Table

"Two for the Final Table, please," Ed said softly. "Last name is Phillips." "We do have a reservation for Phillips at the Final Table, Sir," the host responded quietly, "but I'd like to share that we have ample space available at our Infinite Possibilities, Fight Until Your Last Breath, and Fuck Around Find Out Tables if you care to convert your reservation." The Phillipses smiled and shook their heads "no". "Very well; this way, please," the host said, donning gloves to take the food and drink menus out of their glass case (the gold and jewels dazzling even in the low light). "Everything is included, of course, and the best champagne on Earth is served instead of water. If you need anything, you have only to say; have an amazing time and may the cards be kind." The private room was glorious, and Miriam went on and on about the chandelier and the red velvet wallpaper (inset with rubies and diamonds). The champagne materialized, as did the amuse-bouche, and they sighed. The dealer materialized next and they gasped, feeling daft they'd bought the robe-and-scythe thing all of these years - for she was more pearl than bone, more roses than blade, and the deck before them was hand-illuminated with scenes from their lives. "Shall we?" she asked, in a voice soft and rich as sunset, and began to shuffle.