#bpdoubledown

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.

The first loss was the scariest. In the case of Double Down, he can’t remember it too clearly, but the subtle anxiety beneath his skin lingers when he catches the scent of blood. Sometimes, a voice that sounds eerily like a child’s voice begging for his unresponsive mommy rings in the back of his head, but what’s the point in worrying about it? She’s long gone, and so is that child. 

She shouldn’t have died if she wanted him to miss her.

Being covered in blood is second nature to him, even if he doesn’t much care for the tacky feeling after it dries. Mourning is an inconvenience he doesn’t bother with. People without the will to live aren’t his problem.

He knows he isn’t a good person. Doesn’t have to be these days. He does what pleases him, which used to end up with him buzzed and half-slumped on the bartop when there’s no one to hunt down. Jackpot is good company. Doesn’t even make DD pay half the time, probably just to keep him entertained long enough for another target to make a splash.

He wouldn’t miss Jackpot if he was gone either.

Today, he isn’t at the bar. The blood staining his shoes isn’t from some random sleaze with enough hubris to gamble their life this time around, either. It’s been so long since DD killed for himself rather than a paycheck.

It’s more satisfying, in a way. There’s a thrill that comes with snuffing out the life of someone you’ve imagined ripping to shreds a dozen different ways.

“Ah… You’re still alive?” He hums under his breath. The tentacles that sprout from his back writhe, betraying the adrenaline thrumming beneath the surface. The half-dead man twitches in response.

“You’re resilient,” he observes, stepping casually over the man’s leg, grotesquely twisted in the wrong direction. “Not resilient enough, but I guess I can applaud your attempt.”

The man makes a pathetic gurgling sound.

“Hey, I don’t wanna hear any complaints.” He nudges the soon-to-be corpse in its blood-slicked temple with the toe of his boot. “It’s about time you shut your mouth. Everything you touch has been sullied enough by your rancidity.”

A pause.

“Is that a word? Rancidity?” He mutters to himself, hands enclosing around the cool metal of his scythe’s handle. He tugs it from the spot it’d been lovingly propped against the wall, hiking it over his shoulder. Then, louder again, “Whatever. My point is, you’re a virus.”

He plants a boot over the thing’s chest, it makes a pathetic, drawn-out whine in response.

“So, yeah. You’ll be lucky if someone misses you.” He shrugs, a bloodied grin tugging at his lips. “Can’t imagine why. You’re the lowest scum of this pitiful planet.”

Shink. Thump. The body goes silent. Its head rolls. DD sighs, tentacle instinctively moving to clean his beloved scythe’s blade. All it does is smear the stickiness around. Lame.

His thoughts wander to a kinder place. To the smile that disarms him. To the hands his eyes always follow. To the voice that skins him alive no matter how often he hears it.

He wonders if he’d miss them, should they disappear.

If he’d miss the hundreds of ways he loves them. Their eyes, glossy with amused tears when he makes a particularly good jab at Amias. Their grimace when he’s annoying them, each tooth counted a thousand times over again. Their skin that’s too soft for his own marred flesh, no matter how many calluses he discovers on their palms.

No. He wouldn’t miss it at all.

He won’t have to. They’ll live. He’ll make it so.

By any means necessary.

He grabs a towel from the mud room as he exits, taking care to wipe down his scythe. His eyes are alight with determination. The kind of determination that makes blood curdle within iced-over veins.

“We’re really good protectors, aren’t we, Arbitrage?” He chuckles quietly to himself, kissing the flat of the scythe’s blade before he begins the journey home.

♠︎⊰•˚₊‧. Thanks for reading! .‧₊˚•⊱♠︎

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