the_gene_genie | OOM: Oakville, Texas, 1888. Dinner.

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OOM: Oakville, Texas, 1888. Dinner.

Even by 70s standards, this place is basic. But it looks brilliant to him, because it's real - proper, authentic Old West chairs, and tables; wooden floor and burning candles, and the smell of the desert right outside the door. It'll do him. Anything else just wouldn't be the same.

They're shown to a table and he makes sure to sit opposite her. All very proper. There doesn't seem to be too many other people here, which is good, because he hasn't yet worked out what counts as inappropriate for her, and it'd be all too easy for him to open his big trap and say the wrong thing. All too easy to mess this up, and get her into trouble.

As soon as a waiter comes near, he says, 'Whiskey. Double, no ice. Two of 'em.'

The food can wait until after.

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He's relaxing as soon as he hears the sounds of people having fun - he knows those sounds. Pubs are pubs the world over.

He wants to head straight for the fighting ring, but he's got a lady to entertain. He imagines she'd probably like the dance hall best but, he just can't bring himself to willingly submit to that. Not without a few more drinks inside him, anyway.

So he compromises, and points at the gaming house, with a grin on his face too.

'That one. We can go an' clean 'em out together.'

Her smile only grows.

"Deal."

Ah, to hell with good appearances.

"Buy us some drinks, an' I'll find us a good table?"

'Yep, no problem.'

He gives her hand a brief squeeze once they get through the door, and he lets her go to head in the direction of the bar.

For some reason, he has no doubt at all that she knows a good table when she sees one.

If Gene has any trouble finding her once he comes looking, he only has to follow the sound of laughter.

It looks like roulette is first up tonight, and Kate has already introduced herself to the croupier and a few nearby gentlemen, and played her luck once. She seems to be making friends easy enough, but Gene shouldn't have to worry about that. Once she sees him her eyes keep gravitating his way, and a smile hangs on her lips that isn't wholly manufactured.

It's nice to see her looking at him like that. Even he doesn't miss the way her eyes are pulling towards him, just as his are to her. The uneasiness that arose over finding out her age hasn't entirely gone away, but expressions like that certainly help him ignore the lingering aftermath of it easily enough.

He wanders over, glancing at the men around before holding her drink out to her.

'Any luck?'

"Remarkably."

She beams at him and accepts the glass, sipping daintily.

"They're callin' it 'beginners luck'."

"Everyone has a touch of it," one man remarks, smiling crookedly.

"Well, since the first column served me so well, let's see if we can't make that luck stretch on to the third," Kate hums, placing down her bet.

The American style table is hopefully not so different from something Gene would see in Manchester, save for the double zero wheel.

The smiling man gets a look slightly longer than he might find comfortable, then Gene turns to the table, also sipping his drink. But not daintily. In a manly way.

He doesn't have time to bet on this one, as the wheel is starting to spin, but watches Kate, and then remarks;

'If you win a lot, I'll be expectin' a payrise.'

Women in a casino, and not serving drinks. Weird.

"Don't count on it."

She tips her head back so she can see him, a glint in her eyes.

"You should be content if I win that it'll put me in a good mood."

How good a mood is for Gene — and whomever else might be listening in — to decide.

Oh, that's not fair. There are so many comments he could make! But he can't, because he has to be polite.

Needless to say, she gets a black look. Though if she's looking closely, she'll see the spark in his eyes too.

'When are you not in a good?' He glances at the once-smiling man. 'Regular little ray of sunshine, my boss.'

"It's like there's an echo."

The remark is made with a smile, her eyes on the wheel up until the moment it stops and she lets out a little whoop. She covers her mouth. How unladylike, showing such enthusiasm.

"You have lady luck on your arm tonight, mister," says another gentleman, seeing as Gene put the first quite in his place. "Ready t'place your bet?"

"Don't you forget it, neither."

Kate gives Gene a little nudge, refraining from any remarks on her being his 'boss'. She could easily say something, but she's never quite sure what he'll take seriously, and this is about getting him to relax.

Edited 2011-06-17 00:21 (UTC)

He cashes in twenty bucks for chips, and immediately places three on black seven.

'You have no idea how lucky I feel,' he tells the other guy, his tone dry as the desert outside.

Truth be told, he does. Who else gets an opportunity like this, and with someone like Kate thrown in as well? It's brilliant. But he can't show all that much exuberance; for one, he's supposed to be subordinate to a woman, and for another, Gary Cooper was never a grinning ball of joy.

'As for you,' he tells her, flicking his eyes sideways, 'just you concentrate on bein' lucky. Then you can get the next round in.'

"Whatever you say, Mr. Hunt."

She splits her bet between two numbers: 14 and 17.

"Y'know, technically I could claim a percentage of your winnings."

Beat.

"That is, if there are any."

Smirk.

'Got you on my arm, don' I?'

He doesn't look at her, but she might recognise the telltale signs of a smirk pulling at the corner of hs mouth.

'Accordin' to the fella there, that means I'm gettin' lucky tonight.'

Couldn't resist that one.

'You do your job, I'll see you right.'

