Then they'll take you to Cloughprior and shove you in the ground (Mingle)

[notinflictthem]

CHARACTERS: Hawkeye and the Veteran’s Poker Club
DATE: March
LOCATION: Hawkeye’s clinic
SITUATION: Poker game (for veterans)
WARNINGS: Presumably discussion of conflict and ptsd

You need one more drop of poison and you'll dream of foreign lands

A notice goes up on the board, and Hawkeye sets up the clinic for the occasion. Obviously he’s not moving all his medical supplies out- at the back of his mind is always the possibility that something could happen that demands he put his doctor hat on again. Not choppers, but something.

But he sets up a table and chairs in the middle of the main room, with a stack of cards and some ‘chips’ (acorns, he went out and gathered some acorns, which he’s painted different colours). There’s a flask of his homemade gin, some finger food from the Oak and Iron, and he got a box of cigars for the occasion. Feels just like the conferences from home, only without sandwiches that move and Frank. So, y’know, infinitely better.

Prior to starting, while Hawkeye’s setting up, he’ll engage in some small talk with anyone who shows up early- which, they’ll all be military, it will probably be all of them.
“Ever played poker?”

Or

“Can I get you a drink?”

Or

“Can you grab that tray of implements for me?”

At the sick bed of Cuchulainn we'll kneel and say a prayer

When everyone who’s arriving arrives, Hawk sets himself at the table, one of his surgical lights over top of the table to set the mood.

“Alright- this is poker, it’s a little game we like to play back on earth, because we like losing money. I’m gonna teach you five card draw, just to get us started. I’m going to deal each of you five cards. What you’re looking for is to have the highest hand at the end of the round, then you take the pot. Easy. Hands are ranked by how hard they are to do- if you get numbered cards in order and they’re all the same suit, that’s a straight flush. Then we go four of a kind, which is just that- four of the same number. Full house is if you have three of the same number and a pair of a different numbers in the same hand. Flush is if you have all your cards in the same suit. Then straight, which is by number order but not the same suit, three of a kind, two pair, one pair, and then if you have absolutely nothing we score it by your highest card.”

Hawkeye clears his throat, takes a sip of gin.

“I'll deal to start with, we all bet based on our hands and how confident we are that we’ll have the highest ranking hand, then we discard any cards we want and redraw back up to five. Then we place our final bets, and reveal our hands. You get lost at any point, just ask. Questions?”

And the ghosts are rattling at the door and the devil's in the chair

Shittalking, chewing the fat, commiseration, and general socializing with Hawkeye during games goes under this header. Tls for your characters welcome in the comments.

Comments

[inaurate]

dream of foreign lands

Claude ends up arriving a little late-- he got caught up with who knows what, the guy keeps himself busy as a rule, and when you're used to being the boss who they can't start the meetings without, being super punctual matters a lot less. Being a few minutes late just meant Lorenz got mad at him, and when wasn't he anyway?

But hey, he's got a bottle of booze and a snack to contribute, so that hopefully makes up for the lack of punctuality.

"Hey, I saw the notice-- I'm not too late to join in, am I?"

ghosts are rattling at the door

Claude is characteristically evasive about giving details of his own experiences in war, but will readily admit to leading from the front, giving the broad strokes. It's-- refreshing, talking to people with vastly different ranks in their respective armies from his own. As much as he tried to make himself approachable, there was always a distance between him and the troops he led. There's none of that here. He may not fully understand all of the modern military references, but there are plenty of other things that, as it turns out, transcend space and time.

As for the poker... it takes him a few hands to get the hang of it, but his poker face is impeccable. You'd have an easier time trying to see through the backs of the cards than to read what he's up to on his face.

[notinflictthem]

"No no- not at all, I'm bowing out of this round anyway."

He puts his cards on the table, says "I'm folding, you kids have fun," and stands to offer a handshake.

"I'm Hawkeye, and you brought booze so we're going to get along just fine."

[inaurate]

Claude accepts that handshake, giving a short laugh and handing over the bottle of whiskey. "I figured that would make up for it. I'm Claude. I'll admit, I'm a little surprised at how many have turned out for this-- though I probably shouldn't be." Given the method of arrival... yeah, it makes sense there's a fair number of soldiers.

