(Open Log) You gotta know when to hold 'em

[bindlestifflost]

Who: George Milton, Nick Valentine, and anybody who shows up
When: April 22, starting around 6 PM until
Where: Apartment A-3
Summary: A night for playing cards, drinking beer or b.y.o.b. if harder, snacks and unwinding. Feel free to thread jack and jump all around, at least in my threads. This is just for some relaxed down time and catching up or introductions in a smaller, casual space.
Warnings: None expected. If your characters get to discussing anything triggery or get up to anything spicy, please CW in your individual threads.



Over the past week or so, hand printed signs drawn in sharpie on plain paper have shown up taped to walls around the apartment complex and on any easily accessible bulletin boards at ADI. A couple of them were also delivered to the flophouse with the request they be displayed somewhere the residents might see them.

They read:
Cards and Beer
Friday April 22 6 PM
Apartment A 3
George and Nick's place
You want more than beer
or chips and popcorn
bring your own.
Extra decks appreciated.

The night of, the door to A 3 is propped open. In addition to the dining table, a couple of card tables and cheap folding chairs are set up for games. Two bowls on the coffee table contain chips and popcorn respectively. There's a cooler on the floor in the kitchen filled with ice and cheap beer.

George or Nick will greet people as they come in and tell them to make themselves at home.

((OOC: Feel free to top level with your own character and make whatever prompts you like. George is generally easy-going, but if he catches anyone stealing, getting too hot and heavy in a bedroom, or otherwise being a general jerk about the apartment or the other guests, he will try to throw the offender out. If you want that kind of thread or want to succeed at something nefarious, let me know so we can work it out.))

Comments

[bindlestifflost]

"Him and about half this room," he says. He's more kicking up a fuss for the fun of it than meaning anything, his expression a lot more wry than the words alone imply.

He accepts the beer and pops the top, quickly lifting the can to suck in the foam before it can run down over his hand. "Shit, practically every night's a card night at the bunkhouse for somebody." Even if it's nothing more than running a game or two of solitaire. "Ain't much to do once the sun goes down."

That's not counting the weekends when they kick it up more and spill over into town. That's not the sort of conversation for politer company.

[abrightboy]

Malcolm glances around and nods concession.

"Well. Not me, if it's any consolation. I'm great at squash, though." Nobody plays squash here.

[bindlestifflost]

"Yeah? What's squash?" He's imagining some game with a vegetable. He's already pretty sure he's wrong.

[abrightboy]

“It’s kind of like… tennis? Except the ball is smaller and made of rubber and it’s played against a wall. The ball moves wicked fast. It’s a lot of fun,” Malcolm informs him. “I also throw axes competitively. Or. I used to.” He shrugs it off. “It’s been a while.”

[bindlestifflost]

"Huh." Tennis. That's a sport for rich folks. He's never even seen a racket.

"Ain't you full a' surprises. Bet you'd clean up at horseshoes." There's a thought. Wouldn't cost much of nothing to sink a stake somewhere and get his hands on a few.

[abrightboy]

“I’ve seen it on TV, but I’ve never played it,” Malcolm tells him. “Is that popular on the farms where you work? Is it fun?”

[bindlestifflost]

"Yeah, it's real popular. One thing you always got plenty of is extra horseshoes, and ain't nobody ever workin' on Sundays." It's treading a little close to dangerous territory, the memory of the last horseshoes game. He's decent enough at compartmentalizing. He doesn't let himself get far off track.

"I always liked it. The fellas get real into it if you got a couple a' good players." He's a decent hand at it, nothing to scream about but no slouch. "If I can find the things we'll need, I'll teach you to play." Surely horseshoes aren't as expensive as everything else in this place?

[abrightboy]

"If you let me know what things we need, I can help you find them," Malcolm offers. "Maybe we could have a tournament or something." Is that a thing? He's sure he's heard of that in a movie or something. "I bet there are other people here who've played it."

[bindlestifflost]

His eyes slide a little to the side. It's a little harder to keep the barking thoughts at bay when he hits so close to home. "Yeah," he says anyway, maybe a little louder. "Yeah, we can do that. It's always a good time. Lotta folks get some betting goin' if the competition's heated enough."

