“Nobody is taking bets on who wins my hand, because it is already taken.          Troublemakers will spend their day in the dungeon.”

“You gotta help me, kupo,” he looked up at his friend earnestly, producing a yellow highlighter from somewhere unseen and holding it out to her. “Please, Relm, you’re my only hope!!”

Setzer had a hell of a time convincing Celes to return to the Blackjack with him for a nightcap. He wasn’t sure what finally swayed her: his promise that although the casino was closed tonight, it was still staffed (with the unspoken corollary that it wasn’t as if they’d be wholly alone), or his promise that he would open up his best bottle of scotch in celebration of her birthday. In truth, it was probably the scotch. They entered through the hatch door on the side of the ship, the gambler still loudly discussing the opera they’d just seen. The story was a bit trite, but Maria’s singing had been superb. And he was amused at how well his mistress and his dear friend seemed to get on. All in all, an excellent evening. Maria had been right – why stop at one gift for Celes? The metal steps from the hatch door to the landing were perilous when one was intoxicated, but only mildly off-putting after as much champagne as the two of them had consumed. At the top of the steps, Setzer pretended to stumble and, as he fell forward, slammed his fist against the wooden door that was the entrance to the main level of the ship. Just in case he hadn’t been loud enough in the stairwell outside it. He shook his head and laughed it off in the manner of any half-drunk fool too far gone to feel shame. “If champagne has me tripping over my own feet, perhaps I should steer clear of the scotch.” He lingered a moment longer over finding the right key from the ring of them in his pocket, making a mental note to get his spare back from Locke. Better to give the thief access than to risk him ‘letting himself in’ and bending the pins on every lock in the place. “After you, mon chere.” Setzer opened the door and ushered Celes through it, following close behind her. The candles in the wall scones were burning low and dim, but even in the darkness, the gambler’s sharp eyes could make out a mass of shapes that didn’t normally occupy his casino floor. He reached for the switch against the wall that controlled the fickle electric lights for the chandeliers, hoping they would work properly and not force him to resort to the gas lamps instead. At the flick of the switch, the chandeliers sprang into lighted life. The room was filled to the brim with roses. They were in vases everywhere: on windowsills, on the bar, on the blackjack and craps tables that had been covered with linens. On some of the ones closest to him on the entry table, he could make out beautiful, unnatural textures on the petals. Many of them were silk. Setzer smirked. Cyan, you do have a talent for these. Multi-colored paper chains were twined around the banisters on the open second level above them. A three-tiered white cake was the focal point of the table in the center of the room, and though it seemed a bit lopsided and like more than a few fingers had poked into the frosting (Gau’s doing, perhaps? Or a sneaky and sweet-toothed king’s?), the effect was strangely charming and folksy. Locke was right; Terra was a good choice to handle the cake. “Surprise!” The unison shout as every Returner sprang out of hiding was almost deafening, and Setzer started for a second even though he’d been expecting it. He had been too busy figuring precisely what sort of congratulations were in order for Mr. Cole for executing this plan so brilliantly. He turned and flashed Celes a winsome smile as he shrugged in feigned innocence. “I think you’ve been hustled, Birthday Girl.”

       ❝--Relm!!❞

[silently judges imperialturncoat and wanderinggambler as mun tucks her into muse-bed]

“………………………………………….”

     "Have you seen my s---...a boy wearing a sheriff's hat?"