[notinflictthem]

Hawkeye pops the lid to sniff it, then deposits it with the lid on to the refreshments table, stealing something for himself to eat.

"With how many of us are from the US Army specifically, we can just about go into business setting up an outpost. Might be something to do with the danger of the profession. Or else the army's expanding into the Marrow Isles."

He taps the flask of gin on the table, "drink? We got started without you so you might need two to catch up."

[inaurate]

Smells like booze, he assumes! It's nothing fancy, but not bottom of the barrel either. He wanted to make a good impression. "I'll just stick with one for now, thanks. Still gotta figure out how the game works before I let you inhibit me too much." He winks, pulling out a bag of-- oh, someone already brought nuts. Well, now there's more! "Did any of you know each other before you came to the Hollow, or do you all just happen to be from the same army?"

[notinflictthem]

Hawk pours the both of them some of the gin, because it's a rite of passage before you play poker in... well, previously the Swamp, now his clinic. The booze Claude brought goes on the table with the rest, and Hawk takes the nuts appreciatively too.

"I knew that one over there, with the glasses- that's Father Mulcahy, he's a chaplain. Some of us are... technically from the same army, but it doesn't sound like many of us came from the same time or world. Frinstance, that guy there- Leon? Same army as I got drafted into, but he's later than I am. Peter- ginger guy with the concentrating face- same war as me, but he's also from well after me, and he wasn't from the same army. We're a nice little mixed bag here."

ghosts are rattling at the door

[be_seeing_you]

There have been a lot of impressive poker faces on display tonight. Claude's is one of them. Between that and his evasive answers when asked about his own background, Number 6 cannot help but be curious to know more. (It should be noted that Number 6 is similarly evasive with his own answers.)

During a lull between hands, he comes up beside Claude to formally introduce himself. "Good evening. If you will allow me, I am Peter Starr. A pleasure to meet you." He offers his hand out for Claude to shake.

"You seem to learn quick. If I'm not mistaken, you came into this not quite knowing the game?"

[inaurate]

"Claude von Riegan. Nice to meet you, Peter." Claude has the firm handshake of a young man who frequently has to convince men his father's age to take him seriously. "That's right; I'm more a fan of strategy and tactical games, myself. This game is a bit too luck-based for my tastes, but I can appreciate the challenge of trying to make the most of a bad hand." He smiles wryly. Oh boy, can he ever. "And the company isn't bad at all."

[be_seeing_you]

Number 6 recognizes that grip for what it is, and unlike many Claude has likely dealt with, there's no sudden squeeze or tug to assert dominance. Just a good, honest handshake.

"Ah, but it's that aspect of luck that gives it thrill. The best laid strategies are still beholden to luck, wouldn't you agree?" Spoken like a spy used to working on the fly in the field.

"The company has been excellent so far, I'd dare to say."

[inaurate]

"Agree to disagree-- I prefer to leave as little to chance as I can where it matters." Spoken like a man that has had the lives of an entire country's soldiers, plus the fates of all her citizens, on his shoulders. Of course, that doesn't mean he's never had to rely on a stroke of luck-- just that he doesn't like to. The risks he takes are carefully calculated, and he's pretty damn good at math. "I'd rather have the satisfaction of a strategy playing out exactly the way I planned. And if it doesn't, that's what back-up plans are for."

[be_seeing_you]

"Spoken like a commander?" Number 6 makes it a question with his inflection, but he's fairly sure of himself in this guess.

"I agree with you that one can never have too many contingencies."

[inaurate]

"Gave myself away with that, did I?" Claude chuckles, conceding with a nod. "If I want a thrill, I'll go for a flight on wyvernback. Or, I would've back home anyway." No trained mount-sized wyverns around for him to go flying on here... "Maybe being here will change my mind more towards your line of thinking." Now that he's no longer directly responsible for lives other than his own, that is. Probably not, though.

[be_seeing_you]

"Yes, but in your defense my previous line of work was as a secret agent. I wouldn't have been very good at my job if I couldn't make such determinations quickly." Number 6 can read the room like it's a speed-reading course.

