Those of you still waiting for the poker bits and wondering when Vicky's getting involved, it's coming soon; there are hints of it in this chapter, which also has a refresher on how the game works at the spa, with the chips and everything. I'll be including the standard glossary of chip names, denominations, and colors after this chapter.
As always, thank you to everyone for the ratings and comments, please keep them coming.
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Cyn relaxed into her domain at the spa house, trying to lose herself in the calculations and bookkeeping.
Trying to describe the spa to someone who hadn't experienced it often made it sound like nothing but an elaborate game of strip poker, which Cyn supposed it was, but only in the same way that algebra was more elaborate addition; it allowed for more than what people first assumed.
Syl had told her she got Vicky to agree to come to the spa, just not that weekend. Cyn wasn't sure how she felt about that. On the one hand she didn't think Vicky would enjoy the spa, particularly not with her outlook and the fact that she just recently broke up with her boyfriend. But then Syl had told her the spa was the only reason Vicky wasn't on her way back home for good, which shocked Cyn; she had no idea her friend was that distraught. She still didn't know if the spa would fix that, but she supposed it might give her another way to get in touch with her friend; she had been pulling away from her recently, almost without realizing it, and now she felt guilty.
She shook her head and focused as Charles led his nominee up to the cage, as they called it. His friend certainly wouldn't draw any complaints for looks; he looked like he'd come directly out of the "hot Arabian prince" mold. He had a thin, tanned face with a close cut beard and moustache with short hair, all of it jet black. His eyes were dark but had upturned corners that gave him a devious look without trying; Cyn bet he had a lot of women swooning when he smirked at them.
He wore a button-down shirt and loose pants with an eastern flavor to them; very flowy and loose at the cuffs. Despite the loose clothing Cyn could tell he had a well-kept body, certainly better than Charles, who Cyn had heard wasn't the most attractive physical specimen. He had opted for a maroon turtleneck highlighting that fact as it bulged in places that didn't necessarily indicate an impressive physique. His basic black slacks did nothing to help or hurt his look, but his brown hair was somewhat disheveled and the beard he'd started growing over the summer didn't help the round look of his face. Cyn was actually surprised now that she saw Charles up close for the first time this year; she hadn't remembered him being quite so disheveled.
"Allow me to introduce the Red Queen, otherwise known as Cyn," Charles said with mild sarcasm as he and his companion reached the cage.
Cyn had adopted a lot of red in her wardrobe since midway through her first semester as a freshman due to the manipulative plan she'd enacted a few months after her first experiences at the spa. A blood red pantsuit had featured heavily in that plan and she'd continued the theme, though tonight she'd opted for a red/black sleeveless shimmering evening gown; as the banker she spent a lot of time standing near the table and the dress, along with the three inch heels she had on, helped her keep an authoritative aura.
Charles had coined the "Red Queen" label some time after her performance and to Cyn's annoyance it had stuck. However, given the expressions and attitude she saw on Charles's companion, she thought it might be good to cultivate it a little.
"You must be Ammad Bashir," Cyn said, offering her hand palm down.
Ammad took and bowed over it, not breaking eye contact. "Enchanted," he replied, his Middle Eastern accent obvious.
"How much has Charles told you about the spa?" she asked.
"Very little," Bashir said, "Other than it involves playing cards and other...interesting diversions."
Cyn cast a glance at Charles. He looked a bit smug, but there was also a nervous edge to his expression. "Good," Cyn said after a beat, "because there are penalties if he told you more."
Cyn slid over a plastic container filled with multicolored poker chips. She quickly grabbed one of each color and fanned them out on the table. "The games are often some variety of poker. Texas hold'em is usually the default for a variety of reasons, but five card draw, stud, and some other more esoteric games make their way in as well. At any point if you are playing you may ask the dealer for instructions if you're unfamiliar with the game, and if you've never played it you can sit the hand out for no penalty."
"Other than missing out on whoever's chips are in the ante at the time," Charles opined.
Cyn continued without acknowledging Charles and she noticed Bashir hadn't paid attention either, his focus solely fixed on her. She wasn't sure if he was absorbing the details of the game or of her, but she'd already figured out she'd better not let her guard down around him.
"Seven denominations, that roughly follow traditional poker values," Cyn continued. "White, yellow, red, blue, green, orange, black, matching one, two, five, ten, twenty-five, fifty, and one hundred. You start with seventy-five hundred worth of chips, and you owe that many back to me at the end of the semester. They don't have to be yours."
"If you have a good run at the table you can change chips up with me. Going the other way is more complicated. You can't do it with anything less than a green chip, or grass as we call them, and when you do I take the original and I get to put a copy in a future ante for a game that's ringed in gold. You can't change gold ringed chips for anything up or down."
She pulled one of the red chips out of the tray. "Ammad Bashir" was printed in script on the edges of the chip, with the word "Oral" curving just below it on the groove outlining the center, in which was printed a large "5."
"The word below your name is the favor the chip represents. The number has three aspects to it. Most obviously, it's the amount it's worth betting at the table. It also tells you the number of chips of that type you need before you can cash in a favor."
"So once I acquire five of those chips?" Bashir asked, gesturing to the red one Cyn held.
"You find the person whose name is on them and hand them over. Then the person has to either perform the favor, or pay triple to me," Cyn said, "That's where the third part of the number comes in. It's the minimum amount of time the favor has to be happening. Now some people in the spa insist it's also the maximum. We call those people 'purists' because they're technically correct; no one can be forced to do anything beyond the time limit or we dig into your real money, among other things. Some people are more free with their interpretation of the time, but nobody breaks the rule of the favor; you get what's on the chip, no more."
"No less?" Bashir asked.
"Again, depends on the player," Cyn replied, "purists are going to nickel and dime the favors; if you don't give them any yellow chips, or canaries, no kissing with whatever you're doing. Others just figure it marks the upper limit; if you're going down on them, kissing and groping is fair game as well. Also, for the favors like the lipstick here where it could go either way, it's casher's choice whether to give or receive."
"It seems unusual that someone would demand to perform a favor on another."
And that cements everything I need to know about
