#savingthrowshow

A single lamp hung over the dealer’s table like a dead man on the gallows.  Everything else was shrouded in darkness.  Rose approached, pulling out one of two chairs there, and sat down.  She stared daggers into the shadows across from her.

“Deal.”

A match was struck and erupted into flame, hovering at the end of a long cigar.  With a single draw, the tobacco glowed brightly, and a cloud of smoke filled the air.  The dealer leaned forward.

He was different every time she came here, and she came here as little as possible.  For this hand, he was looking quite dapper.  Dressed finely with bowler hat tilted to one side, he had foregone the usual moustache for long sideburns and a tuft of hair under his bottom lip.  He could hold other forms, some of which were far more intimidating than this.

“New look?”

“Ah, Miss Byrne, what can I say?  I'm indecisive.  What brings you my way, if I may ask?”  His voice put her in the mind of sickeningly sweet bourbon.  Rose nearly had to choke back her own gorge.

“You may not.  I merely require a little...insight.”

The dealer nodded, cigar poking out of his smug face.  From his vest pocket, he placed a single black poker chip on the green felt between them.  “You know the stakes,” he bleated.

Rose huffed, clutching a hand to her bodice and pulling away as if drawing something from it.  Her fist clenched tightly, drifting to the table where upon relinquishing her grip she dropped a poker chip of her own.  He picked it up, fingers notably and grotesquely long, admiring it's deep red hue.

“You have to win that first, you know.  That is, if you win.”

With a biting grin formed around his cigar, he placed it back.  A snap of his fingers, and a deck of cards appeared in his other hand.  

“You're being very terse today, almost downright rude.”  Cards rippled together.  “Something very important must be happening out there.”

“Nothin’ you should fret about.  Just checkin’ on someone.”

He slid a card to her, then one to himself.  “Someone like...Marshal Hurless?”

Rose huffed again.  

He slid her another card, and another to his own hand.  “So huffy today.  You're right.  It's none of my affair.  How have you been as of late?”

“Fine.  Thank you so much for askin’.  Might I inquire as to the source of your newfound concern?”  Venomous sarcasm dripped from her teeth.

He dealt them both a third card.  “Now, now, Miss Byrne.  You and I both know how much duress you've suffered lately.  Especially at the hands of the pathetic entity known as Jack o’ Nines.  Thinking he could just have you.”  He bellowed loudly with laughter.  Rose was not laughing.

“I don't belong to anyone.”

Their fourth cards were dealt.  “Oh?  Not even your lover?  That wolf in shepherd's clothing?  How about that gunfighter?  He seems to care about you, too.”

Rose glowered. She received a devilish smile and a puff of smoke in response.  “I think you're just talkin’ foolishness, now.” A fifth card slid to her hands.  

Six, Eight, Nine, Ten, Ace.

Rose’s face locked as the game began.  She knew better to let the facade crack even a little.  On the inside she scowled at her hand.  Garbage.  She plucked a pair of cards from what she held and tossed them to the center of  the table.  He did the same.  

Eight, Nine, Nine, Ten, Jack.

She tasted the bile on her tongue.

She flourished her cards onto the felt, expressionless to the last.  The dealer looked to his hand, to Rose, then to the black poker chip on the table.  Rose went for it.

With speed the likes of a lightning bolt, the whole game changed.  Her adversary slapped his hand on the table, a pair of Jacks with a King kicker, and with equally blinding haste wrapped his long, now claw-like fingers around her wrist.  His other hand grasped her throat, like talons digging into her flesh.  Her mouth suddenly flooded with the stomach-churning taste of blood, heat, and dirt all mixed together.

“Sorry, Miss.  Looks like you lose.”

His eyes burned and glowed like the end of the cigar clenched tightly between his teeth, his lips peeled back in a snarl befitting a ravenous coyote.  He stared straight into her mind and her soul.  Her head started burn.

That's when everything went white.

Rose suddenly gasped.  Her head pounded with searing pain as she looked around to the blurred world around her.  She flung out a hand to steady herself against the nearby rain barrel tucked between the general store and saloon.  A few breaths and she righted herself.  

Peeking back around the corner of the building, she could see Gabe, James, and Howell still dealing with the Marshal.  Everyone else just walked on by without so much as a second glance.  As her vision cleared, she prepared her magic once more, pausing once to the sound of a soft whisper singing in her ear.

I'll be right here.  Waiting.  And know this: your soul will be mine.