I wanna hold 'em like they do in Texas plays {OPEN}

[Mordred Le Fey]

It had been a pretty heavy night already.  What had originally been intended as a laid-back night out - a couple of drinks, something to take the edge off and a cigar or two (because who didn't look incredible smoking a cigar?) - had quickly escalated following a slight misjudgement on Mordred's behalf of what to take to give him the particular buzz he had been looking for.

He wasn't entirely sure how he had gotten here, but here he was nonetheless, and Mordred had never been one to back out of any situation, regardless of the potential consequences.  Picking up the glass of whiskey in front of him, he threw his head back and downed it, sucking air in between his teeth at the taste and shaking his head slightly, before lowering his gaze to the cards he held in his hand.

He did not know how to play poker.  It hadn't been invented in Camelot - and if any of his Tintagel alumni relatives had played before, it wasn't a game they'd divulged to him.  And so he was in a slight situation, sat at a table with all his money in the centre, and four huge, thuggish guys staring at him with smirks and barely concealed blood lust, waiting for him to screw up.

Playing for time while he tried to figure out whether he had a decent hand or whether he was about to lose all his money and have the rest of his debt beaten out of him, Mordred raised his hand to signal a waitress, and ordered another drink.  He slowly lit another cigar, raising it to his mouth and taking a slow drag, blowing the smoke out over the table and giving a low whistle.

"I don't know gents, I just don't know if I should show you this hand.  I mean, I wouldn't want to be responsible for the utter misery that would be cast over the evening..."

Playing for time, Mordred smiled charmingly at his companions.

Some kind of distraction right about now would be fantastic...

[Tristian]

All in all the whole thing had gone better than expected. There was plenty of applause, and he managed to send a few snarky comments to that total brute in the front row. Actually, he had been kind of hot, he had been tempted to head out afterwards and find him, but…that would only lead to another regrettable morning and another walk of shame he would need to lie about. No, better to get an early night and collapse on the bed with ‘Emma’.

Emma was of course the brilliant masterpiece by Jane Austen, his very favourite book which never failed to put him in a good mood. She was also his made up ‘booty call’ whenever he was going out on a real date and couldn’t hang out with Mordred or the others. Occasionally he mixed it up an through in ‘Jane’ as well, but he was never as big a fan of the Bronte’s. Either way, these old authors (or was it future authors for him?) provided him with the cover needed to go out with his much more manly and burly men. Oh he was definitely more of a Wickham fan than a Darcy fan. Although he had always harboured a soft spot for Bingley.

With the bag containing his performance clothes he decided to head straight through the Casino, which was when he spotted Mordred at one of the tables. Before he could stop himself he waved. Then he remembered what he had just been doing and the kind if clothes…and…wigs that were in his bag. He quickly glanced in a mirror pretending to sort his hair, and managed to quell a sigh of relief when he saw that for once he had actually managed to wipe off all the make up. Not that it mattered, he had all the excuses lined up just in case…and the bag was shut, and besides, Mordred was probably already too drunk or too high to notice that anything was off.

Tristian weaved his way towards the table and nodded to the gentleman there. “How’s it going?” he asked.

Which is when his eyes lock with the burly man sitting opposite Mordred…oh no…looks like he found that brute after all…

’Oh please god don’t let him recognise me’ thought Tristian.

[Mordred Le Fey]

The thugs were clearly getting more and more impatient, and Mordred wasn't sure how much more time he could waste before he ended up with a black eye. Not that that particularly bothered him, he was more than capable of holding his own in a fight, and black eyes were always a good conversation starter. No, what he was more worried about was his nose and teeth - these didn't look like guys who would consider a man's looks as they beat him to a pulp. Taking a deep breath, Mordred prepared himself for a grab and run - he probably would fail to grab all of his money, but there was always more where that came from, it was more the principle of leaving it all to a group whose combined IQs barely measured to half of his own that was the issue here.

Of course, despite not knowing how to play poker at all, that hadn't stopped him attempting to cheat - he had almost a whole pack of cards up his sleeve and he was pretty sure the thug next to him knew it. This sleight of hand thing was harder than it looked, and Mordred vowed to himself to stick to the real magic next time. He smiled and winked at the waitress as she reappeared with his drink, and he slowly took it from her tray and sipped it.

