Welcome to the Casino

To your left, you’ll see the establishment’s prized dealer, Edge ( #bpedge ) He can catch a cheat a mile away! He’s impressive, but try not to get too close for your own sake. Don’t tell him I said this, but he always seems to be in such a bad mood.

At his table, you’ll find one of our regulars. Amias ( #bpamias ) can’t seem to lose. He hasn’t been caught cheating yet, so maybe he’s just really lucky? If you ask me, I’d say he probably annoys Edge so much that he can’t focus.

Behind the table games, you’ll see our bar. The bartender, Jackpot ( #bpjackpot ), makes the best cocktails you’ve ever had. Well, that is, if you like your alcohol over-poured…

Oh! Near the high rollers you can see the owner, Gambit ( #bpgambit ). He’s a sight to see, but there’s a lot of power behind those charming smiles. Try not to get on his bad side.

Ack! Look behind you, but don’t make it obvious! By the sportsbooks. That’s Double Down ( #bpdoubledown ), the debt collector. He’s way too friendly for a guy that executes people as a job… Freaky!

So, welcome back.

Thoughts, feelings, or images that occur when unconscious. Aptly named dreams when positive, and nightmares when negative. This phenomenon is a feast for the polite dream eaters who are content to roam in the shadows, eating to live and never truly living. Simple. Balanced. Most won’t remember their dreams by the time they wake up without their interference anyway.

Gambit was not a polite dream eater, and he rather despised such an arbitrary guideline. If dreams are just unconscious thoughts, who’s to say he can’t eat the waking ones too?

His own memories were plentiful. He came into being a long, long time ago, his existence beginning exactly as inconsequentially as it continued. Eat dreams, wander, and eat some more. It was inevitable that he’d tire of eating the same boring meals over and over again. Couldn’t be helped.

The first time he’d tried a waking thought, it was an odd feeling. They had many different flavors. Some too sweet, causing his many teeth to ache and shift. Some bitter. Some spicy. Some cold, and some warm.

The variety was a welcome change.

He found a dysfunctional family to regularly feast upon the thoughts of. It was nice not to have to go from bedroom to bedroom, because food was plentiful when he had little morals. He became quite the binge eater, gluttonous and greedy for the worst-wishing and resentments. There wasn’t a day that went by that his appetite wasn’t sated.

It didn’t last long. Getting its thoughts eaten constantly didn’t leave a brain very functional, and all at once the family lost their minds. The twist of fate was less cruel and more dreadfully annoying. How unfortunate to have to learn restraint.

It was soon after that he met an intriguing couple. A human and a snake.

Humans were few and far between. Rare and enticing for someone as greedy as Gambit, no doubt. He wondered if he could eat the whole human at once. Eating an entire banquet in one go would no doubt leave him full for years to come, surely, and this human seemed to carry quite the variety of thoughts and feelings for the snake. It was a delectable thought.

The consumption itself was more confusing than he was prepared for. He’d expected the same as thoughts or dreams, perhaps a bit more squirm-y, but not the disgusting merging that felt like being squeezed and tugged and pushed into something that wasn’t himself.

He was disoriented for a long, confusing moment. Something that felt like his thoughts and not his thoughts at all had begun to swim, and before long, he realized he had hands, as well as legs that wanted nothing more than to follow that snake and fix what he’d so clearly broken.

Confusing. Disgusting. Convenient.

The snake, now known as Jackpot, wasn’t difficult to soothe. Eat the negative, mournful thoughts, leave him delirious indefinitely, and force him into stability that he couldn’t actually feel. At the very least, he could eat without worry, and Jackpot seemed to be quite fond of him after everything was said and done.

Things were easy again. Casinos weren’t hard to run when everyone was under contract with the threat of death. He was even admired, a reality he found himself enjoying. He had a human body with which he could discover human food, which did absolutely nothing for him nutritionally but was very entertaining. He even got into a pack of cigarettes at times. Being human was easy.

He hated when things threw wrenches in his careful constructs.

Jackpot started acting out. Small, confusing bouts of lucidity surrounding a particular individual, persistent and annoying. Gambit would eat, and the thoughts would return like a lingering stain on his perfected existence.

