blackjack
hades and persephone spend an afternoon playing blackjack. tw for swearing and alcohol use
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Life and death played a game.
Every day they played a game. A stupid game, in Persephoneâs opinion. At least drunk it was a stupid game. Death seemed to enjoy it though so she played anyways. She played a game for the excuse to have time. Time with death. Time with Death, who wasnât death but rather liked to think he was death even though he only ruled over death.
Sometimes death was a fool. Most times death was a fool, because he insisted he was and for the thousandth time he isnât! No matter how hard he wished it other, he was the lord of death and she was the lady of life. Her mama was Life. Her great grandmother really was Life. She may be like them, of life, but she wasnât life itself. Just like that man of hers wasnât death itself.
Gods she was confusing herself.
Persephone tilted her head back and ambrosia tickled her throat as it fell from her flask. Eyes burned into her and she sure as hell didnât need to be sober to feel âdeathâsâ ten yard stare.
âI got cards.â
The earth rumbled when he spoke and the underworld groaned for its king and queen. Some queen she was. âDeal âem then.â She slurred, fingers tapping a random pattern on the wrought iron table older then a mortalâs lifetime. She loved that table when they bought it. Now it was all rusted and old, just like everything else.
âBlackjack, lover?â
âName âo the game.â
Lines etched her husbandâs face and she cocked her head at them. He worked too hard. Wouldnât let her help, wouldnât let her do anything in his office but have a few glasses of whiskey (poured by âdeathâ himself) and pass out on his sofa. Either it was a locked door or it was âhave another drink, why donât ya,â and usually the first which lead to the second on her own anyways.
Except for three oâclock when they played their game.
Nine and ten. Ten bottom, nine top. His top card was a face, A king, how fitting. Either she was leading or she was losing but math wasnât her friend in her haze so the numbers just melted into nothingness.
âStay.â
âPay twenty-one, break twenty.â
His lips curled in a smirk as hers curled down. AssholeâDonât pout cause ya lost.â He drawled, his hand stopping the rhythm of the tapping. Her fingers flattened under his and a frown turned into a scowl. The lack of rhythm ticked her temper.
She took another drink from her flask and whatever that feeling was died and bloomed into numbness. It was so beautiful not feeling. The sound of finger tapping on the table again was lighting in her veins.
âHowâs work?â Persephone slurred, looking âdeathâ dead in his coal eyes as he glanced off the balcony. Werenât death, even âdeathâ, âs eyes supposed to be empty? How come his held the stars? How come over their thousands of years they seemed to dim a little whenever she gazed in them?
âWorks fine.â He grumbled back as his baritone shook the earth again. Maybe it just shook her. Or maybe it was just the liquor. Maybe both. âYou gonna come to bed tonight?â
âAre you?â
Touché
âIâm popping champagne with Hecate later over a business deal, you wanna come?â Persephone frowned slightly. Of course sheâd come. She hadnât missed one of his champagne pops, cause she knew it wasnât a question and it meant she had an excuse to pass out on him. An excuse to be with her husband since usually that was too fucking much to ask. âYeah, what time?â She slurred, throwing back another drink to numb the thoughts of loneliness now filling her head. It was never quiet in that head of hers anymore and it pissed her off. âIâll come get you.â
âDeathâsâ hands were blurry and pale, blending with the cards he was now dealing. Ace and face. A queen. His top was a face too. A king. Huh. âWhatâs the name âo the game, Hades?â She slurred, slamming down her set of cards and smirking. The wheels in her manâs brain were turning, it didnât take a genius to see that. He flinched slightly when his name left her lips. She married an odd man that was damn sure.
âBlackjack...?â
âBreak twenty-one.â
âNineteen, lover. You win.â
Soft lips brushed her knuckles in a blur of a man she new better then she new her plants. Her man. Ever foolish and petty as he was. A breath left as his lips didnât stop. If they stayed forever sheâd be forever this happy. His lips caressing her hands made it feel like he wanted her. And Wasnât it damn nice to feel wanted again.
His finger tapped a rhythm on her palm as he laced onto hers tapping the table. His hands were soft. You could barely feel the callouses that used to line them, only the one formed on the inside of his thumb from his pen. She missed his callouses. Supposed he didnât though.
New cards were dealed, the numbers blurring more then the last round. Five and four. Four......four flowers. He gave her four flowers yesterday. Was it yesterday though? What was yesterday? It couldnât have been yesterday. It wasnât yesterday. He hadnât given her flowers in years.
âHit.â
Nine, eighteen. It was eighteen days past April. She didnât ask him and he never said anything about it. She knew. Spring wasnât going to come this year.
Persephone took a drink and studied âdeathâ whoâs eyes immediately glued to the cards. Her man wasnât, her husband, wasnât scary. He looked like an overworked man, which he was. He always looked either sad or mad at her, no in between anymore. Or he didnât look at all.
âStay.â
Stay. Heâd never stay. He never stayed.
She missed him more then anything. Shut up in that damn office all hours. What the hell was wrong with him? Couldnât let her have spring but couldnât bother to spend more then an hour of games with her. It wasnât fair and it hurt like shit.
âPay twenty lover.â He rumbled and those strong hands of his started rubbing her palms. It felt so good. âWhereâd this come from?â He asked, words falling on drunk and hazy ears. Whereâs what from? There wasnât anything- oh. Her hand flinched back, only to be kept back in place by his, as he traced on a fresh scar.
âUh..I broke a bottle. It was an accident, I swear.â She mumbled quickly, panicking a little. What if he got mad?, then she might not even get their damn games anymore. âDonât care that ya broke a bottle, lover. Why donât we just deal again.â He flicked cards down for her and then for him. She watched his hand shake ever so slightly. Huh.
King and queen. His top was a three, heâd have to hit no matter what was under. Did his hand grip on hers tighter or was that just her head? She stared into âdeathâsâ starry deep coal eyes. He had bad cards. He may have a poker face but there was no hiding for âdeathâ from âlifeâ. She knew him too well.
âStay.â
He flipped a card to a face, a jack, and flipped them all down, making the table shake with his force. âBust.â The underworld shook as he spoke again. âI win.â A smirk spread across Persephoneâs lips. Two out of three. She flinched as The iron chair scraped on the balcony in an ear splitting moan.
Soft lips pressed to her head briefly before the sound of the chair moaning again. He wasnât leaving.Heâs not leaving. âWhat, lover, thought Iâd just let ya win?â âDeathâ rumbled, that smirk of his returning along with the tight grip on the hand holding her flask.
Life and death played a game. Life usually won and death was a sore loser. Two out of three meant they would play again and again until she was too drunk to think or he lost his temper on the cards like he usually did. Either way, Persephone and her man, âdeathâ, played on.
