Sat, Jan. 21st, 2012, 07:17 pm
Vincent Pt. 1: Knave of Hearts

The winner swept up the money from the table and shoved it into a nondescript duffel bag. "Better luck next time, hey, fellas?" Though the burly men around the table stared at him with angry, clenched jaws, Vincent simply smiled smugly at them as he zipped the bag up, slung it over his shoulder then turned to walk out the door. "Same time next week, yeah? 'Right, see you then."

As he left the old riverside restaurant, and his opponents to their furious discussions of what they'd do if they got their hands on him, Vincent put a few blocks between him and the river before slumping against a wall, slowly letting his body slide until his rear met the concrete. He'd done the same as he'd done every week for the past three months: beat a bunch of swindlers at their own game.
"Hell's bells, that was close," he said as he let his dizzy head fall back to look at the almost starless sky of London. "Well, you gotta do what you gotta do, Vincent. And right now, that's getting back home without being mugged."

He stood up again as soon as he felt the lightheadedness fade, hauling the bag up with him. It wasn't that it was particularly heavy in physical terms, but when something held one hundred thousand big ones, it carried a certain metaphysical weight to it. As Vincent began walking, he could feel the damp patches on his rear where it had met the damp cement of the midnight. He guessed that'd leave a stain on his white slacks. Something else to fix.

"I'm back!" Vincent called triumphantly as he entered the small apartment he called his own. Of course, there was no one there to greet him, as usual, but he had to practice. He threw the bag down next to the couch, flicked on the TV then whipped his clothes off. He looked at the butt of his pants before tossing them to the floor. Yep, a stain. He settled down on the sofa and closed his eyes, letting the drone of the news reader's voice send him off into oblivion.