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

Felix Gaeta | OTA

[not_a_traitor]

and you'll dream of foreign lands

Gaeta already planned to go to one of the clinics soon, hoping to get some advice on how the frak to finagle a good prosthetic leg around here. Then, lo and behold: there's the notice for the poker game.

He has no idea what poker might be, but, well. He supposes he can find out? Meeting more of the village's veterans is the real perk, after all; this is the longest stretch since New Caprica that he's lived around so many civilians, and, in ways subtle and not, it's starting to make him itch a little. Like he still has to represent the Fleet in the best light possible, even to people who wouldn't know the Fleet from a hole in the ground.

Frak that.

He gives himself extra time to reach the clinic on his crutches -- overestimates the amount of time, in fact, and turns up early even by military standards. "Never heard of it," he says in response to Hawkye's question, cheerfully dry. "What is it?"



the ghosts are rattling at the door

Luckily, Gaeta gets the hang of the game quickly. Maybe a little too quickly. His actual poker face may not be anything to write home about, but...

Look, as he argued many a time in many a Triad game on Galactica: counting cards is not cheating. It's basic math anybody can learn, applied to a finite set of variables -- a set of variables that just happens to land him his fair share of the acorn pot for several hands in a row.

He might look a little smug as he rakes his winnings toward him.

the ghosts are rattling at the door

[be_seeing_you]

He isn't the only one here with a gift for math and counting cards. Number 6 has been doing noticeably well himself--seeming to duck out of the games just before certain disaster would diminish his acorn pile. How interesting.

"Did you say you just learned this game?" The look on his face? Suspicious.

[not_a_traitor]

Unfazed by the scrutiny, Gaeta takes a swig of his gin.

"It's pretty similar to Triad," he says, peaceably, as he begins to sort his winnings into neat piles. "I've been playing that for years."

[be_seeing_you]

"Triad? That one is new to me. How does it differ?" Is this, he wonders, another case similar to Lieutenant Tayrey, where this man comes from a place that is similar but not quite the same as the world he knows?

[not_a_traitor]

"Well -- "

Gaeta launches into a brief explanation. Unfortunately, none of the showrunners ever laid out a real set of rules, so Gaeta's writer has to vague it up, but it does sound broadly similar to poker: gather a hand, bluff against your opponents, and hope you get a good enough run of cards to take the pot. It just has different suits and fewer numbers.

"Also, if you're playing against the Viper jocks, it usually devolves into strip Triad after a couple rounds," he adds, dryly.

[be_seeing_you]

Number 6 listens intently, making affirmative noises at intervals to show he's following the lesson just fine. (And as this writer is no better at poker, she is more than happy to keep everything vague!!)

That last part does trip him up a little. "Strip Triad? I think I should be grateful if we do not attempt to turn this game into strip poker of a similar fashion." Especially because his wife is here.

[not_a_traitor]

Gaeta snorts. "So say we all. No offense," he adds. "The gin's good, but you'll have to get me way drunker than this to strip down in public."

You might get used to a lack of privacy in military quarters, but Gaeta still tried for a little discretion and modesty when he could get away with it, godsdammit.

He scoops up his cards as the next hand's dealt.

[notinflictthem]

He's early enough that Hawk's still converting the clinic into somewhere they can play poker, still in his white coat even. Hawkeye repeats the explanation that your humble author already wrote in the post, adding-

"Mostly it's a game about bluffing and trying to bait people into losing their money. I'm sure you'll pick it up when we start playing- here, scooch that way for a minute so I can move this table."

[not_a_traitor]

"Sounds a lot like Triad," says Gaeta. "Should be easy to pick up -- oh, yeah, sorry, I'll uh -- "

With effort, he scoots out of range of the table.

A bit chagrined: "Can I help with anything? I don't know how much I can do, but, if I'm here this early..."

[notinflictthem]

"Well for a start, if you want to kill some time, you can tell me about the leg," Hawkeye states, going over to his files momentarily.

"I'm technically still on the clock, so I can be here in my professional capacity. Old injury, recent injury? Does it need any maintenance? You thought about getting a prosthetic? I'm not an expert in the field but I could knock on some doors, see about getting you a replacement, if you wanted."

[not_a_traitor]

"Oh -- " Up go Gaeta's eyebrows; he'd been anticipating a brief conversation to schedule an appointment later, at most, but -- "Are you sure?"

It seems so. He casts a quick glance around for a chair, settles into the closest one, and pulls off his forearm crutches to get a little more comfortable. "Um, fairly recent; enemy fire about a month or two ago. Fifteen hours with no medical access. They couldn't save the leg once we made it back. It's..." He puffs out a breath, considering. "Better than it was? Since I died, or maybe-died I guess, I haven't had any phantom pain, and regular pain seems... manageable. I was dosed up to the frakking gills on morpha for a while but haven't felt like I've needed it lately."

