nihil
The table creaked against the weight of his presence, the caution thrown to the wind was evident in his demeanor, his very persona. He had been an acquaintance of Darth Carach's for some time but for all the time they had waged war and shed blood and pushed the machine forward, the Wrath hardly knew the Voice. And that struck him as odd, given that Gabriel was such an awe struck companion of Matsu Xiangu's - that influence, that character, that power - it could have origins, if only scraps, in the behemoth figure of the mentalist. And that interested Gabriel more than he cared to admit.
Chinking the glass back and forth, ice cubes smacking against one another, amber whiskey sloshed against the crystalline construction of the tumbler. He took a sip, wincing just slightly at the strength of the reserve, and placed the glass on the table. Sucking on air, he pushed the button back and forth across the centerpiece before him, acknowledgment of his turn to deal. The stack of chips, blues and reds and greens, indicated an expanse of wealth, one mirrored by a near identical column before the Voice. It seemed they both weren't impacted by the woes of poverty, reaching into the same pot of power and pulling back what they desired. Shuffling his stack with a twist of his fingers, over and under, Gabriel picked up the cards and dealt. Two to the man across to him, two to himself. And the deck back in the center.
He raised the corner of his cards, revealing the shades and numbers beneath. He gave no indication of his hand as he looked over to Carach, looking for the tell-tells of a solid hand. Scooting a stack of chips forward, Gabriel wagered 10,000 credits for the opening bid.
"Why the Sith?" He said, quietly. He had known enough about the Sith Lord to know that this choice for factions, will right, may have initially been fleeting. He was a pragmatic individual, more business like in approach. It didn't always suit the One Sith, especially when massacre was so easy. But more than just this faction, Gabriel wanted to know what made the man tick, what had stirred his choices that led him down this path - the one that sat him at this table, playing poker with a murderer.
Chinking the glass back and forth, ice cubes smacking against one another, amber whiskey sloshed against the crystalline construction of the tumbler. He took a sip, wincing just slightly at the strength of the reserve, and placed the glass on the table. Sucking on air, he pushed the button back and forth across the centerpiece before him, acknowledgment of his turn to deal. The stack of chips, blues and reds and greens, indicated an expanse of wealth, one mirrored by a near identical column before the Voice. It seemed they both weren't impacted by the woes of poverty, reaching into the same pot of power and pulling back what they desired. Shuffling his stack with a twist of his fingers, over and under, Gabriel picked up the cards and dealt. Two to the man across to him, two to himself. And the deck back in the center.
He raised the corner of his cards, revealing the shades and numbers beneath. He gave no indication of his hand as he looked over to Carach, looking for the tell-tells of a solid hand. Scooting a stack of chips forward, Gabriel wagered 10,000 credits for the opening bid.
"Why the Sith?" He said, quietly. He had known enough about the Sith Lord to know that this choice for factions, will right, may have initially been fleeting. He was a pragmatic individual, more business like in approach. It didn't always suit the One Sith, especially when massacre was so easy. But more than just this faction, Gabriel wanted to know what made the man tick, what had stirred his choices that led him down this path - the one that sat him at this table, playing poker with a murderer.
[member="Darth Carach"]