"Come the f*ck on, dude." The particularly brutish looking thug opposite growled, and Mordred smiled.

"Savour the moment, my friend..." He smiled, looking up as he heard a familiar voice.

Perfect timing... He thought to himself, grinning at the owner of the voice. "Well look who it is! Gentlemen, I'd like to introduce my dear friend and cousin, Tristian, the most honourable gentleman you could wish to meet. I should really entertain him, so I think it's time I took my leave..." He said genially, reaching over the table to take the money.

[Tristian]

Tristian angled himself so that the angry brute opposite wouldn’t get a good look at him and focused all his attention on Mordred. “Oh you don’t have to leave, we can catch up another time, I just thought I’d come and say hi,” said Tristian with a smile, taking in what was on the table.

Wow. Mordred had bet a lot.

He had never played Poker before but he had spent a good few nights in this place watching others do it, and looking at Mordred’s hand…he was really taking a risk here. The best he could hope for was that the rest of them had even worse hands, which was still possible, but statistically, unlikely. The guy next to Mordred was given him one hell of a stink eye as well, so Tristian tried to casually ease himself into the space between them pretending to be trying to take a closer look at the cards in the middle.

“Then again, this looks like an interesting game,” he said.

“Yeah. It is,” said the one glaring at Mordred, “we’re waiting on this idiot to show his damn cards.”

He risked a glance at the brute opposite, he could see the slight narrowing of the eyes as if he was trying to place him from somewhere and quickly looked away again. Tristian reached into his pocket for the ‘tip’ he had been given earlier, pulling out the casino chips he started shifting them between his hands.

“Well I’m glad he hasn’t, betting hasn’t finished right? You still have one card left and he’s not quite ‘all in’ yet.”

He held out the Casino chips to Mordred.

He would always try and help his friend out where he could, but he knew better than most not to force it on him. If Mordred already had a plan he would go with that, if not then he would accept the chips. It wouldn’t be ‘help’, not to Mordred, he could do everything on his own, but Tristian had got fairly good at giving his friend a hand out of trouble without it appearing that this was what he was doing. He hadn’t had time to think about this one though, so it was a little clumsy, hopefully Mordred was already drunk enough not to notice.

[Mordred Le Fey]

No, not the response he was looking for... Mordred gave Tristian a look, hoping he could read the message of 'Do not leave or I will kill you...' in his eyes.

It wasn't that he was panicking, Mordred did not panic, but he wasn't use to things going quite so spectacularly not his way. It seemed his usual smooth talking and charm wasn't going to work on the thugs he'd gotten himself mixed up with today; they appeared to be a slightly lower class of human than he usual cared to associate with.

Pulling his trusty bottle of pills out of his pocket, he poured a couple into his mouth and swallowed, before grinning at Tristian and offering him the bottle. Chances were they were both about to get pummeled - at least they could take the edge off so it wouldn't hurt until tomorrow.

He raised an eyebrow at the thug who hadn't taken his eyes off him all night, and who was now proceeding to attempt to insult him. "Idiot? Really? My dear man, I'm sure even an utter cretin such as yourself can do better than that." He shuffled in his seat, trying to move the card further down his sleeve. "And isn't poker all about the anticipation? I'm just trying to oblige with the expectations! Have a drink on me..." He signalled the waitress again as Tristain offered him his chips.

Reaching up, Mordred wrapped an arm around Tristain's shoulders and pulled him down to his level, whispering in his ear, "I have no idea what I'm doing. Be ready to have my back, cousin." He winked at Tristain as he released him, addressing the rest of the table.

"Look at this, my liege has come to my rescue. Aren't you all incredibly jealous of my gallant prince?" Taking the chips from Tristain, Mordred made a show of throwing them dramatically into the pile in the middle of the table, which already included his watch, phone and wallet.

Unfortunately, Mordred forgot about the cards up his sleeve in his drunken and drugged haze, and as he swept his arm over the table, he showered his companions in almost an entire deck of cheat cards, as the flew out of his sleeve like the finale of a terrible magic trick.

