Public In the Boneyard

[Isur]

He had no idea why they were called bones. These didn’t feel like bones.

Isur knew bones. Knew them in his teeth, and in his hands. Knew the sounds they made.

These were chips, or something. Porcelain. With little numbers on them.

He wanted to slam his hand down on the table and state that bones did not come with numbers.

It didn’t matter. What mattered was the math. The silly numbers made points. And points made credits.

And credits became food.

The Karkarodon looked around the table as he placed another chip down. Five and Zero. That brought his total to sixteen.

He needed fifteen.

A growl came across him, as one of the small humanoids shifted in his, or hers, Isur wasn’t certain, seat.

Dominoes was dumb.

 

[Malrok Duskwell]

MALROK DUSKWELL
⟁Tip the Scales⟁

The game smelled wrong.

A table full of fragments, numbered and lifeless, scraped across the warped plasteel with all the weight of ritual—but none of the blood. He watched the movements like a man witnessing a pantomime of faith in a language he never learned.

Malrok stood a pace too close. Towering. Silent. Until the shark placed a chip down and growled like a beast short of meat.

The Anchorborn's voice broke the moment like a blade.

"Which one of these bones means kill?"

A pause. His gaze drifted over the chips—porcelain, not bone—then to the tension curling in Isur’s shoulders.

"...Or is that not how you score points."

They called it a game. But something about it felt older. Hungrier. And he did not like the way the pips on the tokens watched him back.

Isur ​

 

[Isur]

If asked, Isur would never admit to games smelling. Other beings, prey creatures, plants, yes, but games? Never. Metaphors were not big for Karkarodons.

As another being stood behind, Isur, growled and slammed on the table in a form of anger that met most of his species. And most others always associated with his, and the related species. They were not shark-infested waters, shark lived there, humans infested them. But that wasn’t exactly useful here.

Turning his bulky head, to the other one, Isur let out a low groan, hungry, angry.

“No bones. Just… building material!” Isur took one in his hand and crushed it. Would he be charged? Yes. Was it going to give him any chance to make fifteen points?

Also, yes, but honestly, counting was not his strong suit.

“It doesn’t make you win by having the most bones. I do not understand their methods.” There was a sense of realization in his eyes.

The bones… dominoes… whatever…. Had eyes!

So. Many. Eyes.

“Hey, peanut gallery, sit down or step back.” Called a burly looking human to Malrok. “And you, stop eating and breaking the dominoes!” Under his breath, even in this bar, the word freaks was clear.

Malrok Duskwell

 

[Malrok Duskwell]

MALROK DUSKWELL
⟁Tip the Scales⟁

He watched the tile crack in Isur’s grip—porcelain shards catching light like the enamel of molars. Something about the way the Karkarodon said building material made his head tilt, as if reconsidering the pieces all over again.

“No structure worth building has that many eyes.”

He leaned, inspecting the slates, broad hands resting on the table’s edge. Not seated. Not stepping back. Just close enough to inspect the same pieces Isur was crushing.

The burly man across the way was still talking. Much too bold, assuming to highly of their station. They needed humbling, for balance. Malrok felt just choleric and sanguine enough to do so anyway.

“Hey, peanut gallery, sit down or step back.” Called a burly looking human to Malrok. “And you, stop eating and breaking the dominoes!” Under his breath, even in this bar, the word freaks was clear.

“You speak like a virginal Wyrdkin,” Malrok said loudly, dismissively, not looking at him. “Loud, Intrusive, and challenging your betters.”

His hand hovered over the scattered chips. He didn’t touch them. Just let the silence stretch, like bait on the hook.

"Sadly, I don't think anyone here is interested in mating with you, so stop flaunting colors you don't have."

The Concordian Anchorborn set aside his shortspear, implication clear.

Step up and be beaten down – without the need of a weapon.

Isur ​

 

[Isur]

Isur could get behind this other one. He was Black Sun too, wasn’t he? Honestly, all the softskins looked the same to Isur. But if he was? They could be friends. The Karkarodon was not happy with this game, and thinking of the pips as eyes? Did not help.

He had fought many an aquatic species, and so many had more eyes than were rightfully necessary. Or no eyes at all. And these bones, these dominoes had the same vibe to the enforcer. Sure, the shark had the Force, but he got it through absolute training of his physical body. It didn’t give him the danger sense that it gave the Jedi.

Though when his axe was in hand, it did make him feel more intune with the world. Especially combat.

Here? There wasn’t exactly the need for fighting.

“I like the way you speak. Join us for the game?” He looked to the others at the table in a gaze that did not allow for questions.

Malrok Duskwell