After the largely uneventful visit to Marinopolis, Prince-Captain Rashad's urgan has been patrolling the seas, in search of adventure or trouble. It hasn't found much of either just yet, which is just fine by most of the legionnaires, but things can still get pretty boring, riding in the innards of a giant fishy creature for so long.

Scrimshaw has called together a few fellows for a game of Collegia Pocque – a card game of chance and some small measure of skill.

It looks like Scrimshaw is already seated at the table, along with Whitehead, Hammerhand, and Mooncoil (the latter just sort of poking into the room from an adjoining corridor, since he's too big to actually fit all the way in here comfortably for all involved).

"Scoot yer tail," grumbles a Jupani from the hallway. His head pokes in from the corridor, followed by the rest of him as he tries to climb around Mooncoil and enter the room.

"Hey! Arkie! Glad you could play! I need ta win as many marks an' shekels as I kin, so's I kin get me a new peeper!" chitters the smelly white one-eyed rat, Whitehead.

Scrimshaw mrowls, "And I just want to have the satisfaction of seeing you blubber when you lose every last mark to me." The tiger makes a feral grin.

After clambering over the large sea-Naga's tail the Jupani makes his way over to the table. "Eh, the boredom is killin' me. I could half use seein' a pirate or two," says the wolf as he drops himself onto a free chair. A toothy smile that could almost pass for a snarl is show the tiger-Khatta. "You just save yer braggin' for your dreams, kitty."

Right about as everyone is getting nice and comfortably set in … a leonine Khatta with rippling muscles under his fur steps through the doorway, and snaps to attention. "Surprise inspection!" he roars. This immediately prompts a loud squeak by Whitehead, who is indeed surprised as he bowls backward off of his seat and onto the floor.

Arkold suddenly coughs at the declaration of the surprise inspection. He stares at the table blankly for a moment before he lifts his head to peer at the Khatta. "Are yah serious?" he asks with a hint of confusion.

Scrimshaw steps up and snaps to attention. "He's serious," he murrs under his breath. Whitehead scrambles to his feet, and Hammerhand just tiredly stands, ducking his head to avoid hitting it against the low ceiling. Mooncoil shifts around a bit, but for him to stand at attention in here would be laughable.

"Man … ," grumbles the wolf. He pushes himself up and out of the seat before moving to attention. He doesn't exactly snap to attention, but he moves faster than is his usual response to authority.

Just after Arkold does so … Prince-Captain Rashad strides into the room, dressed in silky finery that is quite probably not a proper uniform … but it still maintains some pretense of having a military cut nonetheless. He sniffs a bit distastefully at the air, and never even so much as looks at the rat, but he nods approvingly at the other soldiers standing (or trying to) at attention in the room.

As the prince-captain enters Arkold shifts himself into a slightly better "at ease" position. (Cap'n Kitten strikes again.) His smile, gone since the inspection was announced, has been replaced with a twitch of a frown on the edges of the Jupani's muzzle.

The Prince-Captain lingers a bit longer, then turns away, to stifle a yawn. "As you were, as you were… " Then, he heads on out of the room, taking care not to take the corridor partially blocked by the large sea-Naga. The leonine Khatta follows after him.

Once that captain has turned away from him Arkold slouches back into his usual poor military manner, regardless if any of the Prince-Captain's surrounding officers see him. He folds his arms across his chest and smirks in annoyance, rolling his eyes when a few of the other gathered legionnaires can see him do it.

Scrimshaw says, "Well … that was close." He clears his throat. "Wonder what that was all about."

A few moments later, a mouse enters the room, padding in quietly. "Sorry I'm late. Prince Captain Rashad was having a … surprise inspection."

Hammerhand snorts. "Really."

"Probably Cap'n Kitten's attempt to try look important, again. He could be King of Ashtoreth and he'd still look like a wet-behind-the-ears milk-lappin' pansy," says Arkold. The wolf drops back into his seat and puts his elbow on the table, resuming his relaxing where he left off. "'ey there, squeaker," he greets the Skeek.

Kris nods, unbuttoning his uniform jacket absently as he walks towards the table. "Did I miss anything?" he inquires.

Arkold shakes his head lazily. "Nothin' but our own surprise inspection by our fearsome leader." He snorts.

