Pascal opened a chair himself, sat down, wordlessly took the deck of cards. His long, thin fingers expertly cut and shuffled the deck, fanning the cards and then closing them back into a coherent deck with a snap. He dealt. "Five-card draw," he said to Scott, Tide, and Erik, his voice barely above a whisper. While he hadn't felt terribly social lately, there may come a time when his life depended on the action or inaction of these men. It would be good to know a little about them. You could tell a lot about a man from the way he played cards.

He tried a smile, hoped it didn't look as hollow as it felt. "Pascal Souchon. The pleasure is mine, [i]Messieurs[/i]." He checked his hand. It was poor. Cross-table talk might make it easier to bluff and figure out everyone's tell. "So," he said casually, "Where does everyone come from?"