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

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

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.

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One More Drop Of Poison

John smiles when he sees the notice about the game. Hawkeye’s threatened it enough times that he’s sort of ready—a lot of social contact makes him more uncomfortable than twitchy these days, but poker night…it seems harmless enough.

He shows up about twenty minutes early to help set up if he’s needed—and he comes bearing gifts: namely a little of his homemade jerky for anyone who’s interested.

Devil’s In The Chair

John sort of alternates, stepping back every couple hands or so just to sit back and watch the others play and smack talk each other—but he’s also open to conversation if he’s not at the table.

He wins some. He loses some—he’s dead middle of the road in terms of his winnings, but his losses tend to come from buying whatever you’re selling. He will absolutely go down as having one of the best poker faces of the night.

Hawkeye absolutely takes first sample of the jerky, and makes a pleased sort of moan.

"This really isn't half bad- you could go into business with this y'know? Here-" he takes the jerky to set it over by the rest of the snacks, "just need you to go up and get the rest of the chairs."

He deliberately held off bringing them down in the same way you leave the last bit of your plate for the dog. A little treat, just for John Jay.

A treat, huh? Hawkeye gets a raised eyebrow—which does not remotely match the warm gleam in his eye because yeah.

Yeah, this really is kind of a treat. Damn it.

“On it, slug.” He jokes, heading up to start lugging down some chairs. It’s not a lot, so he manages it in about two trips with a little careful stacking to make sure there’s a couple extra.

“I, uh—I don’t remember who we talked about last time you mentioned this game—what kinda turnout you think you’ll get?”

"Well let's see-" Hawk takes a chair from him to arrange around the table, "Watson who I told you about, but there's a couple of new faces I don't think I've had a chance to run past you. We've got Ari- Lieutenant, from space if you can believe it. Real baby faced. And Peter- used to be in the chair force, then he wound up in intelligence, but by the sound of it he's as civvie as I am now. And obviously my buddy Mulcahy- y'know, the chaplain? Anyone else, no idea. But those few are nice enough. You let me know if you need a minute to step outside whenever, yeah?"

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.

True to form and expectation, Leon also arrives twenty minutes early on the dot, and comes in to see John already helping move chairs around. The man's got an impressive physique, and Leon takes a split second to size him up before nodding in greeting.

"Hey," he says. "You need any help with that?"

1. One more drop of poison

Leon spends some time after reading the posting on the bulletin board wondering if he should go. There's all sorts of disqualifying factors - the classified nature of his current job with USSTRATCOM and all his previous postings, the less than entirely voluntary nature of how he joined up, his own mixed feelings about the military, things like that. But ultimately he decides it's worth checking out, even if he excuses himself early.

So he turns up, twenty minutes early as expected, and salutes (a little sarcastically) at whoever answers the door.

"Private Leon S. Kennedy, reporting for duty. Need any help setting up?"

2. Ghosts are rattling at the door

The risks Leon take are calculated, but boy is he bad at math. Which is to say, he's not very good at poker. By the end of the night he's lost pretty much all his chips despite betting conservatively, largely as a result of tremendous gullibility. He's not a sore loser, though, and is happy to take jabs at himself as his pile of chips shrink.

"Glad we're playing for acorns," he says, snorting and throwing down another losing hand. "Wouldn't want to die and go into gambling debt in the same month. What would my mother say?"

"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."

Mulcahy, meanwhile, absolutely whips ass at poker. He already regularly beat the 4077th's players, and now he's taking win after disrespectful win. He's pretty sure the harmless priestly manner helps his case a lot. No matter how much people know he's lying through his teeth and about to make off with everything they put on the table, it's difficult to overcome one's instincts. Not to mention he's had a lot of practice at masking his intentions lately.

"Oh, don't worry; I'm sure you'll catch up," he says, as he scrapes his third pot of the night into his corner. It's getting a little ridiculous. "Someday."

Edited 2024-03-16 20:06 (UTC)

"Captain Hawkeye Pierce, which means I outrank you, which means I rule that none of this-" he gestures vaguely at the salute and all, "is happening here. No need for privacy, you're with friends."

Buddumtish. Radar got that one more than once.

