#drydevilplayingdicewithnomoney

The night had long settled, and the torches illuminated the second floor of the Devil’s Den, where a big group of both men and women surrounded the wooden planks where customers played dice. Around it, some members of the Pack sprawled like wolves after a kill: boots propped on tables, mugs half-empty, blades within reach but forgotten for now. Laughter cut through the room as the dice clattered against the slab between them. You had finally been “convinced” to play dice, and you had won against Kubyenka himself, the biggest cheater there is. Next came Henry, who suffered the same fate as his peer. Hans had quit after losing four hundred groschen, cursing more than a man of his status should. The news of the alehouse maid humiliating any opponent spread like wildfire, and soon a crowd had gathered to see you dispatch those who dared to play against you. All of them accused you of using tricked dice, yet they kept on challenging you. 

Dry Devil leaned back, obviously pissed at having rolled only three twos. He had lied about having money to bet, but his pride prevented him from admitting it out loud, especially when his colleagues watched in amusement. He’d already drank too much, but his voice carried as sharp as ever across the flames.

“Fuck this game,” he spat when you had gotten the full scale from one to six, and immediately afterwards three ones. “I’m better with the sword anyways, and you, Angel, are a bigger cheater than Kubyenka himself.”

“I don’t do such a thing, it’s the booze that grants me powers,” Kubyenka objected to the accusation. “God’s gift, I like to say,” the man pointed up with his index finger. 

“Stop whining and give me the coin, Devil,” you demanded, extending your hand waiting for the reward. “Henry wanted a rematch, and I must hurry before Treadlight kicks my arse for slacking off”.

“I won’t give you shit, those dice are tricked!” 

“Either you’re a sore loser or you’re as broke as the teeth I’ve seen on these floors,” you argued back, and the men roared. Dry Devil got visibly annoyed when his mates started teasing him for losing and having no money to pay for the bet. 

Henry scowled, as he held his own cubes. “Luck shifts, Devil. Wait your turn, now it’s mine.”

“My turn?” Dry Devil snorted. “You couldn’t buy luck if you bent over in front of it, this woman right here has less honour playing than Godwin had as a priest.”

You hid a smile into your mug as the men argued. You were indeed a cheater, and a horrible one. From all of the corpses the clients left around, you had managed to collect six Devil’s Head dice, granting you a disgusting advantage to anyone who faced you. That’s why you rarely played, to keep the façade of a lucky casual player. Nobody really bought it, but it seemed to work every time, that’s the reason they had given you the nickname, because according to them you always had God on your side. 

“Devil have no money,” Janosh couldn’t stop laughing, and Adder agreed in Polish. “Don’t waste poor lass’ time”. 

“Whatever he says, do not trust a word that comes out him, Angel,” Godwin intervened. “The fucker promised me once something good if I won, and he gave a damn carrot!”

Dry Devil snorted at the memory, which didn’t seem to please the former priest.

“You’ve clearly got no coin,” you said, narrowing your eyes. “So what are you putting on the table then? I sure as heck won’t leave empty-handed”

You stared briefly down, where you was shaking the tricked dice in your hand. You had won enough tonight to feed a whole family twice over, but the sight of him slouched there, simmering, refusing to pay, struck something hotter inside of you. There was something incredibly hilarious in teasing the Dry Devil. The questions had stilled the laughter, a pause stretched—interested, hungry. The Pack leaned closer, and Henry grew more impatient as he wanted to play again.

Dry Devil realised he was cornered, yet he tilted his head in amusement. “What do you want? I can pay in meat, if the lady wishes.”

You burst out laughing at the proposition, same as the rest that were present. Kubyenka called him a wanker, Adder made a comment that Janosh translated as something along the lines of meat being a good method of payment. Katherine shook her head in disgust, but entertainment was clear in her voice as she pointed out sarcastically that you would for sure accept such a great offer.

“If that's your usual preferred method, I’m sure you’d make lots of groschen across the road, with them bath house girls,” your smile widened as you imagined the absurd scene. “A good wig and robe, and you’ll have a queue of lads asking for your services.” 

A roar of laughter erupted in the room, including Dry Devil’s.

“I’d be your first customer,” Kubyenka joked, raising his mug.  

You thought for a second, what may interest you to obtain from him. Pondering your options, a devilish smile spread across your face as you came up with something. “If you can’t pay with coin, you will with pride.”

Hynek’s eyes flicked in something that looked like interest, that statement had hooked him. You saw it. People around made noises and some started pounding tables as an instrument to their chants. His mouth twitched, a twitch that meant trouble.

“Speak plain, sweetheart.”

