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

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.'

She gives him a flat look. Though, truth be told, there's something to be said for that kind of a ride. Not that she will ever, ever, ever tell him so to his face. She'll be quite happy if he goes on believing she thinks he's a lech.

(She doesn't. Not really.)

"You do know you're a part of that list, don't you?"

She takes another slow sip, giving herself time to think on an answer to that.

"Ah ... havin' a home. A place that ... no one can take from me. Workin' the stables. Havin' Miss Bar."

That about covers it.

"D'you really not remember a thing 'bout the bar when you go home? Nothin' at all?"

'Nope. Nothin'.'

He doesn't want to think too hard about why she doesn't have a home out here right now. Because all his copper's instinct tells him, if he does think about it, that there's a lot more to the story than taking venegance for Sam. Or if there isn't yet, there will be. And he doesn't want to know. Not yet, at least.

'Soon as I step out, I jus' carry on like I'd never been there. Tha's why I have to stay in the place if I've had a scrap or somethin'. Can't take anythin' out that wasn't there when I came in, or I won' have any clue how it got there.'

And he doesn't want to start thinking he's going mental, or sleepwalking or something, in order to account for bruising. It's important to him that his world's left on an even keel, with him steady at the helm.

'What'd you think of Manchester, when you came?

....and I am not a bloody weirdo.'

As normal a bloke as she'll ever meet. Don't come much more everyday than him.

She chuckles softly.

"Given how often you use your fists I'm surprised y'ever find a moment to go back home at all. You must sneak 'em in between fights."

That would be unsettling, though. Walking out with something and not remembering where it came from, or why. Like living every day in a haze of drunkenness.

"I didn't get t'see very much of it. Just DI Tyler's door before y'knocked it down, and a blur of streets and buildin's before we got to the lot for the drivin' lessons."

Her lips twitch.

"I liked it, though. S'different than any other place I've yet to see. I'm lookin' forward to comin' back."

He shrugs.

'I fight.'

That's all there is to it.

And maybe, if she's watching close, she'll see his eyes soften just a little when he follows up with;

'It's the best place in the world. Better even than here.'

He waxed on to Sam, not long after his arrival, about why he loves it so. But he doesn't think he could explain it like that to a girl. She'd probably get it though. She seems to feel much the same way about this place. Or Green Lake, anyway.

'You probably won' get it, 'cos you're not from there. But I'll show you around anyway.'

"So you do."

She doesn't sound accusatory or disparaging. He fights.

That's all there is to it.

His last comment gets a choked laugh out of her. It's sweet to see the affection in his eyes for the place, so she tries not to take things too personally.

"I guess I'll just hafta take your word for it, then. Though my daddy had a thing or two to say about the places where he grew up."

In other words, Gene won't have to do too much convincing to get her to appreciate Manchester.

"An' you've never lived outside the city?"

He shakes his head briefly, drains his glass, and signals for refills for them both.

'Hardly ever left the city, never mind lived anywhere else.'

This is a bit unusual for the 1970's, but not so much that people of the older generation would raise an eyebrow. Apart from a week's holiday every year to Lytham-St-Anne's - about an hour away - he just doesn't see the need to go anywhere else. He would, if he had reason. But they rarely come up, so he stays put.

'What abou' you? Before the...trouble. You move around much?'

He doubts it, but clarification won't hurt.

"Which trouble?"

She accepts the refill, but dubiously. She's beginning to feel a little light, and a little warm.

"Green Lake?"

She's not entirely certain she told him much about her daddy's farm, come to think of it. She shakes her head.

"I was born in Oklahoma, but I lived most of my life on my family's ranch, just outside of Heyser. Went to New Orleans for school. But other than that, it wasn't until I lost the property that I moved to Green Lake."

'You lost it? How'd you manage that?'

Not the sort of thing you can misplace. But yeah, it can't be easy to be in charge after your only male relative dies, in this day and age. He gets that.

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