It was sort of a pet project of hers, this con. Nothing that she devoted a large amount of time to, but Leyla liked to keep it in her back pocket. She had been discussing a possible business arrangement with a drug lord on the dark side of town. It had taken a while to gain enough trust to even get to meet the man, and his choice of venue was less than creative.

A smoky back room card game, a single bare light bulb hanging over the table. If she wasn't working, she'd laugh at the cliche. Players were shuffling in and out, none of them looking particularly respectable, and all of them looking like trouble. It was a crowd she both detested and fit in with all too well.

Sitting two seats away from the man she was meeting, Leyla dutifully suppressed her frustration. She had thought she'd be talking business with him, but apparently he had just wanted some face time. At the end of the round, he stood and announced his departure, walked over, and shook her hand, slipping her a scrap of paper. Without batting an eye, she tucked it into her purse and turned back to the game.

She was still pissed off about the supposed meeting. Taking these morons for all they were worth would put her in a better mood, she hoped.

Jirou had been playing this game since he was a just a little kid. The only differences between then and now was the age of the players the fact that they were playing for money and not baseball cards. It was just as easy now as it was back then.

He had kept quiet for most of the game, watching each and every face that sat down at the table. Every so often he'd intentionally throw a hand as a means of enticing people to both stay and waste their money, and to try and draw out those harder to reach tells.

As the night drew on, people came and went, and by the time the long haired brunette strolled in, there wasn't a single player left from the start of the game. That is, except for him. He looked around at the chips and cash each player had accrued over the course of the game.

He chanced a glance at his watch. That brunette was still at the table, and she was vicious. She knew the game well, and at the pace she was knocking out the competition, this game would be over too soon for Jirou's liking.

He eyed the man that had been sitting next to him as he stood up and called it quits. He'd been blowing bets all night, and was definitely a big spender. He watched as he made his way over to the brunette, casually handing her a note. He didn't know what it was all about, he really didn't much care, though he still made a note of it.

He adjusted his fedora as the dealer handed out the cards. His eyes settling on the brunette as she smoked her cigarette.

"You know those things will kill ya, right?"

As her focus was allowed to turn more fully to the game, she started sizing up each player individually, a cigarette perched delicately between two fingers. Most of them were regular players, but amateurs compared to her. Rich guys with too much time on their hands. That Asian kid, though...she gave him a good glance over. He was hard to read. She thought he would remain inscrutable for the whole game, until he spoke to her.

>>"You know those things will kill ya, right?"<<

Leyla laughed derisively and arched her neck back to blow smoke toward the ceiling. She made no effort to conceal her accent. She found it intimidated some in these situations. "This is the thing with you Americans. So worry for what your neighbor does." She tapped the cigarette against her ashtray. "Maybe Americans care more for their own self, they will not be so fat." She cast a meaningful glance toward an overweight man a few seats down.

Jirou chuckled as he heard the brunette speak for the first time. She was toying with everybody at that table, like a cat holding a mouse in its claws. And everybody was letting it happen, except him. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the portly man sitting next to him turn a bright shade of red. He began to push more cash to the center of the table. He'd be gone in the next few hands.

He decided to throw the hand and fold. He reclined in his chair as he examined the woman in front of him. She reminded him of a black widow, a man eater. He'd have to be careful with this one.

"Oh I couldn't care less what my neighbor does." he sat there, waiting to see her move. There were only four of them at the table now, which meant if he was going to have any hope of figuring this woman out, he'd have to pay close attention to the next few hands.

"It's just you seem a bit out of place here, and I can't help but pry."

Her lips quirked upwards in marginal amusement at the fat man's embarassment. This was getting far too easy. At least the kid posed some challenge.

<<"Oh I couldn't care less what my neighbor does.">>

"You should not," she said, nodding toward the balding man beside him. "My guess, he has a pair of threes, no more." The man fixed a glare on her and tossed his cards onto the table.

<<"It's just you seem a bit out of place here, and I can't help but pry.">>

Leyla raised a condescending eyebrow at him. "I can say the same to you. You are just a child, I think." She waved a careless hand. "But your kind all look as children." Leyla knew that Americans were more sensitive about things like race, but she found it absurd and refused to curb herself toward political correctness.

He watched as the bald man to his left threw his cards down. She could certainly call them out, that was for sure. He permitted a smile as he reached up and pulled down the tip of his fedora. He brushed off the half-hearted insult at his ancestry. He'd heard worse as a child.

He watched as the bald man gathered his belongings and left the table, easily still fuming about the hand. That left only three; the fat man, the brunette, and himself. Oh, and a generous amount of cash still on the table.

"And I'm guessing you probably have nothing more than an ace high in your hand." he stared at her and smirked. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed a look of glee in the fat man's eyes. He could tell he had bought the lie hook line and sinker. The only question now was whether or not she had something better than that portly fellows straight.

He guessed it was a flush.

Leyla narrowed her eyes, studying him for a careful moment before allowing the corner of her mouth to twitch up just slightly. He would catch it, the morons would not.

Leaning back in her seat, she made a restrained show of looking offended. "Of course not," she snapped. She took one last drag on her cigarette before stubbing it out in her ashtray. "So what do I call you, little boy?" she asked, feigning disinterest.

