"You... you again," Guy winced at the faceless face. "I was wood, then fire, then stone, and now I'm as black as a rupoor. What this time? Shall I become ice? Water? A bolt of lightning? My life has been forfeit so many times before, I suppose it doesn't really matter. I don't even understand how I'm still alive. Nor how--or if, even--you are. At least this is an adventure, I guess? The unexpected. The mysterious. I gave up on finding the answers long ago. On destiny. On purpose. This life is a horrendous ride and for some reason I keep rearing it to go faster, to go deeper, to twirl and twist and never find any resemblance of peace." "But you," Guy leaned over the table, his eyes growing a twisted grin of his own. The rupoor he was holding was jabbed in the Twister's direction, acussingly, "You know that, don't you? You feed on it, I swear. To watch us pour mortal saps squirm and writhe in frantic ideation for ultimately no fathomable purpose. Maybe that's why you appear. Maybe you're the only legitimate deity who enjoys our struggle enough to actually interact with us worms." He slammed the rupoor down, face skewed, "But maybe that gives you too much credit. If someone--something--like you gets to be a god, then the Golden Goddesses have forsaken us more than I could have ever imagined. I pity fools like Tent, I do. Pity them. Envy them. At least they have hope, have purpose, I suppose." The jet-black scrub glared down as the jet-black gem sitting on the table, then sighed heavily. He needed to take the edge off. Stress. Why was he doing this? Why did he care? Who cares. No one cares. It doesn't matter. From his satchel he pulled a red-and-white mushroom that was swiftly stuffed down his gullet. It didn't matter if that freak witnessed it; as far as he could tell the faceless face could have royally fucked him over a trillion times over but continued toying with him anyway. "Well," Guy sighed, his tone calming somewhat, "That's my wager. That and seven rupees. That's how many you like, right?" He slipped seven green gems across the table before him, spread in a smooth arc. "You don't get my body this time, but that rupoor is practically my livelihood. It's like a jockey trading his horse, or a shopkeeper waging her shop. That sort of risk gets you off, doesn't it?" <Guy Denzrita is sacrificing his augmented Double Rupoor and 7 rupees for a twist.>
