Poker Night - Manuel and David

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(Posted early due to brain meltdown)

While most of Xavier's residents are busy with the Prom, Manuel goes out for entertainment of a different sort and meets an unexpected comrade.



Manuel tapped the table once, a subtle gesture to the tall, dark-demeanored dealer who passed the card face down and let it go before Manuel slid it towards him. Doubt was what he felt next to him, uncertainty in the next and a profound smugness to the third, a tall, well dressed woman. His powers concentrated on those three as best as he could, holding their projections into him until he could maintain that it was indeed their emotions he was feeling as opposed to anyone else.

"Fold," he said quickly, stacking the cards once and pushing them aside. Blackjack was not one of his favourites and he abandoned the table, only to have someone pick up his place immediately. Weaving through the on-lookers, bystander girlfriends and gamblers inbetween, Manuel's eyes trailed over the tables in passing before he reached the bar, quietly gesturing for a cognac to warm him.

A bottle of beer clinked on the bar next to Manuel as a taller individual leaned over and got the attention of the young man tending bar. "You may want to let what passes for a pit boss here know that the baccarat table's about to be hit by a trio of hustlers. Man in the plaid, woman in the red."

The bartender arched an eyebrow, but glanced to the table. "Indeed, sir? And just how--"

At that moment, a whoop of triumph came from the indicated table, and a man in a plaid shirt stood up to collect his winnings. Across from him, a blonde woman in her forties suppressed a smile. The bartender cursed and spoke briefly into a cell phone, then stopped. "You said a trio, sir."

"Your dealer," David North responded with a smile, eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses despite the dim lighting inside the club. "I'll bet you brought him on about a month ago, and this is the first night you've seen the other two here. They're sloppy, but they haven't busted the table yet."

He gestured with the empty beer bottle, and the bartender quickly exchanged it for a full one, popping the top before turning to pour Manuel's requested cognac, which he then placed in front of the Spaniard before stepping aside to talk to a larger man in a dark blazer. North turned around, leaning his elbows on the bar. "And they say there's no such thing as luck," he joked, directing the comment to the taciturn Manuel before extending a hand. "David North."

The firm grasp of a handshake was met half way, followed by a curt nod. "Manuel de la Rocha. I have heard of you, North," he said, withdrawing his hand to pick up his cognac and swirl it around briefly. Judging from the drama that began to unfold before him, he made a few assumptions of his own, combined with David's confidence with his emotions "A precog yes?"

"Of a sort," David acknowledged, taking a drink from the bottle in his hand. "And you are an empath, having regained some lost control as of late. Problems arising from a serious auto accident, I understand. A place like this... ah, it must be like a gallery of emotions for you."

North smiled, reaching up to remove his glasses and casually tuck them into a pocket. "The tension, the avarice, the hope... the people here are for the most part, lifers. The ones who can't step away from the table. Debt, addiction, thrill; it's all that matters to them. Then you have the hustlers looking to make a quick grift, like those folks being led out over there." He indicated the table he'd pointed out to the bartender, where the cheating couple was being led to a door and the dealer taken off into the back room. "So which are you, Manuel? Addict or potential grifter?" David asked. "Or are you merely here for the experience?"

Manuel nodded, confirming the information to be true. David North had done his research, though it was hardly something to overlook. Snow Valley had stacks of files on him, a courtesy Remy had taken to showing him on his return to the mansion and it was a small reminder every time he spoke with one of the Snow Valley folks. It only took one curious look at those files to understand what they were dealing with.

"I am an opportunist, Mr. North, expanding my horizons," he replied, inhaling the sweet smell of his drink as it burned down his throat and set it down before flickering his gaze to the older man. "And why are you here? Not by your good graces, I assume?"

David held up his bottle of beer as a silent explanation. "The beer is crap, and the people here are absolutely insufferable," he said matter-of-factly, "but this is a form of... I suppose you could say practical meditation. Alcohol dulls my abilities, makes it hard, if not impossible, to see things before they happen. It forces me to rely on my unaided faculties, an ability to read people. Like golfing with a handicap, you see."

Manuel rolled his tongue along the top of his mouth, lazily in his movement and attempting to relive the burn without taking in more alcohol. "I understand," he said and leaned against the counter, supporting his bad leg without the cane and picked up his drink, gesturing to the ground that he turned to face.

"Woman in teal silk dress," he gestured to a set of legs and leaned over the winning man. "I can feel her. Focus on her, but not for long before she slips away. Overburdened by not just the rest of the room, but anyone within a two kilometer radius. I cannot focus for long however it has become easier here than at the mansion. The property alone keeps people well out of my range." He took another sip and grinned. "Easier to sleep at night, surrounded by mutants and a very elaborate security system."

"We find our own ways to focus, yes?" David noted, nodding in sympathy. He stood as well, looking around the room before settling his gaze on a corner table. "Five-card stud poker. An absolute classic. A game that forces you to play the cards as well as the other players."

He reached into a pocket and withdrew a tightly-wound roll of bills, holding it up to Manuel. "Fifty-dollar buy-in. Shall we see how well-disciplined our focus is tonight?"

Manuel grinned and polished off his drink before gesturing for another to a different bartender. "You speak my language Mr. North. Let us see if your dialect coincides with your tongue."



Two hours later, David looked at his hand one more time. The game had changed from regular five-card stud to Texas Hold'em, the more popular variant that changed the game from a matter of card-counting and probabilities into a complex system of tells and bluffs, where reading the other players was ninety percent of any hand, and more often than not a potentially winning hand was folded to avoid elevating the risk level.

