Dorjan sat on an old battered armchair, a table, barely standing lay between him and an elderly man. The man had let it be known to Dorjan that his name was Murk, or at least that's what people called him. Other than his age, Dorjan saw a striking resemblance between Murk and the man who left him for dead; Munch, down to the name. Dorjan was rubbing the fingers of his left hand, one of which he'd just pinched with a blade in his all time favorite pass-time, five finger fillet.

"I'll give you one more shot before you start having to wager." Murk spoke, his voice as hoarse as his scraggly hair was grey. He smirked. Dorjan kept eye contact with Murk, only breaking it to examine the smile that crossed Murk's lips. Raising his glass of some sort of alcoholic spirit to his lips he still kept looking through Murk, a look crossed his eyes that had only done so on seldom occasions before.

"No more practice." Dorjan muttered, placing his glass steadily back down on the table-top. "I'll wager..." He ruffled through the pockets of his jackets and pulled out a few dollar bills and a number of coins, all of them worse for wear but still "legal" tender. "Twelve dollars fifty, three to one." Allowing the money to slip from his hand and clink off the table he took the knife that had penetrated the table-top and sat back into his chair, fingering the blunt side of the blade. "Well?" He asked, a hint of overconfidence in his voice. "I don't have all day." He muttered, imitating Murk's smile.

"Your funeral partner." Murk scraped the money along the table towards him with his two hands and then held out his right hand, "Give me the blade, I'll set your pattern." The friendly atmosphere that had up until this point rested with the two men, was now all but finished. This was wagering time, and when a man was willing to wager all he had, you had to watch your step and keep an eye out for trickery. Dorjan shrugged and stuck the blade into the table.

"Whenever you're ready." He insisted as Murk prepared himself thinking of a good pattern. Sweat beads formed around Dorjan's brow. Twelve dollars was by no means a lot of money, but it had taken him weeks to scavenge this much since he had been left for dead by people that were basically brothers to him.

"Nervous?" Murk asked, that same smirk crossing his face again as he paid attention to the telltale signs. "Don't worry, this will be over quickly."

Dorjan's eyes darted watching every space that the knife hit, the old man's technique was something to be admired but right now, Dorjan had to keep his game face on. After the last stab at the table, Murk twisted the knife between his fingers in a fashion that had him holding the blade with the handle pointing at Dorjan. "Good luck." Murk murmured with more than a hint of sarcasm, his tone of voice was drenched in it.

"I don't believe in luck." Dorjan retorted, pulling the blade from his opponent's hand, causing Murk to wince as the sharp blade sliced at his skin. Instantly, Dorjan began. Something had changed, it was like he had injected himself into a zone and in less time than it had taken Murk to trace the pattern, Dorjan had imitated it perfectly. Jabbing the blade into the table right next to Murk's hand, missing his pointer finger by a few millimeters he waited in silence for Murk to pay up.

Standing from the table, Dorjan dropped Murk five dollars of his winnings, "I'll take your smokes." He stated, pointing at the man's shirt pocket. With no argument, the transaction was made. Dorjan finished his drink and slammed his glass off the table, "Maybe next time, ey?" He smirked and walked to the bar to get himself another drink.