“Oh, dat'z what I'm talkin' about!” Pinstripe exclaimed.
The young stallion had made it this far and wasn't about to let up any time soon. It'd been a month now since the Canterlot-born, Las Pegasus-raised pony came to Saddle Arabia, home of gambling halls that were world-renown. His magic aura levitating his cards, Pinstripe scanned over the table, the other poker players now a bit tense as the much younger player continued to best them. One of them, a much older, apparently middle-aged, gray-maned Arabian stallion watched the younger player beat the others, their cards falling to the table as the still-barely-a-colt won round after round.
Pinstripe had been to other gambling halls before in areas around the world. He didn't always win, true, but the young stallion had quite the ability to gamble. He'd nearly put off all else in the name of winning; his sole focus being to gain his winnings at the end of each match. Narrow-minded as he was, he'd managed to do quite well for himself.
“Anyone else?” Pinstripe asked. “Come on now, don't be shy!”
“Who's being shy?” the older pony replied, his Arabic-accented voice much louder than Pinstripe had expected.
“Alright, young colt, perhaps we should take this up a notch or two,” the Saddle Arabian grinned. “I'll start.”
The Arabian anted up.
Pinstripe followed suit.
They drew their cards, each putting on their most serious expressions.
“I'll raise,” Pinstripe grinned.
“I'll do the same,” his opponent replied.
They both placed their chips on the table.
The tension mounted in the room as the other, now defeated, players looked on, each making bets of their own as the two others waged a battle of nerve. Pinstripe's expression cooled a bit, as did the Arabian's, each one deeply concentrating on their next move.
Every gesture, every twitch of their muscles was a clue, a give-away to their true feelings, or a trap to lure their opponent in. Pinstripe knew this all too well, the stallion having quite the talent for all things card game related; his cutie mark wasn't a picture of a jack and an ace for nothing. From a young age he knew a thing or two about how to draw, when to hold, and how to look out for a stacked deck.
One thing he didn't have though was patience.
“Heh, try this; full house!” Pinstripe said, revealing his cards as his horn's glow faded.
To his confusion, the other stallion just laughed.
The Arabian's cards hit the table, revealing, of all things, a royal flush.
Pinstripe sighed as the chips, his chips, were slid over to his opponent, the other stallion taking in the cheers of the crowd.
“Of all the rottin'...” Pinstripe said, his Neighcago accent catching the ears of his opponent.
Gathering up his remaining chips, Pinstripe turned and left the table, cashing out as he retired to his hotel room for the night.
As he left, the middle-aged Arabian briefly laughed. There was something about his young opponent that made him think.
“Perhaps this one has some potential,” he thought.
Pinstripe turned and tossed in his bed.
“What the heck just happened?” He thought. “I had 'dat in the bag!”
Pinstripe thought on his failure for a while. He just didn't understand; the game had been going perfectly until that Saddle Arabian stallion showed up. What did he do wrong, where did he screw up?
“Must have been some trick he had,” Pinstripe eventually said after a bit of silence, “somethin' I don't know...”
“It's called patience, and a true love of the game,” an accented voice replied.
Pinstripe shot up quickly, the stallion eying the room around him as the Saddle Arabian voice echoed through the darkened hotel room.
“Who's there?!” He shouted. “Get out 'ere so help me, I'll-”
“Easy, now, easy,” the middle-aged Saddle Arabian replied, flicking the light on. “I meant no disrespect or ill will.”
“And yet you had 'da nerve to sneak up on somepony,” Pinstripe retorted. “Just what 'you doin' in my room anyway?”
“I merely had an offer to give to you. A chance to learn what I already know.”
“Really? An' I'm just supposed to believe you'd give it ta' me just like that?” Pinstripe questioned, his eyebrow raised.
“Take my word for it,” a mist began to envelope the taller stallion.
Pinstripe sat back in awe as the other equine went through a shocking metamorphosis. In an instant the Arabian stallion's rear legs had vanished, forming into a smoky mist. A golden belt sat at his mid section where mist met flesh, and his mane was now tied back, similarly to how his tail had been.
“My word, as a Djinn!” The Arabian Stallion spoke, his voice now much more powerful.
