Gotta Know When to Fold Em

    You stared blankly ahead, not really focusing on any one person, but instead watching as as a flurry of footsteps passed by. The ice frozen into your ebony fur slowly began to melt away as you shivered from the cold- at least it was a bit warmer down here, even if it was a bit musky from the crowded populous.

   This was the only place you had known to come to, the shady community housed in the long since condemned tunnels that ran underneath the lands. You were told once that they were used by your kind during some kind of war, but you didn’t stick around school long enough to learn any of that shit. Street smarts were what was most important here, especially for a Nogitsune like yourself. The Tunnels were the only place you were really ever welcomed, even more so than your own damn house.

   During school, you used to stick around just long enough for your favorite classes, like art and english and shit, then dipped out just before the boring ones started. They could never really get a hold of your mom to notify her of your absence since she was a pretty shady individual herself, and your dad had never even been around to begin with, so you just kinda made it a part of your daily routine to skip. Sometimes the teachers would pull you aside in the hallways to ask you if “anything was going on at home”, but it’s not like a damn Whitesune would even begin to understand what it’s like in your clan’s territory. After class, you’d sneak down here to stroll through the markets with whatever bit of drug money your mom hadn’t nailed to the floor. You were never quite sure where she even got her gold from, considering she didn’t even have a job.

   You didn’t like how she acted on the shit that she took, so you didn’t really care about stealing funds from her. That is, until the day she finally snapped.

   You remember frantically scrambling to throw anything you could into your tattered up backpack while your heartbeat pounded away in your ears- you didn’t have anything particularly important, so it was mostly just your stash of snacks you’d sneaked out of the school cafeteria and some playing cards you liked to make towers out of sometimes. All the while, your mom was screaming and cursing at you from the doorway, most likely drugged up on the substance of the week. You try your best not to dwell on the things she called you that day. You almost felt sorry for the bitch.

   But now here you were, curled up behind one of the vendor’s stands and watching the people go by while your skin dethawed from running through the winter storm. This was the only place you had thought to come to after getting kicked out of your own fucking home. This particular seller was another like you, a Nogitsune, though they had been born and raised in the Tunnels. Oyateki, the guy renting the stand, offered you a place to stay so long as you could bring him the coin. Didn’t matter how you did it, so long as you could pay up.

   The guy owned the local inn during the daytime, but came to the Tunnels to sell some shit during the nights. You didn’t pry too much into what it was he sold or why- it was the least you could do considering he kept out of your business too. Oya was nice, though, much nicer than your mom ever was, especially when it came to helping you stand on your own two feet again after the incident.

   Thus, you’d turned to gambling. You’d go from bar to bar every night with only your deck of cards and a few gold to win whatever the poor suckers there were willing to offer. Being only a young teen at the time, most people didn’t even believe you knew how to play. Of course, you would always win, because you couldn’t afford to lose. After each night of rounds, you’d take your winnings down to the market and sell off whatever you’d acquired, using the money to pay your bill and investing whatever was left into condoms and escorts.

   Naturally, after a while the town residents stopped playing against you, and you were forced to move away- away from your childhood town, away from the sector of the Tunnels you were familiar with, and away from Oya, whom was probably the closest to a friend you’d ever get.

   And so you’d slide to the neighboring town, paying each inn’s boarding fees with gold pieces won from that night’s games, all the while keeping yourself too distracted with attractive faces to feel the hollowing emptiness that lingered inside. If you ever ran out, you’d complete odd jobs on the side for a quick buck, no questions asked if it was a bit sketchy. You would learn the ways of your kind’s natural affinity for magic from Oya and apply it to your wagers, leaving you wanted by many and despised by even more.

   And then, you’d move on to the next town that didn’t recognize your face.

                         And then the next.

                                                  And then the next.