"Ah... now that wasn't supposed to happen..."

[Tristian]

Tristian took the bottle that Mordred had just given him and looked at the label. He rolled his eyes and pocketed it, hopefully Mordred was drunk and high enough that he would forget that he gave it to Tristian.

When Mordered pronounced him as 'his liege' and more significantly to Tristian 'his Prince' he couldn't help the smile. Oh if only he said such things when he wasn't drunk and drugged up. However the good feeling did not last long when just as Tristian was going to take over playing his hand, Mordred revealed he was hiding a few tricks up his sleeve.

The men around the table looked at the cards. Then they looked at Mordred. Then they looked back at the cards. Then, once more, to Mordred. Then they got to their feet.

"Now come on Gentlemen, let's not get involved in something we will all regret later," said Tristian holding his ground but hooking an arm under Mordreds in a bid to get him to also stand up just in case they had to run.

He locked eyes with the Brute across the table and smiled, "my cousin here is new to Tintagel and doesn't understand what he's doing. He's trying to adapt by watching movies, I knew it was a mistake to let him watch the Oceans films. Why don't you take the pot and be on your way, before anyone says anything they shouldn't."

Realisation finally dawned on the brutes face as he realised where he recognised Tristian from and immediately started turning beetroot red. He hesitated. The others didn't.

The one beside Mordred cracked his knuckles and said, "do you know what we do to cheats here?"

[Mordred Le Fey]

This was decidedly not good. As if the situation hadn't been bad enough already - that watch was worth more than everything those thugs owned put together, and his phone was his little black book which was, obviously, completely priceless - but the whole caught-cheating-possibly-about-to-be-murdered thing definitely put a damper on the whole affair.

He felt Tristain's arm under his and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. He stumbled slightly, reaching forward to the table and grabbing his watch and phone while Tristian attempted to talk their way out of the mess Mordred had gotten them both into, freezing in place as thug 3 grabbed his wrist before he could reach his phone. As the thug beside him threateningly cracked his knuckles, the one who had hold of his wrist squeezed and twisted, and Mordred grimaced, twisting his body with the unnatural movement of his arm.

"Ah-ha-ha alright, alright - let's see if we can settle this like gentlemen?" Mordred was slightly concerned that this guy was going to break his wrist. He glanced back at Tristian with an eyebrow raised. "Any ideas, dear Prince?"

[Tristian]

As Tristian continued to try and reason with the unhappy poker players Mordred, of course, had to choose that precise moment to try and reclaim his items. He watched as one of the other players grabbed Mordred’s wrist and began to twist it. He had to think fast, he had to get them out of this situation. There was no way the two of them could take them all on, not with Mordred in his current state, and even if the Brute opposite decided to play knight in shining armour (unlikely, he was already backing away) the odds still weren’t great. What he needed was a weapon, but he didn’t have any of them with him, he wasn’t expecting to get into a fight. So, no swords, no knifes, he just needed something sharp, something pointy even, and heavy.

Oh. He did have something pointy and heavy. This was not a good plan. But he didn’t have a better one.

He just really hoped that Mordred did not remember any of this in the morning.

“You really should have just walked away,” he said to the poker players, as he reached into the bag he was carrying.

As quick as he could he lifted one shoe out the bag and smacked the guy immediately to Mordred’s right that was cracking his knuckles in the face, before bringing the other show, stiletto heel first on the arm that was currently twisting Mordred’s. Dropping both shoes he grabbed the phone Mordred was reaching for, and said, “Run!”

He put a hand on Mordred’s shoulder encouraging him to go ahead of him, if the Brute’s caught up at least Tristian could stand without swaying.

[Mordred Le Fey]

And chaos erupted around him, as Tristian took on the thugs with... was that a shoe?! Mordred groaned with relief as Tristian's blow forced thug 3 to release his wrist, and rubbed it, still trying to work out what Tristian was attacking with.

