The Cursed Night
Day 120
The entire passage of the Kingfisher is focused on your poker table as if it were the only leisure in this voyage. Probably it is, 120 travelling days from Boston to San Francisco, CA in this extreme modern clipper, it is not as romantic as novels attempting to show, at least you are used to the sea now.
You sigh, trying your bluff your way with a smile in your cherry lips and extra cards in your whalebone corset. You twirling a lock of your red hair, blinking at Richard.
Even with the Emerson patented ventilators working at full speed cleaning up the air and creating a nice breeze. In front of you, your target, Richard is sweating more than turkey on Thanksgiving Day, the aged chubby gentleman mops the sweat while mentally try to count the money he stills own. He'd started with a much bigger pile, but you and your cheating haven't been kind. Even with his economic situation, he fiercely reddens, each time he lustful stare at you, the fact you use your own benefit.
The next is Dan, in his role as a professional gamble player black piercing eyes wide-brimmed black hat, trying to count mentally the cards while paying attention to the simple gossips to not loose, trying to look like this is a real genuine poker game.
And then there's you. Your own pile of chips is the biggest; you just need another winning bet. You may. But, of course, you're not here for a fair game. You're here to con art your way to the San Francisco Bay and from there to Nevada...
Only another hand and I will rob him blind. I need that wagon, it would make my job a lot easier; it would save me months in San Francisco to get the money for the wagon and the horse. I have to do whatever I need... At least, I don't have a bad hand.
The entire passage of the Kingfisher is focused on your poker table as if it were the only leisure in this voyage. Probably it is, 120 travelling days from Boston to San Francisco, CA in this extreme modern clipper, it is not as romantic as novels attempting to show, at least you are used to the sea now.
You sigh, trying your bluff your way with a smile in your cherry lips and extra cards in your whalebone corset. You twirling a lock of your red hair, blinking at Richard.
Even with the Emerson patented ventilators working at full speed cleaning up the air and creating a nice breeze. In front of you, your target, Richard is sweating more than turkey on Thanksgiving Day, the aged chubby gentleman mops the sweat while mentally try to count the money he stills own. He'd started with a much bigger pile, but you and your cheating haven't been kind. Even with his economic situation, he fiercely reddens, each time he lustful stare at you, the fact you use your own benefit.
The next is Dan, in his role as a professional gamble player black piercing eyes wide-brimmed black hat, trying to count mentally the cards while paying attention to the simple gossips to not loose, trying to look like this is a real genuine poker game.
And then there's you. Your own pile of chips is the biggest; you just need another winning bet. You may. But, of course, you're not here for a fair game. You're here to con art your way to the San Francisco Bay and from there to Nevada...
Only another hand and I will rob him blind. I need that wagon, it would make my job a lot easier; it would save me months in San Francisco to get the money for the wagon and the horse. I have to do whatever I need... At least, I don't have a bad hand.