The Round Tables

[Administrator]

Here is where the round tables are. Not many sit at them, but they do sometimes.

[Blackjack]

BlackJack shuffled a deck of cards, counting them as he shuffled. The count was up thirteen now, but he kept looking up. Newsies would be coming tonight, and he had Medda help him find a giant round table so that he and others could play blackjack. He, sadly, wouldn't be playing. He was going to deal, that way he could spot out cheaters... and so he could call Race out when he cheated. BlackJack liked annoying Race, it was fun. And it was totally legitimate that he could. Maybe he could also find out what was going on in the war for Jack and Spot...

He shook his head. Harlem wouldn't come here, not where it was dangerous for them. Spot and Jack had made that clear. Anyone could see it! But BlackJack couldn't help but wonder who would come tonight. Queens, Brooklyn and Manhattan for sure, but what about Bronx? Queenie was crazy, and she generally didn't come during war, but he still couldn't believe her coming here. He kept shuffling to keep himself from getting nervous. Medda said he could use the table, but he still had to wait for people.

[Bear]

Bear sauntered down the sidewalks in his usual laid back gait, his hat tipped up on his forehead and his navy suspenders in place, bringing out the blue in his eyes. He scanned the Manhattan streets and breathed in the air, before letting it all out grinning. Well it definitely wasn't Brooklyn but it had its perks. Good ol' 'Hattan. It had been a while since he last walked these streets, but he was always greeted warmly, maybe not by the hoity toities, but Manhattan was kind to Bear.

He was well, excited. When you were a bird, there wasn't always the most time to socialize. You had to do less talking and more listening, not that Bear was much of a chatterbox. But a good party, a good card game, that would be a treat. He just hoped at some point Spot would show up. He needed a break. He needed to relax, at least for an hour. It wouldn't hurt.

As the theater emerged in the distance as he turned the corner, Bear whistled to himself. Irving Hall always amazed him, how large and fancy it was, yet somehow so homey and cheery at the same time. He made his way through the backdoor, poking through the curtains and stopped to kick at one of the ropes, before walking across backstage, he found the large table, set up already, just waiting for some newsies to have some well deserved good times. Spotting BlackJack, a subtle grin lit up Bear's face, a twinkle in his eyes.

"Well if it ain't the round table. You don't look much like King Aurthur, sorry ta say." He chuckled and leaned against a chair, hoping the others would soon arrive. He always ended up being early for everything.

[Blackjack]

"Well if it ain't the round table. You don't look much like King Aurthur, sorry ta say."

BlackJack chuckled, "How are ya, Bear? Been a while since I saw you in this neck of the woods," shuffling the deck one last time, the count was now plus seven, he looked over at Bear, "Care to play?" before he could answer he dealt the cards. His were a seven and a two, and he knew Bear's was a queen and a two. "Wanna hit or stay?" Blackjack was his game, and his name. It was what he had in life to get money besides newspapers.
He should of tried getting into a casino, he could play for the cash and wipe the casino clean. BlackJack thought of all the possiblities.

He could pay for his mother's medical bills, for lodging, he could buy a house with a butler. And it would all be for doing something he loved. That is, if he never got caught. Maybe if he continued, he could win it all. But BlackJack wasn't THAT lucky. He never would, that's why he counted cards. He counted to win, not to lose. Oh the joys of winning.

BlackJack laughed to himself, a the thought of Racetrack trying to beat him. That would be a site.