The mouse shrugs out of the jacket and settles it on the back of an empty chair, before seating himself. "Wow, he is feeling self-important today," he comments. After loosening the collar on his short-sleeved shirt, Kris asks, "Who's got the cards, then?"

Scrimshaw grins, and pulls out a set of cards, which he slaps down on the table. "Here we go!"

With the cards down, the Jupani perks out of his slight daze. He sits back into his chair and holds his hand out. "All too excited, eh? Well deal 'em!" He grins widely at the tiger-Khatta. "Hey, aren't you related to that there prince? Yah all look the same to me," he ribs him.

The cards spill in a messy pile with the feline's gesture. The deck is water-stained and dog-eared, showing the signs of many years' usage, with backs that feature a winking, scantily clad Khatta in a sultry pose. "Hey, cute chick," Whitehead says, snatching up one of the cards for a closer examination. He emits a low whistle as he looks at the front of the card. "Whooa mama."

Hammerhand snorts. "Can't stick to your own species, can you, Whitehead?"

Mooncoil just flicks his carp whiskers, but, being a Naga, doesn't seem to show much of an emotional reaction to the images on the cards.

Arkold eyes the cards for a moment before snapping out of a staring stupor. He lifts a hand to smack the Skreek in the back of the head. "Ogle the cards after he deals em, rat!" he growls.

The Skreek grabs for another card, then a few more, flipping them over to show females of various species, mostly unclad, and posed in an assortment of highly improbable positions. "Oooooo… I like this deck," Whitehead leers.

Kris, meanwhile, has been staring at the cards with an expression of absolute dismay. "You don't honestly mean for us to play with those, Scrimshaw?" he says, in complete disbelief.

Whitehead's lechery has apparently overwhelmed his normal aversion to pain, as he ignored Arkold's earlier smack.

Scrimshaw looks surprised, then quickly his expression fades into a grin. "Whazzis? You didn't tell me you were a prude, eh?"

The Jupani looks at his raised hand, then the Skreek, then back at his hand again. "Lookie 'ere, found a way to get this 'ere rat to actually stand up to a blow!" He laughs loudly before turning back to look between Scrimshaw and Kris. "Eh, we gotta get our peeks somewhere 'eh? Except for 'Scrim there, who seems occupied with the Cap'n's flower. C'mon, deal em."

The mouse blinks at the Khatta. "Prudish?" he marvels. "What's that got to do with it? Just look at them!" He gestures indignantly to the spread pile of cards.

Arkold glances over to the Skeek. "What's the matter eh? Ain't never seen a scantily clad woman before? C'mon, this is the Offworld Legion; what'd you expect from filth like 'Scrim?" he says, followed by another chuckle.

Scrimshaw just smirks, evidently enjoying the mouse's dismay.

The mouse turns to Arkold and gapes. "But … Oh, for cryin' out loud! Not the pictures! Look at the cards!" He snatches one up and plants it on the table, pointing at a dog-eared corner, then gesturing at the water stain along one edge. "They're marked!"

After looking at the card for a moment the wolf shrugs. "We ain't got any other cards," he says. A hand reaches up and scratches his ear before he turns to eye Scrimshaw. "Eh, or do we huh?"

Scrimshaw shakes his head, and grins. "Heh … All right, all right … " He digs into his jacket, and pulls out a sealed packet, which he pops open … revealing a fresh set of cards in considerably better condition. He pockets the other cards … snatching away a few that Whitehead seemed to think he was going to get to keep for himself.

The Skeek sags back into his chair, looking greatly relieved. He folds his hands together and waits for the cards to be dealt.

Arkold scratches his ear a bit more before he lets his hand fall. He shrugs once more and folds his arms back across his chest. "Dirty trick, 'Scrim, foolin' us with dirty cards." He grins lopsidedly. "S'why I like you."

Scrimshaw splits the deck, snaps the cards back together, and makes quite a show of fanning the cards and shuffling them back and forth … then slaps down the deck next to Arkold. "Cut," he mrowls.

The Jupani reaches over and lifts up half the deck before putting that half down and placing the other half on top of it. He then gestures Scrimshaw to continue.

Scrimshaw picks up the deck, and proceeds to deal out a hand to each of the players – Scrimshaw himself, Arkold, Kris, Mooncoil, Hammerhand, and Whitehead.

