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“A shipyard,” she says, when pressed for an answer, and it’s one given with a dreamy, wistful smile. “That’s what I’m savin’ up for. My own shipyard. So unless the sun decides to explode again…”
Everyone at the table raps their knuckles sharply against the wood.
“…people are always gonna be needin’ boats, and boat services. Job security, yeah?” she finishes with a grin.
…no, you can’t argue with that logic. The Cataclysm had certainly put things into perspective, as well as redefining wholesale the term of “critical workers”. You yourself are no exception to this rule.
But once dinner ends, trays and plates are cleared away. From her breast pocket, Holt produces a deck of cards.
“You’re in luck, Unami,” she says as the rest of her crew moves to shuffle around tables and chairs. “It’s game night, and we need an extra player.”
You quirk an eyebrow. “What’re we playing?”
“Poker.”
The quirk becomes a frown. “…sounds risky.”
Holt rolls her eyes. “If we were playin’ for money, it would be. But we ain’t. Seen firsthand how things turn ugly when money’s involved.”
<span class="mu-i">“…it’s too much, Sinleq! We don’t have that kind of money for both of them…”</span>
“If not money,” you slowly begin, “Then what’s on the table?”
A blue, plastic bag is dangled in front of your eyes. The multi-colored contents within bounce with every shake. “Somethin’ far more valuable than money.”
“…a packet of fruit snacks,” you deadpan after a cautious sniff.
“Packets,” she corrects you, “And straight from a lovely lil’ candy store in Upper Garden. First bag’s free to try. But after that, you gotta get your own.”
Perhaps it’s the expectant looks, or the tone of Holt’s voice that compels you to try one. Popping a cherry-shaped candy into your mouth…actually not half bad. Good, you’d even dare to say. There’s definitely a sort of sickeningly sweet aftertaste that gets stuck in the back of your throat, but it goes away with an orange-shaped gummy.
“They’re pretty good,” you admit.
Holt grins. “Yeah, ain’t they? Way better than gamblin' for MRE’s.”
You’d beg to severely disagree. During some of the stormier seasons out on the Duck, suddenly all of the Roughnecks became food critics and spontaneously developed preferences. As well as an aversion to the dreaded onions-grown veggie burger, and the unholy abomination that was the sequenced chicken protein.
But mac and chili, meatball in marinara Sauce, maple sausage...dear God. The betting got even fiercer than folks anteing up money in underground, unsanctioned rings you absolutely know nothing about. You’d fight an entire goon squad of Pierces', Shannon’s and McDonald’s just for a day’s worth of all of ‘em. Better yet, that elusive packet of blue raspberry powder that makes scurvy-be-gone taste far more palatable.
(cont.)
