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Caleb smiled faintly. "That'll do just fine." He counted out five dollars, laid them on the table, and received a small stack of chips in return. The dealer, a clean shaven man with sharp eyes and steady hands,nnodded as Caleb took the last empty seat. The game began.
The table was filled with the kind of men who had money but not necessarily sense. Their clothes were too fine, their drinks too strong, and their confidence too loud. That made them predictable. Caleb settled in, his Poker Skill humming subtly in the back of his mind, sharpening his instincts, reading posture, eyes, and tone.
The first few rounds, he played it safe, winning a few small hands, losing others deliberately, just enough to keep attention off himself. The players laughed louder each round, their voices rising with the drinks, and Caleb played along, smiling, making idle small talk, never giving too much away.
By the tenth hand, he started pressing, small raises, controlled bluffs, and slow pressure.
An hour in, he'd tripled his chips.
The man to his left, the one with the waistcoat, leaned forward, scowling. "You've got a hell of a poker face, mister."
Caleb grinned, leaning back casually. "Just lucky, I suppose. Cards fall how they fall."
But they didn't. Not for him. He'd memorized every tell, every twitch. The man across from him, a balding merchant type, scratched his ear every time he bluffed. The banker with the cigar always chewed the end when he had a strong hand. It was almost too easy.
When the next round started, the pot grew massive, nearly 126 dollars on the table. The tension tightened. A few of the patrons both man and woman had gathered nearby to watch, drawn by the sound of chips stacking higher.
The cards hit the felt it was King of Hearts, Ten of Spades, Seven of Clubs.
Caleb's hand was King and Ten. Two pair.
The banker smiled slyly. "Raise. Twenty."
The man in the waistcoat groaned but matched it. Caleb just smirked and leaned forward. "Raise another ten."
The banker's eyebrows twitched. "Feelin' bold, are we?"
"Just enjoyin' the game," Caleb replied smoothly.
The final card hit the table, it was a Ten of Hearts. Full house.
Caleb stayed perfectly still, letting his expression remain neutral. The banker pushed all his chips forward, practically sneering. "All in."
The room seemed to pause, the background music dimming under the weight of tension. Caleb met his gaze for a long moment, then shrugged casually. "Call."
When the cards were shown, the banker's grin faltered. He had a straight. Not enough.
Caleb laid down his hand showing that it was a King over Tens, full house.
A murmur rippled through the crowd.
"Well," Caleb said quietly, raking in the pot. "Reckon luck's still on my side."
The banker exhaled, forcing a laugh. "You're a dangerous man at the poker table, Mister McLaughlin."
Caleb smiled faintly, stacking the chips with slow precision. "I've been called worse."
The night carried on like that, hand after hand, win after win, until the crowd began to thin. Caleb didn't break his streak, though he kept it just modest enough to avoid suspicion. By the time the saloon clock struck midnight, he'd made over quite the winning sum, which was 347 dollars.
Satisfied, he tipped the dealer a generous 5 dollar chip and laugh. "Good game, gentlemen. Drinks are on me next time." A few laughed, others grumbled, but all nodded respect.
Meanwhile the entire saloon erupted in thunderous cheers the moment Caleb come out as the winner of the last round. Bottles slapped against tables, glasses clinked, applause, and laughter filled the smoke tinged air.
The poker match had been intense, the kind that drew everyone in, working girls, merchants, travelers, and local regulars alike. Most had taken sides by the final round, and when Caleb revealed his full house, the crowd had almost jumped from their seats.
The piano man struck up a triumphant tune just for the occasion, his fingers dancing across the keys as if to announce that a king had just been crowned at the table.
"Hell of a game, mister!" someone shouted from the back.
"Cleaned that banker good!" another voice added.
Caleb simply smiled, the corner of his lips twitching upward as the excitement washed over him. He wasn't the type to boast or make a scene, his victories were quiet, measured, and the kind that made men nervous.