The first few hands go by quickly, with the players feeling each other out, and no real action… Everyone has dull cards. Kris keeps his cards tucked beneath his hand, and flat against the table, only glancing at them once per round, by turning the corners up just enough for him to see, at the edge of the table.

Arkold, on the other hand, leans back in his chair with his cards held in a fan just in front of his muzzle. Through the game he keeps a constant confident smirk on his muzzle, even when things don't go his way.

Whitehead keeps his hand close to his chest, peering at the cards every few moments, as he considers his move. After even a handful of rounds, it becomes clear to an attentive watcher that the Skreek tends to twitch his whiskers and chortle when he has a good hand, and that his tailtip quivers when he's bluffing.

Scrimshaw seems at first to be doing better than average … but not winning by any great margin. Although he's quite free to throw playful insults around the table, he pretty much takes his losing hands gracefully.

As the evening wears on, luck shines most on the two rodents and Mooncoil. Scrimshaw, despite having called the game, finds the pile of chips in front of him steadily declining. Arkold's not doing much better, while Hammerhand barely holds his own. Whitehead chortles gleefully as he rakes in another pile of chips on three adepts, while Scrimshaw snorts in disgust at his own two pair.

After the Skreek has accumulated a good amount of chips, the Jupani comments something about "finding what makes Whitehead go", in regards to the earlier cards. He continues to smirk and like Scrimshaw, and dishes out the ribbing while adding a bit of his own brand of sarcasm.

At one round late in the evening, Mooncoil opens the bidding with ten shekels, the current per-round maximum. Kris folds without a word, as does Hammerhand, while Whitehead meets it.

"I raise yah five," says the Jupani as he glances between those gathered.

Scrimshaw's whiskers twitch as he watches his cards, then he glances at Mooncoil and Arkold, before snarling and dropping them to the table. "Fold."

A sibilant hiss escapes Mooncoil. "Raise you ten," the Naga says smoothly, pushing fifteen more chips into the pot.

The wolf continues to smirk, as he has been doing all night. "Ten. Heh. I see yer ten and raise you the same," he says before pushing out his own twenty.

The Naga's jaws part slightly, giving him the appearance of an exaggerated smile. "And I ssee your ten and raise ten."

"Back at'cha, yah pale-sea-sneaker." The Jupani then pushes out his ten … which is all he has left, due to losses from earlier in the night.

Scrimshaw asks the snake, "Draw?"

"One," Mooncoil hisses, sending a card into the dead pile. The feline issues him a new one, then turns to Arkold. "Well? Ya like that hand just the way it is, wolf?"

The wolf takes two cards from his pile and tosses them out. "One," he says. A hand is held out for the two cards to be placed in.

The cat slides the card across the table to the Jupani, then leans back to watch the two. Mooncoil hisses, "I bet twenty." He slides the chips halfway out onto the table. "Will you buy in for more so you may continue, Arkold?"

The wolf turns towards Kris and grins at him. "Remember what I said about favors?" he asks him before holding his hand out.

Kris, who had been watching Mooncoil and the Jupani intently, laughs at Arkold's words. He pushes over a pile of a hundred and thirty chips. "Go wild."

With his new chips, Arkold turns his grin over towards the Naga. "Wild, heh, you bet I will. I see your twenty and raise you thirty," he tells Mooncoil.

The Naga glances at Kris, "Ah, thank you, my friend," he tells the mouse, before turning his smile back on Arkold. "And raise thirty."

"Likewise, and I raise you forty," says the wolf as he leans back in his seat.

Mooncoil flicks his eyes over the Jupani's face. "And raise forty." The final raise.

Silently, the mouse pushes thirty additional chips over to Arkold, with a slight nod.

Arkold turns his gaze back towards the Skeek. When he sees the chips arrive he grins more at Kris before he turns that grin towards the Naga. "I'll meet your forty."

"Okay, boys, show 'em!" Scrimshaw says cheerfully, leaning forward at all the chip action.

The Jupani flips his cards around with his fingers, using his dexterity to show his cards. He reveals two pair: Adepts over nines.

The Naga hisses with dismay, and shoves his cards, face down, into the discard pile. "Yourss," he concedes.

Arkold, if not for the limits of the body, would smile all the way around his head. Still, a incredibly smug toothy smile plasters his face. Humility has no place here. He chuckles even as he pulls in the chips, pushing some off towards Kris as well.

"Heh heh heh … "