Annoying. Annoying. ANNOYING.

He was going to get rid of the problem. He’d stop this rebellion at the source. That person Jackpot insisted on using as a means to get back memories he shouldn’t have. That NUISANCE.

He stopped them by the shoulder when they next visited Buried Pair. They turned, confused, and his blood stopped flowing.

Perhaps it had been the countless thoughts of Jackpot’s he’d been eating. Perhaps it’d been Quincy’s, still lingering when they should’ve been long gone. Perhaps it was his own, breaking free from somewhere deep within his vile being.

“The lakeside suite is only a small upcharge. Consider it next time,” Had been the words from his lips. Unintentional and cold.

They nodded, confused, and walked off.

Part of him was tearing himself to pieces: Get rid of it! Why does this THING think it can control me?! Why was it so easy?

The other part, the same part that had chased Jackpot out of that alleyway, smiled.

Why be hasty? Exploring the unknown was how he got to where he was to begin with. What’s one more enigma?

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Quickest way to anger your character?

Jackpot doesn’t get angry much. Territorial or generally neurotic? Yes. Often times his initial response is to panic, not get angry.

I think the only thing that could make him truly angry is if someone convinced his lover to leave him, or manipulated their feelings for him whatsoever. Things should’ve been perfectly fine between himself and his love, so it’s both unfair and cruel to rip that away from him. He’s not mad at his partner, of course, but whatever pest decided to try and rot their perfect mind.

What seemingly insignificant memories stuck with your character?

Overall, Jackpot has relatively poor memory. Amongst a lot of cloudy memories of his past, he very vividly remembers the first time you ever made eye contact. Call it cliche, but that’s one of the only times he’d felt lucid since becoming Jackpot.

He can recall a lot of different things when he looks into his lovers eyes. It’s terrifying, but addictive.

A memory your character wishes they could erase.

How does your character communicate in a relationship?

Edge ♧:

He does communicate in the literal sense. As in, he is verbally speaking to his lover. Tragically, most of his communication is blame and accidental gaslighting.

For example, if he’s feeling jealous, it’s because his lover is being cruel, not because he’s emotionally volatile. It’s their fault he’s angry. And now they’re angry, which is just an unnecessary escalation in his mind. How dare they.

He’ll break down if things go too far. He still won’t admit fault, but he’ll rationalize it to himself just to end the argument and keep his lover. He thinks he’s being the bigger person by doing this.

Amias ☆:

He’s horrible at communication. He can count how many people he’s had a meaningful conversation with on one hand, and it’s really only half a finger. Any turmoil is bottled up to save the only relationship he’s ever had, or expressed in an accidentally passive aggressive manner.

His communication is touch-based most of the time. He’s jealous? He grabs your arm and pulls you away from the source. He’s feeling ignored? He shoves his hands under your clothes. He’s horny? Already grinding on you.

Fights never get far with him. He’s not ashamed to cry and wail and beg on his knees, and he’s probably already forgotten what the fight was about by the time his tears dry.

Describe something your character is reluctant for others to know.

Edge ♧:

While he’s insecure about his financial status, it’s actually more troublesome for him that he was born human. People born with no “abnormal” traits are considered weak, are frequently targeted, and don’t often live very long. It’s only due to the experiments he was subjected to that he’s confident enough to be out in public at all.

Amias ☆:

The obvious answer is that he’s a virgin. Being an incubus and also an incel is one of the most embarrassing things he can imagine, and it’s his actual life. Especially because he’s tried to lose his virginity. Often.

Amias thought he ought to be studied by now.

An incubus and a virgin. It was practically unheard of! And it wasn’t for lack of trying, either. He wasn’t some blushing maiden saving himself for the perfect partner. He was just… really bad at getting people to like him. His dad called every year on his birthday to remind him he was a disappointment, then sent him a five hundred dollar check in the mail. Maybe he pitied him or something. Amias was fine with being pitied.

He inevitably got into nerdy hobbies, like any other self-respecting disgrace would.

Yu-gi-oh and Magic the Gathering were too difficult to figure out. He walked into a Pokemon tournament and gave up after losing his first match. He spent a lot of money on those booster packs, damnit. He should’ve won just by showing up. Poker was pretty easy, though. He won his first game by accident. Flipped over his cards and took home a load of good money.