"I would've just skipped setting up entirely if I knew everyone was showing up to help- help me move this light so it's over the table?"

"If you say so, Father," Leon says, scooting a meager handful of acorns across the table. "Careful with your untold riches, though. What is it they say about camels and the eye of a needle?"

Clearly his half-remembered quotations about rich men entering the Kingdom of Heaven apply to poker-acorns. It's all in good fun, though. For all his concerns about coming here, he's finding it fairly easy to settle in. Almost like back before Operation Javier, if he doesn't let himself think about it too hard.

That gets an actual laugh out of Leon, short and snickering though it may be. He drops the salute and nods, heading over to help get the light situated properly.

"Well, you know the US military, at least," he says. "We love barging in on people before they're ready and making their business our business."

It's a test as much as it is a joke. He knows some guys who would knock his teeth in for making a comment like that, and some who'd buy him a beer for it. Might as well get the question of where Hawkeye falls on the spectrum out of the way quick.

One more drop of poison

Predictably, Ari Tayrey is there early. She looks different today, in coveralls that those who knew her before might recognise as the same bright and cheerful shade of spacer blue as her Tradeline uniform. There's even the same silver trim, and some careful embroidery - a ship patch on her arm, a little silver eight-pointed star at her shirt collar. It's all very flatteringly tailored, too. She looks like a Tradeliner again, which for her is tantamount to getting her very identity back. Tayrey practically bounces into the room and gets straight on helping with setup.

Then she's asked if she's ever played poker. 'Not really,' she admits. 'But I play kalixtri. We keep a scoreboard in the junior officers' lounge shipside and I'm in credit.' Which probably says something about the gambling culture on Tradeline starships.

Ghosts are rattling at the door

This is not kalixtri, and Lieutenant Tayrey is not in credit right now, but she's still playing with enthusiasm. 'Can't expect to make a healthy profit my first flight out,' she says, casually slipping into Tradeline pilot metaphor because she's comfortable and she thinks this group won't query it. She doesn't understand all their references, after all, but it doesn't seem to matter.

'But you never know. Probability's fickle.' And Tayrey's still feeling out the game, working on the mathematical analyses that are sure to make a win more likely.

One more drop of poison
Number 6 is right on time, on the dot. Of course he is.

"Watch me play and see for yourself how good my card skills are," he says with playful smugness. If it weren't for the fact that all of them are veterans, he'd be boasting about how he'll be walking away with all of their brass within the hour. But these ones might actually present him a challenge. How exhilarating.

"I'll take that drink, thank you." Ah, home made gin. There's something terribly nostalgic about the bitter acid taste of it. He'd better be careful to sip it slowly. "Cheers."

We'll kneel and say a prayer
The man plays a mean game of cards. He has the kind of poker face that could make a Las Vegas card dealer cry. Just that same smug look of confidence in perpetuity. If his hand isn't ideal, no one will ever know. His expression barely changes even as he discards and draws. Good luck telling when he's bluffing. Clearly, he knows what he's doing since his hands seem to be consistently good, even when he isn't the winner. Might he be watching the dealer a little too closely?

The ghosts are rattling
Number 6 is the king of spicy trash talk. Challenge him at your own peril. (Come at me!!)

Number 6 smiles when he walks in the door and spots her in that familiar color, adorned with stars and patches. She wastes no time. He pauses a moment, to probe his heart for any bitterness. He finds none. Only relief that she is here and free of that terrible cruise ship just like the rest of them. She looks more healthy now than she did the last six months and he can't be anything but glad for it.

"Lieutenant, how good it is to see you here."

There are people here who want her dead, Lieutenant Tayrey believes, and she knows Peter's not among their number only because she's already had clear assurance of it from a reliable source. She still expects him to be angry. He's still one of the people she'd avoid, if she thought logically about it. When his greeting catches her attention, however, none of this comes to mind. Instead, she crosses quickly to his side, and speaks in a low, urgent voice, without so much as a peace-and-prosperity.

'We should make our apologies and leave. Ava is here! She'll want to see you at once, I know she will. Let me take you to her.'

That this happy reunion has already occurred is a fact of which she's quite unaware.

