Week two -- Vaugn

Usually I like to stick to the bigger cities, they have more … variety.   After all, you never know when you’ll feel the sudden need to find a different table, you know, maybe shortly after your current dealer finds that ace hidden in your sleeve.

But I digress. 

I was a little short on cash, and I figured I could lighten some bumpkin’s wallet a tad easier than their less naïve urban counterparts.  So I set off, and inside three days found myself in the rather quaint hamlet of Gnarles Barkley.  I scoped out the probable moneymaking spots: taverns, bars, blood-soaked dirt.  I found an especially promising place with a bloody spot right outside the door.  While I find it a little unorthodox to have your boxing ring in the middle of a well-light street, who am I to question these hick town ways?  I made a mental note to come back later and find someone to take my bets.

Further recon alerted me to a delightful man sitting by a rope ladder and a charred field, looking bored but well attired.  Now, I’m nothing if not friendly, right?  And all he needed was someone to keep him company.  I was more than happy to oblige, and I’ll report we indulged in more than one game of cards… just to pass the time.  Now I’ll admit, I may have… understated my skill, a bit.  But it was almost comically easy to get him to open his purse strings. 

Now, I was having a grand old time… I had padded my wallet quite nicely, all while systematically emptying his.  He looked disappointed, but optimistic (I love that!), until he reached in and felt no more coin.  Whoops.  Game over, I guess. 

Now I have seen people get angry.  I’ve certainly found myself on the wrong side of a sword more times than I’m comfortable recounting.  But gracious, he was disintegrating into a madman, and fast.  I tried to be nice, explain it was all in good fun… you know, the normal.  No dice.

But you know, decent guy he is, he gave me a choice.  Stay and fight him, or jump down this hole.  Well, it wasn’t much of a choice, once I saw the fire start flaring from his fingertips.  I jumped down the hole. 

I found the adventurers to which he had eluded, and casually mentioned it was my opinion that their ladder-holder was ready to go home.  No one seemed to care.  Oh well, you do what you can. 

But you know, I was walking along, and happened upon three coins laying unclaimed right on the ground.  I picked one up, visions of royal flushes and rolling dice dancing in my head.  The scout also picked one up.  Now, I ask you, what’s better than one gold coin?  … Two gold coins.  I made a little bet with him, tried to win it fair and square.  But he insisted on splitting it with me.  I’m not quite getting the draw of this, but okay.  He sets it down and oh-so-carefully chisels it into two equal pieces.  He says that he has cut, and I can choose.  Well, gracious, I chose both.  The look on his face was so precious; I wanted so much to laugh.  But of course, I’m nothing if not a polite winner.