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rainbowfic2015-05-28 12:15 pm
novel_machinist) wrote in rainbowfic2015-05-28 12:15 pm
The Devil is a Gentleman Literary / Octarine 9
Author: novel_machinist
Story: The Devil is a Gentleman
Theme: Literary / Octarine 9. The man gave a shrug which indicated that, although the world did indeed have many problems, this was one of them that was not his.
Word Count: 1023
Summary: The guys play a game of cards to try to get their minds off of things. The newcomer is a dark man with a charming smile.
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Talk of cancer/death
Notes: This is a rough draft of more of chapter 1 of the story that stars Alan. I'm hoping to get the gumption up to finish this one, so any words of encouragement are welcome and appreciated
Alan tried to not acknowledge the tightness in his chest as they neared the bar. He felt like if he didn’t mention it, maybe it could push the reality away and he could get lost in the cheery atmosphere of Sampson’s. At least this was the unspoken agreement between Carl and the rest of world. No one talked about him dying, even as he was growing paler and haggard with each passing day. Instead Alan lifted his hand to greet the regulars. Before settling down, Carl and Alan migrated to the bar where the bartender, a young woman named Delilah, had already placed their beers on the counter.
Everything was normal.
"Don't worry guys; Ol' Nick's got these tonight." She tossed her dark hair and laughed. "Or should I say Nick's using Tom's money to buy your beers tonight."
Alan's eyebrow arched. While sometimes people brought friends along with them to Sampson's it was a rarity on the weeknights. "Nick? He one of Sam's friends?"
"Oh hells no, he's way too young and polite to be Sam's friend."
"I heard that!" A deep man's voice came from the kitchen.
Delilah smiled. "Here are your beers, Al. Tell Carl to put that cigarette out."
"Been trying the whole way here, Del." Alan turned to follow Carl, who had chosen to ignore the young woman completely after she broke their unspoken code.
Cigarette in his mouth and beer in hand, Carl settled at their usual poker table. All of the collected people were in some way interchangeable. They were from the same walk of life, disenchanted and middle aged, some had wedding bands on their fingers and some had the mark where one had once been. Their suits loosened and ties hidden away in pockets or cases or hanging about the neck in various degrees of undone. Tired, aged eyes focused on the cards and the beers while they ignored whatever brought them. Everyone existed in some sort of pretend world here, it wasn’t just Carl.
The newcomer stood out; he had deep brown eyes that were alive and sharp. Instead of a lived in button-down the man wore a black turtleneck that pulled across his biceps and his chest in an appealing way. His large, steady hands held three cards. At his side of the table there was a pile of chips, cash, a scrap of paper and a watch. He played one card before he looked up at Carl and Alan. After taking a swig of his black and tan, he nodded. "Pleasure to meet you all." His voice had a distinctly southern drawl.
Alan didn't realize he'd been staring till Carl smacked him lightly in the chest. "Hallo, I'm Alan."
The dark eyes raked up his form before the man smiled warmly. "Yeah, heard about you." He tossed a card to the table before he extended his hand. A few of the other players cursed under their breaths.
Alan shook his hand and ignored the round of displeasure. "Oh?"
"Say you're a card shark." The man smiled.
"And what do they call you?" Alan asked, feeling oddly warm at the attention.
A round of rather colorful names echoed across the table from the losing men. This made his smile widen. "You can call me Nick, if you like."
"Alright, back up boys. Let Al teach this punk how to play cards."
He lost track of time as they played. Back in college Alan had nearly paid his whole tuition on poker winnings. Maybe it was that memory that made him feel so much younger. Young enough to make comments at Nick during the game and young enough to flirt. The beer he was drinking did a great deal to bolster the nerves that followed after, he tried to pretend that those nerves had nothing to do with how attractive Nick was. Usually men Nick’s age didn’t waste their time talking to Alan; anyone over the age of thirty was positively geriatric as far as they were concerned.
It was good that Alan had a certain luck with the game and his face rarely gave anything away. That meant that hopefully Nick was oblivious to any attraction on Alan’s end. He had to be used to a little competitive flirting looking like that. Nick was more of a challenge than he’d faced in a long time. In the end it was only Carl, Alan, and Nick left at the table.
An ashtray was nearly full next to Carl’s elbow, but he was out of chips. Before he could light another a coughing fit took hold and Carl’s broad shoulders folded inward again. Alan dropped his own cards to the table to put a hand at his friend’s back. When he turned around he noticed that Nick didn't seem in the least concerned for Carl; instead he was intently watching Alan.
The kid knew how to play poker that much was sure. Nick had to be trying to guess Alan’s next move. It had to be a simple explanation; there was no reason for his cheeks to feel hot.
"Shit man, I don't have nothin' else to bet." Carl tried to smile away the coughing fit and waved Alan off. "I'd bet'cha my health, but… heh."
This earned a roll of Alan's eyes and a laugh from Nick. "I'm sure you've got something else for collateral."
Carl pulled his pen from his jacket with a flourish then with a smirk. "Here ya go, Nicholas, my dear boy-" he scribbled a bit on his bar napkin. "One soul, do with it what you will, should be ready by the end of the year."
Alan's palm found the crook of his nose, the tips of his fingers dug into his hair. He didn’t know if he felt like laughing or crying. "He's not going to accept that, Carl."
"Hey, Ol' Nick don't need more money, all I got left."
Nick turned the napkin about a few times and then flicked a bit of salt off of it. "Well, at least its not damp… you sure about this?"