His eyes crinkle with concealed laughter. But Lieutenant Tayrey won't have to wait long to find out what the joke might be.

"Thank you, Lieutenant, but that won't be necessary. I have already reunited with my wife, but your concern is deeply touching."

Number 6 finds him at one of these moments when he's stepped back from the table. This round, the cards weren't in Number 6's favor at all, so he chose to fold early and preserve his previous small pot of winnings. Now, he casually leans against the wall beside John, addressing him without looking directly at him.

"You've a very good poker face, I must say. I'm impressed. I don't believe we had the pleasure before. I am Peter Starr."

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?"

Number 6 from across the table: "If I find out you're playing rookie now just to rake it in later once our guards are down it won't be your mother's disappointment you'll be worrying about." It's not a real threat, though, judging by the mischievous grin Number 6 is wearing. He's bolstered by the fact that he's sitting with a royal flush in his hand right now.

John perks up a little at the mention of Ari, nodding as he sets down his last load of chairs and starts helping to arrange them. "Met the lieutenant at the potluck, seems like a good kid."

The space traveler--yeah, that's never gonna stop being cool.

The mention of Mulcahy catches John's interest. He'd missed that, somehow--remembers Hawk mentioning the chaplain, but not that he was present in town. A priest...John could really use one right now.

Then Hawkeye assures him he can step out if he needs to, and he's only briefly confused before remembering how bad it was when he showed up. It's been three years, and spending enough time in his cell...

With a rueful smile, he nods. "Thanks, but that's not as big a problem as it used to be. I'm a little off, but a room full of grunts like me feels...good, y'know? Nobody's gonna come at me, and I got you 'n then some at my back. 'Preciate the consideration, though."

Looking up from some of the chairs he's setting up, John flashes a small smile at the newcomer. He gives the guy an even briefer cursory once-over before moving to offer him his hand.

"Sure, just kinda puttin' out some spectator seats for those of us that get dealt out during the night." John replies. "Captain John Rambo, U.S. Army, Special Forces."

John's taking a break from the table--and he's actually kind of proud of himself. Round of betting got kind of intense, he finished the hand, dealt himself out...and he's been snacking while watching the others play. The tension he felt building eases with every bite.

So that's a thing--keep up with his appetite. Helps with some of the anxiety.

By the time the guy who introduces himself as Starr sidles up to the wall next to John, John is leaning back in his seat, the last couple bites of a small sandwich in hand, and has his feet propped up on a vacant seat as he tips his head back to regard the other man.

John can't remember the last time he was this relaxed, and it shows in his smile as he reaches back with his free hand to offer it to Starr.

"Thanks--guys in my old unit would've laughed in your face if they ever heard that, but three years inside helped me perfect it. John Rambo--Captain, U.S. Army Special Forces. Not standing on formality, I just know some of us come from different places. Figure full introductions help us learn more 'bout each other."

"Do I look smart enough to pull a move like that, to you?" Leon asks, smiling wryly. If he were better at poker that might've been a fun maneuver, but as it stands he's struggling to keep his head above water. His poker face itself isn't bad, and neither is his hand right this second, but he's basically got no ability to read what anyone else is up to.

He shakes his head.

"Nah, I think I'm just outclassed here."

Leon steps up and shakes his hand with what he hopes is an appropriate amount of machismo - very firmly, but not a bone-crusher. This guy looks like he doesn't have quite as much to prove as the rest of Leon's old unit, which makes sense if he's a Captain, so there's no reason to go posturing at him.

"Private Leon S. Kennedy, U.S. Army," he says, nodding. It's not quite the whole truth - his actual current rank and situation are much more complicated, but he doesn't really want to explain or mark himself as the odd one out as the lone fed among military men (and women) right from the jump. If this comes back to bite him he'll readily own up to it, but for now he's telling himself that his time under Major Krauser counts for all of this. "Nice to meet you, Captain. You been here long?"

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

John Rambo - Starters For All

One more drop of poison

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Ari Tayrey - OTA

Number 6 (Peter Starr) | OTA

one more drop

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Devil’s In The Chair

ghosts are rattling at the door

Ghosts are rattling at the door

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lil retcon to a previous tag to hawkeye whoops