"Wyvern? Isn't that daring! Such beasts did not exist in my world. The best I could do was racing fast cars." His wings flap behind him and then settle, "That is, until I acquired these."

[inaurate]

"That explains a few things." And brings up a few questions. Is Peter Starr even his real name? Well, Claude can hardly judge someone for going by a different name. It makes him curious, but he's no longer the kid tanking his own relationships with his incessant curiosity-- there are no lack of things to investigate here, things far more pressing to him than a new acquaintance's true name.

"Wyverns are a huge part of the culture where I grew up. Learning to fly on one is something of a rite of passage." Certainly for nobility, and many of the warriors. "Being able to fly under your own power, though-- that must really be something else." He's kind of envious, actually... going for a flight with Anisa always helped to clear his head, or helped him to just get out of it for a while. "So is a car anything like a carriage?" He's from Dubiously Medieval Times, help him out here.

Ghosts Are Rattling At The Door

[theydrewfirstblood]

John has just dealt himself out after a couple hands with the dark-haired young man whose poker face rivals his--it's one of those moments he recognizes now, a tense round of bidding that makes him feel uncomfortably stressed. No coincidence, he's thirsty and a snack sounds good, so he takes his acorns and looks for a chair after snagging a handful of nuts and a glass of water.

He spots the other player as he finds his seat--must have dealt himself out right after John.

Moving over to grab a chair near where he's settled in, John offers him his hand.

"You bluff like it's your damn job." he declares--a compliment, and a greeting. "Captain Rambo, U.S. Army Special Forces."

[inaurate]

Bluffing can only take you so far when your hand is absolute shit, but hey, that just means he has an excuse to grab some snacks. Claude readily accepts the handshake with a smile, his usual mask of pleasantry toned down to something a little more real this far into the night.

The gruff compliment makes him laugh. "It may as well have been. Claude von Riegan, Commander of the Leicester Alliance army. You're a hard man to read, yourself, Captain." And Claude is so very good at reading people.

[theydrewfirstblood]

"Yeah, well, I learned to play when I was deployed. I learned to bluff in prison--they don't give you a learning curve there." he quips as he shakes the man's hand and takes his back so he can grab a swig of his water.

"Leicester...gonna take a guess that's nowhere I've heard of. Unless it's somewhere in Britain or something."

[inaurate]

"I've had more of a life-long learning curve with it, personally. A steep one at times. Bluffing is a versatile skill." Not many people are so blase about having been in prison-- while Claude could never imagine being so upfront himself, it's certainly a quality he admires in others. "It's on the continent of Fodlan. I haven't met anyone here yet that's heard of it." It's not even the Leicester Alliance anymore really, but explaining that is not something he's looking to do tonight.

Claude's been sticking to water himself, after he'd finished sipping at his single glass of something harder; it's a small group, and a relaxed atmosphere, but he prefers to keep a clear head until he really knows the people around him. Maybe once they've done this a few more times, he'll feel comfortable enough to have two drinks. "I've never heard of the U.S. or Britian before coming here, so that makes us even."

[prince_of_beasts]

Dimitri spent a long time hesitating outside the door, caught in a spiral of self-doubt. He's bound to be one of the youngest in the room. He's served as a commander, not infantry. And he's absolutely terrible at cards.

The moment he pushes through the door, he freezes again.

"Claude?!"

[inaurate]

With the whole conceit of this get-together, the war he'd left behind not all that long ago isn't far from his mind-- but the present company means no one presses for anything anyone isn't willing to offer up. They all know better than to pry, and yes, he's well aware of how hypocritical it is for him to be glad for that. That all said, he is still thoroughly unprepared for Dimitri to walk through the door looking like he'd just came from class at the Officer's Academy, rather than as the hulking, crazed beast, brutally skewered by a dozen Imperial lances on a battlefield, that he was last time Claude saw him. He knows how people come here, and he knows how Dimitri died.

