Post by Winter on Sept 21, 2011 16:23:44 GMT -6
Burn Out the Night
“Are you feelin' lucky, punk?”
The low drawl of the Western-themed slot machine was barely audible over the Aronsmith playing over the speakers strung up on the high ceiling. Between that, the other sound effects, and the various conversations in the room, it all became just a blur of background noise anyway. She tended to ignore everything but her zone when she started her craft.
The cards did their own tap dance as they shuffled in her hands, the noise a smooth, rhythmic drumming that kept her anchored to her table in the casino. The cigarette smoke was a comforting scent in the open room, even if you could see the haze it made as it drifted through the air. It made her feel at home more than anything else ever had.
“Alright, bets up, boys. You know the rules.”
She watched the four nameless men at her table, all waiting for her to deal out the cards that could lead to their potential fortune or break the bank. They were all probably middle aged, well-over ten years her senior. At half their age, a lot of people thought she was unsuited for this job, but she couldn't complain. It paid the bills.
This troupe all had hair in shades of brown and blond. At least in Blackjack there was no need for them to wear the dark sunglasses over their eyes. Even if she was just the dealer, they creeped her out a little. She didn't like not being able to guess what people were thinking.
She set the deck down flat in front of her when she finished, holding her hands palm up and then flipping them over for the benefit of the camera. It was the same with every pay-out. These tables still paid out medium cash winnings, unlike the slots that had upgraded to the paper slips. The higher-ups wanted to make sure the staff wasn't stacking the deck or pocketing cash, though, so they were picky about being able to see. It was the same reason why players had to make hand motions instead of saying 'hit' or 'stand'. There had been a court case about the casino cheating someone once.
She paused to brush some of her short, black hair behind her ear, wondering if the red tips needed recoloring yet. It might be able to come out of her next paycheck, but she wasn't completely sure. She wouldn't short herself on food just for the sake of image, even if she hated the blonde it dulled to. She was really hoping to fill the last empty seat at her table before she started the next game. If one of them won a bit, it was more likely that she'd get a tip.
She only waited a few moments before a cough from one of the players suggested she get on with it. With a practiced hand, she started to deal out the two cards to each player, flipping one up and leaving one buried. The familiar star pattern of the dealing let her be swift and accurate as each card slid easy over the royal purple surface. She preferred this color over the standard green tables.
The girl went through the motions of the round, giving cards when they motioned for hit and passing over them when they stayed. Two of the guys busted with twenty-three and twenty-two, and another stayed at sixteen only to be beaten by the last man who had an eighteen. He stayed, waiting to see what she dealt to herself. She set the remaining cards of the deck to the side as she peeked at her own. Then she smiled and reveled her two cards, a Jack and an Eight.
“Tied hands. Dealer wins,” she said.
The man swore and threw down one of the chips he was holding a little harder than necessary. It clanked and rolled out onto the center of the table. He rose, blowing off steam and putting his hands behind his head. Since Blackjack was much lower-key than Poker, people didn't get as upset because they were betting smaller amounts at a time. Even now the man was fine, laughing a little as he sat back down, shaking his head.
She grinned, shrugging her shoulders and holding up her hands before sweeping the cards toward her so she could shuffle again. “You'll get one eventually,” she encouraged, loving how ranged the reactions were to this game.
That's when somebody grabbed her.
---
“Are you feelin' lucky, punk?”
The low drawl of the Western-themed slot machine was barely audible over the Aronsmith playing over the speakers strung up on the high ceiling. Between that, the other sound effects, and the various conversations in the room, it all became just a blur of background noise anyway. She tended to ignore everything but her zone when she started her craft.
The cards did their own tap dance as they shuffled in her hands, the noise a smooth, rhythmic drumming that kept her anchored to her table in the casino. The cigarette smoke was a comforting scent in the open room, even if you could see the haze it made as it drifted through the air. It made her feel at home more than anything else ever had.
“Alright, bets up, boys. You know the rules.”
She watched the four nameless men at her table, all waiting for her to deal out the cards that could lead to their potential fortune or break the bank. They were all probably middle aged, well-over ten years her senior. At half their age, a lot of people thought she was unsuited for this job, but she couldn't complain. It paid the bills.
This troupe all had hair in shades of brown and blond. At least in Blackjack there was no need for them to wear the dark sunglasses over their eyes. Even if she was just the dealer, they creeped her out a little. She didn't like not being able to guess what people were thinking.
She set the deck down flat in front of her when she finished, holding her hands palm up and then flipping them over for the benefit of the camera. It was the same with every pay-out. These tables still paid out medium cash winnings, unlike the slots that had upgraded to the paper slips. The higher-ups wanted to make sure the staff wasn't stacking the deck or pocketing cash, though, so they were picky about being able to see. It was the same reason why players had to make hand motions instead of saying 'hit' or 'stand'. There had been a court case about the casino cheating someone once.
She paused to brush some of her short, black hair behind her ear, wondering if the red tips needed recoloring yet. It might be able to come out of her next paycheck, but she wasn't completely sure. She wouldn't short herself on food just for the sake of image, even if she hated the blonde it dulled to. She was really hoping to fill the last empty seat at her table before she started the next game. If one of them won a bit, it was more likely that she'd get a tip.
She only waited a few moments before a cough from one of the players suggested she get on with it. With a practiced hand, she started to deal out the two cards to each player, flipping one up and leaving one buried. The familiar star pattern of the dealing let her be swift and accurate as each card slid easy over the royal purple surface. She preferred this color over the standard green tables.
The girl went through the motions of the round, giving cards when they motioned for hit and passing over them when they stayed. Two of the guys busted with twenty-three and twenty-two, and another stayed at sixteen only to be beaten by the last man who had an eighteen. He stayed, waiting to see what she dealt to herself. She set the remaining cards of the deck to the side as she peeked at her own. Then she smiled and reveled her two cards, a Jack and an Eight.
“Tied hands. Dealer wins,” she said.
The man swore and threw down one of the chips he was holding a little harder than necessary. It clanked and rolled out onto the center of the table. He rose, blowing off steam and putting his hands behind his head. Since Blackjack was much lower-key than Poker, people didn't get as upset because they were betting smaller amounts at a time. Even now the man was fine, laughing a little as he sat back down, shaking his head.
She grinned, shrugging her shoulders and holding up her hands before sweeping the cards toward her so she could shuffle again. “You'll get one eventually,” she encouraged, loving how ranged the reactions were to this game.
That's when somebody grabbed her.
---