#squidrider

It’s about as typical an evening after a job as ever was, ‘cept that today Death’s venturing down the path to getting at the very least buzzed. Hard thing to do without liquor, so again he flags to the bar for a new bottle. The barhand —a Watcher, Periphes— goes to cut their quick-chat short with the boy at the counter, mentioning they gotta go give the Horseman his next fill before that rumoured dark temper brings consequences… Oh Death’s growin’ annoyed alright, especially when it ain’t the one who should be bringing him the booze that comes strutting towards his table.

That boy Periphes’ was chatting with —an odd and off-coloured young man, goin’ by the name of “Squid”— offered deliverin’ it for them; an offer near too quickly taken up, as very few voluntarily look to go near the Bounty Hunter unless they’re in need of something from him...

But Squid’s new ‘round Creation County; bright eyed, bushy-tailed, oddly fascinated with affairs of the Horsemen and maintaining Balance as a whole... Tonight, the Pale Rider’s been drinking more than the boy’s seen him do before, and this could be a good way to go about approachin’ him. Of course the first attempts at friendly conversation go less than productively, the Horseman just taking the whiskey and stonewalling Squid in typical abrasive fashion… well, more of a ‘if I keep short and ignore the lad, he’ll go away’ than telling him outright to piss off.

Funny how the other tables close to his feel a foot farther than they ought to be… wait, that’s ‘cause they’re missing chairs on the nearest side! Well that makes it a bit more inconvenient to pull one up, but what’s a few extra steps right? Death’s about ready to either get up or tell the lad flatly to fuck off when Squid pulls out a deck of cards, saying he’s seen patrons playin’ hands but he never learned himself how the game works.

What, there a law ‘gainst card games where he’s from?

No, they just weren’t his old mentor’s thing so he didn’t get much exposure.

They make a deal of sorts; if Squid fetches him more liquor before the bottle’s last cup dries, then until he’s done drinking the Rider supposes he can enlighten him on the basics. Would save him the bother of flagging down the barhand every time, then waitin’ for them to get around to it.

Great! Squid sets up the “Dealer” 6 cards like he’s told —in as few words as the Rider needs to use— and then deals his own 5 hand. Death ain’t touching a single card; if the boy wants to learn, he can do it himself. Now y’aint supposed to see the Dealer’s hand usually, but the Rider —again— ain’t touching a single card, so this is the best they can do. First round Squid ends up with Dead Man’s hand: both black aces and the black eights, fifth card (the hole) wouldna made it a better hand. Too bad it don’t beat a straight— Dealer wins. Alright, next game; Squid’s told he can discard and redraw up to three cards, which he does. He gets a look like he’s about to comment on his hand but the Rider tells him to shut it; won’t do him any good in a real game to go blabbing about his cards. The hands are picked and revealed— Dead Man’s hand again.

…It can happen, nothing too strange about it. One more, just so the boy can see what other combinations can be played. He discards and draws one card at a time until the three limit, eyebrows furrowing a lil more each of the three pulls. Pokerface needs work, but the Rider’s about to get the same look when that damn pair of aces and eights is turned over again. Squid swears he’s shuffling right, even finds a little humour that it keeps happening, but Death’s getting ticked. Fine, change of game— this time he’s shuffling the deck. Can’t get that damn 4-card hand in Hold ‘Em. The red aces show up in the river, and lad is exhilarated to flip his cards to show the other aces. That’s all four, he’d win. But… it itches at the Horseman a little. Not sure why, but he gets the feeling not to check the deck’s top two cards...

Squid does as they agreed and comes back not only with fresh whiskey, but a proposal too: why don’t they play for real? He’s hot off winning once and being a bit cocky about it. That attitude sure washes off fast as he’s losing the little gilt he’s got to the old pro, and it goads Death to keep wiping the floor with his ass the more Squid continues to claim he’s still having fun. When he’s got no coin left to play the Rider points out those pins to his vest— that’s gold enough.

That game’s the first time tonight Death could really say he saw Squid sweat, fidgeting with his two cards as the first of the river flips over. Kid’s got nothing in his hand to win this one, but neither does the Bounty Hunter. In the end, funnily enough, both had one ace and one eight— both of the black suites.

Squid’s relieved to put the pins back on his vest when the Rider also gives him back his gilt; he’s got no use takin’ the boy’s coin, though hopefully now he knows better than to bite off more than he can chew. Weirdly he’s not as thankful about that. Here he thought they were playing for actual stakes! Death’s got no use for a fool’s gold, boy; y’ain’t got anything he’d actually want to bet for. Now git, he’s tolerated enough of your nuisance interrupting a nice night for drinking.

