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Ed’s toes feel fuzzy.
She flexes them against the support strut of her barstool and focuses on the cool metal against her skin. Sitting still has never been her chief objective. Her fingers squeeze and release the cushioned seat, the tiny fabric fingers making mini pinky promises with her attention span; if she really appreciated their existence she’d stop smothering them. She posts her feet on the struts and lifts herself, bodily, from her seat, to steal a glance at the threadbare corduroy of the cushion itself.
There’s nothing special about it.
“Hey, pay attention,” says Faye from across the table, a pack of playing cards rifling against each other in flashes of blue and white like synchronized swimmers diving into a pool.
Ed puffs her cheeks out in an exaggerated breath as she pinches her nose and widens her eyes. She giggles and swings her arm wide before clutching her seat and returning to her perch. “Splish, splash, shuffle, shuffle!”
Faye’s purple hair brushes across her shoulders as she shakes her head. “Sure. Ready?”
Ed nods, mirroring Faye’s tense focus. She nods curtly and exhales.
It’s a blur of motion, like a flock of pigeons startling at a backfire, in reverse. Faye deftly plucks a card from the pack and slaps it on the table with a crack, her hand covering the back, pushing its face into the worn felt.
“Top or bottom?”
“Top! Top!” Ed squeaks with confidence.
“Good!"
Faye's smile is radiant, her teeth like bright key-caps reveling under the appropriate key-strokes. It makes Ed smile in return.
It was so easy to see Faye deal from the top! The next question is a little harder: "Red or black?”
Red or black. Red or black. It’s a trick question – the cards are blue. They’re all blue! Blue and white and black and red and gold with swirls. Some are pointed. Some are soft. All of them are numbers.
The expectant silence stretches on for an infinity. Ed chews her lower lip. “Black!”
“Suit?”
“Puppies.”
“Not an option.”
Ein yips dutifully and Ed giggles in agreement. “Puppies! Paws! Noses and toeses.” She presses her fingers into her dimpled cheeks. “Clubs!”
Faye leans back, removing her hand from the card and table. The card shifts slightly and Ed feels relief – it can breathe again.
“Last question, kid.” Faye shuffles the cards, her fingers flying with practiced grace. “What’s the value of the card?”
There are 54 cards in a deck. A deck costs 500 woo. Statistically, the card is worth 9 woolong. Statistically, were Ed to present 167 cards to the ramen man, he should award her soup. He doesn’t though, which means the cards are value-less. Another tricksy question from Faye-Faye.
Ein yips again, a short snuffle-snap.
Faye juts a finger in his direction. “Not you.”
Ed watches as the finger shifts from Ein to Ed. “What’s the number on the card?”
Ed shakes her head. It can’t be the king or the queen or the eight: they’re too far down the pack from the previous shuffle. It can’t be the ten or the nine or the ace: they don’t breathe against the felt. “No number.”
“No number?” Faye shifts. “Is it a letter?”
Ed nods and crushes the cushion beneath her palms for the squish of it. “It’s a jay! Jolly jumping jack, jay!”
Faye flips the card face-up. The Jack of clubs stares back at her.
In perhaps the most excitable state Ed has ever witnessed from Faye, Faye leaps in place and punches the air. “Forget ponies, momma’s got a new card trick.”
Ed claps her hands in solidarity, before pausing as the words sink in. “...But Ed likes ponies.”
The more she visits them, the more Ed determines that casinos aren’t her jam. The lights and smells and sounds and lack of clocks are intentionally overstimulating. To make matters worse, her goggles do nothing to shield from the colors and the outernet connection is terrible.
Thankfully, this time there’s an entire plate of dino-nuggets with her name on it. Ed emits tiny dino-squeals as the breaded-brontosaurs explore broccoli-trees and a honey-mustard pond.
“This,” Faye starts, hefting a portable video-receiver the size of Ein onto their table, “this is the Charon Poker Tournament.”
The fuzzy set of people on the tiny screen sit around circular tables that don’t look much different than the high-resolution set of less-fuzzy people sitting around tables around the cafe. Ed’s not entirely sure why Faye is so enamored with this particular view when there are a multitude of other, more exciting options displayed in the betting-lounge. One row of screens showcase various card tournaments, another shows dominos and tile-games, and another shows dog and horse races.
Ed gapes at the lineup of brightly-colored jockeys and their steeds while Ein snaps a pterodactyl-nugget from a drooping arc.
“Hey!” Faye tinkle-taps her nails against a vaguely human-shaped blob on her screen. “I need you to tell me whether or not this guy is going to win. Got it?”