Still, it felt good. After days of travel, tension, and plotting, the weight of that 347 dollars in chips sitting in front of him brought a comforting sense of security, to which he immediately exchange it for cash to the dealer and put inside his satchel.
As the cheering grew louder and merrier, a group of the saloon's working girls drifted toward him like moths to a lantern flame in the middle of the night. Their perfume mixed with the scent of whiskey and cigar smoke, sweet, heavy, and alluring. Their eyes alight with the prospect of a wealthy, handsome winner.
"Well now, sugar," one of them purred, leaning down beside his chair while playing with his hair. "Looks like Lady Luck's been mighty kind to you tonight."
Another brushed her hand lightly against his shoulder. "Ain't right for a handsome man to celebrate alone."
A third giggled softly while lightly massage his arm. "You look like you could use some company after such a big win."
"Let me buy you a drink to celebrate, honey," another said, leaning in close to his cheek.
Caleb gave a quiet chuckle, lifting his hands slightly as if in surrender. "Ladies, I surely do appreciate the attention, really, I do," he said, his voice warm but final. "But tonight, I reckon I'll be celebratin' with a full plate and a quiet corner. Been a long night and want to enjoy it nice and slow."
His politeness softened the rejection, but the girls still exchanged disappointed glances but didn't press him again. One of them pouted playfully before giving his arm a light squeeze. "Suit yourself, cowboy. Maybe next time."
"Maybe," he said with a soft smile.
As they drifted away, the saloon's energy slowly returned to its usual rhythm, cards shuffling, boots scraping, and laughter echoing through the haze. The pianist struck up another lively tune as Caleb exhaled a long breath and rose from his chair, stretching slightly before heading toward the bar.
Ezra, the bartender, was waiting for him with that familiar sharp grin and calm eyes that missed nothing. "Well now," he said, polishing a glass. "Looks like you had yourself one hell of a night at the poker table, Mister McLaughlin. Heard the crowd all the way from here."
Caleb chuckled, resting an elbow on the counter. "Got some good hands tonight. And maybe a little luck to go with it. Guess that teacher I had back west taught me right." It was a vague enough truth to be believable.
Ezra smirked. "That so? I'd say whoever they were, they did more than alright. You cleaned 'em out proper."
Caleb just shrugged, his expression modest. "Just played the cards as they fell in my hand."
"Uh huh," Ezra said knowingly. "So what'll it be for the champ of the night?"
Caleb thought for a second, then said, "Bottle of beer, a plate of that Lobster Bisque you got cookin', and one of that Prime Rib plates I saw on the menu earlier. Heard good things about both."
Ezra let out a low whistle. "Now that's a meal fit for a man who just cleaned house. A very good choice. All that's gonna run you 8 dollars and 50 cents, mister."
Caleb reached into his coat, pulled out a neat stack of bills, and placed them on the counter without hesitation. "Worth every money spent, a man's gotta eat."
Ezra's eyes gleamed in amusement as he took the money. "Alright then, I'll get that sent to the kitchen. Beer's will be coming ring right this second."
He reached down and grabbed a bottle, popped the top off with a quick flick of his wrist, and slid it across the polished wood. "Here you go. I'll have your food brought to your table when it's ready."
"Appreciate it," Caleb said with a chuckle, catching the bottle neatly.
He turned, scanning the saloon until he spotted an empty table near the far wall, where the candlelight burned soft and golden. Taking his seat, he leaned back, letting the chair creak slightly as he sipped his beer. The first swallow hit cold and clean, and he sighed through his nos, the kind of sigh that came after a day well spent.
As Caleb waited for his meal and he had just begun to relax, when suddenly two familiar figures approached from across the room. Both were dressed in fine clothes, waistcoats pressed and ties immaculate, the same kind of upper class men who'd played with him at the poker table earlier.
"Evenin', gentlemen," Caleb said as they stopped before his table. "Somethin' I can help you with?"