Pinstripe gasped. He was no scholar, but certain did know a thing or two about Saddle Arabian folklore. Djinn were powerful spirits, not to be trifled with in the slightest. They were said to be as dangerous on the battlefield as a whole army, and even more dangerous in the gambling hall a masters of deception.
“Well, what say you, young colt?” the Djinn asked as Pinstripe composed himself. “A game between us, merely for sport. I sense a bit of potential in you. Before tonight I had no idea such a young pony could gamble and play on the level of a young Djinn, ha ha!”
“A-alright, I'll play a game,” Pinstripe said, his voice still stammering a bit.
The last thing he'd want to do is annoy a spirit this powerful, and what did he stand to lose anyway? If anything, he stood to gain quite a bit.
“Perfect!” the Djinn replied, “Let us begin!”
In a flash of smoke and fire the two vanished, reappearing later in a rather extravagant gambling hall of the Djinn's own design. Pinstripe marveled at the sandstone pillars supporting the room, the mosaic tiles lining the floor and walls, and the golden plating hanging from the ceiling above. In front of him was a velvet-lined table, the Djinn sitting in front of him and already shuffling the deck.
“I'll start this show,” he grinned, dealing out the cards to Pinstripe and himself as the deck floated in mid air.
Pinstripe's horn lit up, the stallion's cards hovering in front of him as the game began.
“No chips or nothin', huh?” Pinstripe murmured.
“Correct!” the Djinn announced.
Pinstripe's ears perked up, not aware that the Djinn had such excellent hearing.
“To play as I do you must learn two lessons this night; patience, and a love of the game!”
“Right, right, er... love of the game and all that,” Pinstripe thought.
The two analyzed each other for a while as the game drew on, Pinstripe eventually making the first move.
“I'll call,” he said.
“Are you sure?” The Djinn grinned.
“Yeah, yeah, I'm sure.”
The Djinn dropped his cards on the table.
A full house.
Pinstripe winced as he lowered his own cards; two pairs hit the table, two aces and two fours.
“Try again,” the Djinn said, already shuffling the deck.
“Gotta stay focused... patience, patience...” Pinstripe thought as the cards were passed out again.
Several rounds went by, Pinstripe losing many of them. The Djinn watched carefully as his opponent struggled to keep his focus, the losses stacking up on Pinstripe's mind as time went by. Eventually enough was enough; Pinstripe groaned slightly and sighed, ending the round with a fold.
“Just how do 'ya do it?” Pinstripe asked, his head lowered. “How do 'ya keep focused when you're losin' so much?”
“Heh, well for starters I rarely lose,” the Djinn chuckled, “but as I've said before; I win because I have patience and a love of the game. I don't go out trying to win all the time, nor do I play for wealth or fame. I merely play for the sake of doing so. That is my secret, young colt; do not play for prizes, play for the sake of playing.”
Pinstripe thought on the Djinn's words for a moment, the spirit's advice finally sinking in. Pinstripe sighed before lifting up the deck himself, shuffling it as he set it up for the next game.
“Alright then,” he grinned, “let's just play to play.”
“That's the spirit!” the Djinn smiled.
For the rest of that night, the two played on, Pinstripe even beating the Djinn a few times as they went. By morning, the two, even the Djinn himself, were tired, exhausted from a night of fun. In another flash of fire and smoke, Pinstripe found himself back in his hotel room, surprised that his acquaintance had left without saying a word.
The young stallion noticed something as he started to fall asleep, the item illuminated by the sun rising up in the morning sky. On the night stand next to him was a note from the Djinn:
“I hope you had fun, young colt; I know I did. Thank you for the games, and remember what has been told to you; play to play, not to for winnings or fame.”
Pinstripe smiled.
For the rest of his stay in Saddle Arabia, Pinstripe did quite well for himself. He bet low in the gambling hall, or not bet at all, doing his best to stave off the allure of profit and glory. Instead he played for fun, like the Djinn had said, and found himself having the time of his life, and gaining a few kind remarks for doing so. He met with the Djinn again as well, the spirit once more disguised as a normal Saddle Arabian citizen. In all, Pinstripe learned his lesson; he should not play for the sake of money or fame, but merely to enjoy himself. After all, what good is a game if you're enjoying it?