It was history after that. At some point, when you jerk off ten times a day just to keep yourself alive (barely, by the way. It’s not nearly as good as a full meal, or so he’s heard.), you end up having very good dexterity in your wrists. He had access to a computer and a lot of time on his hands to study shoving cards up his sleeves.

Buried Pair wasn’t his first casino. It was kind of far from where he lived, and he usually couldn’t be arsed to drive all the way over there, though he heard they were particularly well reviewed. It wasn’t until he was caught with a few too many cards stuffed down his shirt at the places near him that he ended up biting the bullet. He had the time anyway.

It was nice. Cleaner than the casinos he frequented with a hotel to boot. Most of the staff weren't hard to look at either. 

He grew particularly intrigued by a single dealer. Edge, if he recalled, which was a stupid name. (Apparently they all needed ridiculous aliases. He actually thought it was kind of metal, but he’d never admit that aloud, because that would be lame.) The guy hated him for some reason, which made it really easy to throw off his focus when he was dealing. Just say something stupid (which he was very good at, mind you.) and he’d be entirely too busy trying not to choke him out over the table while his boss was watching to notice when he pushed a card up his sleeve.

Pretty soon, he was there all the time. The owner knew him by name, which was utterly terrifying. That man was six-foot-something with the most blank stare he’d ever seen. The kind of stare that was hiding something nefarious and also probably very arousing.

(Gambit turned him down, of course, but that didn’t stop him from asking the first time. Not the point.)

It was a nice routine overall. He was treated well by most of the staff. He bet high and usually won higher. He got free drinks and an eyeful of a very poorly buttoned shirt when he was at the table.

(Jackpot also turned him down when he asked, and then called him an idiot for thinking he had a chance to begin with. He was right, but ouch.)

He sat at the table again. Edge’s, because it was growing kind of funny to watch his face heat up with anger when he’d talk about his four cars. His cards were fine this hand, and he wondered if Edge had some kind of internal moral obligation not to stack the cards against him. Or maybe he was just afraid of Gambit, which was entirely fair in his opinion.

He was startled out of his usual poker face by a collision into his left shoulder. Someone drunk and stumbling had knocked themselves dead into him. His stool teetered precariously on one leg for a terrifying second before it toppled completely, sending himself and the mystery individual sprawled on the ground in a heap.

Blood rushed south almost instantly, because no one had ever been on top of him before. Like, in his life. It felt a lot like his first time trying weed, which was to say really really good and very confusing. He couldn’t tell if it was the contact or his head hitting the floor. He was happy regardless.

“Oops,” The stranger slurred, propping themselves up on their arms. He mourned the loss of proximity immediately, but he was way too out of it to do anything about it.

Edge helped them up, then grabbed someone else to call them a cab. He was too busy lying on the floor to get up himself, which was not at all a normal thing to be doing. It took him several minutes to even consider it.

When he finally got himself upright, his pupils dilated, hands trembling, he had very few thoughts in his head. The most prominent were two very simple observations:

“Holy shit, I just came in my pants,” and “I need them carnally.”

Which led to a very interesting predicament for Amias. He was, should he have been able to pull a single soul, a polyamorous guy until that point. Even Jackpot’s shirt pulling wrong and revealing a lot more nipple than needed (that had to be a health code violation...) did nothing for him anymore.

He didn’t mind. The memory of the body pressing him into the floor was enough material for him to get off for weeks.

His patience wasn’t infinite, though. He’d have to find them again. And he would.

No matter what it took.

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Jackpot never had too much to offer a cold world. His mother cried when he was born scaled instead of soft-skinned like her, because snakes aren’t beautiful. They’re vile, slithering tricksters. She couldn’t hold him. She hated him the moment he opened his eyes, fearful of all the things he didn’t understand.

She couldn’t look at him, and there wasn’t much he could do for himself. His smiles weren’t particularly endearing, and his skin would peel when it got too warm out. He had the eyes of a hunter, and it certainly would’ve been more convenient if he actually was one. At least then there would’ve been a plate on the table for him along with his six beautiful older siblings.

