"Vingt-et-un, is fine." Gabriel said with a grin. Maybe, whist might be too taxing on his mind right now. At least, for twenty-one, he didn't have to think. Almacks was draining. Not so much the physical activity of it, more of the strategy that had to be considered while in that room.

"While it was comparable in difficulty to battling an army of Spain- certainly the ladies are of a country themselves, the dancing was acceptable." Then again, any dancing was comparable after the army. During his tours, while he has travelled to cities like Bristol, Dorset, and had the chance to take part in many country assemblies, still the Ladies of London, decked out in their finery, were incomparable. " Coming from the likes of dear captain here," he said, replying from the same vein as Marcus, " Anything would be an improvement."

Marcus laughed wholeheartedly and, exhaling, sunk deeper into the cool leather chair. The dimly lit room, the heady alcohol, the strictly all male company and the soft sounds of clinking glasses and shuffling cards had begun to seep into his skin and have their calculated effects: he relaxed.

Eyeing the fast sinking level of whiskey in the Jameson’s bottle and its still-full companions, he happily reconciled himself to the fact that tonight was going to cause a headache tomorrow. It’d be worth every throb of pain, though. He could use some oblivion. There was no thoughts in particular that the marquess sought refuge from, he merely enjoyed it.

“Cruel, Pritchard! And dreadful lies too,” Marcus added merrily, grinning at Sterne. “Word from the female population is that he is nimble as one could wish on the dance floor. Not half as pretty in a gown, of course.”

"Much flattered, Foxford," smirking slyly, Thomas began distributing the cards, "though I have to confess I find it very uncomfortable to think that is how I occupy your imagination." When the time came to deal Gabriel's cards, he hesitated and spoke to him in a low voice: "you better win the horse, my friend!" grinning mischievously, he felt quite determined to make Gabriel sing under Lady Cowper's casement, if he lost. Or perhaps I should ask Miss Pritchard for an idea... the latter thought occurred to him after remembering how resourceful the young lady had been when playing tricks on them about seven years ago.

Meanwhile one of the club's servants brought them a box of tokens and took away the empty bottle of whiskey.

"I wouldn't place myself at the mercy of luck," Thomas addressed Rossington, observing him with calculating eyes, "treacherous mistress, that one." Having finished the dealing, he looked in turn at the gentlemen around the table and said: "so, what are we playing for?"

Leaving the others to their bets, for now (it would probably end up being horses yet again, anyway), Arthur turned to his old university friend. "Not quite. I had some pleasant partners - old friends are so undemanding. But I found it more tiresome than in previous years. And you?"

OOC: Sorry for the shortness, running low on creativity today.

Neil laughed. "Too true, too true," he replied to Captain Sterne. Luck most certainly was a fickle mistress - something Neil had learned the hard way too many times. Just one hand, he reminded himself sternly as he accepted the cards from Sterne, and arranged them accordingly in his hand. The hand he had wasn't all that bad, but he'd definitely had better. He would have to work to keep his money in this round.

Smiling, he looked at his fellow gentlmen. "Come now, who wants to start the betting?" he said good naturedly.

OOC: Not sure, but don't they leave the cards on the table for 21? Anyone know?

George sighed as he watched the players. He had never found gambling and cards interesting. He preferred activities where there was some skill involved. Whatever drunken players might claim about there being some skill required in playing card games like Vingt-Un he had never remarked any.

"I did not have your disadvantage of having attended many times before. I must admit I enjoyed the evening and met quite enough young ladies to satisfy me for the moment!" She sighed a minute and swilled his drink in his class before saying in an even lower voice, "I'm not sure I should have come here. This kind of sport has never appealed to me."

The players were getting settled in, he observed, keeping a vague eye on proceedings so that he could join in later, but staying out for now. Seeing as he had a friend here who was unfamiliar with most of the group and not inclined to gambling over cards, it would be rude to leave Selwyn to his own introspection. And introspection it would be, Arthur knew.

"Quite enough young ladies to satisfy you?" Arthur repeated with a smile, falling back into their old easy manner from Cambridge days and happy to tease Selwyn. "So which of the two captured your interest the most?"

He knocked back the rest of his whisky with a grin and reached for the bottle to pour another, raising an eyebrow at Selwyn's not-yet-empty glass. "Drink up." He continued in an equally low voice, "I remember your disinterest for Vingt-un, but as soon as these fine gentlemen have lost their fill, I'm sure the sport will change to something more to your taste. Besides, where else would you have gone? Home to bed?"

"A pony to play," Marcus suggested. Twenty five pounds was a nice place to start. A few hands would sort out the men from the boys, so to speak. Though it seems like that's already been sorted . Linley and Selwyn were having a rather serious looking conversation and seemed immune to the siren call of the cards.

"Or... " he added, the whiskey kicking in quite nicely, "one might wager a song? At the Fitzgerald soiree? What say you all? I know I - for one - would quite like to hear Rossington hear harmonize." He raised his glass at Daniel in a toasting gesture.

Neil snorted, settling into the hand he had been dealt. "You would like to hear me sing, would you Foxford?" he asked, one eyebrow arching up. "Well," he sighed, "I suppose that if there is enough whiskey involved, I could serenade you gentleman," he laughed, toasting Foxford in return. Inwardly, Neil gulped. He hated to sing - he was absolutely dreadful at it. He looked at his cards, his glass of whiskey, and the cards again. He took a deep gulp of whiskey again, to give himself courage. Or to perhaps help drown out the memory of what could possibly happen if he lost this hand.

"Well gentleman. Shall we wager public humiliation for the first hand?" he grinned.