Well. Not needed it too much, anyway.

"But if you could find a prosthetic, yeah." He looks up. Until now, his voice and demeanor have stayed level, like he's delivering a sitrep -- or like it's easier to dissociate from the story if he strips it down to bare facts. Here, though, a flicker of hope emerges. "If there's one somewhere that fits well. I'd really appreciate that, sir."

[notinflictthem]

"Yeah I'm sure. But don't thank me yet, wait until you get my bill," he jokes.

"Ay yi yi, fifteen hours, what a nightmare, I'm sorry to hear that" he notes, "just give me a holler if the pain changes, we don't have morpha but I can try and get you something else- by which I mean our lovely pharmacist, I only write prescriptions. The last bit of chemistry I did was a baking soda volcano."

He finishes writing whatever he's writing and makes his way back over to where Gaeta's sitting, crouching down.

"Mind if I get a look at the leg? Now, I don't know what prosthetic options are like in your time, but here I'm going to guess they're pretty similar to mine, so if you were looking for anything more high-tech than a shapely log, you're out of luck. I know a guy that does great woodworking though- he's coming tonight actually, might see if we can ask him about it. How does that sound?"

[not_a_traitor]

He can't help but crack a smile at Hawkeye's easygoing patter. It's so different from Doc Cottle's gruff, no-nonsense demeanor; it's a little jarring, but not in a bad way. More like one more quiet reminder that wherever Gaeta might have wound up after his execution, he's as far away from Galactica as is possible to get.

"That sounds good. Better than good," he says with the smallest chuckle. He unpins the folded end of his pantsleg and starts to roll it up so the doctor can get a better look. "The one I had before was basically a peg leg anyway -- it didn't fit, the endcap went all the way up to here." He taps a spot a quarter of the way up his thigh. "I couldn't bend my knee at all."

And in examining the residual limb, it's easy to see that took its toll. The scar tissue is still pink, mostly healed, but not healed well; in a few places, it's even still pockmarked with scabs from where the poorly-fitted endcap of Gaeta's old prosthetic chafed at his skin. This was a situation with few medical supplies to be had, and an urgent need for all hands on deck no matter what physical toll it might take.

and you'll dream of foreign lands (post-Hawkeye thread for continuity)

[astrogator]

Speaking of representing your people in the best possible light, here's Tayrey in her brand-new spacer coveralls, bright blue, complete with embroidered Tradeline patches, because she doesn't waste time and she doesn't feel comfortable in anything else. She's not as early as Gaeta, but she's not far off it, and it's not long before she notices him.

She grins and waves at him as if she's just seen an old friend. 'Lieutenant! I hoped I'd see you again here.'

[not_a_traitor]

Gaeta brightens as he catches sight of Tayrey. "Lieutenant!" he calls back with an answering grin. "Always a pleasure. How are you?"

And, eyebrows lifting as he takes in the uniform: "You're looking sharp."

[astrogator]

She chuckles. 'I'm looking like I should be heading up shuttle repairs. You wait until my tailor gets my ordinary uniform finished. Lots of shiny buttons.' But she knows what he means, and she's delighted by the compliment really, her eyes bright. 'I've been wearing spacer blue since I was a first-day apprentice, I just don't feel myself without it, you know? Easier to be a Tradeliner when I look the part.'

Tayrey steps closer, joining him at the table. 'I'm doing just fine. Peace-and-prosperity, here to make a tidy profit.' She isn't, and she knows it, not at a game she has never played before and hasn't had time to analyse - but she'll play up to it and be a gracious loser, and make up for it next time. 'How about you?' she asks him.

[not_a_traitor]

"I know how that feels," he says, sympathetic. "I took a civilian position for about a year, and I'm pretty sure I spent half that time adjusting to the suit." He plucks at his shirt, pulling a slight face. "Guess it prepared me for wearing this, though."

He doesn't hate being in civvies again -- in truth, it feels kind of nice, after so many years of war -- but the shirt collars always feel weird. So do the sleeves. There's something about how civilian sleeves are cut that always makes them feel a tad too short.

"But I'm doing well. Dr. Pierce gave me an overview, so I know the best hands to look for. Fifty-two cards, four suits with thirteen cards each, two colors -- not that hard to break it down, right? Have you had a chance to play yet?"

[astrogator]

Ordinarily she'd make some comment about how she'd never go back, career spacer for life - but maybe he'd thought that once too, she realises. Young Tradeliners tend to be very blasé about the prospect of dying in some fiery explosion - can't fill you with terror if you can joke about it, right? Surviving but being no good for the lines afterwards? That doesn't get talked about. And she's not going to start now when she's liable to say entirely the wrong thing.

