09-10-2013, 06:05 AM
Jax gave little thought to the cards. Losing wasn't particularly bothersome, but the back of his mind twinged with anticipation. Annoying. He preferred to make his own rules, not conform to others'. So he kept Oriena's card pressed to his knee until the trio displayed what each one adopted. Or what fate gave them.
He was on the verge of laughing at Jon. At least he was a philosophical drunk. There were worse personalities to surface.
He flipped his card and a flicker of disappointment turned down his brow. 1. He wasn't going to win this round. But that was fine. Let the game gain some speed before dropping the bomb he planned.
"Chance is not fate,"
Jax piped up, chucking the now useless card back to the table. A corner caught in a ring of condensation and immediately drank in the wetness. Now it was definitely useless.
He gestured at the ruined card, "not fate,"
he added smugly, lips twisted into a smirk having pointed out the obvious. He couldn't have planned it better himself.
What was not obvious was he wasn't alone in losing this round. He looked to Oriena, "well, well. Maybe I was wrong about fate after all."
He chuckled sarcastically and used the time to fix himself another drink. The soggy card he pushed out of the way. It landed carelessly on the floor.
Cold ice scoop in hand, he caught himself doing what was he was about to do, and with the epiphany sharp on his mind, he placed the glass aside so that he could leave it to lovelier hands than his to finish it. Lovelier in a sense, anyway. He'd not turn her away.
He placed the cold scoop atop Oriena's knees. "Almost forgot who was serving who, there."
Arms crossed, he sat back with the little victory and considered Jon's request at truthtelling. Until he cringed.
An immediate answer rolled freely. "Easy. Snakes. Hate them."
Profound disgust dripped from his usually silvered-tongue. His own personal brand of venom he was never quite able to spit out.
He gestured that they wait a second and unbuttoned the cuff on one arm and rolled up the sleeve until it was past the elbow.
Only the lower half of the tattoo could be seen, the rest hidden by the shirt sleeve that could roll no higher; black ink curled and wound its way around the muscle and sinew of his arm. Merely clenching his fist brought the thing to eerie life, as though reanimated by some divine touch. But it was clear what it was: the skeleton of a dead snake posed as though frozen in mid-strike. It was an intricate, bony thing. From hundreds of tiny vertebrae curled sharp ribs that formed the creature's body. The head, hidden beneath his shirt higher up and along the cap of his shoulder, was a mere skull that seemed entirely formed of jaw bones and spike-like fangs. They'd not see the rest short of taking off his shirt. Which everyone would appreciate, of course.
"The only good snake is a dead snake."
He uttered, dark gaze lingering on the symbol that in his youth he refused to acknowledge as something so fearsome he'd not even bear to look upon its form. Defiance inked this tattoo, not love.
Shortly after, he tugged the sleeve back into place and turned to Ori, voice flat with inner conflicts he refused to allow to conquer his sanity. "That drink?"
Edited by Jaxen Marveet, Sep 10 2013, 10:10 AM.
He was on the verge of laughing at Jon. At least he was a philosophical drunk. There were worse personalities to surface.
He flipped his card and a flicker of disappointment turned down his brow. 1. He wasn't going to win this round. But that was fine. Let the game gain some speed before dropping the bomb he planned.
"Chance is not fate,"
Jax piped up, chucking the now useless card back to the table. A corner caught in a ring of condensation and immediately drank in the wetness. Now it was definitely useless.
He gestured at the ruined card, "not fate,"
he added smugly, lips twisted into a smirk having pointed out the obvious. He couldn't have planned it better himself.
What was not obvious was he wasn't alone in losing this round. He looked to Oriena, "well, well. Maybe I was wrong about fate after all."
He chuckled sarcastically and used the time to fix himself another drink. The soggy card he pushed out of the way. It landed carelessly on the floor.
Cold ice scoop in hand, he caught himself doing what was he was about to do, and with the epiphany sharp on his mind, he placed the glass aside so that he could leave it to lovelier hands than his to finish it. Lovelier in a sense, anyway. He'd not turn her away.
He placed the cold scoop atop Oriena's knees. "Almost forgot who was serving who, there."
Arms crossed, he sat back with the little victory and considered Jon's request at truthtelling. Until he cringed.
An immediate answer rolled freely. "Easy. Snakes. Hate them."
Profound disgust dripped from his usually silvered-tongue. His own personal brand of venom he was never quite able to spit out.
He gestured that they wait a second and unbuttoned the cuff on one arm and rolled up the sleeve until it was past the elbow.
Only the lower half of the tattoo could be seen, the rest hidden by the shirt sleeve that could roll no higher; black ink curled and wound its way around the muscle and sinew of his arm. Merely clenching his fist brought the thing to eerie life, as though reanimated by some divine touch. But it was clear what it was: the skeleton of a dead snake posed as though frozen in mid-strike. It was an intricate, bony thing. From hundreds of tiny vertebrae curled sharp ribs that formed the creature's body. The head, hidden beneath his shirt higher up and along the cap of his shoulder, was a mere skull that seemed entirely formed of jaw bones and spike-like fangs. They'd not see the rest short of taking off his shirt. Which everyone would appreciate, of course.
"The only good snake is a dead snake."
He uttered, dark gaze lingering on the symbol that in his youth he refused to acknowledge as something so fearsome he'd not even bear to look upon its form. Defiance inked this tattoo, not love.
Shortly after, he tugged the sleeve back into place and turned to Ori, voice flat with inner conflicts he refused to allow to conquer his sanity. "That drink?"
Edited by Jaxen Marveet, Sep 10 2013, 10:10 AM.