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A Game of Cups: The Ginger

Statistics class caused problems, as always. “What is the standard deviation in this case? Rojo?” the maester called out. He quickly turned through the pages as his mind raced for the answer. “Well, Rojo?” “I don’t know…” He looked blankly at the professor, who was clad in an argyle sweater vest; in contrast he himself was wearing the black of the order. Why should he presume to speak to me as such? Does he not know his place? If only this were the field of battle… “3.2,” he answered. His thoughts had already turned towards Lower Campus on this dreary Friday. The entirety of Lower Campus was ripe for the picking, and all it required was the dedication of his men and a few wenches to take the whole of the place. But to find some wenches… Rojo hesitantly turned towards the girls adjacent to him.

“What are you up to tonight?” he said hesitantly under his breath. One was quite seemly, but the others had obviously also seen their share of suitors. What is her name..? He pondered her face hoping that some slight gesture may give away her past. “Mmmmmmmm… I’m not sure yet. You?” she replied curtly. A bold show of confidence, perhaps? “Ally, right?” “No Amy.” Gods be damned! How are we to take their homestead unawares without camp followers? But if I tell them… “Well, Amy, my friends are heading down to a 80’s party in the Mods, if you wanna go?” Her brow rose along with the corner of her lip. “So you wont be coming?” she said with a devilish grin.

The entirety of our operation hangs in the balance. This conversation will determine all. If I bore the sigil of the pink whale, perhaps, but I am a lowly polo rider. How am I to not stand out too much, yet still gain their trust? For the realm, for my lords, for me.

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