Still, Winter replies as though she is a seasoned bookie, come from a long and prestigious line of successful turf accountants. She is absolutely not, and perhaps it shows. "Oh, confidence runs high among chess-players, so the bets are equally big. Dozen dragots, easy." She glances sidelong at Tybalt with a cat-like smile. "What would you w-w-wager on yourself, hm?"
Tybalt has never bet one thing in his life, and wouldn't know if a bookie was robbing him blind or not. He nods, serious, even as the corner of his mouth ticks up. If he was also a cat, he'd probably be purring in some mischievous contentment. Not entirely uncommon for him, but it's nice.
"If I was betting, oh twenty, easy, per game. But no one else should bet that. Or we'd have to pay them?"
It's a question because, again,he's never bet one thing in his life.
Tybalt & Winter
Tybalt & Winter
"If I was betting, oh twenty, easy, per game. But no one else should bet that. Or we'd have to pay them?"
It's a question because, again,he's never bet one thing in his life.