David Henchard slides into the next seat, a smile crossing his face. "Mornington, is it? I haven’t played that in a while. I declare the light factory in watchmaker’s hill. While its on fire." He tapped his fingers against the table. "I always play aggressive."
edited by suinicide on 11/8/2016
Phryne was quite disappointed to lose round one - even though it was lost in some style - and can’t wait to get started again.
“Fast and aggressive, I like that. Very good: the Deepest Cellars of Old Newgate, then. Without candles.”
"Weren’t we playing something else? Oh wait, the rules of the Republic." the unclear device goes off, smoke comes out of it but everyone is fine… "The Cave of the Nadir" after a long pause "No exit".
No one approaches the table, smiling like a predator toying with its next meal. No one pauses before making their opening move:
“The Seeking Road.”
And yet, there is no turning back now.
Henchard hears nothing, as spoken by no one. He stares at the table as no sentence washes through his mind. Some strategies are not to be played. “The surface.” He decides, “law, order, and safety from the foolish.”
A box finally drags itself to the table.
“Parabola. Dreams and Nightmares.” Can be heard from within.
Flesh-Stick stirs from his pleasant, alcohol induced nap. “Is it my turn yet?” he asks groggily.
When there is no immediate reply, he decides to make his move.
“Professor Plum in the laundry room with the chainsaw” he declares with as much authority as he can muster.
He wants to check and see if this is correct, but it’s difficult when there seems to be three separate game boards…not to mention triple the amount of players there were when he started.
He decides it wouldn’t be polite to win twice in a row, especially in front of so many people. A man has his reputation to think about, after all.
So he gets to his feet, thanks the other players for a good game, kisses a nearby coatrack goodbye and staggers back to his own table to bid his tablemates farewell.
Amsfield has remained seated and quiet, intent on finishing every bottle remaining on the table that may contain alcohol and no cigarettes. Having completed that goal he stands, adjusts his cravat and straitens his moustache. ‘Thank you for the game. Always a little disappointing when a good game end, but at least no one was damaged permanently. Last game I played in the Neath sent two to The Royal Beth’ and one to the bottom of the Stolen. Congratulations to the winner, and good luck to the players." With that he departs for Hollow Street.
What the Fluke was going on ?! The players were leading the game to its utmost ends, unearthing forgotten arcanes, kniting the very canvas of the Neath with new threads of opportunities, giving flesh and bones to unlikely realities…
When the Eldritch carriage was almost on them she restrained at the last second from letting the thin blade sprang forth from under her sleeve but the wild fleeting look in her eyes bursted sharp enough.
She was definitely no match for such powerful plays, she had much to learn still. And she could learn, watch and learn.
At the end of the first round she left the table with a bow and a slinky but reverent smile to the players. Fetching a glass of Morelways 1872 she stayed nearby, idle tittle-tattle, watchful, eavesdrop.
edited by ZeOldOne on 11/9/2016
edited by ZeOldOne on 11/9/2016
edited by ZeOldOne on 11/9/2016
“The spider silk palace behind the mirrors.” Dirae Erinyes felt this was safe move. very few had been there - madman and spider councils aren’t know for their stellar salons.