He'd be worrying about his own mental state, if Dimitri wasn't clearly surprised to see him as well. If everyone else didn't turn to look at their new arrival. With their attention caught, Dimitri's the one who gets to have a real good look at the shock, clear and visible on Claude's face, before he rallies, adjusts. He's always been quick to adapt to new information, new situations. There's a barely noticeable strain to the smile on his lips, a mask hurriedly flung back up. "Dimitri! What a surprise to see you here, your Princeliness." In more ways than one!

[prince_of_beasts]

That's an expression Dimitri knows too well -- one he associates more with old soldiers than the lively boy he knew at the Academy. But this isn't the Claude that Dimitri remembers -- he's older, his features settled into an adult finish Dimitri has yet to reach. Dimitri knows about the war in his future, if only in abstract. This Claude is a soldier. Dimitri doesn't need to be told what that expression means.

The façade snaps back into place. Dimitri has to clamp down on a surge of fight-or-flight -- Goddess, has he changed that much? The old nickname hits with a full-body flinch. "Claude," he hisses, scandalized, before he masters himself and smooths his expression. "A surprise indeed. Step outside with me?"

[inaurate]

Huh... he's heard the annoyance from that nickname before, but the bodily flinch is new. It came out reflexively, but it might be time to drop it, if it's really a pain point for him. "Of course, I'll always make time for an old school friend." He rises from the table, his smile and body language composed and casual as he waves to the room. "Excuse us for a bit, I'd be happy to introduce you all once we've had a chance to catch up one on one."

He slips out of the clinic door with Dimitri into the cool night air, leading him away from direct line of sight of the windows and hearing from the door. He's pretty sure the others wouldn't eavesdrop on their conversation but paranoid instincts don't just go away. "It's a good group in there, I think you'll like them." As strange as this is, he definitely doesn't want Dimitri to be discouraged from joining. He could probably use the camaraderie even more than Claude.

[prince_of_beasts]

It's been two years for Dimitri, and who knows how many for Claude? What has this Claude seen of him in their future? How much has Dimitri changed since he was taken from Garreg Mach? How is Dimitri meant to approach this stranger with a half-familiar face?

Under the sky, back in the cooler air, Dimitri breathes easier. He has the same instincts for privacy Claude does; stepping away, he's able to relax, if only a little. "It's hard to say I'm glad to see you, under the circumstances, but it is good to see someone else from Fódlan."

He looks away, jaw tensing to hold off any more obvious sign of insecurity.

"I'm sure the others are fine people. I'd ask that you don't -- I don't want to be known as a prince, here. That title means nothing here. I don't want to give anyone the impression that I think it should."

[inaurate]

It is surreal, standing across from Dimitri almost exactly as he remembered him from their time at the Officer's Academy. It must be strange for Dimitri as well-- he doesn't look nearly as bad as the boy Claude remembers from right before Edelgard's attack on the monastery. So, he must not have experienced that yet.

Well, Claude has no intentions on letting him know about it. Nothing good would come of it, certainly not for Dimitri, and there was no need to get into it here anyway. Sharp green eyes catch on the clenching of his jaw as Dimitri makes his request.

The younger version of himself would have been more inclined to keep teasing, probably. Claude only smiles and acquiesces with a nod. "From what I've seen of these guys, I doubt they'd put much stock into it. But I understand." He sighs, overexaggerated. "Now I don't have anything fun to call you by."

[prince_of_beasts]

Last time Dimitri was in Fódlan, it was ten days or so before the White Heron Ball. Then he would have learned about the Flame Emperor's connection to Duscur; then he would have watched his professor lose their father. That was the start of his spiral, and it only grew worse from there ... but this Dimitri hasn't seen any of that. His memories from Garreg Mach feel like they belong to someone else, some other lifetime. If the 'duplicates' theory is true, he supposes they technically do.

"Thank you. I believe you, but ... I'd prefer not to have that hanging over me." All his life, Dimitri's status has poisoned every relationship he's tried to have. It may not matter here, but those lessons have been ground in too deeply for him to believe no one will care -- if only through disdain, or alienation.

Claude lightens the mood before Dimitri can get too morose about it. The corner of his mouth twists up. "I trust you'll think of something equally frustrating."