“You must answer one question of my liking,” you replied. “Honest. No lies, no dodging.”

“And what if I lie?,” his voice lowered, surprisingly so as his tone was already deep enough.

You looked him deep in the eye, taking on the test he was putting you on against. “I’d have to trust that you won’t spoil the fun.” 

The men went wild. Janosh clapped his hands, Godwin and Samuel banged the table, Adder screamed happily again. Žižka had a smile ear to ear, Katherine watched in interest what was yet to come, and Kubyenka poured himself a new mug of ale. Henry remained upset about him not playing, and Hans still looked visibly pissed for losing money.

“Then you've got yourself a deal, lassie,” Dry Devil finally said. “Ask.”

The crowd howled again, some whistled, boots stomping, mugs pounding. Dice rattled in Henry’s palm, forgotten.

You swirled your drink slowly, buying yourself the moment. The firelight from the torches painted your smirk. You looked at him straight on, unblinking. “Tell me, Dry Devil," you made sure to empathise his name. "As a man of your trade, what’s the one thing you wouldn’t betray? Not for coin, not for booze, not even for your own hide. Don’t you dare say 'my word'.”

A whistle cut sharp through the noise.

“Christ!,” Kubyenka barked. “She went for the throat.”

The Devil didn’t answer at once. He tipped his head, brim shading his eyes, jaw slack as though the question slid right past him. But his fingers tapped once, twice, against the wooden plank that served them as a table.

“You’ve got the wrong man, darling,” he finally said, voice quiet enough that only the nearest caught it. “I’ve betrayed everything worth mentioning.”

You didn’t flinch, as you had expected he'll try to come up with something to avoid answering properly. “That wasn’t the question, we said no dodging. Are you scared, Dry Devil?”

A hush rippled. For once, the Pack stayed still, hungry for the crack in him. Nobody really knew where you had gotten the audacity to corner him like that, especially considering the reputation that preceded the man in front of you.

Devil’s tongue pressed into his cheek. He exhaled through his nose, long and heavy, then leaned back, chair tipping dangerously on two legs. He knew you was testing him, and he was entertained by it, even though a big part of him craved at the wish to teach you a lesson. Who did you think you were? Talking to the Dry Devil as if he was nothing but a toy for your own enjoyment. Nevertheless, it sparked something, finally there was someone that disrupted the boredom of waiting for another task.

He thought for a couple more seconds, and as he opened his mouth ready to answer strong footsteps climbed the stairs. 

“There you fucking are!” Treadlight screamed at your sight. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere, and here I find you betting again. Last time I checked I don’t pay you to scam my customers, or am I wrong?”

“Fucking hell, Treadlight," your rolled your eyes, annoyed at the interruption. "Give me a second, please! He was about to—,” the words hung there as Treadlight spoke again, cutting you mid-sentence.

“I don’t give a fuck, Angel! Three drunkards have gotten into a fight and the floor is now covered in blood,” The innkeeper scolded you. “Now move that arse of yours before the wood turns red, I don’t have the money to change them planks, and I sure as hell don't want people to pry on it.”

You sighed deeply, but stood up. You were so close to getting the question answered. You looked at Dry Devil, who observed you with a smile from ear-to-ear. He might have lost at dice, but he was one lucky bastard. The group that had served as an audience complained loudly, but Treadlight didn’t listen to them as he rushed to do something else.

“Listen to your boss, lassie," he the last word in such a tone that stirred something inside of you. He was provoking, teasing your loss. He held your gaze, with something in his eyes you wished you could read. Then, his whole demenour changed again. "Now fuck off and let me strip Henry of his coin.”

Laughter cracked the silence, the tension broken by force. Mugs lifted again, dice clattered anew. But you kept your eyes on him a moment longer. For a split of a second you had managed to crack his mask, to make him doubt what to say when he normally spat the first thing that crossed his depraved mind. You had caught it, though. It was nothing but a second, but it had been there, awakening a curiosity in you that shouldn't be there considering you worked in the Devil's Den. "You don't ask, you comply. You don't pry, you obey", Teadlight always said. However, your heart raced in excitement as you had seen a glimpse of what could’ve been a truth that didn’t belong to a man like Dry Devil.

He might have felt it too, you supposed, as his gaze flicked back at you again, even though it was just for a heartbeat. Then the noise swallowed it, the crowd baying for another round as Henry sat where you had been some mere seconds ago. He leaned forward against the table, as if you wasn’t there any more, ready to play a new round.

You went down the stairs, feeling surprisingly thrilled at the lack of answer, which you certainly didn’t comprehend.