Quoted By:
>Back in black(jack)
"Well," you say, "I mean... this is Lester's gift shop. And both of you are claiming to be Lester. Am I getting this right?"
"iT's noT ThaT haRd," Lester Six scoffs. "im cLEaRLy—"
"Yeah, but he's saying the same thing. It sounds like you need to..." You wave a hand. "Work this shit out, you know. Settle it once and for all. It's a no-brainer, right? The real Lester will kick the fake Lester's ass, everyone will see it, victory will be yours forever. Done."
"WELL OBVIOUSLY. BUT IN WHAT."
It comes out of your mouth before you think of the consequences. "I don't give a shit. Blackjack?"
And then it's decided. The Lesters fail to pick up on your utter disinterest, or possibly this only amplifies their enthusiasm: it's a sign your defeats have demoralized you, or whatever. Actually, the only thing demoralizing you is the prospect of spending even more hours of your goddamn life playing blackjack, a game you can now only dimly remember enjoying. And you can't just launch into it, can you? You have to go through it one-on-one, because #4 doesn't know it and #6 has probably forgotten everything. God fucking dammit. And you thought playing with card-counter Eloise was bad.
But you can't piss them off! Canceling now would piss them off. You would <span class="mu-i">like</span> to piss either or both Lesters off: it's difficult to <span class="mu-i">hate</span> the things, since they're plainly faulty, but they've engendered zero fucking fondness from you. But Pat apparently trusts one of them enough to "supervise," and you have no doubt in your mind that she'll be hearing back. And pissing <span class="mu-i">Pat</span> off means a one-way ticket to getting shot in the head or stuck back in the snake or worse.
So blackjack it is. Sometimes you just gotta suck it up.
>Your GRIT is: Moderate
It helps to reframe it as not being blackjack: the card sliding and flipping and shuffling as just shit to do with your hands. (One benefit of dealing.) You devote your attention instead to the careful teasing out of information, something which starts— as it often does— with copious amounts of flattery. Frankly unbelievable amounts of flattery. So much flattery a regular human being would be smacking you in the face about now, but both Lesters eat it up like fucking kelp crisps. You inform each one in turn that you knew on first sighting it was the real Lester, that you're shocked and appalled the other has the audacity to claim that name for its own, because you just noticed all these Lestery traits... handsomeness, wit, charm, blackjack prowess, and so on and so forth. And you're sorry you have to put them through this tedious re-teaching (yeah, Lester Six has forgotten half of it), you know it's humiliating, but it's really just for show, so the stupid Fake Lester doesn't get... blah blah blah blah blah. You're not listening to yourself. You're busy trick-shuffling.
>Lester(s)'s TRUST is: Mostly Trusting
(1/3)
