[b]Donovan/Sickle-Cell[/b]

The ball clattered loudly around the roulette wheel, hopping and skipping over every fret it touched. After an eternity of indecision, it fell to a rest at the black 27, provoking a wave of groans and raucous cheers from the assembled crowd.

“I bloody [i]told[/i] you we should have gone for black,” cursed Donovan.

Sickle-Cell merely smirked into his champagne glass. “It’s not my wealth that I’m squandering, Gambler.”

Donovan watched sourly as the croupier cleared the table, glowering as his hard-earned chips were swept beneath the table. It wasn’t as though he [i]expected[/i] to beat the house; poker was the game for professional gamblers and he’d already reached the house cap several hours ago. All he knew was that he [i]could[/i] beat the house - on a winning streak like tonight, he almost deserved to. And as unjustified as it might be, he couldn’t help but feel cheated on a personal level every time that it didn’t happen.

Sickle-Cell simply lounged by the drinks table, surveying the casino with a languid curiosity. “Remind me,” he drawled, “Why are you so passionately eager to throw all your profits away?”

“You seemed to be enjoying it a few moments ago,” he retorted, throwing the Doll a suspicious glare.

In response, Sickle-Cell merely chuckled, sipping delicately from his glass. “That was a no-stakes wager for me, Gambler - I didn’t have anything to lose from it. Unlike you, although that won’t last long at the rate you’re going.”

[i]As if.[/i] “I’ve already cashed half my earnings, as you seem so eager to overlook. Besides,” he grinned, rolling a chip dextrously across his knuckles. “I’ve still got everything left to gain.”

As a fresh tide of cheers marked the end of another spin, Donovan strode across to the table. Inhaling deeply, he allowed his gaze to roam freely across the table, stacking chips wherever his vision rested. Times like these called for a hefty dose of instinct. Half of his chips dropped onto Black 7, swiftly followed by another stack on Black 24. After a moment of intense deliberation, he caved in, committing the rest of his chips to Black 18 - stalling wouldn’t change the odds.

“Not even touching red?” Sickle-Cell sneered.

Donovan threw a jaunty grin over his shoulder. “The board whispers to me, insightful one. She tells me her secrets and her places of pleasure.”

With a heft from the croupier, the roulette wheel swept into motion. With little delay, the ball landed prompted in the Red 14 pocket - Sickle-Cell snorted under his breath.

“Ah, shut up.” Donovan glared vehemently at the wheel for several moments, then shrugged, tossing back the last of his champagne. Half of the night’s earnings sat comfortably in his coat’s inner pocket, while the rest he considered an investment into fortune - if his success at poker held true for another two or three nights, he could pay off the upcoming rent without even touching the money from his business endeavours. Although one coin was technically as good as any other (not that he really believed it), the notion had a satisfying ring to it. 

Stepping out onto the streets, Donovan basked the ruby-tinged hues of the sunset. [i]The house might have won the round, but I’ve already taken home the medal.[/i]

“A few more idiotic wagers like that,” Sickle-Cell noted sourly, “and you might as well set up shop in the gutters.”

Stifling his annoyance, he waved a dismissive hand. “It only takes one lucky break, Sickle-Cell - I always ride it out.”

“Unless your stupidity kills you first.”

This time, it was Donovan’s turn to snort. Sickle-Cell’s eyes narrowed viciously.

“You find that amusing?” he growled.