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Parallel Universes - "What if?" / Re: [2376] Entanglement of Chaos
Last post by Ellen Fitz -The noise hit Enyd first.
Not just the music—though that was certainly part of it—but the layered chaos beneath it. The clatter of latinum, the rise and fall of voices thick with anticipation or regret, the subtle hum of power conduits feeding lights that were designed to overwhelm rather than illuminate. It all blurred together into something loud enough that she could *feel* it behind her eyes.
She forced herself not to stare.
Well. Not *too* much.
Zark and Ryzit moved through the space with a confidence that bordered on predatory, and Enyd let herself trail just enough behind them to sell the image she was meant to project: rich, distracted, dazzled. The diamond bracelet on her wrist felt absurdly heavy, and she had to fight the instinct to tuck her hands into her sleeves the way she did when she was nervous. Instead, she clasped the replica latinum bar with both hands, turning it over as if fascinated by the weight of it.
Gawk, Ryzit had said.
So Enyd gawked.
She let her mouth part slightly, eyes drifting from table to table, lingering a heartbeat too long on the glittering displays and the beings clustered around them. It wasn’t entirely an act. She’d been in lavish places before, but this was indulgence weaponized—designed to distract, to separate people from good sense and good judgment. She could almost admire the efficiency of it.
Almost.
Her attention snagged when Zark’s posture changed.
It was subtle—just a fraction of tension sliding into the Andorian’s shoulders, a stillness that hadn’t been there a moment before—but Enyd had spent enough time around security officers to recognize the shift. Her gaze followed Zark’s line of sight, settling on the unremarkable Cardassian moving through the crowd.
Non-descript, her mind supplied automatically. The kind of person you didn’t notice unless you were trained to notice exactly that.
Zark’s subvocalized question made Enyd’s fingers tighten imperceptibly around the latinum bar.
Marratt Shipping. Ministry of Agriculture. Procurement.
Enyd didn’t answer right away. Instead, she tilted her head, letting her eyes drift lazily over the Cardassian as if she were just another curious patron watching the flow of the crowd. She searched her memory, flipping through meetings and briefings the way she’d been trained to—faces half-remembered, names buried under titles and agendas.
“I… think you’re right,” she murmured back at last, keeping her tone light, almost absentminded. “Not a principal. Definitely support staff. The kind who fetches documents and pretends not to hear anything important.” A pause. “Which usually means they hear *everything*.”
Her pulse picked up, though she kept her expression pleasantly dazed. If that Cardassian was connected—and if he was moving in the same direction as the green-skinned woman Ryzit had flagged—then this was already drifting away from coincidence territory.
Enyd swallowed and forced a soft, delighted laugh, lifting the latinum bar slightly as if showing it off to no one in particular. “Oh! Look at that table,” she added aloud, pitching her voice to carry. “I’ve always wanted to try one with real latinum.”
Internally, her mind was already recalibrating.
So much for a simple evening of pretending to be foolish with money.
She shifted her weight, angling herself so she could keep both figures in her peripheral vision without appearing to track either of them directly. Whatever game was unfolding here, it wasn’t just about gambling anymore—and Enyd had the uneasy sense that they’d just stumbled onto a table where the stakes were far higher than credits.
All right, Grandmother, she thought grimly. Let’s see how impulsive and foolhardy gets us out of this one.
Enyd let the decision settle in her bones before she acted on it.
“Oh—that one looks fun,” she said lightly, already drifting toward the nearest table that just so happened to be adjacent to the path the Orion woman and the Cardassian were converging on. Close enough to matter. Far enough not to be obvious.
She chose her seat carefully, turning it so her back was to them, posture loose and inattentive, one leg crossed over the other in a way that suggested comfort rather than calculation. If either of them glanced her way, they’d see nothing but a well-dressed human more interested in the sparkle of the table than the people around it.
Perfect.
The dealer gave her a look—assessing, dismissive, already slotting her neatly into the *easy mark* category—and Enyd leaned into it with enthusiasm. She fumbled slightly with the chips, laughed too loudly when she dropped one, apologized breathlessly as she scooped it up.
“Oh goodness, I’m so sorry,” she said, smiling wide and a little vacant. “I’m still learning how all of this works. My friend *insisted* I try something ‘authentic.’”
Zark would hate this part, she knew. Ryzit would understand it immediately.
The first hand went poorly, exactly as expected. Enyd clapped her hands together anyway, delighted. The second was marginally better. She asked unnecessary questions, tilted her head as if the rules were delightfully confusing, and reacted to every reveal with exaggerated surprise.
And then—somewhere between the third and fourth round—something clicked.
It startled her how natural it felt.
The rhythm of the game. The subtle tells. The way the dealer’s fingers hesitated just a fraction of a second longer when the odds shifted. Her grandmother’s voice drifted back unbidden, calm and amused, guiding her hands as if Enyd were thirteen again, sitting at a battered table on the ranch with a deck of worn cards.
Watch people, not cards.
When the final reveal came, there was a brief, stunned silence.
Then the dealer blinked. Another patron swore under their breath. A small pile of latinum slid unmistakably in Enyd’s direction.
“Oh,” Enyd said softly, eyes widening as she stared down at her winnings. She let out a little laugh, half genuine, half performance. “Oh! I—I won?”
She pressed a hand to her chest as if overwhelmed. “How exciting! I didn’t even realize I was doing it right.”
A few amused chuckles rippled around the table. Someone congratulated her. Someone else eyed her with new interest.
Enyd smiled, bright and pleased—and then, deliberately, she pushed her chair back.
“Well,” she announced, gathering her chips without even glancing at the payout chart, “that was fun for a moment, but I think I’m already bored.” She pouted theatrically, glancing over her shoulder as if suddenly restless. “Isn’t there something else to do here? Something with a bit more… atmosphere?”
She stood before anyone could suggest doubling down, before the dealer could coax her into staying, and gestured vaguely toward the darker end of the casino where the lighting shifted and the music deepened into a slower, heavier pulse.
The same direction the Cardassian and the Orion had gone.
Ryzit and Zark fell into step with her seamlessly as she led them that way, Enyd chatting idly about lighting and music and how everything was starting to look the same. She slowed just short of the threshold, peering into the dimly lit entertainment corridor with open curiosity—but not crossing into it.
Not yet.
Instead, she turned on her heel, eyes lighting up as if struck by a new idea. “Oh! That table looks *far* more interesting,” she said, pointing to another game set just off the main thoroughfare—still public, still bright enough to feel safe, but undeniably closer to where the pair had disappeared.
She took her seat again with a happy sigh, already reaching for chips. “Just one or two rounds,” she added airily. “I want to see if I’m still lucky.”
As the game began anew, Enyd let her smile settle into place, all bright distraction and harmless indulgence—while her awareness stretched thin and sharp beneath it, listening, watching, waiting.
Whatever was happening deeper in the casino, she was now close enough to feel its pull.
And she had every intention of following—on her own terms.