There are a lot of numbers and shapes on the screen. None of them are horses. “Awh, Ed likes ponies.”
“I know! But they don’t like Faye this week.” Faye pouts, tearing a third packet of sweetener into her drink, which seems weird because it is not Spike’s coffee. “I need you to watch just a couple of rounds, promise. This guy’s an underdog. If I bet on him winning, the prize is gigantic.”
Ed grins wide. “And then we see ponies?”
Faye tips her drink toward both of them. “Kid, you call a couple wins here and we can buy you a pony.”
Ed dances in her seat.
A happy Faye is a spendy Faye!
After the first win, Faye celebrates with cake! Tiny cakes for tiny fingers; blues, and pinks, and whites. Each petit four is decorated with a tiny shape matching the pictures on the cards and each of them are equally delicious. (The puppy-clubs are reserved for Ein, of course.)
The second win is celebrated with drinks! The fizzy bubbles of the bright liquid tickle Ed’s mouth and taunt a sneeze from the back of her nose. (Ein isn’t so lucky – he sneezes thrice after a couple laps!) It’s sugar sweet, however, and they both learn how to drink it without incident.
After each win, Faye’s eyes grow a little brighter and she clutches a betting paddle a little tighter. A collection of empty drinks and spent cigarettes fills the open table spaces around her as her voice pitches to higher and higher octaves. Ed knows she must be doing something right when Faye starts singing.
Unfortunately, after each win, Ed feels a little more restless. The overstimulation of the room and the sugar and the excitement isn’t relieved with the additional drinks or cakes. A tired yawn escapes her noisily, while her fingers card through Ein’s fur.
“Home stretch, kid,” Faye promises, clapping her hands together. “Pay attention, okay? We’re almost done.”
Ed stretches her arms and rolls her ankles, reaching for the dregs of natural energy. There aren’t any clocks in the tiny casino but something nibbles at the back of her brainstem and makes her eyelids heavy.
She can feel her attention drift from screen to screen, around the betting lounge. The screen with the ponies clips through a collage of historical wins – old footage and new footage with excited people and flexing muscles. So many colors–
Ein barks at her side and Ed’s attention snaps back to the table. Faye stares at her expectantly.
“Uhhhh…”
Ed goggles at the screen, trying to absorb every detail she may have missed while her eyes were closed.
The king? The King and queen go dancing down the river and the twos and threes and… diamonds? Diamonds and rivers?
Oh no.
Faye’s fingers click-clack together in sharp repetition. “What’s the verdict, kid?”
Ed bites her lip and hazards a guess. “Lose.”
Ein barks a rebuttal and Ed quickly changes her response: “No! Winner, winner!”
“Which is it, Ed?” Faye asks, thumbs hovering above the betting paddle, ready to bet the house against Ed’s prediction. “Win or lose?”
Ein barks again. Ed stares at the dog, helplessly trying to summon instant-replay footage from the data-dog’s data-banks with nothing but her mind. Was that even possible? Maybe when they get back to the ship, Ed can sync Carrot to Ein and –
“Come on, kid! Clock’s ticking!”
“Win!”
Their fate is sealed with a single thumb-press.
Ed crosses her arms against her stomach and stares at the devastated landscape of petit-four paper-cups and broccoli trees.
“Ein didn’t save the carrots for the ponies,” she bemoans.
Ein licks his chops and rests his head on his paws.
Ed does the same.
When the verdict lands, Faye does not celebrate with snacks or drinks. Instead, she lights a cigarette and lets her head bonk against the back of the headrest. Her arms splay to either side of her seat as she deflates a bit like a ragdoll-cat.
A commercial plays on the tiny television set.
“Faye-Faye? Are we done?”
“Yup. Dead, done, dunzo.” The sigh that escapes Faye’s chest sounds a bit like a whinny. “We had so many golden-eggs lined up that I bet the hen-house.”
Ed fidgets with her napkin and waves away a tendril of smoke. “Ed’s sorry, Faye-Faye.”
“It’s fine. Drinks are comped and no one’s the wiser. It’s fine,” Faye squeaks. “I can work out a better system. Maybe the dog can crunch the numbers and you can translate. Bark once for --”
The tiny television squawks back to life and Faye’s words evaporate behind an announcer’s comments about the starting lineup on the racetrack.
Ein barks and Ed points at the lineup. “Ponies, Faye-Faye?”
“Great plan, kid.” Faye sits up and puts out her cigarette. “Let's go sniff out some winners.”