Sun looked over the top of her cards. She was bluffing. Everyone knew she was bluffing, didn't they?
Sun desperately wanted to chew her nails. She resisted, shifted in her seat. Her hip was agony. The chairs in this place were mightily uncomfortable. Sun wondered if this was an intentional design. Like a lack of natural light and pumped in oxygen.
Sun had a low pair and was chasing a Full House. The flop had done her well and the river was flowing but there was a doubt niggling. It was always the same. Sun could never be sure.
Sun would horde her chips into tidy little rows. Raise in little increments, too afraid to 'go big or go home'.
Given the choice, Sun would invariably go home. Sun would go to sleep wondering how the hell she'd lost. AGAIN!
Sun would always wake up feeling that today was her day. And today sure seemed like it really would be.
Cloud was loving this. Sitting back in his chair, feet on the metal rung atop the poker table. Cloud played with an air of casual indifference. Cloud would throw chips at every hand. Cloud would try to darken every players' brighter hopes.
It was widely accepted that Cloud was a bit of a dick. Always looking for a parade to rain on, if you know what I mean.
Cloud's 'tell' was easy. The little puddle under the seat was not the only giveaway. When Cloud had a good hand, he'd darken round the edges. His folds would roll. The cloud equivalent of a blush. But Cloud would win more than he lost. Barely breaking even, in the long run, Cloud would bully his way through hand after hand.
Mist was harder to work out. Mist could be fake 'telling'. Mist was either foggy or misty OR Fog was either misty or foggy. Rumour had it that Fog and Mist were twins. Damned near impossible to tell apart.
Sometimes dense, sometimes clear. Either way, Sun was struggling to break through the demeanor...
Mist was holding a high card. Was hoping to draw Sun out. Bet high, bluff the shit out of this. Sun was shaky. Easy to scare. Sun would fold, thought Mist. Sun always folded. Besides, Cloud looked like he had the hand sewn up.
But then Mist/Fog saw it. The little drip, drip. The excitable leak. Not a flood, but a gentle stream. The sum of the whole. Mist should stay in this one. See it out. Cloud was bluffing, no doubt about it.
Cloud was panicking on the inside. Like a microwave dinner. His head was spinning...also like a meal for one, turning in the radiation. He'd been sure of a flush. He'd counted the cards.
Cloud was cursing the odds. He was furious with the evens. Shooting the dealer a stern look. Cloud grabbed a fist full of chips and threw down.