Chapter Text
Dim lights and cigarette smoke set a charged atmosphere as the hour-long poker game finally neared its end. With two competitors left standing, the media seemed to hold their breath. At one end of the table, a professional poker player who’s been playing for over half his life, and– did it really matter? His name would be forgotten by the end of this match.
Across the table, another man fixes the rose-tinted glasses on his face. The media has had their eyes on this man with interest: a young gambler from nowhere who can’t seem to stop winning. Did he have some kind of blessing on his side, or was he really just a cheater?
The mysterious man silently reviews the cards in his hands before confidently placing them on the table. The difference between this man and many other people in this tournament was that Aventurine had been gambling his whole life.
His competitor drops a sad excuse of a hand onto the table, frustrated that Aventurine had seen through his bluff. The pot is slid over to Aventurine, who neatly stacks his chips. With his competitor down to the last of his chips, the media watches intently.
The next cards are dealt, and the two blinds are put into the pot. Aventurine picks up his cards. Seeing a 2 and a 7, his face doesn’t reflect any ounce of disappointment. He calmly checks. When the flop is turned, he notices a 7. At least, if I lose, I have a pair. Not a horrible loss.
The flop has a king and a 6. Upon noticing this, the competitor raises the pot. “I’d like to raise a thousand dollars.” Aventurine slides a thousand into the pot. He definitely has a king. At this point, risking a thousand for a six or bluff would be pointless for him.
Moving onto the turn, an ace is revealed.
“All-in.”
He has a king and an ace. That’s two pairs, and high cards, at that. But when has my luck ever failed me? Aventurine smirks and nods. “Sure, I’ll bet that.”
The two put their hands on the table, revealing their cards. Sure enough, the competitor had a king and an ace. Seeing Aventurine’s hand, he can’t help but laugh. “Really? On a hand like that? Are you an idiot?”
“Maybe I just might be. But your ‘all-in’ is just a fraction of my winnings.”
The river is flipped, revealing a 7. Aventurine smiles as the chips are slid to his side of the table. “Three of a kind. Unfortunate for you, no? Especially with a hand as perfect as that.”
“How– you’re cheating!”
The competitor’s cries of frustration are drowned out by the cheering audience. The announcer declares Aventurine as the winner, moving on to the next round of the tournament. Everyone seemed to be infatuated by this up-and-coming superstar and his lucky streak.
Everyone except Veritas Ratio.
The young reporter for the Las Vegas Review-Journal taps his pen lightly against the cover of his notebook, thinking of how he wants to summarize Aventurine in his next article. He opens it up before quickly writing his thoughts. Cocky. Standoffish. Flamboyant. Eccentric.
Ratio keeps going for a while before he’s bumped by someone passing through the crowd. By his own misfortune, it was none other than that flamboyant (yes, he decided to go with that description) blonde poker player. It’s a miracle that Ratio didn’t smell his expensive cologne while he was at the table; it somehow overpowered the strong smell of cigarettes in the casino.
Busy with pushing through the crowd, Aventurine turns to Ratio. “My apologies, no interviews right now, please,” he says, continuing on his way.
“I wasn’t–” Ratio sighs in annoyance, seeing the man had already left. He frowns, opening his journal again. Full of himself in the most annoying way possible. Self-centered. Egotistical. Narcissistic.
Since the match is over, Ratio decides to write his article, send it to his editor, and go to bed. Luckily, it’s not too late. He heads to his room and takes out his computer, debating how to start the article.
With the World Series of Poker currently running in Las Vegas, competitors are coming from far and wide to test their skills against some of the best poker players in the world. Tonight, a match between the up-and-coming player Aventurine and (insert the other competitor's name later, I can’t remember it) has left locals at the Refuge Hotel–
Ratio stands from his computer, grabbing his notebook. He skims it, trying to remember the name of the other competitor. Just as he’s flipping through the pages, his phone buzzes.
“Hello?”
“Hi, is this Doctor Veritas Ratio?”
“This is him. How may I help you?”
“Hi, good to talk with you, Dr. Ratio. I’ve seen the work you’ve done for the Las Vegas Review-Journal. I was wondering if tomorrow we could go for a drink and discuss some business?”
Ratio frowns a little, opening up to a blank page in his notebook. “Who is this?”
“My name’s Jack, I’m one of Calvin Lowell’s managers.”
Calvin Lowell… Ratio picks up his notebook and flips through the pages. Calvin Lowell is a player who has been doing really well in this tournament so far. Ratio makes a quick note of the stranger’s name and his occupation. “What sort of business are you trying to discuss?”
“A collaboration. There’s a whole lot of talking that needs to be done. I’d prefer to have this conversation in person.”
Ratio taps his pen against his notebook. “Where would you like to meet?”
“The bar downstairs in the Refuge Hotel.”
“Tomorrow night?”
“Does 7 pm work for you, Doctor?”
“I suppose. I’ll see you there at 7, then.” Ratio hangs up the phone and quickly jots down the meeting date. It was more than a little suspicious, but he decided to humor this man.
Flipping back to the page about the match from earlier, Ratio gets the details he needs and resumes writing his article. Once he’s done, he emails it to his publisher and closes the computer, deciding that he has done enough for one day.