[abrightboy]

Malcolm cocks his head slightly. He saw something, in the shift of George’s expression and the way he subsequently overcompensated.

His own expression is faintly analytical, but he plays along with the diversion.

“Betting, huh? I guess that makes things interesting,” he remarks.

[bindlestifflost]

"Sure does. Makes the stakes higher, puts a little pressure on the competition. Sometimes a little friendly pressure ain't such a bad thing." Whatever it was, he has quickly moved past it, his usual cadence and volume back on track.

"Sometimes we'd even do it in teams. Better with people you know better, though. Tempers can get hot when fellas feel like they's bein' cheated by having a bad partner."

[abrightboy]

“I might be a good partner if I train,” Malcolm offers eagerly. “What do you have to do exactly? I mean, you always see people throw horseshoes at a stick, but… what’s the actual objective?”

[bindlestifflost]

"Short of it is you got yourself a court where pitches are in and out a' bounds, a line you stand behind for your pitch, an' two pitches per turn. Closest horseshoe to the stake scores a point. You get both closest, you score two points. You pitch a ringer, it's three points. Closest and a ringer it's four. If the other fella scores a ringer on top a' yours, it cancels yours and they don't score no points, neither. Follow so far?" Honestly, that's most of it in a nutshell with just a few nuances that are easier to show than describe. "You usually play to 40 points, or you can jes' high score off 40 pitches if it's jes' two of you."

[abrightboy]

“What’s a ‘ringer’?” Malcolm asks, his attention avidly caught.

[bindlestifflost]

"That's when you get a good solid hit on the stake and it stays there, even like." He demonstrates with one hand in the shape of a "C" and two fingers of the other extended upward. "If it's touching but ain't even..." He offsets his hand. "That's a leaner. It's one point, and it's closer than anything but a ringer."

[abrightboy]

“Oh, because of the noise it makes?” Malcolm realizes. “That’s great! So. You always know when you get one.”

[bindlestifflost]

"Yep. You'll know awwright. Worst feeling is when you hit one, and it zings off again. You'll see. If it was jes' about hittin' that stake, I reckon any man could do it eventually. Takes finesse, too." He can't help but think of that day a little, old Crooks showing them all up and looking to clean out by the end of the day, him and his team.

He probably didn't see any of that money. Helluva a weird thing to be thinking about right now.

[abrightboy]

"So it has to hit it and stay there. That's much more exciting. Hey, if you teach me to throw horseshoes, I could teach you something. I know how to throw axes and they have a bunch in the training room," Malcolm offers.

[bindlestifflost]

"That's right. It ain't near as simple as it looks." Otherwise, he doubts most men would waste much time on playing it as avidly as they do. Did?

"Sure. Way it sounds things get around here, might be a useful skill for me to have." It's preferable to guns.

[abrightboy]

“I know how to fight with swords, too, if you want to learn that.”

George has also taught him fishing.

[bindlestifflost]

"Like some Errol Flynn, huh?" Not that he'd been able to see Captain Blood. Didn't mean it wasn't all over the papers at the time. "I might feel a tetch ridiculous with that." He pauses, thinking. "I could swing a mean sickle back in the day." On his family's place, too small potatoes for any of that fancy machinery.

[abrightboy]

“Sort of, I guess. I was on the Harvard fencing team when I was in college. Once I pick something up, if I like it, I just have to go all in,” he explains with a shrug.

[bindlestifflost]

Harvard. He almost laughs, not that it's the ha ha sort of funny beyond the complete absurdity of someone like him rubbing elbows with someone like this and...liking him. Having a few things in common even, in an odd sort of way.

"You? All in?" His slow grin is probably starting to be a little familiar, sly humor without a point or edge to stab or cut. He nudges him companionably.

"I ain't sayin' no to trying it. Jes' don't expect much." He doesn't see himself as a refined sort at all, no one fancy. Not cut from the same cloth as the likes of Errol Flynn, or even Malcolm Bright.

[abrightboy]

"Just enough to protect yourself in a Dogtown knife fight," Malcolm promises. "The axe throwing... that's just for fun."

[bindlestifflost]

"Now see, I'd have thought it'd be the other way around." Not that he really thinks he will be running around town wielding swords or axes. It does beg the question what protection he needs for himself. This world is even more dangerous than the one he left. He will need something.