Offsuit
#1 of Conbook Submissions
This was my submission to the RMFC '13 convention book. The theme was "Lucky Thirteen," a casino night sort of deal. They accepted the story happily, and it was the frontmost featured story submission! I mean, not like anyone really reads those anyway. But it was two for two accepted submissions to a conbook, and I was pretty proud of that. I spent more time on it than my 2012 submission, too, and I think it shows :)
Offsuit By Finn Panther
The buffalo across the table was unreadable. His lumpy head made it easy to mask facial twitches, and even his tail was under perfect control. Meanwhile, as he was busy slow playing an excellent hand, the wolf beside him had become increasingly careless. His mangy tail gave him away instantly, to say nothing of the barely concealed grin on his muzzle. He either had a good hand, or at least he thought he did - but either way, the buffalo was playing him for a fool.
The third player in the hand, however, was even more careless than the wolf. Either that, or he was absolutely ungodly at poker. In either case, his face was unchecked with boredom. Black pawpads drummed along the table, calling the bet when necessary, but otherwise they were uninterested and disengaged. The other paw was used to prop up an aging cougar's head. His grey whiskers occasionally twitched, but besides that his eyes were listless and bored.
This behavior was certainly atypical of a high stakes game. Again, the cougar was either incredibly careless, or incredibly good - but the guard watching from the security hub honestly didn't care. His only job - his only dreadful, terrible job - was to watch for foul play. And at this table? There was no foul play. There was only a clever buffalo, a stupid wolf, and a tired old cat. And the showdown turned out to be just the same as the last one. And the one before that. Uneventful.
The buffalo laid down an excellent hand. The wolf laid down a mediocre one. And the cougar laid down a two-seven. Offsuit.
The guard guffawed at the idiot cougar. You have to try to get a hand that bad. It's literally the worst hand in poker, and to go all in with it is suicide. Even a grumpy old codger watching security feeds knows that. But the table's reaction caused the guard's tail to stop dead in its tracks. They were giving him the pot. The grey muzzle had nothing, literally nothing, and they were just giving him the pot. The cougar didn't win, he didn't even come close - and now the cheeky bastard was standing to leave! This game had stopped being poker a long time ago; now it was theft. Plain and simple.
A click of the radio and a short verbal command, and floor security was moving in. Like hell this guy was getting away.
''We got a live one, leaving high stakes. Grey muzzle cougar, 5'8'', gunning for chip exchange. Bring him in.''
On the floor, casino security moved to intercept the escaping cougar. There weren't many cats to fit that description, and he was spotted instantly. He was middle height, his fur was aging, and his pockets were bulging. This thief wasn't going anywhere. Barrel chested guards stood to block the feline's path, and in unison they thought the same thing as he passed by:
''What a kind, unassuming feline. What a perfect gentleman. What a spry young man.''
With the security guards successfully duped, the elderly cat checked in his chips. He took care to keep his appearance youthful, and for added measure he had a few of the chips appear to be more valuable than they actually were.
''Looks like you made a killing, handsome.'' It was a busty blonde behind the counter, naturally. The old cougar just smiled. She was easily young enough to be his grand-daughter. Of course, that's not what she saw. She laid heavy on the flirting while cashing the chips, even writing her number on one of the ubiquitous bills. The cougar just waved as he left - he would never take advantage of such a pretty young thing. That's not what he used his powers for. At least, not usually.
Outside he tossed his keys to the valet, who soon brought his car around. It was an old thing, battered and bruised (much like its owner), but the cougar rather enjoyed making people think it was a fancy car, usually something like a Lamborghini. Especially when he watched the young buck's face as he reved the engine and drove off. Man, that trick would never get old.