Well, now he's the one who ain't being fair! She can't make the retort dancing on her tongue, or even allow an answering smirk. Gene's about as subtle as a kick between the legs, and a few of the men around the table are taking a second look. So, Kate answers the only way she can.

She laughs.

"I'm sure you will," she lilts, touching his arm. What looks like a joking nudge is really a subtle pinch to the fatty part of his arm, where it will hurt the most.

"Let's get that wheel spinnin', shall we? I'm enjoyin' this."

The previous spin, while they were talking, landed on another win for Kate. Gene is looking at the table accusingly, as though it's deliberately mocking him. Though when it comes down to placing bets again, he does put a couple of bucks on her number, as well as spreading a few more over the black numbers.

'You never played this before?'

He doesn't know whether he's surprised or not. She seems worldly enough that she should have, but perhaps she's never been in a town where she could safely go on her own before.

"I don't frequent bettin' halls when I'm at home, Mr. Hunt."

Which isn't exactly a 'no', but it's a better story for these Texas gentleman to overhear than mentioning how all she knows about gambling outside of cards she learned from her friend Alice Cullen-Whitlock, a vampire from the future.

Another spin of the wheel, and another win for Kate. And Gene, since he was betting intelligently this time around.

"Yeehaw," she laughs. "I guess I will be pickin' up the next round of drinks."

'Go on, then,' he says, having just tipped the contents of his glass down his throat.

It doesn't sound as sour as it would have done if he hadn't followed her lead. Because, well. He just won too.

'Mine's a double.'

Beat.

'But spin again first.'

And yep, he'll be spreading his bets again, but also betting on her number too. He's not stupid.

She takes his empty glass and shoots him a slow-burning look, playfulness tugging at the corner of her mouth.

"Want me to blow on your chip while I'm at it?"

She appraises the layout seriously and lays down a six line bet, giving the croupier a brilliant smile.

"Go on, honey."

As the wheel starts spinning she moves past Gene, and quietly says:

"If you get lonesome, y'know where to find me. I trust you t'watch my winnin's."

While she's appraising the layout, he leans in close on the pretence of putting a chip down, so he can mutter in her ear, 'Wouldn' say no,' in such a way that there really can be little doubt as to what he means.

And then he's straightening, and hopeful too, seeing as she doesn't say anything or give him one of her looks, and then follows up with that.

He does, indeed, know where to find her. And she wins again, the lucky cow. He has another bet in her absence and loses, and then starts looking to where she got to - but it's blatantly just an excuse to go and talk to her where people can't overhear every word. So, one more bet - which he loses, again - and then he's picking up both their chips (totally tips the dealer from her pile) and wanders over to the bar.

'Reckon drinks are on you for the rest of the night. You won again.'

She wasn't entirely expecting him to come over, so there's no need for her to force the mild surprise on her face when he appears at her side. She grins brightly given the news, and makes to trade Gene's double for her stack of chips.

"...Funny, I thought there'd be more chips than this."

She narrows her eyes at him, but the vestiges of her grin aren't easily chased from her lips.

'You accusin' me of stealin' your winnings?'

How very rude.

'Only tipped him a dollar from it.'

"No."

She snickers, and shakes her head.

"Just teasin' you, is all. I'm in no disposition t'be greedy."

She eyes him over the lip of her glass, taking her dear, sweet time before she sets the whiskey down and swallows.

"I think this is the point in the evenin' where we're supposed to ask each other all kinds of questions. Like, 'what's your favorite color?' and 'Describe your ideal night'."

He eyes her right back, his face unchanging while she speaks. And there's a long pause afterwards, while he attempts to come up with a suitable response to that.

'Do you really care what my favourite colour is, or what my ideal night goes like?'

Though when it comes down to it, there's something to be dais for convention, even though he's never asked a bird those two questions in his life.

'...I don' have a favourite colour. I'm not six. Though I s'pose I could say Man City's strip colour - sky blue. An' as for my ideal night, somethin' like this isn' far off. Come up with a football match for me, an' it'd be perfect.'

Good steak, gambling, whiskey, the real Old West - what could be better? Oh yeah; being on a promise. And he reckons he's pretty much there on that score too.

'G'on then. Your turn.'

"Those were the first questions that sprang t'mind. Take it easy; I'm new at this."

And she had been partially sarcastic. She gently nudges his elbow, interested in his answers all the same. She just manages to catch herself from asking what 'Man City' is as a previous conversation floods suddenly to mind, and she's pleased that tonight seems to be going well in his estimation.

"Do you care about my answers?" she shoots right back, teasing him. "I ain't sure. Blue, I suppose. Deep Texas sky blue. An' I'm rather fond of tonight, as it stands. That aside, I appreciate a good midnight ride."

Beat.

"On a horse."

Just in case he was thinking of something different.

"Why don't you think of somethin' this time?"

He's smirking anyway, long before she adds the 'on a horse' caveat. Predictably.

'Midnight ridin's a favourite of mine too.'

Beat.

'Not on a horse.'

Because there was obviously going to be some doubt.

'Alrigh' then...' shit, he's always been useless at this sort of thing. He's more likely to come up with something lewd, or something too searching, that'll spoil the mood, '...favourite thing about Milliways, apart from all the weirdos you hang aroun' with.'

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