“The usual.”

“Of course.”

Club slides a glass of brandy across the table, liquid gold shimmering in the warm lighting of the room, ever so slightly fogged with smoke, just enough for the reflecting light to create a halo around the glass. Spade’s boney fingers stop it at the edge of the table in the same elegance that a luxury sports car glides on the road to a graceful stop. No one in the room got impressed by now.

Heart drags a decorated ring-finger over the rim of her martini glass as she watches the other three men. The cone-shaped glass gives out a high-pitched yet soft sigh under the circling motion, as her lips remain pursed, hiding a vibrant crimson lipstick that lines them with the expertise gained over the years of applying it daily.

She watched Diamond sitting in front of her, across the table with no drink in his midst. Perfectly manicured nails at the ends of his chubby fingers tap rhythmically over the polished wooden surface, and his small, bright eyes are darting between the rest of the occupants in the room.

From his place behind the bar, drying other glasses, Club reads the looks traded between the rest, some of which are directed at him, listening to everything said without a single word being uttered. He knows the conversation taking place in their eyes alone and knows the conversation that’s soon to follow in no time, when each of them finally decides how they want to rave this time around.

It's only a matter of time, who snaps first.

As usual, it was Spade.

“It’s impossible to just ‘go with the flow’ for your entire life!” he argues against an unsaid claim, putting his half-full glass of brandy on the table, making the crystal chime against the hard surface. “You must plan, see ahead of your actions. Leaving everything to chance is not a sustainable approach in the long run.”

“You are just too cute when you try to take control of your life,” Heart teases with feigned sweetness, leaving red lipstick marks on the rim of her glass as she takes a sip, “but only an idiot would even come up with the idea that they can control every aspect of their life. So, what do you say, precious? Are you that idiot?”

Spade bares his teeth, a retort already prepared on his lips, but is cut off by a disgruntled snort from Diamond, muttering something under his curly mustache. “Something on your mind, your honor?” Spade jeered.

“Hmpf. Calling you ‘precious’, even as a joke, is already a waste,” Diamond is unfazed by Spade’s hostility. It was no more than a show of power, thought out and calculated. A small pooch standing at a light to cast a shadow thrice its size. “In fact, this whole meeting is an utter waste of time, and time is a resource we must use and allocate wisely.”

Heart giggles at the exchange and puts down her dainty glass back on the table, now empty. “You two are starting to sound just about the same,” she rests one elbow on the table and leans, twirling ends of hair as red as a flame between her fingers. “None of you knows how to use this precious time to simply relax. You—“ she points to Spade, “only think what you can do with your time, and you-“ she turns the same finger to Diamond, “are just trying to plan how you can make the most profit off it. See? You’re not so different after all. Isn’t that right, sweetheart?” she then turns to their bartender, who is arranging clean glasses behind the bar.

Club always listens, taking in each argument and stance from each participant, but rarely interfering. He waits patiently, collecting useful information from each side and sorting through the points of interest and importance, fishing pearls of wisdom from the sand and the muck of self-importance each one brought to the table. Neither of them is right, but neither is wrong, too. Not entirely.

Realizing all eyes are on him, Club feels as though he’s seen as an authority figure on the matter. “Right, darling, but you’re not as different as you seem to think,” he shrugs, putting aside a sparkling-clean glass of beer, “you’re just looking for the most personal gain of your time, as positive as it may be, and honestly? You might be valuing your spontaneous actions just a little bit too much,” he leans forward, palms bracing against the counter as his head sinks between his shoulders, “you have to anchor you time in some planning—“

“HA!” Spade cuts him off and stands up, his motion sharp enough that it sends his chair falling back, “see? I told you that-!”

“Sit down, kiddo,” Diamond shoots a side-glance at the overly enthusiastic man, mulling the edges of his mustache between his fingers, softs glints of light sparkling on polished gems embedded in multiple rings hugging his fingers. “Maybe you ought to plan yourself some manners.”

“Maybe you ought to plan yourself a pension, otherwise all the time you put savings and making profits would just…” he pauses and makes a vague gesture of an explosion with both hands. “Poof, disappear.”

“And you will never make any profit if you just keep planning—“

Heart sighs at the familiar sound of the bitter rivals’ bickering, one that has been going on since anyone could remember. She leaves the table and saunters closer to the bar, leaving her empty glass next to Club’s hand. She smiles softly at him. “Are you doing this on purpose?”

“I think that’s a question better directed at you,” he leans to the side so he’s now facing Heart, ignoring the insults and accusations thrown back and forth between Spade and Diamond for the umpteenth time. “You sparked the flame this time.”

“And you backed me up.”

Club sighs quietly, scratching the back of his neck. “I just think you all have at least one good point, and you bury it beneath extreme claims every single time. But you sound like you intend on pitting them against each other, on purpose.”

“Me? Pitting them against each other?” Heart pouts, her voice overly offended in a clearly theatrical fashion, as her hand rose to rest over her chest in sheer bewilderment. “Oh dear, listen to them, they’re not at odds – they’re worried about each other. Had they really hated each other, would one really spend so much time convincing the other that his way is the right one? Hmm?” Pearly white teeth flash behind her perfectly contoured lips in a smile radiating sweet victorious glee.

Club raises an eyebrow and tilts his head to the side, thinking it over. If they truly are simply holding strong to their perceived, justified way, each would simply hold their stance and won’t budge. Yet here they are, in their aggressive, loud way, arguing to better the other’s life.

Or were they?

Farther from the bar, at another table, two other guests sit and watch the events unfold, their eyes glint with curiosity and amusement.

A Red Joker and a Black Joker, dressed to the nines in their respective colors, quiet laughter dancing on their lips at the show unknowingly put together in front of them.

“It’s the same story, every single time,” Red leans back in her chair.

“They just never learn,” Black agrees, leaning forward over the table.

It wasn’t the most intense exchange they saw from the group, but not the tamest, either.

Red smiles, turning to Black. “Do you think there’s hope, at all?”

“Maybe,” Black gestures towards the calm slowly setting in between Spade and Diamond, “but they’ve had their ups and downs about it. I wouldn’t bet on it…maybe against it.”

“I think it’s just a matter of time,” Red muses.

“Before they tear each other apart?” Black bares his teeth; his smile is that of anticipation.

Red shakes her head.

“Before they realize it’s just a game.”