#shuffle meme

“What? You’ve never stopped and had a tumble between stamping papers and plucking thieves off nooses?” Sylda skirted around to plant herself in front of him, hands firm on her hips, head cocked with dangerous curiosity. “Look, I know you’re a miserable bastard, but surely someone could look past it for a night or two?”

Delver glared at her. She stared right back, mouth half-twitching into a smirk as she fought hard to keep a straight face. “Fine,” he bit out eventually, and her triumphant smile bloomed. “You win. It’s exactly what you think.”

“Yes! I knew it.” With a newfound bounce in her step, she hooked her arm through Delver’s and began tugging him towards the centre of the busy street. If they were trampled by a wagon or a particularly excited market-goer, well, so be it. Sylda wasn’t one to think quite that far ahead. “So... what’s her name?”

“Eigrel.”

“Oh.” A brief falter. “Well, I’m sure she’s got a great personality.”

Rolling his eyes, Delver allowed Sylda to resume dragging him across the road. Their direction completely at odds with the rest of the crowd, she chirped meaningless apologies every time they startled someone into a sudden stop until they finally reached the far side, and the house in question. It looked the same as he remembered, down to the chip in the bottom corner. Eigrel had slammed it on her late husband’s foot once, and had clearly deemed the memory worth preserving. Before Delver could even begin to retell the story, Sylda was hammering on the door with her bony fists like the woman inside owed her coin.

Well... to be fair...

The door swung open, and suddenly Sylda was face to face with Eigrel. Older than the third of the sister moons and bent as a willow, Eigrel looked on the precipice of a bitter tirade, red-faced and vibrating with anger, before the sight of Delver stole the acid from her tongue. Instead, something in her eyes sharpened, her mouth twisted into a smirk, and she raised her chin. The motion was imperious and just how he remembered. “Well, well. Was wonderin’ when you’d be back. Needed a few seasons to recover, did you?”

Delver gave a deep, formal bow. It was entirely to hide the grin on his face from Sylda, who looked on the verge of full-body collapse. Or nausea. He could never tell with her until it happened. Schooling the smile away before straightening, Delver looked Eigrel in her one good eye. “Come now, Eigy. How could I stay away?” Stepping forward, crowding out Sylda with the span of his shoulders, he rested a hand on the door frame and leaned close. Eigrel smelled of old linen. Nutmeg. Clove. “You know I like a challenge.”

A grin split Eigrel’s face, the cracks of her wrinkles deepening into crevasses. That one brown eye of hers, offset by its milky partner, was as shrewd as ever. “Thought you’d be tired of it by now, boy.”

It was Sylda’s voice that responded, cautious, as though she was afraid of the answer but too painfully curious not to ask. “Tired of what?”

Eigrel’s eye never left Delver. The grin never wavered. She spoke the word like a promise.

“Losing.”

Snorting, Delver straightened with his own imperious half-shrug. “No rest for the wicked, as they say. But,” he pulled out a pair of bone dice, holding them aloft between his fingers, “I’m feeling lucky this time. Made them myself.”

Scoffing in the wet, tactile way unique to the elderly, Eigrel cleared her throat and leaned forward to inspected them, getting close enough that he could have coughed and accidentally poked out her one good eye. But, confident in his workmanship, he allowed her to check the angles like a master smith testing the line of a sword. He turned the dice slowly in his fingers, one side at a time. Sylda watched, silent. The tension was near palpable.

Eigrel never approved. She simply stopped disapproving. This time, her acquiescence came in the form of an unspoken invitation as she huffed, stepped aside, and didn’t slam Delver’s foot in the door. “Go on in, then. Let’s test that so-called luck. Bring your friend, too. Girl should learn how to play proper.”

Sylda, still at a loss, quickly raised her hands as if to ward off a curse. “No, no, that’s all right! You two have your, ah... fun. Playing. Y’know. Whatever it is you’re playing.”

For a moment, Delver thought he’d have to be the one to do the convincing. After all, she was the last person he’d trust in a busy market unsupervised. But before he even had a chance, Eigrel had fixed the full force of her attention on Sylda. Pinned her with that wicked-bright eye. It gleamed in a way that made Delver suddenly nervous.

“Don’t you want to learn how to beat a man with his own dice?”

Before Delver could blink, Sylda was gone, vanishing inside Eigrel’s house like a cat at mealtime. He opened his mouth to protest her betrayal, but knowing it would be useless, gave up with a sigh. Damn Eigrel. Somehow, before even starting, he was already defeated. And they both knew it.

“Go easy,” he plead as he stepped in off the street and slid off his dusty boots. “She’s enough trouble as is.”

Eigrel responded with a raspy chuckle.