He heard Tristian's shout and felt his hand on his shoulder, but Mordred, being the anarchist he was, couldn't leave without getting in at least one blow himself. Grabbing one of the many empty whiskey glasses from the table, he pulled his good arm back and smashed the glass over thug 3's head as hard as he could, grinning as shards of glass flew and the thug dropped to his knees cradling his face in his hand, blood dripping through his fingers.

"That's what you get for messing with royalty, my friend," He grinned as he allowed Tristian to steer him away and began to run towards the exit. Glancing back, he was somewhat pleased to see they weren't being followed, the thugs too concerned with their injuries to bother with a chase - although Mordred did hope he hadn't given away his name, as he was pretty sure there would be some retribution to follow later.

Coming to a stop in an alley a few streets away, Mordred leant back against a wall to catch his breath, laughing as he waited for Tristian to catch up. Looking down at his hand, he saw a few gashes where the broken glass had cut him, and was pretty sure there were some shards of glass still in the cuts, as blood oozed from the wounds.

"Worth it." He grinned.

[Tristian]

Tristian could not help the laugh that escaped when Mordred brought the whisky bottle around on one of the thugs head. It was a nice shot for someone that could barely hold themselves upright, he was impressed. The problem was that despite the fact that Mordred always managed to get them into some trouble, despite the fact that he was a terrible enabler who always somehow managed to get Tristian to do the one thing he did not want to do, and despite all this, Tristian still loved spending time with Mordred, and why? Because Mordred always had his back.

Ensuring the still quite drunk and high boy was ahead of him he risked a glance back at the thugs, just in time to notice that the thug who had just been at his show had decided to finally step up to the plate and delay the other thugs. Tristian gave him a brief nod, a wink, and then continued to bolt out of the Casino after Mordred. There was still a chance after all that they might still come after them. Although he made a mental note to send round an apology note and some money to the manager for the ruckus caused. It did not do to get on the wrong side of management, even if you were royalty.

He eventually caught up with Mordred in the alley, and leaning against the wall opposite him as he got his breathe back he replied, “Really…really?! It better have been because we are not doing that again.”

Which was when he noticed Mordred’s bloody hands. Pushing off of the wall he walked towards him and said, “Let me see them.”

He looked them over and assessed that there were indeed still shards of glass in there.

“Why do you insist on continually hurting yourself,” said Tristian shaking his head.

“Keep it there, don’t touch it,” said Tristian, hoping that for once the other boy might listen to him.

He reached into his bag, his back to Mordred so he couldn’t see what the rest of the contents and rummaged around for something, eventually finding the pink sparkly bag. He opened it, and pulled out what he was looking for. Closing the bag again, he turned around holding the tweezers.

“It might be easier if you don’t look.”

[Mordred Le Fey]

Mordred laughed again at Tristian's indignation at the situation and Mordred's declaration. "Come on, Tris, what's life without the thrill? You know... that guy at the back didn't even get to throw a punch, maybe I should go back and offer him an opportunity to get involved..." He grinned at Tris as he started to look at his injured hands.

"They're fine, it's nothing..." He muttered, looking around for the next adventure. The buzz was back, helped by the pills he had taken - where had those gone, anyway? - and Mordred was hyped up and looking for excitement. He was almost bouncing on the balls of his feet.

"I don't insist on hurting myself," He muttered, one foot tapping on the floor as he leant back against the wall. "It just... happens. And the line between pain and pleasure can be difficult to distinguish sometimes Tris - you'd know that if you'd just experiment sometimes - I've told you, I'll give you numbers of girls who'd be up for it! You might have fun if you'd just loosen up!"

He rolled his eyes as Tris told him not to touch his injuries. He could be so mothering - but then Mordred thought he should probably be grateful for that, given the regular scrapes he got himself into. "Alright mum..." He muttered as Tristian rummaged in his bag, before turning around with a pair of tweezers in his hand.

Mordred held his hand out to Tristian and grinned. "I'm a big boy, I'm sure I can handle it." He looked at the tweezers in his hand, his drunken brain taken a while to process what normally he'd have commented on in a fraction of a second.

