day 28- poker tourney part 1

This isn't all I've finished today, but it is all I've finished. Maybe tomorrow I'll toss in some word count about the rules of each of the five poker variations. We'll see if it's necessary. It wouldn't be out of place, and I'm desperate for word count by this point with only two days to go, so... yeah I''m probably going to do it just you watch me





unwin pov- suiting up
Hesketh Unwin, The Mothman, dressed himself up in an expensive three piece suit-and-tie, worn over an older version of the mothman outfit, a prototype from before he had picked up the post-Sputnik space alien shtick, a more owl-like design known as the Flatwoods Monster of Braxton County. With the newer suit almost entirely torn to shreds and all. He felt weird to be in it in front of his men in this old product of his creative endeavor, though he had worn the other thing all the time. Maybe this one was more personal, more amateurish but full of heart, and he was opening himself up more, slipping into this costume. He felt like he was going to be judged for it, and had a lingering suspicion when nobody judged him openly that they were just holding back on him. Unwin was used to guarding himself, and this relic from the past was opening himself up in a way that he, Hesketh Unwin the master strategist, was unequipped to deal with.

In his heightened state, mind sharp and ready to notice poker tells, Unwin saw no expressions or micro expressions of disgust on his men's faces. Maybe it was possible to open oneself up and not be judged for it. Maybe that's what magic is about. Still, he was glad to be inside a suit, where nobody but him would know of the drained expression on his face. It hadn't begun, and he was already ready for it to be over.

Unwin hadn't worn the thing in decades. He was much younger, much more naive during the 1950s. Optimistic and hopeful and ready to take on the world; there was a word he was trying to reach for but couldn't find. Seeing himself, in the mirror, through the suit's eye holes as Art Rose reached around to adjust Unwin's slim black tie, Unwin began feeling young again. Unjaded, that was it. Un, disillusioned. Optimism really is an illusion. Yes, there was a true clear-cut ideological difference between us and the Commies. Yes, our side could win without major compromises of integrity. Yes, God really is on our side, really is up there watching over us... Maybe that was all true, again, by some miracle somehow.

He had forgotten how sexy he felt in the suit. How empowered. All pre-poker jitters washed away.

It still fit him stunningly. Let me tell you, Unwin looked fine. The finest. Especially if you're attracted to humanized owls for some reason. Like Unwin was. Would you do me? I'd do me so hard. He didn't have a problem. It's perfectly normal behavior. For real.

For real.

moone pov- auction logic
The final Vickrey auction would essentially go to the winner of the previous round of poker, as they would have no real reason to hold back their bids. They would walk away with the NOC list, as well as the leftover cash that would be specifically the difference between their poker winnings and the winnings of the second place player, assuming they rationally also bet their all.

Unless they were to lowball their own bid, out of spite, which would... which would allow the first place player to walk away with even more money; never mind. Moone thought that he'd been on to something there. Looked like the best shot really was plan A.

unwin pov- the games begin
The best strategy would be to bid aggressively during the first two games, hold 'em games where no betting limit was in play, to gain an early advantage, because the final three stud games would have limit betting in effect, and Tooth Fairy didn't want to limit bet during the hold 'ems because that sucks. Such aggression was a risky strategy of course, coming down to the quality of hands themselves; usually one would want to fold on all but the best hands, but there was only ten hands to gain the advantage of a wave he'd have to ride out for fifteen more hands, so Unwin planned to bluff his feathered tushie off. Ante is mandatory for all players in seven card stud and eight card high-low stud, which would mean less money to bargain with during the auction phase of the game, which Unwin had his eye firmly cast toward; begin with the end in mind.

Five different games, five different variants, meant that the advantage went to the player who knew their stuff, obviously a stronger player had a better advantage. Unwin was most familiar with seven-card stud, which was good because it was one of the more challenging variants to master; with a working familiarity with hold 'em games. The wicked stepmother at Unwin's table had been given the Tooth Fairy's boon to know how to play poker well, in all its numerous variations and forms. She was one to watch; she sat two to his right, and was the big blind the first round, with the buck to Unwin's left.

Unwin sized up his other opponents as well. The Wicked Stepmother, an old-money playboy from a long bloodline of powerful mages, a half-gargoyle crime lord, a fallen angel, the Mothman himself.

