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“So let me get this straight."
Mafioso spoke, placing a six of hearts on the cardboard table. His black fedora was placed next to him, revealing his messy, long jet-black hair, but it revealed his more youthful attributes. Chance could see how close in age they were now, despite still being uncharacteristically quiet while holding cards tightly in his hands, waiting for his responses. Everyone else–Mafioso’s ‘boys’—awaited his reply. Where there would be loud laughter and harmless accusations in cheating was silence—tense silence.
Mafioso licked his lips, taking his sweet time responding. He folded his hands as Contractee placed a king of spades. “You made a bet, and now you want me to go to this little ‘dance’ of yours as a result?”
Every eye turned to Chance, who swallowed and nodded, slowly but cautiously. Nobody moved for a moment, until Mafioso began to speak again, revealing his blunt answer.
“No.”
Chance immediately lost it.
He threw his cards on the ground, hands clasped like a faux prayer. The cardboard dented, messing up the cards on it before. Soldier’s hands moved quickly as he tried saving the cards; Contractee and the others tried to help, but to no avail. Despite the chaos, Mafioso’s face remained annoyingly flat, unaffected—this was usual, after all.
“C’mon, Maf!” Chance gave a little pout, and if he had his shades off, he’d definitely have puppy eyes right now. “Please? Do this for your little ol’ friend?”
Mafioso scoffed, crossing his arms. “No,” he stated firmly. “It’s your fault that you did—”
“It wasn’t my fault!”
“It was your own game,” Mafioso corrected, giving Chance his usual glare. Why did he have to be this stubborn at this time! Chance bit his lips, almost drawing blood. “It’s your fault. Don’t think you can get away with this by crawling to me for up.”
“But, Mafioso! As your besties of all friends–”
“You’re not my ‘friend.’”
“Shouldn’t friends help each other out?” Chance had absolutely no idea what he was doing now, but he sure hoped it was working. “And you’d be helping me so–so–so very much if you did this for me!”
It was October and autumn, but somehow, Chance and Mafioso still kept in contact. Chance, after school (which he went to after much convincing to his parents), would often come over here to Mafioso and his little group, no matter how much Mafioso stated to not to. Chance wasn’t the one for rules anyways. And he’d do things with them before heading back home (his parents were glad that their ‘little Chancy’ managed to get friends, so they didn’t give much thought to it) such as playing cards like now. Even with Chance’s new friends, he still claimed Mafioso to be his closest friend, despite what their relationship may seem like. And because of that, Chance went over him.
Honestly? Chance expected this reaction, but that didn’t stop him from trying! At this point, he knew all of Mafioso’s weaknesses, and he knew that he’d give in eventually!
“The answer is still no, Chance,” Mafioso sighed in frustration, drawing another card once the cleanup was finished. “I’m not going to this dance of yours, especially not as your date.”
Right, the bet. It had started off as jokes between his other friends. They, including him, were excited for this dance–the first in the year, and the first for them. Perhaps they were too excited, however, because the conversation switched to ‘dates’ for the dance. Y’know, typical teenager stuff. All of his friends were with someone–Elliot with Noob, et cetera. Everyone except for Chance. And like typical friends fashion, they teased him for it, and Chance, with a broken ego, made a bet—if he managed to get a ‘date’, then they’d do something for more. There were more, but that was the short story.
And now Chance was here, hoping Mafioso could save his ass.
“I’m not getting into trouble because of you again,” Mafioso continued. Chance scoffed. Mafioso definitely went through ‘trouble’ more than he did—after all, he was there when those wounds needed to be patched up, but just not Chance’s version of trouble rather a more…..diffcult version, one that Chance didn’t bug him about. It was his personal issues, or ‘job’ anyway. “And that’s the end of discussion.”
Chance knew his options were limited. He furrowed his brows and threw an ace of hearts in the pile. “But,” he started, “it would be so much fun, wouldn’t it! I mean, you don’t know what a school is even like, right?”
Mafioso was not impressed. “Just because I never went to school doesn’t mean I don’t know how to read or write, Chance.”
Caporegime drew six of the clubs, and Chance shook his head as the other drew their cards. “That’s what I meant, Maf!” He himself threw in a seven of hearts. “I mean like a school dance! This one is also different from the rest, believe me! There’ll be music, food, people–”
“Sounds like hell,” Mafioso grumbled. Two of spades were thrown on the cardboard table. “I’ll pass.”
“It’d be very fun! Trust me!” Chance continued on. At this point, he wasn’t even sure if there was a plan or not. “And when am I ever wrong?”
“Lots of time,” the taller boy corrected. “Do you want me to list them all?”
“Erm, no thanks,” Chance laughed awkwardly. “But just trust me on this! Wouldn’t it be so much fun? Right, guys?”
Chance, despite his black shades, eyed the other teenagers here, which were Mafioso’s ‘boys’, or little minions as Chance liked to call them, a little joke here and there. Contractee and Soldier were glancing at each other's cards quite obviously while the other two, Caporegime and Consigliere were both focusing on the game and on their conversation. So Chance’s….well chances wouldn’t be that bad.
“I think…..” Caporegime, the one with the shades like Chance’s, spoke first. His lips were tight and thinned, thinking about his words carefully. He wasn’t sure what side to take, Chance noticed. No matter how Capo (another nickname Chance had given out—he found it easier to remember than his lengthy name) was a master at controlling his emotions, it was painted all over his face. “You should totally go, boss. It seems like ‘fun’.”
Chance couldn’t help but smirk smugly. Then Consigliere cleared his throat.
Consigiliere, who was the quietest out of the four—it took Chance over a month to get him to speak a single word to him—so it was surprisingly to see him go second.
“It sounds okay,” was his blunt reply. Well, close enough.
He then proceeded to elbow Soldier, who was busy comparing cards with Contractee than paying attention. Soldier gave a yelp, then a glare, his cheeks turning slightly red–embrassed to be caught in the stage like this.
“Wha–dances? Aren’t those, like, school dances fancy kids go to?” Consigiliere nodded his head, confirming it. “Eh, sure, whatever,” Soldier shrugged, “maybe I’ll ‘find’ some new clothes. I always needed a new pair of shoes!” Chance took that as another victory, and Mafioso glared at the three, as if he was going to end them all. But he would never. He never did and would, only grumbling curses underneath his breath.
Contractee—oh, the Contractee himself–hummed a song before also being popped outside his little bubble.
“Dances? That sounds fun!” He laughed, but his lips dropped to a pout after being eliminated from the game–just like the others at this time. Now it was only Chance and Mafioso.
If Chance wasn’t smiling before, he was smiling now. The biggest and smuggest smile on his pale face. And Mafioso was frowning, the complete opposite–the biggest and most annoyed frown on his face.
“So,” Chance clicked his tongue, his confidence all rushing back to him. “They agree with me. Whatcha say? Hmm, Maf?”
He drew an ace of hearts. Mafioso was eliminated from the game. Chance had won. He leaned backwards, crossing his arms as smug as possible.
It was time like these that Mafioso wished to have his fedora on right now. Then maybe Chance wouldn’t see the nasty, bitter glare he was dishing out, as if Chance cared. He tried to fake a poker face, but Chance could obviously see the lip biting before the heavy sigh, finally speaking.
“Why haven’t I shot you dead yet?”
Then, chaos exploded again. Chance leaped up into the air like he was in a cartoon. The cards went flying into the air, and clamor with the four abrupted loudly as possible.
But who cared? Chance won this gamble like always! And now he’d also win this bet, with Mafioso as his ‘date’ of his, not that it was romantic or something.
Right?