"And dealer takes, two."
"Well. That's impressive."
"Spike, you never cease to amaze me. How can you sound bored and frustrated at the same time? You'll have to teach me sometime."
Riley's sniping is taken with a minimum of grumbling, and I'm grateful. I put two cards in front of myself on the table, and then play around with my hand. Almost a full house. I'd try and bluff my way out of it, but really, there's not much point.
I wonder what Xander would say if he knew that I played poker with an impotent vampire, Buffy's soon-to-be-ex boyfriend - oh, it's all right to say it, we all know they're not going to last much longer; sooner or later, something will kill him and life will move on - two used-to-be inmates, and a guy who has his vampire brother locked up in his bathroom.
There are a lot of conditional people, here.
I don't really care who plays; Thursday is poker night, and none of us want the rest dead, so we can handle it. And if I can handle it, then my little Xander can.
Of course, he's not going to find out.
This hand goes to the sexy inmate with the vampire brother. He looks pleased with himself, and I start to pout. Why should he win all the time? I was even the dealer, so it would be a lot harder for him to cheat. Not impossible, but harder.
"Sorry, sister. This one's mine."
"Yeah, yeah. I still say you're cheating."
He pushes his chair away from the table, straightens his back out of the slouch it preferred. "Oh yeah? Wanna make something out of it?"
Spike, to my right, rolls his eyes and throws his five cards down, face up on the table. "For chrissake, Ryan! She said you were cheating, not that she was gonna do anything about it! I think you're cheating too, but can I prove it?" He started to sound even more fed up. "No!"
Riley, anxious to stop this argument, says "So. New round."
"Law boy, your turn."
"My name is Beecher."
It's the first thing he's said in almost ten minutes, so it should startle the group. We're used to it, though, so no one even raises their eyebrows. Eventually, even a mentally unstable person is acceptable if you play your cards right. Spike hands him the deck, and answers sarcastically, "Oh, well. I don't care if your name is Catherine the Great. I want some bloody decent cards."
Beecher, who always seems hunched over the table, finishes dealing and grins slowly. He always does things slowly; speaks slowly, moves slowly, hunches over and fidgets. I don't think he's even half there. His mind's gone.
But he's got money, from somewhere, so we let him play. Who am I to bitch about where the dollars come from?
I look at my cards, and mentally make a rude noise. How the hell am I going to salvage this hand? Spike audibly snorts, beside me, and throws his cards down on the table in disgust. "Forget that, mate. I'll get more beer."
I say brightly, "Having a run of bad luck, Will?"
He turns on me, and scowls. "Anyanka, pet, don't ever call me that."
We play more poker. I'm not actually having too bad a round of it - aside from Beecher giving me the creeps, the night isn't too bad. Ryan had to go answer the door, take care of some stuff, he said, for a while, but aside from that, nothing's amiss. Even Beecher and Keller, who always find themselves arguing over every last chip and dime in their lives, are quiet enough tonight.
I'm directly across from Keller and Ryan, sitting beside Beecher on my left and Spike on my right. Riley is beside Ryan, almost in the kitchen. I almost wish that Keller had sat beside me, instead of his boyfriend, because Toby is more off than usual tonight. He's mumbling to himself.
Beside him, Keller looks black and grim.
I roll my eyes inwardly. "Lighten up, everyone! This is supposed to be a good night. We're playing poker. We're waiting to see who our hard earned votes got us for president. We're--"
"Anya, none of us can vote." That from the lawyer.
I put down my cards, and gesture for Beecher to deal me two. "So?"
Spike interrupts, "So. The boys over there are from another dimension; convicted felons to boot. They don't have the right to vote in either space. You and me're demons. You're cheating your taxes, being paid by Giles under the table and don't have a birth certificate. I'm evil. Riley there is wanted by several federal agencies, and can't show his face anywhere."
Ryan says, wearily, "Can we just get back to the game?"
Spike nods at him, but mutters, "Bloody Democrats probably put those bloody soldiers out there. I, myself, am an anarchist first, but a Republican second."
Keller, as he deals us our next hand, says mildly, "I wonder what this country would be like if we had decent politicians instead of the cocksuckers we have now."
"Don't you mean cock-sucked, mate? And gimme--" he slaps a card down on the table, "--one, K-boy."
Riley and Spike both snicker. Keller grins, and it's a little too twisted for my sake. I decide to get things back on track. "Ante up, boys. I feel lucky this round. I want your money."
We go through the motions of card playing. I keep my eyes open for any sign that these guys are bluffing - but, they've spent their lives bluffing their way in and out of things. It'll be a tough call. Still, I've got enough experience with bullshit to realize that Ryan's trying to pull it on me.
I raise his stakes. He folds, eventually. I beam, and say, "Yay. Mine."
"Don't you ever get tired of gloating over winning, pet?"
I shake my head. "Frankly? Not really. And neither do any of you."
Beside me, there is a bark of laughter, and I almost jump out of my seat hearing it. The law boy leans closer to me, and murmurs, "You know what I'd say to Chris there, if I could?"
Not knowing if anyone else heard him, I pull back, raise my eyebrows. "Uh-huh. Right. Let's play."
I don't think I really want to know. It can't be anything pleasant. I know their score.
Ryan deals us another hand, and the flick of his eyes to his right palm is a sure indicator that he's got a killer hand. I look down at my own cards, and fight the urge to sigh. So much for being lucky.
Keller says with a sexy little grin, "Hey, Toby. C'mere."
Beecher wraps an arm around Keller's, and presses his face against the open mouth eagerly, hungrily. I shake my head. Beside them, Ryan looks vaguely uncomfortable. Spike finally snorts, looking exasperated, and throws a beer can at them. "Oh, knock it off, you two. Some of us are trying to play, here."
Keller looks unapologetic, and Toby resumes his former hunched-over position. But in a voice clear as a bell, Beecher says, "Pedicabo ego vos et irrumabo." He pauses, then says, bent-over almost so his chin touches the table, "That's what I'd say."
I'm pretty sure that none of the other people here know what the hell that means; Ryan and Keller aren't the type to know any Latin, and Riley might have rudimentary Latin, but his face is as blank as the rest of them. Spike lets his lips curve upwards in a smile, so maybe he recognized the curse - but he's never been one for book learning, has he?
I can see Spike thinking, one way or another, 'Oh, pet. Toby, you poor, crazy bastard.'
I know I recognized what he'd said. I remember the last time I heard it. One monk was on his knees, begging for forgiveness of another, which wasn't given.
I chuckle to myself. He's one crazy guy, Beecher, but I like his sense of humor.
I adjust my visor - for some reason, everyone on television that plays poker wears this silly looking visor - and say, "Okay! Ante up, boys. High stakes, tonight."