He lived by avoidance. No one could scream at the sight of his slitted pupils if he wasn’t spotted at all, and no one could catch him if he was the fastest runner. Hopping fences was easy, and scraping your knees hurt less every time.

He regularly wished he was a cute kid, but at least he was smart. He grew older. He got jobs. He learned what lies sounded like and how it felt to be cut by a silver tongue. He went on dates that felt more like performances and never once understood what love was.

It wasn’t until he met Quincy that things started to feel less empty. He knew what to say to make Jackpot flood with warmth. His eyes were soft when they gazed upon him, untainted and kind. He never cared for Jackpot’s flaws, because Quincy’s flaws were far more diabolical.

He was human. Humans are weak. Humans don’t survive because they shouldn’t.

Jackpot watched the thing devour him. It was little more than slimy, ink black appendages and thousands of mouths that swallowed flesh and bone and a heart that was supposed to beat for Jackpot and now didn’t beat at all.

It looked at him with eyes that drooped, many of them. Different colors and shapes and sizes. It was beautiful, in a morbid way. Though, probably only because Jackpot himself didn’t understand beauty.

It slid across the concrete with a gross sccchlick sound, and Jackpot ran. He stumbled and cried out like a scraped knee could even hurt anymore, then struggled against the trembling in his own body to get back to his feet. A hand encircled his wrist, he turned back to scream, but the eyes that stared at him were the same he’d been staring longingly into for so long.

“...Quincy?” He whispered, voice pitched too high.

A pause. They stood like that in the middle of the sidewalk on an empty night. A streetlight flickered nearby. The wind whistled like a death knell.

“If that’s what you want to call me,” The man replied in the familiar rasp, though the words sounded more like air than voice. “Though such a common label cannot define me.”

Jackpot stared. The thing wearing Quincy’s skin stared back.

“You’re in pain,” It continued, apparently realizing Jackpot wasn’t trying to share a friendly conversation. “I will help.”

“It’s just a scratch,” Jackpot blurted out, because he wanted to run until his legs gave out.

“Your physical wounds don’t concern me,” Its grip tightened around his wrist. “Stay calm. Don’t breathe.”

Jackpot didn’t remember what happened after that. He woke up feeling much better, exactly where he belonged at Quincy’s side. Did it really matter if Quincy didn't act the same? No. Nothing mattered anymore. There was no pain to speak of. There were no scraped knees or peeling skin or crying mothers.

Every ache was replaced with that blank stare. Quincy was to be trusted implicitly, because why wouldn’t he be? When he offered him the title of Jackpot, it was a gift that would be valued more than the universe itself. A shitty name given by a rotten mother who wept in hatred of her son was worthless anyway.

Quincy taught him to live, and everything after that was just collateral. Bartending came easy, and charisma was so much more natural when nothing at all could break him down. The casino was a rippling success, and Quincy–No, Gambit now–was the center of it all.

Things were normal. Anything abnormal was promptly forgotten about because it didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things. Living life in a haze was easy, why make it difficult?

It wasn’t his decision to make when the fog cleared.

He only met someone’s gaze. They were asking where the nearest bathroom was located, muttering something about how annoyingly large the place was. He didn’t answer, because how could he when the eyes he was staring into were so familiar. 

“Soft,” He choked out before conscious thought had any time to reach him.

“What?” They replied, blinking at him. Jackpot wished they’d stop blinking. He couldn’t see their eyes through their eyelids.

“Walk straight that way, then turn left when you get to the check-in counter,” He forced the words out and gestured, though internally he was begging them not to look away at all.

“Uh… yeah, thanks,” They nodded, and then they were gone, and Jackpot along with them.

Something snapped. He was torn between the pleasant disconnect he was familiar with by now and the very real memory of their eyes meeting his own.

Soft. Soft. Soft. Soft. Soft.

He didn’t fancy himself a stalker, it just ended up that way. He’d accidentally be where they were, all smiles and flirtatious banter, until they excused themself and he began counting seconds until next time their eyes met again.

He’s not creepy, he just needs to remember. Everything would be fine as long as those eyes remained on his.

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For your time, you get Jackpot's relationship chart! Congrats!