#the true bluff is how well i can write a shoddy poker game

[ryokiowriter]

Bluff

“A Bold Bluff” by Cassius Marcellus Coolidge [x]

“S’ho… What did he do to get you in such a tizzy?”

The look Wilford received in response was surely enough to curdle milk. Pure, unadulterated anger was pouring off of the more monochromatic man, shell cracking to show the most fleeting glimpses of a rage-consumed beast that lay so carefully concealed beneath his gentleman’s façade.

“Just deal the cards.”

There was no measure of grand eloquence, no attempt made to conceal just how he felt at present. Darkiplier was still angry about his latest tangle with Anti, and he wasn’t going to hide it from Warfstache. For all his buffoonery and shenanigans, Warfstache was far sharper than he appeared. Not to mention, Darkiplier couldn’t help but admire the homicidal nature of the other man. Whether it was intentional or not, that was still up in the air, but there was no denying that it was definitely an art.

The TV host couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at the sharpness of Dark’s words, simply staring at him for a few moments while his companion contemplated matters, though if Wilford had to put a word to it? He’d choose ‘brooding.’

“Hhh’okay. Whatever floats your boat, then.” With a great flourish, the pink-mustachioed man shuffled the cards, attempting one or two tricks with the deck (which then devolved into a fifty-two card pickup quickly), before dealing out a hand for himself and for Darkiplier. The only thing to break the silence was a cough from Wilford himself, though whether it was genuine or forced was debatable.

“S’ho…”

Another absolutely withering glare, this one carrying a bit more venom than the last.

“Wilford.”

With such admonishment applied to his name, Warfstache couldn’t help but purse his lips a bit. That was less of an address and more of a thinly-veiled subtext of ‘shut the fuck up before I stab you.’ Mind, he did like a bit of a friendly spar-and-tickle-with-a-knife, but something told him that Darkiplier was out for blood and entrails. At this point, he’d rather his innards remain inside rather than splattered across the floor because of a moody shadow-VHS-whatever.

“Ahl’right, ahl’right. What kind of poker are we playin’ this time?” This time, when Darkiplier raised his gaze, his face bore an expression of bewilderment.

“…isn’t that the sort of thing you ask before you deal the cards, Wil?” A shrug from the suspendered man, lips remaining puckered in an expression of annoyance.

“H’you said to deal th’ cards, not how to deal ‘em.”

“…fine. How did you deal them?”

Reaching into his shirt pocket, Warfstache produced a single playing card, presenting it face-towards his friend.

“Follow th’ Queen.”

Of course, the card he picked would have to be the Queen of Hearts. “Are you trying to be clever now?” was the dry question, the roiling rage from before subsiding to the point where he could pick up the cards without simultaneously lashing out at someone who wasn’t there.

“I have no idea h’what you’re insinuating,” was the loudly blustered response. “We all can’t be cheeky li’l devils like you.” Just like that, the playful spark was back upon Wilford’s features, at ease to toy with his murder buddy now that he’d calmed down a bit. The newfangled title earned a snort from Darkiplier, picking up his cards and sorting them carefully.

“Speaking of cheeky devils… H’you still owe me for distracting that little green guy.”

Just like that, Dark’s anger came boiling to the surface, a distorted glitch with outstretched hands and a muffled screech of ire briefly making itself known. Of the two colors that tended to linger around his form, the red was strikingly predominant in that moment. As abruptly as it came, it dissipated, black eyes fixed upon his friend.

“In all the years I’ve known you, I never thought you’d be playing the debt collector,” he murmured, eyes moving instead to his cards. No surprise there, an absolute crap hand. Rolling his eyes, he beckoned over a new card with a flick of his hand, frowning. “However, I’m a man of my word. I did say we’d discuss it over our next game.” A beat passed, before he realized something, narrowing his eyes at Warfstache. “Come to think of it, we never did establish an exact payment, now did we?” A rookie mistake, if ever there was one, especially while dealing with the surprisingly cunning nature of his friend.

While Darkiplier quietly mulled over the implications of what had happened, Wilford seemed completely oblivious, maintaining a poor poker face as he chuckled and grinned at his cards. When the subject of his payment was expanded upon, he looked up, giving his usual showman’s grin. “Now, now. Don’t worry your little head about it, Darkimoo.” His own chuckle was almost enough to drown out the groan of irritation from his companion.

“Please, Wil, not ‘Darkimoo.’ Anything but that bastardization of his nickname.”

Wilford was apparently ignoring Darkiplier now, still shuffling his cards to and fro. Instead of addressing the issue of the nickname, he chose to address instead the elephant in the room. “All I want is a little favor. I did you a favor, you do me a favor. Easy-peasy, lemon—“

“Please don’t finish that damnable rhyme.”