But Squid’s stubborn, sayin' if being miserable at the bottom of a bottle is all he cares about then they can bet on that! If the Rider wins he can knock back a glass of his chosen poison, but if Squid wins he’s gotta go a round without. Well the boy’s not won save the once, and he’s still offering to get the whiskey for him…

what Death didn’t expect was to start losing. Now, not in any downright cheated turn of luck —despite his comment how “cheaters tend t’get shot round here, boy”— but it’s clear the squid’s started to pick up on the right ways to play. One round he wins, one round he loses. Loses again. Wins again, even makes a bit of a show of downing a double behind that bandana just to get on the lad’s nerves. Loses. Wins… but forgets to take his drink. Same with the next time. Bottle’s halfway done but eventually forgotten as the two just keep playing for who can win more rounds. They’re not really talking in between hands, but the atmosphere around that back table seems to shift after a while. Alleviatin’, if even by just a little.

When it gets late and Squid’s getting tired, he packs up the cards and puts his gloved hand out to shake, the sportsmanly gesture to give your opponent after a good game. Death, however, doesn't answer the offered hand, instead staring at it hard for a solid second before quipping that if they’d been playing in any way for real, Squid would be so far in debt—… Which, yeah, most likely true; likely owe so much as to himself become the Horseman’s property, But—-

“T‘least I helped you feel a lil better, right?” His smile holds only the faintest hint of mischief, though more happy to see the man in better spirits than anything else. He turns for the exit, already starting off with a short wave over his shoulder.

“Goodnight Sir!”

Now the Rider’s not one for eavesdroppin', per se— he’s a man who stays alert to everything around him, that’s all. He’s likely not one to really care ‘bout them “once in a thousand years or more” sky events; you seen one you’ve seen ‘em all. Besides, sky ain't goin’ nowhere so what’s the big deal in makin’ a fuss about it? …However…

“So why’d we have to be out here by nightfall again?” The boy asks again, now maybe the fourth time since they left town earlier that evenin’. T’give the boy some credit, the Rider expected him to be a much bigger pester than he turned out to be— seems the answer of “I’ll tell ya when we get there” is all it takes to buy his quiet. Till they got there of course.

“Just keep your eyes up,” Death tosses over his shoulder without even lookin’, quick roll of his eyes even if no one’s facin’ him t'see. He’s trying t'get this damn fire lit, and something about these matches just ain’t holdin’ the spark.

“Okayyy, but you did say—”

the Rider strikes another match—the one that finally catches, thank fuck—and lights a low campfire just as the boy’s voice cuts.

‘Hm, guess it started… good timing.’

“A…Are you…” a hand gently finds Death’s back as he stands again, the boy too entranced to do more than blindly feel out for him.

“Are you seein’ this?”

‘He always did have a strange fascination with the stars…’

The alleged heavens are lit up in hundreds upon hundreds of streaking comets, travellin’ all the way from one point of the horizon to the next, in longer arcs than any meteor shower neither the Horseman nor his apprentice can say they’ve seen before.

“Yeah kid, hard t’miss.”

“…it’s beautiful…”

The Rider lowers his gaze to catch how those comets reflect their tails in the glimmer of his companion’s wide eyes, how in utter awe the boy looks to these faraway lights.

Is it fair to be jealous of stars? …is it reasonable? Whatever the answers to those thoughts could be, Death’s distracted by suddenly being the center of Squid’s attention; bathed in a teary golden spotlight, somehow in a look more awed to find him than when turned to the literal cosmic wonder still flyin’ by overhead.

“Sir, is this why—?”

“Quit yapping and watch, before y’miss the whole thing.”

Death turns that spotlight away, but can’t escape the boy’s arm slitherin’ into his open coat and hugging ‘round his waist, keepin’ the Rider well and close.

“…‘N no more calling me that.”

“Callin’ you what? Sir?”

A grunted affirmation, refusin’ to look down in case he finds those damn eyes stuck to him again. In his rendered obliviousness, he’s got no idea what settles closer into his side. A small hum blows the cold night air to brush the Rider's skin.

“Only if you quit callin’ me kid.”

Death breathes a very short laugh, likely to mock the young man’s request. But he’s got nothin' more t’say, just brings a hand to his partner’s side— keeping him from goin’ anywhere.