Pyotr, dressed in 21st century clothes from a local secondhand store, is just sitting down to play cards when Zerxus enters the bar. Good Lord. Is he stalking him? Of course he is. The idea was probably to wait until port, hoping to catch him relaxed and with his guard down.
Well, it's not going to happen—he doesn't ever relax—but he may as well act the part, especially since it's similar to the one he was playing anyway. He takes a long sip of his drink and cheerfully waves him over, grinning with slightly unfocused eyes.
"Hey, it's you! Hey, how is it that we never talked since that time on deck?" That's just to throw him off, but he looks earnest. "I never did thank you for that, did I? This guy saved my life!" He waves his arms as the two men across watch with growing impatience. "I've got to buy you a drink," he cheerfully prattles. "Do you want to play with us? It's poker."
Zerxus isn't exactly fashionable, but his outfit is at least less conspicuous than a full suit of armour. There's nothing he can do about the horns, of course; hopefully the Barge is either making them invisible or convincing people that's definitely just a normal mutation going on.
He wasn't looking for Pyotr specifically, but he is trying to keep an eye on inmates in general; he pivots towards him immediately after that first sweeping glance of the bar, which handily bolsters the assumption. He's successfully thrown off, too, at least for a moment, expression shifting from bafflement to exasperation to . Okay, fine, if they're doing this -
"I'm not much of a player myself, but I'll definitely take that drink." Zerxus manages to sound casual, if not quite cheerful. He's trying not to think about trailing along after Nydas when they were young, arguing with him about cheating but backing him up every time, so obviously he does.
He steals a chair from another table, sliding it close enough to Pyotr that he can pull off a few tricks of his own.
Pyotr's smile never wavers. Zerxus' slightly ambiguous answer is close enough to a 'yes,' so he gestures animatedly for the dealer to include them both. It's easier to cheat with two people, so while the sudden appearance of another player has raised some suspicion, it's also a stroke of luck—for a couple different reasons, annoying as it is to be followed like a child who can't be left unchaperoned.
Well, being treated that way is just part of the reality of his situation. Better to get used to it and make the best of it.
"What do you like to drink? I'll buy us all another round." It's a worthy investment, if it puts the other men at ease and gets them drunker. He'll make some mindless chit-chat, fish for more interesting information about what's going on in the city, and let them win at first.
Meanwhile, he'll count cards and the first Ace he gets is going straight up his sleeve.
It's an art he perfected mainly through evenings in taverns with Stavrogin, helping the aristocrat cheat. Those are bitter memories, given Stavrogin's betrayal, but he isn't about to let Stavrogin ruin the pleasure of scamming people.
Port.
Well, it's not going to happen—he doesn't ever relax—but he may as well act the part, especially since it's similar to the one he was playing anyway. He takes a long sip of his drink and cheerfully waves him over, grinning with slightly unfocused eyes.
"Hey, it's you! Hey, how is it that we never talked since that time on deck?" That's just to throw him off, but he looks earnest. "I never did thank you for that, did I? This guy saved my life!" He waves his arms as the two men across watch with growing impatience. "I've got to buy you a drink," he cheerfully prattles. "Do you want to play with us? It's poker."
Re: Port.
He wasn't looking for Pyotr specifically, but he is trying to keep an eye on inmates in general; he pivots towards him immediately after that first sweeping glance of the bar, which handily bolsters the assumption. He's successfully thrown off, too, at least for a moment, expression shifting from bafflement to exasperation to . Okay, fine, if they're doing this -
"I'm not much of a player myself, but I'll definitely take that drink." Zerxus manages to sound casual, if not quite cheerful. He's trying not to think about trailing along after Nydas when they were young, arguing with him about cheating but backing him up every time, so obviously he does.
He steals a chair from another table, sliding it close enough to Pyotr that he can pull off a few tricks of his own.
Re: Port.
Well, being treated that way is just part of the reality of his situation. Better to get used to it and make the best of it.
"What do you like to drink? I'll buy us all another round." It's a worthy investment, if it puts the other men at ease and gets them drunker. He'll make some mindless chit-chat, fish for more interesting information about what's going on in the city, and let them win at first.
Meanwhile, he'll count cards and the first Ace he gets is going straight up his sleeve.
It's an art he perfected mainly through evenings in taverns with Stavrogin, helping the aristocrat cheat. Those are bitter memories, given Stavrogin's betrayal, but he isn't about to let Stavrogin ruin the pleasure of scamming people.