The two men had a stare down, the VHS villain’s expression utterly deadpan and stoic. After a few blinks, Warfstache was the one to break eye contact, eyes cast down and a dejected, surly pout curving his mouth downward.

“…lemon squeeze-me,” he mumbled, a little act of rebellion he knew he could get away with. After all, Darkiplier had stated that he held respect and admiration for him, Wilford Warfstache! His good ol’ pal wouldn’t try anything funny over the end of a childish rhyme.

“Boy, h’you’re really in a bad mood, buddy.” A few poker chips were pushed across the table, their vibrant hue matching his curled mustache. “Wanna talk h’about it?” His query was returned with silence, shadows swirling to produce several grey chips that were pushed to join their blush colored counterparts.

“…no.”

“H’okay.”

A few more rounds passed, each man drawing their own amounts of cards, chips sliding to and fro. The silence was finally broken by the still-brooding Darkiplier, though not before his gaze wandered over to study his friend. Wilford was, at present, running his fingers across the tops of his cards, appearing deep in thought, despite the silly look on his face.“I must admit, I’m intrigued. What’s this favor you want in return?”

“Sh-sh-sh-shh!” Warfstache held a single finger up towards Dark, surprising the monochrome man for a few beats. The showman’s expression was intense, brow slightly furrowed as he looked over his cards once more. Then, with a triumphant exclamation of “AH-HA!” he slammed the cards down, face-up. “I believe I win this round,” he drawled, looking all too smug. As he pulled the multiple stacks of chips towards him, Darkiplier leaned forward, peering at the cards revealed.

“…you have five queens.” Raising an eyebrow at his friend, Dark’s lips pulled into a stern scowl. “I didn’t think you’d cheat this time.”

“I prefer to think of it as a win under creative circumstances,” Wilford corrected, still grinning over his poker chips (which were now being assembled into a strange chip pyramid).

“Hmm. Touché. Now, before we get distracted once more. What is the favor you want from me?”

“It’s simple, really.” As he spoke, the TV host continued to stack his chips into an even bigger pyramid, simply stacking them into a pillar when he ran out of room. “I’ve got a few people to interview soon. Some freaky people trapped in a coma that are doin’ some mirror travel bullshit, an’ then some fuggin’ weird hillbillies h’west of Loathing.” Honestly, Darkiplier wasn’t sure where he was going with this, as to him it sounded rather like Warfstache was rambling.

“I… see. Where do I come into this plan?”

“We-ell, see, it’s a bit of a conundrum. I mean, I’m no horrific shadow creature, so that makes getting into the collective dreams of other people a teensy bit hard.” There was a clatter as Wilford accidentally bumped the chip pyramid with his elbow, a look of stern disappointment flitting over his features before he continued. “Also, there are some rather feisty folks in and around Loathing. I could use a li’l boost to keep going.” Irritation flashed across Darkiplier’s face, mouth pulling into a deep frown and teeth gritting slightly.

“Wil. The point, please?” That statement was enough to make the mustachioed man frown, looking rather like an annoyed adult who’d been interrupted and backsassed by a child.

“H’okay,fine. Lemme borrow your powers.”

Despite the difficulty of the request, Darkiplier’s look of disapproval remained unchanged.

“They are not a toy, nor are they a commodity that I can just loan you. How do you propose I let you ‘borrow’ them?” Warfstache raised an eyebrow, leaning forward slightly in his seat.

“I let you in. Team up, yanno?”

He then leaned back, watching the implications of his words set in. The shell fragmented slightly, confusion apparent on the monochromatic features, only to be quickly replaced by a smug smirk, all defaulting back to a slightly amused face.

“I can’t help but feel there’s a catch. Simply letting me in sounds more like a favor to me.”

“H’alright, h’alright, you got me. I let you in, but I keep in control.”

That was definitely different. In all his years of manipulation, he’d never been let in and then denied total control. Tapping his fingers against the table, he looked at the mess of poker chips for a moment, before returning his gaze to Warfstache.

“Intriguing. We’ll try it.”

With a smile that was oozing enthusiasm, Wilford reached forward, offering a handshake to seal the deal. As cold fingers wrapped around his and a firm shake delivered, he couldn’t help but chuckle.

“H’well, then, it’s settled. I’ll see you next time, Darkimoo.”

With a groan and a swirl of shadows, Darkiplier departed, leaving the showman completely alone in the room. With a satisfied sigh, he turned his head, giving another excited smile and addressing the painting on the wall next to the poker table.

“And I’ll see you next time, on Warfstache!Tonight! Ladies, gentlemen, and all other configurations of being, good night!”