Clive and his new friend, “Janie” as her friends apparently called her, started dealing once the plane reached a comfortable and relatively stable cruising speed. Even a seasoned gambler like himself was surprised at how quickly she picked up the concepts and strategy. They even started betting with in-flight snacks and some change in Clive’s pocket. As they played, he also took the opportunity to contribute to the education of the younger generation with life lessons and sage advice… or at least his brand of it.

“And that,” he said with authority, “is why colored folks should be the most armed people in America. Otherwise racist liberal commie bastards like Franklin Roosevelt put them in FEMA camps, stomp them into the dirt.”
“But why?” she asked, absolutely enthralled by his teachings
“Because racism is a tool of the elite to divide the people so we’re too distracted to see what they’re doing up there at the top of the pyramid.”
“So, all those things my dad says about the Mexicans down the street...?”
“Probably not true. Or maybe they are, but if so, it’s not because of their skin color.”
“Okay. Then what about all the things he says about communists?”
“All true.”
“But what about--?”
“True. All of it.”
Clive took a moment to snack on some ice and allow her to digest this information. He wished more food could be so delightfully crunchy. He’d tried freezing other drinks like Coke and Sprite but it just wasn’t the same. His musings were interrupted by excited giggling from the seat next to him as Janie pushed a handful of pretzels into the pile.
“Raise to 6 pretzels!”
A glance at his own hand revealed a whole bunch of bupkis. A nine in hand and a nine in the community cards gave him a remarkably uninteresting hand. Reasoning whatever had Janie so excited was better than a two of a kind, he folded. Her smile only grew when she revealed her own hand with a pair of threes. Clive was genuinely surprised she’d gotten one up on him that well.
“Well I’ll be. You played me like a bargain bin banjo. Good one, kid.”

She grinned like the cat that ate the canary as she began stuffing her face with the pot. His thoughts drifted once more, now to his teammates. The alchemist gave him pause. He knew the signs of a drug addict when he saw them. The shakes, the unfocused eyes, the jitteriness. Still, from what he knew of Eleanor he doubted she would agree to work with Val if she wasn’t a great asset. She didn’t seem particularly suited for combat. He made a mental note to offer her training with firearms afterward or at the very least show her how to duck under a punch. He had none of the same concerns for the wizard or the frenchman. The wizard for obvious reasons and the other because he just felt… wrong. Something about him gave Clive the heebie jeebies and couldn't quite put his finger on it.

[hider=Summary]
Clive takes it upon himself to educate the youth and reflects on his thoughts about his teammates. 
[/hider]