"Why do you have tweezers?" He asked incredulously. "Trying to keep on top of that eyebrow grooming?" He laughed at his own joke, as an image flashed through his head. "And did you attack those guys with a woman's shoe?!"

[Tristian]

Tristian rolled his eyes and said, “I think perhaps you should avoid the casino altogether for the next week or so.”

Honestly, what was wrong with him? Why was there always this necessity to drop himself into the biggest pile of trouble and roll around in it? The thrill he supposed, the same reason he drank himself stupid and popped those pills Tristian was keeping away from him. At least he was on the vape now, but who knew what he filled that ridiculous thing with. Tristian hadn’t had the heart to tell him yet that he had given his own one up. He had hated it, stupid sweet smelling thing, although had cut down what he had been smoking on account of it was playing havoc with his throat, and he needed that for singing. Whilst he admired the husky tones of Janis Joplin that was not the kind of style he was going for.

He was glad he had his back to Mordred when he started mentioning the girls that he could set up with Tristian that would show him how much he could enjoy pain. Glad because Tristian had smiled at that and thought ‘oh if only you knew’.

What he said instead was, “You have your tastes and I have mine, and never the two shall meet.”

Tristian shook his head but smiled when Mordred called him mum. “Well someone needs to take care of you whilst you here,” he said as he took out his phone and turned on the torch so that he could see what he was doing better.

When Mordred asked about the tweezers Tristian was just going for a bit of the glass that was still stuck in Mordred’s hand.

“No,” he said in a deadpan tone, “there for plucking my chest hairs, I like a smooth finish.”

Well. It wasn’t a lie. But he hoped he had injected enough of the deadpan tone into it that Mordred would take it as a joke.

Then he brought up the damn shoes. F*ck.

“Yes, I had been about to return them to the girl that had left them in my room last night, I suppose I won’t be able to now,” said Tristian, “Oh well, they were hideous anyway and she could barely walk in them.”

He really couldn’t go back for them now. He was going to miss those shoes. What sort of vendetta did Mordred have against his shoes that he kept losing them?!

Tristian pulled the tweezers away slowly, bringing a piece of glass away with them.

[Mordred Le Fey]

Mordred looked at him as if he was speaking a foreign language. "Avoid the casino? But... what will I do with my time? And my money?"

He shook his head at Tristian's statement, rolling his eyes. "But... dude, what are your tastes?" He asked, slurring slightly. "All these gorgeous women I could hook you up with and you just... I don't get it. I don't get you." He reached up and patted Tristian's cheek with his uninjured hand. "But it's ok, because I still love you, man. You're my bro." He stood up a little straighter and shouted into the night, "Bros before Hoes!", before falling back against the wall again, laughing. "It's all about the bro code, dude. Unless she's like, super hot of course."

A slight shadow passed over Mordred's face as he mentioned the bro code. There was, of course, the thing that Tristian didn't know... that unforgivable breaking of the bro code Mordred had committed... but Tris never needed to know. He quickly plastered his trademark smirk back on his face.

"I'd be lost without you, Tris." He said seriously as Tristian turned his phone on. "You take care of me - you're my gallant prince, my knight in shining armour." He grinned. "Even if you are a total loser."

He groaned as Tristian told him what the tweezers were for. "And you're sticking them in my open wounds? Very sanitary..." He muttered, watching as Tristian began to fish for the shards of glass. He took a sharp intake of breath as a pang of pain shot through his hand, and quickly dug his hand into the inside pocket of his jacket, pulling out his trusty hipflask and taking a swig.

Accepting Tristian's explanation of the shoes without question, he took another drink as Tristain pulled a piece of glass out of his hand. "Well I guess that's my hand modelling career over."

[Tristian]

“Oh I don’t know,” said Tristian, trying to focus on removing the glass from Mordred’s hand with the tweezers, “perhaps you could take up jogging or actually do some school work or something. Or just go to another casino, or start your own casino. Whatever you do, I don’t care, just stay away from that Casino for the time being.”

The warning came partly out of wanting to protect Mordred from coming into contact with the thugs again, and partly to protect himself. What if Mordred had decided to check out this evenings entertainment? What if he had accidentally warned into the lounge only to find out he had accidentally stumbled across…well…what Tristian had just been doing. That had been a close one, he needed to be more careful.