Not unlike the life of an intelligence operative, North mused silently. His stake had shrunk, although he'd kept a few chips in reserve in case a run of cards went his way. He'd also been 'leaking' tells intentionally - rubbing a finger along the temple of his sunglasses when he was hesitant about a bluff, squaring his cards up when he was overconfident. As expected, the other players were picking up on them, and in turn, becoming overconfident themselves.

He looked at the cards on the table, and his hole cards. Three kings, with a queen showing as the river - not the strongest hand. Eyeing the other players, he brushed his temple lightly before dropping his cards face-down. "Fold," he sighed, pushing the cards towards the middle.

Manuel simply observed through his emotions. He was charged with different signs, each emotion sighing a faint signature that he could follow, focus on and little by little, curb that confidence until it was a booming ego. Telltale signs were happening more frequently over the table and different gestures were being made by different bluffs, most of which Manuel could see through. He often forgot that during his practice, he should stop looking at the colours around people and rather, try to focus in on them the way an empath was meant to. Wadding through the emotional garbage was difficult at the mansion, easier here where goals were fairly simple.

Win.

Manuel's expression remained tight, his eyes focused down on his cards, set there until he was locked onto one person he was competing against and then a stony expression crept over his face and settled. At David's submission, Manuel pursued, raising the stakes with his own accumulated money. By no means was he good at playing cards, but this, this game of people, he knew all too well.

The other two players left in the hand looked over at Manuel. The first, an older man dressed in a faded seersucker suit, shuffled two chips over and over in his left hand. If there was a more obvious tell, neither David or Manuel had ever seen it. With a sigh, he dropped his cards on the table and gathered what remained of his stake, nodding to the other players and leaving the table.

Which left only Manuel across from the last player, a slender Asian woman whose only facial expressions seemed to be variations on "disdainful scowl", no matter how many gin and tonics were brought to her. Eyeing Manuel for a moment, she finally let a smile slip through before unexpectedly laying her cards face-down. "Fold," she said flatly. As the dealer brushed the pile of chips to Manuel, the woman leaned over to whisper to the dealer.

"The lady has requested a new deck. If you gentlemen have no objections?" North shook his head, then leaned towards Manuel in the short time it took for the dealer to reload his shoe. "She's a ringer," he said, carefully pitching his words to carry only as far as Manuel's ear. "But not working for the club. Someone's working a slow grift here, and she's trying to raise the table stakes. Make the men bet large, then hustle them."

While David spoke, Manuel gestured to a waiter to bring him some Scotch. He needed it, if only to smooth out his emotional control. It was a well known fact that Manuel had been keen on liquor in his younger years and time had done nothing to shift that, if anything, refining his taste for the drink and interested in only making it heavier when things got particularly difficult.

He turned to North, speaking in low tones, keen eyes carefully watching his surroundings. "She's a woman, therefore I would never under estimate her." All the more reason to show her her place. She had exceptional control over her emotions and up against many, she did not waver but Manuel was interested to see how well the doe held up against a lone wolf, while she was herded by him and actions predicted by another.

The first hand Manuel was dealt was hopeless. The Jack of Hearts and a matching Seven looked up at him, and the best he could hope for was three of a kind with the Jack of Spades showing, but as the community cards were turned, it looked like a pair was his only result. A suicide hand, but he wanted to test her.

North held his beer in his hands, not drinking, just watching Manuel from behind his glasses. The woman was Gloria Hsu, at least according to her non-driver's identification card that he'd purloined the week prior. A quick police background check had revealed a handful of arrests for DUI - the woman had impulse control problems. But they didn't seem to carry over to her play, as she handled the cards like a professional, and knew when to bet high, when to fold, and when to press.

What was worse, the woman had absolutely no tells. None. David only hoped that Manuel's empathy was providing him an advantage of some sort, otherwise he was about to be the victim of a rather vicious shark.

"Raise," she murmured, tossing five hundred dollars worth of chips into the center of the table.

Despite his hand, Manuel enjoyed pushing back, especially when it came to a personality he was accustomed to in the HFC. Her emotions wavered in the slightest but not enough yet to hunt down the emotions behind her confidence. He met her five hundred and increased the pot. He did not have to look at David to know what his partner was thinking, his emotions were apprehensive, focused and clearly watching the game as several others approached over the course of another half hour. Back and forth, each trying to bluff out the other and as the stakes grew, so did her confidence plummet as the money was running out.

North sipped at his beer, letting the condensation cool his hands and bring him back to full alertness. While Hsu might not have had any tells, Manuel did. Whether the female grifter across the table had picked up on the Spaniard's habit of squaring up the edges of his cards on a bad hand or not would well decide the fate of the very large pool.

Without breaking the rules of the game, North couldn't glance over to check Manuel's cards. He was a competitor here, officially, and out of the hand. Hazarding a guess, he wagered that de la Rocha held a pair of Jacks at best. A weak hand - but he was betting as if he were holding something far better.

Hsu's composure, however, was starting to stiffen - something behind the facade was weakening. She placed her hand on her stack of chips, looking to go all-in, before stopping and scooping the chips into her hand and dropping her cards in the same motion.

"Fold," she hissed in a voice practically dripping with venom as she left the table with what remained of her stake. With the hand over, the dealer collected the cards and called a short break. North turned to Manuel and raised an eyebrow.

"Either that was the most subtle empathic manipulation I've ever seen," he intimated, "or you've the makings of an exceptional gambler, Mister de la Rocha."