"I just don't know how this happened," admitted Tso Sivre, still dumbstruck.
Atkus Vora had his mouth covered with his hand, bottling up his intensely amused and ultimately victorious laughter.
"You beat me by one gold. One gold. O-n-e-g-o-l-d," Tso continued to rant incredulously. "And now, having staked my very pride on our bet, I have to wear my sister's frilly dress until the end of the month! I'm not sure which pantheon of gods I must have pissed off, or who you bribed, but I hope all of you die by drowning in a bucket of kerosene."
Atkus sighed heavily, tossed a thick arm down on his partner's shoulder, then counseled him with all the kindness a hungry bear would show a salmon that washed up on shore, "I'm sure you'll look just fine in that dress. If anything, I'm sure you'll fit into it -- you and your sister wear the same size, right Sivre?"
The two dark elves took a lazy seat on a bench that was next to a fountain in the street. They both wore suits that were cheap imitations of something that might even remotely be considered expensive, and, curiously enough, carried a violin each. The duo had recently finished up with an 'ingenious' scheme to provide musical services to the customers of a local, slightly fancy bar/restaurant.
What most would call a horrible, miserable, ego-degrading complete and utter catastrophe, Tso and Atkus called a success, if only because they walked away with a handful of gold coins as tips/pity money/bribes to make them commit suicide. The dirty looks, various insults, and the one assassination attempt didn't count in their minds.
Tso and Atkus had staked a bet on the success of their scheme, measured in the raw amount of gold coins earned for their questionable services, and it was the latter of the two that came out on top, as his earlier scheme netted them more money. As a result, Tso the loser was forced to wear his sister's frilliest, most girlish dress for the last few days in the month... while Atkus sold his body for money.
Now, Tso sulked on the fountain bench, looking down at the violin in his lap as if it might suddenly turn into an angel of some kind and take him away from his frilly, dress-like doom. "You may have won the battle today, my chubby friend, but every dog must have its day."
"Don't worry, Tso, your mother's day will come." Atkus offered him a freshly rolled tobacco stick. "Want to kill yourself slowly?"
"Clever comeback. And how very sportsmanlike of you -- it's making me sick," replied Tso as he took the stick of the black lung anyway. He struck one of his own matches to light it and smoke it.
Not sparing any opportunity to revel in the victory of the night, Atkus spoke again while smoking his own tobacco stick. "Let's get your hair styled while we're at it, Sivre. Might need to work on those nails too, and get some make-up on that face. And then, after a nice bath, you could be as hideous as your mom and sell yourself for less."
"Weren't we laying off the mom jokes today, Vora? Where's your sense of honor, you barbarian?" Tso replied dryly. He simply couldn't let Atkus get away with this one, so he would need an utter victory in order to earn his pawned pride back. It shouldn't be too hard, and would probably involve a buffet, some hot sauce, and two strippers.
Atkus just grinned at his partner's jive, deflecting it off of his shield of pure, slightly sadistic elation.
Everything was going right for him today. He wondered, was it even possible for it to get even better?