When Mordred asked what his tastes were Tristian had to resist the urge to push him against the wall and show him. Especially when he reached out and started patting his face and telling him he loved him. Instead he just focused on the task at hand, clearing the wound of all the glass, grabbing Mordred and holding him still, “Stop moving around or you’re going to make it worse.”

For a moment he thought Mordred looked panicked, he was about to ask him what was wrong when he launched into another surprisingly touching speech…which made Tristian smile, he couldn’t help it. He was calling him his ‘gallant prince’ for goodness sake. He made sure not to make eye contact with him because once he did that he was sure that even his drunken state Mordred would figure it out, but he allowed himself the smile, just for just now, just for this moment.

“My tastes are very particular,” he said as he worked away on the wound, “there is not much to get really, and in between I have Emma.”

Useful, useful Emma. It was actually his stage name, Emma Knightly, but she was also a useful ‘booty call’ to push out whenever he needed too. Most of the time it seemed to satisfy Mordred’s or anyone else’s curiosity. Although he had nightmares about the day that one of them actually asked to meet her, he hadn’t quite worked out how he was going to manage that one. He had been told that some of his ‘costumes’ were very convincing and if he toned down the make up a little, he could maybe get away with…but then they would never be in the same room and it was a ridiculous idea anyway, that he was hopefully never going to need anyway so he should just stop thinking about it…would Mordred recognise him…

He shook the thoughts from his head and said, “I think I’m nearly done here, hang on.”

He dived back into his bag, again, putting himself between it and Mordred so he couldn’t see what else was in there and pulled out a long pale blue scarf. It had been a gift from his mother. He loved it.

He looked at it forlornly and then started gently wrapping it around Mordred’s hand.

“This will do until we can get someone with actual medical knowledge to look at it,” said Tristian, “and you never know, they can do wonders with plastic surgery these days, don’t give up on your dreams just yet.”

[Mordred Le Fey]

"Start my own casino..." Mordred repeated thoughtfully. "Now there's an idea... if I got better at that whole card up the sleeve thing, I could make bucket loads of money." He grinned at Tristian. "You're full of good ideas - hey, want to go in on it with me? We could be partners!"

Mordred frowned slightly as he mentioned Emma. Tris brought this Emma up all the time, apparently they had quite a thing going, but Mordred had never seen any sign of her. Tristian never brought her out with them, even when Mordred brought along a string of questionable dates on their nights out, she was never around. There was always some excuse - Mordred wondered if Tristian was worried he'd try and steal her away. But Mordred would never do that to Tris - he was happy to pass over his leftovers to his friend, but he'd never take anyone away from Tris, not if he really cared about her.

"Well maybe if you were a bit more descriptive with your 'particulars' I could find you something you'd really enjoy." He winked at Tris. "Emma... when am I going to meet her then, Tris? You've been talking about her for bloody ages - what, are you afraid I'll embarrass you?" He grinned. "I need to meet the girl that has Tristian Pendragon going back for more!"

Keeping his hand as still as he could, given the various substances passing through his bloodstream, Mordred waited for Tristian to finish patching him, drinking far too much, far too fast, from his hipflask. He watched Tristian's concentrating look as he work on the last few pieces of glass, the alcohol numbing him just enough that he could no longer feel the tweezers digging around in his wounds. A pang of guilt passed through his chest again as he saw the care on his friend's face, and the thought of the ultimate betrayal he had committed against him. Meredith had obviously kept her word and not told him - there was no way Tris would be taking this kind of care of Mordred if he knew what he'd done. He drank again, gulping the strong whiskey down as if it was water.

He didn't even notice what Tristian was wrapping around his hand, he just accepted the make-shift bandage without question. "It's fine, I don't need proper medical knowledge, I've got you." He smiled, placing his arm around Tristian's shoulders. "My ever faithful Tris."

His hipflask empty, he put it back in his pocket and began searching his other pockets for his pill bottle. "What did I do with the bottle, Tris?" He asked, starting to panic. "I need them... I need my pills..."