I Forget What Eight Was For

The story is just about done. I'm going to be emailing it later tonight to Nathan, just after I finish it up and look over errors. The rest of the story will be posted on here day by day (it's ten pages, so it will be done around Wednesday), but if you want a complete copy, leave me a comment with either your email address or some method of contacting you, and I'll send it to you.

Sadly, it does not look like Nathan has finished his story. We will hopefully meet up this weekend, and he might have his story done by then. I might post something about it, if it's interesting or productive or both.

Enjoy.

****

And thus, on this certain night it came to pass that the final table of Hold ‘em held six people. Darius. his client, Damien, two professors, and the kid sat at the table closest to the fire place. Darius was right next to the dealer, and to Darius’s right was his client, the kid, the two professors, and then Damien. Darius was seated closest to the fire place. A fire powered by gas was going—the night had become somewhat chilly. Damien noticed that the pokers standing on their rack were useless, only vestiges of a more difficult time that had passed. The fact that they were ornamental now seemed only to mock those times when they were necessary. He let it pass. They were just pokers.

Damien switched his attention to the players at the table. Although he had played well this evening, he found that he was easily distracted by the slightest things, and on the final table it was important to focus. Damien turned to watch the kid. Anyone could take this kid out quickly, because although he was good, he lacked focus. He missed obvious things. Darius’s client was more formidable, because if he kept getting lucky, then there was nothing to be done. Damien thought about Darius’s speech about the gambler’s fallacy; he figured the client could not be lucky all the time. Damien was not sure about Darius. He had played Darius before in Hold ‘em, and Darius could get unpredictable. Damien did not seem to mind if he lost to Darius. The professors seemed easy enough to beat. They were colleagues teaching philosophy at the local university. They had mostly talked all night about different aspects of philosophy (one of whom—Damien did not know which—made the joke about Hume), cracking esoteric jokes and discussing different methods and such. This talking served as a distraction, and could be used against them. They mostly talked among themselves, not expecting anyone to understand, but Darius felt the need to interject every once in a while. The professors tended to ignore him. Darius would just smile.

After an hour of playing the final table, the professors had moved on to the great "debate" (if it could so be called) between Dr. Karl Popper and Herr Ludwig Wittgenstein. It was clear that both the professors were of a Wittgensteinian leaning, just by the tone of voice they used when referring to Popper. Apparently one of them had read a book about the debate. Damien, as well as the kid and Darius’s client, were just focusing on the cards being played, and were lost in their own thoughts. Darius, however, was listening intently to the conversation, opening his mouth partly as if to say something, but letting no breath escape. The discourse was so riveting that Darius and the professors were blindly placing blinds, folding as soon as someone bet, and not even looking at the flop, the turn, or even the river.

This distraction was infectious, and Damien found himself finally pondering the events leading up to the present moment, though probably not causally leading up to the moment. Damien thought about Mary K. and their strange encounter. He found himself wondering whether, in all this spontaneous caprice, if that wasn’t planned. Darius was so insistent, and she acted so strangely... Damien just lost the hand. Top pair had taken him. It was the kid. Damien needed to focus. But Mary K. returned momentarily in his mind’s eye, dressed in the scarf and vestments of a Queen, the locket around her neck now enlarged and ruby-colored. She was holding her scepter and laughing. He could not be subjected to this. The flop came out and it was horrible.

The kid put in $20,000 as a bet. Damien folded: he could not lose again.
"In all honesty, Popper was just jealous of the genius that was Wittgenstein."
"I beg to differ," Darius said in a demanding tone.
"I think you’re right to some extent. Why would Popper turn down a lectureship in Cambridge unless he knew he would be outshone?"
"Yes, he belonged in New Zealand, out of the way."
"That’s unduly harsh, gentlemen." Darius spoke with a smile.

The kid went all in. Damien was staring at trip aces. What was this kid thinking? The kid looked to have the other ace. Something about his smile told him so. Damien called—sure enough, the kid had the last ace, and, since they were about even in chips prior to the call, the kid was knocked out of the final table. The kid got up and shook Damien’s hand, but he looked very tired. Damien thought he almost looked relieved to be out.