Team Dreaded Eye was at another table; Team Punch at another table still. Those other tables were still worth paying attention to, because one person of each of those tables would become this table's winner's own opponent. Hence the scurrying around of the servants, who could observe but not act.

Unwin would have the dealer button on the last hand, which means that he would act last on the last hand of the first round, as though he were the dealer, though not be the dealer himself of course because they had professionals for that sort of thing, who could be trusted not to cheat in the shuffle and deal in whatever myriads of ways the warlocks and super villains and world players could cheat.

Wicked Stepmother had poker chops, but no real reason to want the Necronomicon for herself. She counterfeited expensive brands of shoes and bags, and overworked her workers in sweatshops, and only paid them in Kool-Aid POINTS and dum dums wrappers and chicken dust, which is like how gold dust is to gold nuggets but it's with chicken nuggets so it's chicken dust; it's not nearly as delicious as it sounds, especially seeing they had to take a paycut to get even ranch house sauce or anything, much less something actually good like sweet n' sour. Know the rules pat or not, she was still very much an amateur who would be unversed in the final parts of a poker game, like knowing odds or noting bluffs or telling tells. The best way to get her off his back would be to swing hard, bid her up especially when he could tell she was bluffing.

The half-gargoyle's face was ever stoic. It wasn't as expressionless as a full gargoyle's face would be, or a golem's for that matter, but for purposes of noticing tells it was an entire wash, and Unwin would have to rely on brute-forcing his way through sheer mathematics when it came to dealing with the hybrid's hand. (Incidentally, there was a golem at one of the tables, representing the heavy-hitting Jewluminati faction; Unwin would not be surprised at all if that one made it to the master table out of all those playing at its table.)

The mage playboy Unwin felt safe in not estimating too much of, probably just in it for the kicks and the thrill of being at a blackmarket event. The kid hardly did a thing to keep a poker face, grinning or grimacing at whatever hand he was holding, telegraphic whether it was weak or strong without really a care over his doing so. He would be a dangerous one during the bidding phases, of course; he'd probably shove all in and go out in a blaze of glory. More money to the one who won that hand, but whether it would be worth that risk or not would come down to the strength of Unwin's own hand at the time that that moment came. No use fretting over that; cross that bridge when we come to it.

The fallen angel was unnerving. Just... unnerving. Black sclera. Blank, pale face, that would occasionally and seemingly randomly see a microsneer cross over it. The thing's bid strategy, as well, was seemingly random. Unwin got the sense that it knew far, far more than it let on, that it was holding something back. But the boon that the Tooth Fairy had gifted it with had been the gift of imbuement, the metaphysical property that allowed parents' actions to become his own through the pure belief of children, that allowed his coffers to become theirs and their baby teeth to become his. If the angel really were in on something, reading its opponent's minds with preternatural powers or altering the fates of the way the cards fell, maybe imbuing some aspect into its own cards possibly based off the beliefs of what its opponents believed that it held, why would the being be holding back the way it seemed to be?

Unwin shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his suit suddenly hot, as he considered this. The gift of imbuement. With the Tooth Fairy bestowing his unequal boons the way he was, was the outcome of the game and auction truly up in the air? He could have been fixing the whole thing from the start, pitting strong powers against weak or scissors powers against paper, and nobody would notice. No one would notice except for maybe the fallen angel at the table- could that have been the angel's secret?

The angel fell, again, went bust surprisingly early, and Unwin supposed that no, of course he had been wrong. He had, in the form of his clew, a direct line connection to the Tooth Fairy's powers and fortunes, and realized that the Tooth Fairy wasn't playing them, really did just want an incredibly interesting game to go on, and his only ulterior motive was openly, the more interesting the game was and the longer it went on, the more money he would make off of the endeavor; Tooth Fairy was just trying to make bank off of this just as everyone else. Every other rational party, that was; the playboy, wild and crazy and having the time of his life, had somehow outlasted the fallen angel in this tournament.

Though the angel could still buy its way in again. The game was open stakes. Though with the final goal to be winning at a closed-bid auction, and taking the money left over to get to the master table, the being would essentially be starting over at square one again, massively outgunned in a war where poker chips were ammunition and the battlefield was in the cards.