Leyla would play his little game. It was a good one, and judging by their mark's reaction, an easy one. Maybe he'd be good for a grift or two. This meeting might not have been a total waste of time.

She knew what he was doing, which meant he was right. The only other person left at the table on the, other hand, didn't have a clue as to how hopeless his situation was.

Jirou frowned as he saw their last remaining opponent push what was left in his possession to the center of the table. He glanced between the brunette and the husky gentleman. He turned his cards face up. A simple straight. It was certainly a strong hand. Stronger than the one Jirou'd had, but the subtle tell the woman let slip told him this game would soon be between the two of them.

"I'd prefer to save the pleasantries until after the game." he stared back at her. Waiting for her to reveal her hand. He was curious how her game plan would change when it was a one on one game.

She pressed her lips together to suppress a smile. The Asya wasn't stupid, that was clear, but she was betting he couldn't match her for ruthlessness. Few could. "As you like," she agreed, tracing a finger along the edge of her cards. "To me, the game is the pleasantry."

With a wicked grin, she set out her cards. A flush, queen-high. The fatty gave a moan of defeat, slumping forward with his head in his hands. She sat back and lit another cigarette. "Now, to see what you have got."

As the last opponent left the table, his tail tucked firmly between his fat and chubby legs, Jirou's stare never left his remaining opponent's figure. She was certainly good, and no doubt a vicious predator. Behind that smile and thick accent, he knew there lurked something uncontrollable and dangerous. Something that would take more than just his own skill to beat. A helluva lot of luck sure wouldn't hurt.

He grabbed the deck and began to shuffle the cards, leaning back into his chair, relaxing and weighing his odds. He shuffled the deck carefully, adding a few tricks for a bit of flair, and for his own amusement. It was an act of posturing, really. He wanted to see how she would react to somebody challenging her that was more than capable of handling himself. He made sure to keep his eye on her the entire time.

"Since it is just you and me now, I suppose it wouldn't hurt for me to introduce myself. Call me Jirou." he set the deck down on the table for her to cut. "And who might you be?"

At his name, she barked out a laugh, putting her hand over her mouth to muffle it. Almost as quickly, she regained her composure, falling into a smirk of amusement. "Yours is an unfortunate name where I come from."

Though his showmanship with the card piles did not escape her notice, she refused to be distracted by it. Her eyes stayed fixed on his face, analyzing to some extent, but primarily maintaining a confident dose of eye contact.

"My name is Leyla." She casually slid her winnings toward her, as if they were scraps of paper and not thousands of dollars. "So, for what is a child like you in a place like this?"

Jirou smirked at the thought of his name actually being a joke in somebody else's language. It wasn't uncommon for a foreign sounding name, or word, to sound similar to something else. He knew what his name meant to him, and that was good enough for him.

When she questioned him on his reasons for being there, he shrugged. "A man has to eat to survive doesn't he? Why not make a living doing something I happen to enjoy as well?" he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table.

"And this child is quite capable of handling himself, this I assure you." he mockingly imitated her thick accent as he spoke 'this child'. She had chose not to bite at his theatrics which told him that, as vicious as she was, she still knew when to keep her composure.

Her eye's also never left his. They weren't filled with aggression or hunger, but rather an icy cool determination. She was studying him as much as he was her. It was as if an immovable object was coming face to face with an unstoppable force. And the cards hadn't even been cut yet, much less dealt.

Leyla drummed her fingers on the table, not actually impatient, but wanting to seem so. "I hope so," she nearly purred at him. "If not, you are in for trouble here." She shrugged her jacket back, baring her shoulders. The stuffy room had gotten warm, what with the high tensions and the swirls of smoke. If it was just the two of them, she might as well get comfortable.

Putting her feet up on an adjacent chair, she lounged with such casualty that he might not have been there at all. "I welcome the challenge. I get bored with their type around so much. It is small wonder just a boy should make a living off them." She ashed her cigarette, but left it dangling carelessly from her fingers.

"Now. Enough of theatrics." She gestured toward the cards. "If you grope those cards any longer, I might think you cheat me."

"Cheat you? Believe me, if I wanted to cheat you, I would have done it while there were steal a few other people left at the table. I doubt I would be able to slip anything past you at this point." He dealt out the cards between the two of them.

"Besides..." he looked at his cards "I've never had to cheat to win, and I don't plan on starting." Jirou glanced back up at Leyla, his face void of all emotion. He was no longer playing a simple game of poker anymore, and he was pretty certain she wasn't going to pull any punches.

He placed his hand face down on the table. He would let her set the tone, but he was certain he would be changing it shortly.

Leyla followed his lead unflinchingly, eyes fixed on his, well aware that the first to move was often the first to fall. Her expression was one halfway between boredom and disdain. She welcomed the challenge, yes, but she did not welcome a chance at defeat.

<<"Cheat you? Believe me, if I wanted to cheat you, I would have done it while there were still a few other people left at the table. I doubt I would be able to slip anything past you at this point.">>

"You are true about that," she agreed mildly, one elbow resting on the table. "I was making lifts before you were even born. No slight of hand do I miss. Now, what is the game?"