Alan Arkin’s middle name is Wolf.
“Don’t think that means I can shapeshift or whatever,” he tells you, chuckling. “I’m no lycanthrope, no changeling.”
That’s a relief.
“I’m just here to play,” and he deals you two cards, one face up, one down. He peeks at his hidden card. Don’t bother with yours.
“Betting blind,” he says, “ballsy. Gonna hit myself.” He’s got twenty showing now. Your top card’s an ace. Don’t bother to look at your bottom card, you can’t change it now. Don’t–
“Oh, that’s poor practice,” frowns Alan Arkin, as the Nine of Spades chews off your hand.
Wednesday, August 2, 2006
According to canon, Beloit’s fencing skills were removed via neurosurgery by the Uncouth Irrawaddy, but Beloit disagrees, and stabs canon in the arm.
“Not bad for a lobotomy victim,” he taunts. Canon swings one bladed pseudopod; Beloit dodges over the left balcony railing. Canon says that’s the side with the giant rotating fan blades. Beloit jams his rapier into the wall and drags himself to a dangling stop. “Okay,” he gasps, “but the Heliocrashers destroyed the generator here, want to explain that?”
Canon erupts six competing theories and staggers, oozing. Beloit draws his dagger and prepares to help pare them down.