Betcha Can't
Chapter One: Poker Chips
01262009 – 0619P

AN: I read my friend Karasu's story, "We Have the Faces for Radio" (you can find it on this site, under the penname CURE-Karasu), and I realized that I identified with the author who wrote stories on a clichéd premise, but spun them and made them her own. Cause that's what I feel like I do. So, in the spirit of that author (I'm not egotistical enough to think it was based on me… and the rest of the description makes me hope it's not), I decided to try to, once more, flip a cliché. I wonder if I still have a talent for it. I might be a bit rusty and out-of-practice…

Without further adieu…


"Ante up, boys," I said, exhaling a stream of thick cigar smoke with my words. It was our weekly poker game, hosted at my humble (and I mean that in the strictest of senses) abode.

My name's Gavin Brierley. And let's get one thing clear before I begin this story: I am not a nice person. I never was, and I have no plans of ever becoming one. So when everything goes to hell (as we all know it must), don't stand there with your mouths agape like, "What? Why would you do that?"

It's because I'm mean-spirited. We've established this.

I'm also gay. Shit, shock, horror, right? But don't worry, I'm one of those classy maybe-they-are, maybe-they-aren't gay guys, not one of those, omigod-look-at-them-floating-around-saying-stuff gay guys. I hold a special place of hatred in my heart for that kind.

Maybe if they weren't such pussies we wouldn't all have such a bad name.

Just putting that out there. Think about it.

But anyway, back to the game.

We don't bet money. We bet actions. Dares, if you will. The number of chips you lose dictates what kind of dare you get.

I lost fifteen chips, which would have equaled roughly one hundred and fifty dollars. I guess it's a good thing we weren't betting money, as my job pays shit.

But instead of losing half a week of pay, I lost something much less important to me: my dignity.

My loss of dignity came with a name: Ryan Rakers.

"Ryan? Really?" I asked, eyebrow quirked. Lindsay Withrow, the only girl allowed into the sacred folds of the weekly poker games, nodded, a smug grin playing across her lips.

"What's the matter, hot stuff?" she asked, her heavily-kohled eyes narrowed. "Don't think you can do it?"

"Are you kidding? Rakers is practically gagging for it."


AN: I know it's a short chapter, but it's true to form for me, and it's just an intro.

Can you guess the cliché? Points for you if you can.

Nothing for you if you can't. Gavin is in charge of handing out rewards, and he's an ass.

I will, however, give you cookies and replies behind his back if you review. :3