The older of the two, a broad shouldered man with a well kept mustache, waved a hand dismissively. "Oh, no, not at all. We're not here to ask favors, Mister McLaughlin. Just thought we'd join you, if you don't mind."
Without waiting for a real answer, they both slid into the seats opposite him. The younger one, sharp jawed, slick haired, eyes bright with curiosity, leaned forward with a grin. "We were talkin' after the game. Thought you might be the kind of man interested in certain… opportunities."
Caleb's interest was immediately piqued. Information was the currency he valued most in this city. He leaned forward, his expression open and curious, setting his beer down in the table. "Is that so? I'm always interested in new opportunities."
The older man chuckled. "Fair enough. Name's Franklin Hodge. This here's my associate, Louis Parker."
"Pleasure," Caleb said, shaking their hands in turn.
Hodge then continued his words with a smile. ""You've got quite the knack for cards, Mister McLaughlin. Word travels fast in places like this. There's an opportunity that comes around every so often for men like you, a chance to make real money, and not just in this saloon."
Caleb tilted his head. "Go on."
Louis's grin widened. "The Grand Korrigan. You heard of her?"
The name hit Caleb like a hammer to the ribs. For half a heartbeat, he froze, the faintest flicker of alarm behind his calm eyes. The Grand Korrigan.
A lavish riverboat that floated along the Lemoyne waterways, glittering with lights and money. Dutch's bright idea. The start of a chain reaction that would bring the Pinkertons right to their doorstep and bleed the gang's luck dry.
He hid his reaction quickly, exhaling softly as if thinking it over. "Can't say I have," he lied. "Sounds fancy, though."
"Oh, it is," Franklin said, his chest swelling with pride. "The finest damn vessel this side of the Mississippi. Every week or two, it hosts a night of high stakes gaming, poker, roulette, blackjack, you name it. The best of Saint Denis society come to play. Merchants, bankers, nobles, even a few senators' sons when they're in town."
Louis leaned closer, voice lowering conspiratorially. "It's invite only. Exclusive. The kind of place a man can make or lose a fortune in a single night. And with the kind of skill you showed earlier? You'd fit right in."
Caleb leaned back, eyes narrowing slightly in thought. "Well, sounds temptin'. But if it's as exclusive as you say, I reckon the entry fee ain't cheap."
...
Name: Caleb Thorne
Age: 23
Body Attributes:
- Strength: 7/10
- Agility: 7/10
- Perception: 8/10
- Stamina: 7/10
- Charm: 6/10
- Luck: 8/10
Skills:
- Handgun (Lvl 4)
- Rifle (Lvl 4)
- Firearms Knowledge (Lvl 4)
- Past Life Memory (Lvl MAX)
- Knife (Lvl 3)
- Blunt Weapon (Lvl 1)
- Sneaking (Lvl 3)
- Horse Mastery (Lvl 4)
- Poker (Lvl 4)
- Hand to Hand Combat (Lvl 3)
- Eagle Eye (Lvl 1)
- Dead Eye (Lvl 3)
- Bow (Lvl 2)
- Pain Nullifier (Lvl 2)
- Physical Regeneration (Lvl 1)
- Crafting (Lvl 3)
- Persuasion (Lvl 3)
- Mental Fortitude (Lvl MAX)
- Cooking (Lvl 4)
- Teaching (Lvl 2)
- Germanic Language Proficiency (Lvl MAX)
- Inventory System (Permanent - 10x10x10)
- Acting (Lvl 3)
- Alcohol Resistance (Lvl MAX)
- Treasure Hunter (Lvl MAX)
Money: 2,146 dollars and 46 cents
Inventory: 104,021 dollars and 22 cents, 7 gold nuggets, 58 gold bars, 7 silver rings, 1 Double Action, 1 Schofield, 2 large bags of jewelry, 5 gold rings, 5 silver rings, 6 silver pocket watches, 3 silver buckles, 3 gold buckles, 1 gold pocket compass, 2 platinum pocket watches, 2 Colm's Schofields, and land deed (Parcel)
Bank: -