Carl waved a cigarette at Nick. "Yeah, whatever, kiddo."
novel_machinistStory: The Devil is a Gentleman
Theme: Literary / Octarine 9. The man gave a shrug which indicated that, although the world did indeed have many problems, this was one of them that was not his.
Word Count: 1023
Summary: The guys play a game of cards to try to get their minds off of things. The newcomer is a dark man with a charming smile.
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Talk of cancer/death
Notes: This is a rough draft of more of chapter 1 of the story that stars Alan. I'm hoping to get the gumption up to finish this one, so any words of encouragement are welcome and appreciated
Alan tried to not acknowledge the tightness in his chest as they neared the bar. He felt like if he didn’t mention it, maybe it could push the reality away and he could get lost in the cheery atmosphere of Sampson’s. At least this was the unspoken agreement between Carl and the rest of world. No one talked about him dying, even as he was growing paler and haggard with each passing day. Instead Alan lifted his hand to greet the regulars. Before settling down, Carl and Alan migrated to the bar where the bartender, a young woman named Delilah, had already placed their beers on the counter.
Everything was normal.
"Don't worry guys; Ol' Nick's got these tonight." She tossed her dark hair and laughed. "Or should I say Nick's using Tom's money to buy your beers tonight."
Alan's eyebrow arched. While sometimes people brought friends along with them to Sampson's it was a rarity on the weeknights. "Nick? He one of Sam's friends?"
"Oh hells no, he's way too young and polite to be Sam's friend."
"I heard that!" A deep man's voice came from the kitchen.
Delilah smiled. "Here are your beers, Al. Tell Carl to put that cigarette out."
"Been trying the whole way here, Del." Alan turned to follow Carl, who had chosen to ignore the young woman completely after she broke their unspoken code.
Cigarette in his mouth and beer in hand, Carl settled at their usual poker table. All of the collected people were in some way interchangeable. They were from the same walk of life, disenchanted and middle aged, some had wedding bands on their fingers and some had the mark where one had once been. Their suits loosened and ties hidden away in pockets or cases or hanging about the neck in various degrees of undone. Tired, aged eyes focused on the cards and the beers while they ignored whatever brought them. Everyone existed in some sort of pretend world here, it wasn’t just Carl.
The newcomer stood out; he had deep brown eyes that were alive and sharp. Instead of a lived in button-down the man wore a black turtleneck that pulled across his biceps and his chest in an appealing way. His large, steady hands held three cards. At his side of the table there was a pile of chips, cash, a scrap of paper and a watch. He played one card before he looked up at Carl and Alan. After taking a swig of his black and tan, he nodded. "Pleasure to meet you all." His voice had a distinctly southern drawl.
Alan didn't realize he'd been staring till Carl smacked him lightly in the chest. "Hallo, I'm Alan."
The dark eyes raked up his form before the man smiled warmly. "Yeah, heard about you." He tossed a card to the table before he extended his hand. A few of the other players cursed under their breaths.
Alan shook his hand and ignored the round of displeasure. "Oh?"
"Say you're a card shark." The man smiled.
"And what do they call you?" Alan asked, feeling oddly warm at the attention.
A round of rather colorful names echoed across the table from the losing men. This made his smile widen. "You can call me Nick, if you like."
"Alright, back up boys. Let Al teach this punk how to play cards."
He lost track of time as they played. Back in college Alan had nearly paid his whole tuition on poker winnings. Maybe it was that memory that made him feel so much younger. Young enough to make comments at Nick during the game and young enough to flirt. The beer he was drinking did a great deal to bolster the nerves that followed after, he tried to pretend that those nerves had nothing to do with how attractive Nick was. Usually men Nick’s age didn’t waste their time talking to Alan; anyone over the age of thirty was positively geriatric as far as they were concerned.
It was good that Alan had a certain luck with the game and his face rarely gave anything away. That meant that hopefully Nick was oblivious to any attraction on Alan’s end. He had to be used to a little competitive flirting looking like that. Nick was more of a challenge than he’d faced in a long time. In the end it was only Carl, Alan, and Nick left at the table.
An ashtray was nearly full next to Carl’s elbow, but he was out of chips. Before he could light another a coughing fit took hold and Carl’s broad shoulders folded inward again. Alan dropped his own cards to the table to put a hand at his friend’s back. When he turned around he noticed that Nick didn't seem in the least concerned for Carl; instead he was intently watching Alan.
The kid knew how to play poker that much was sure. Nick had to be trying to guess Alan’s next move. It had to be a simple explanation; there was no reason for his cheeks to feel hot.
"Shit man, I don't have nothin' else to bet." Carl tried to smile away the coughing fit and waved Alan off. "I'd bet'cha my health, but… heh."
This earned a roll of Alan's eyes and a laugh from Nick. "I'm sure you've got something else for collateral."
Carl pulled his pen from his jacket with a flourish then with a smirk. "Here ya go, Nicholas, my dear boy-" he scribbled a bit on his bar napkin. "One soul, do with it what you will, should be ready by the end of the year."
Alan's palm found the crook of his nose, the tips of his fingers dug into his hair. He didn’t know if he felt like laughing or crying. "He's not going to accept that, Carl."
"Hey, Ol' Nick don't need more money, all I got left."
Nick turned the napkin about a few times and then flicked a bit of salt off of it. "Well, at least its not damp… you sure about this?"
Carl waved a cigarette at Nick. "Yeah, whatever, kiddo."