'The upside is, you bring my tailor sketches and you can get whatever you want made. Prices are reasonable, too. So if you ever longed to try the most dramatic fashions from back home...' Tayrey smiles.

'The cards are simple! It'll be easy enough once I can look it over, pick apart the probabilities.' This is just common sense to her. 'We play a game called kalixtri shipside, so I'm used to the concept, even if not the specifics of this one. I'm getting a set of kalixtri cards made for next time, couple of people want to try it out.'

[not_a_traitor]

Gaeta chuckles. "Maybe I'll get a top hat and something with tails," he deadpans. "Swan around town like I'm going to the Caprican Opera."

Getting a more comfortable set of civvies doesn't actually sound like a bad idea. (Hell, maybe the tailor can fix the sleeves and shirt collars!) A comfortable suit, maybe; some custom-made pants that'll accomodate his leg better. He'll have to start saving up.

He plants a hand on the table, eyes alight, as Tayrey mentions the probabilities so casually. "Thank you," he says. "Gods, the amount of crap I got from the pilots just because they couldn't do basic math. We have Triad back home -- similar idea to this, but a more complex deck, so yeah, I bet it'll be easy to figure out these cards after a hand or two. What goes into playing kalixtri?"

ghosts are rattling

[nothingbadeverhappensto]

Leon's not nearly canny enough to pick up on the fact that there's anything so clever as on the fly applied statistics going on here, but he has noticed that his pile of acorns is very small, despite his playing it extremely conservatively.

"Well, this is embarrassing," he huffs, flicking a handful of acorns across the table at Felix. "It's, what? You, Claude, and Ari who've never played before right? Either you're bullshitting us or you've got someone out there's favor."

Well, maybe not Ari, she's losing what Leon would call a normal amount for a beginner, but she's still trouncing him by a fair margin.

[not_a_traitor]

"Guess I'm just a natural," says Gaeta, serene as a monk, as he sweeps Leon's acorns into his own pile.

If this were a Triad game, this is the point where Racetrack would holler obscenities at him and throw a cubit at his face; an unexpected pang of homesickness twinges beneath his ribs. Wherever she is, whatever happened, he hopes she made it through all right.

"Pretty sure the gods wouldn't be paying attention to a poker game even if they were out there."

[nothingbadeverhappensto]

Leon snorts, not quite buying that. He's not a sore enough loser to genuinely care when they're playing for fun - it's more funny to him than anything else.

"You sure? They've gotta get their kicks somewhere, right?"

He's teasing, but between the wide array of different people at the table and the shit they've all been through, he knows not to push too hard on the subject of faith and gods, and changes the subject once he's gotten that last jab out of his system.

"So where is it you're from again? Somewhere that doesn't have poker, but I'm guessing that doesn't narrow it down that much."

[not_a_traitor]

Gaeta huffs at that, but lets it slide. Best not to bring down the mood by talking about all the other ways the gods might get their kicks, especially not in a roomful of soldiers.

"Served for seven years on the battlestar Galactica," he says as he quickly sorts his 'chips' into the appropriately colored piles. "No poker, but we do have Triad and FTL travel, so I guess it evens out. What about you -- you're another one from Earth?"

His voice stays carefully neutral on the last word.

[nothingbadeverhappensto]

"FTL travel - that's faster than light, right?" Leon seems appropriately wowed by that, eyes going wide like a kid who's, well, just been told FTL travel is possible and he's talking to a real astronaut. He's tempted to just let the question hang until Gaeta answers it, but he's been asked one in turn, and it'd be rude to derail the conversation entirely.

"Yeah," he says, nodding. "From the United States, in 2004, if that means anything to you. If not, don't worry, sounds like any dates and places you throw at me won't mean much to me either."

He does not pick up on any weirdness about the word Earth, too distracted by the astral elephant in the room to notice any subtler cues, intentionally obscured as they are. This may be part of why he was doing so poorly at poker.

[not_a_traitor]

Gaeta relaxes an inch as he realizes Leon didn't pick up on anything. More and more, it's been a struggle for him to contain the small -- and sometimes not so small -- prickles of resentment he feels whenever he meets someone who proclaims they're from Earth. Seems like his world drew the shortest straw in the entire godsdamn multiverse some days.

"It doesn't, but that means you can make up whatever you want about the United States and I'll probably believe it," he says, more or less easily. As the next hand's dealt, he scoops up his cards. "Anyway -- yes, FTL means faster-than-light. The jump drives that allow for it are standard on military ships, but a little less common on civilian ones. I spent most of my career calculating Galactica's jumps."