Limitless Evolution As a Snake

[System: Basically, yeah. We got about four grand in ami dollars sitting pretty, so spend it, win it, lose it, whatever; see what happens. Who knows, maybe your babysitter over there tips you a bit of pocket change if you’re extra good]

What happens if I pull the unlucky one, though?Kinda feel sick thinking about it.

Old Mate laughs, actually laughs, that wheezy stoner cackle that echoes around in my skull like it’s got surround sound.

[System: Cunt, I hope you like wolf pussy]

And then, because apparently that wasn’t enough, he shows me another picture. Hana’s underwear again, different angle this time.

I take a breath in slowly through my nostrils, my vision going unfocused for a second.

Please land on luck. Please. I don’t want a wolf in my harem; I genuinely think she’d eat me, and not in the fun way.

Please, please, please, please.

The limo finally rolls to a stop, and I can see it through the window: this big, glowing entrance dripping in gold trim, and my gut sort of twists up because I want to go check it out, but also I kind of don’t want to move at all. Before I can even decide, Hana’s already out of the car and holding the door open for me like I’m some kind of visiting dignitary and not a snake who woke up in a jar a few weeks ago.

I wiggle my way out onto the curb and just hold my coil there for a second, taking it all in.

Okay yeah, this place is a lot. It’s like someone took Las Vegas and Versache and threw them both into a blender, then poured the result all over a building. Chandeliers hanging everywhere I look, big fat crystal things dripping light down onto red carpet so thick I could probably burrow in it. Marble floors polished so hard I can practically see my own reflection in them, slot machines lined up along every wall blinking and chiming like a hundred different arguments happening at once. Bell boys running back and forth, and they’re all dog people, tails wagging, tongues out, hauling luggage around like it’s the best job in the world.

A bunny girl comes gliding up with a tray of champagne, holding a glass out toward Hana and me both, and I’m actually kind of into it, but Hana just waves her hand real quick, and the girl vanishes, drink and all, like she was never even there.

Damn.

Wait, hold on. I haven’t had a drink this entire lifetime. Not once. Not as Matt the corporate drone, not as Matt the crimson death noodle, that’s kind of a big moment actually.

The bunny girl reappears a second later with something else, whisky on the rocks by the smell of it, and I loop my tail around the glass and lift it up to my snout for a sniff. Smells old. Smells expensive and smells like something a guy in a nice suit would drink while making a business deal that ruins somebody’s life.

I don’t really know how a snake is supposed to sip a drink, so I just kind of go for it and take a mouthful. Oh, that is strong; bleh, that is way stronger than I expected. My whole head sort of buzzes for a second, and if I had eyes that could water, I think they would be watering right now, but I keep my face as still as a snake face can get, which honestly isn’t hard since I don’t really have expressions to give away, small mercy there.

Old Mate is already wheezing in my skull.

[System: mate, you look like you just got slapped]

Shut up.

[System: oi, fucker, focus up, time to flip the coin]

Hold on, don’t I need to actually play something first? Exchange chips or whatever people do at casinos?

I flick my nape toward Hana.

”How much would you like, young lord?” she asks, not even blinking.

I think about it for a second, then just decide screw it, go big.

”Four thousand.”

She doesn’t even flinch. Doesn’t raise an eyebrow, doesn’t ask if I’m sure, nothing. She just snaps her fingers, and out from some hidden corner another bunny girl comes bouncing over, this one fluffier, carrying a tray absolutely stacked with chips.

I slither forward onto the casino floor proper, and the noise hits me all at once, slot machines dinging, cards shuffling, dice rattling somewhere off to the side. Blackjack tables, baccarat tables, and then there it is, the roulette wheel, spinning slow and lazy under its own little spotlight.

That’s the safe bet, simple and predictable. Nobody gets hurt.

[System: pussy]

Yeah, well, pussy’s still got four grand in chips and a plan, so who’s laughing now?

[System: Me, when you fuck Hana.]

Ignore that last one.

[System: No worries, mate, filed under things that never happened]

I don’t move for a second, just kind of hover there near the edge of the table, watching the wheel do its thing before I actually put any money down. Feels smart. Feels like something a guy with a plan would do: watch a few rounds first, get a read on the table before throwing chips around like an idiot.

The guy running the wheel is a croc, big scaly snout, little beady eyes, moving his claws over the table slow and lazy like he’s done this ten thousand times and stopped caring around round four thousand. Next to him there’s another croc guy taking bets on the far end, tie loose around his neck, looking equally over it.

The players though, that’s where it gets interesting. Moth women mostly, wings folded up neat behind them, antennae twitching every time the ball drops. One of them, dressed in this shimmery silver dress, just casually slides a stack of chips onto black like it’s nothing. Croc spins the wheel, the ball rattles around, drops into black seventeen, and she doesn’t even react, just nods and lets the croc slide over what looks like a small mountain of chips.