary for a sevenday." He set the cards down on the table just as their dealer came back with a fist full of mugs. Daric slid one across the table to Jakin, and the harper grabbed for it gratefully, all thoughts of Polson and Taril lost the moment he had his hands on a proper drink.

Last updated on the April 16th 2019

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