You get off the bus, shielding your eyes from the setting sun. You were told that another poker tournament was going to be hosted, and you didn’t hesitate to accept the invitation. After all, you won the last one, taking home a gun, a badge, a minigun, a watch, and a pair of nifty glasses. You actually had the glasses and watch on you right now, though you weren’t wearing the glasses at the moment, for fear of looking like a total tool. Regardless, you walked away from the bus stop, looking for your destination. Unlike last time, this tournament isn’t located in a back alley with numerous pat-downs at the door. Rather, it was actually out in the open, near the middle of...
You look at the address again to confirm the name of the town: “Ponyville”. It piqued your interest, but otherwise you paid it no mind. Your destination was the local clothing boutique, where another four suckers were waiting to lose their money. You chuckled to yourself, remembering the last tournament you played. Poor guys didn’t know what hit them.
Except Heavy. Quite frankly, he scared you. You were pretty sure that Heavy scared everyone. After all, with all the security, he managed to get a freaking minigun in. Then again, just about everyone got a gun past security, so it’s probably a moot point.
Looking up, you found yourself at the door to this “Carousel Boutique”. If this is anything like at the Inventory, the others will already be there, killing time until the fifth player shows up. Opening the door, you see that, while this was a clothing store, it seemed to be made into a club of sorts for tonight’s event. A bar was set up near the back wall, manned by an orange pony, and tables were set up at regular intervals.
“I don’t even know why I keep playing, I keep getting crap cards.”
Looking towards the source of the voice, you see a blue pony with rainbow hair leaving a poker table; the one you’re looking for, you presume. Walking up, you scope out the competition:
A white unicorn, who had an air of sophistication around her. Judging by the subtle smirk on her face, she was good at hiding what kind of cards she had.
Next to her was the Medic himself, dressed in his “casual” clothes, despite him regularly performing surgery in them. He seemed to just be finishing a story.
“...and ze doctor was never heard from again!” After laughing, he added, “Anyvay, that’s how I lost my medical license!”
“You remind me of a mate I work with...” Looking to the right of Medic, you spot a man in a disheveled business suit sitting there, the source of the British voice. Notably, he was wearing a white gas mask, so it would be hard to tell what he has.
Looking again to the right, you see... Strong Bad?
He notices you at the same time. “Holy crap, it’s you!” Realizing the panic in his voice, he quickly corrected himself. “And, by ‘you’, I obviously meant ‘that cheater who won the last poker game I was in’.”
You question why he’s here again, after taking your seat.
“Well, Homestar was kind of strapped for cash, so I had to go from guest-starring in a fancy video game to guest-starring in a second-rate fanfic.”
Seemingly out of nowhere, the same host from the last game, whose name you never got, and could never remember anyway, entered the room. “Well, now that everyone’s here, we can begin. The game will be no limits Texas Hold ‘Em, and the stakes will be ten thousand U.S. dollars.”
You, Strong Bad, and Medic all wordlessly toss the bills on the table. The gas mask guy, meanwhile, seemed to be searching through his pockets. “Will you accept pounds?”
“Afraid not, Mr. Foster.”
“Bloody hell... Alright then. Can I buy in with this?” Searching through his coat, he pulled out a golden and slightly-bloodstained sword and leaned it against the table, handle up.
“That will do.” Turning to the unicorn, who had a sheepish look on her face, he began speaking again. “And what about your buy-in, Miss Rarity? You’re the one hosting this event, after all.”
“Well, assuming that bits will not be accepted...” She turned away from the table and shouted, “Sweetie Bell!”
A smaller unicorn hurried down the stairs. “What is it, Rarity?”
“Fetch my hat.” At the word “hat”, both you and Medic look up. The other unicorn left and quickly came back with a rather fruity hat, that Rarity put on. “Thank you, Sweetie Bell.”
“Can I watch the poker game?! Can I, can I, can I?!”
“No, go back to your room, this is grown-up business.”
Giving a sigh of defeat, Sweetie Bell went back upstairs.
“Now, with that in order,” the host says, “we shall begin the game.”
Looking around the table, you scan your competition. Most of them are eyeing you, since you won the last tournament, probably. Mr. Foster’s expression was unreadable, Strong Bad looked like he had a score to settle, and Medic and Rarity were both looking at you as if you were a specimen ready for dissection, or a new piece of fabric. Putting on the shades (paying no mind to Strong Bad’s ensuing outburst), you prepare yourself.
“May the best player win.”