[ How else can he deal with confusion flushing through him? The same as he would in the overworld – he swallows it down and keeps that masquerade tight to his performance. It's taken years to perfect it, a confidence that was one part a wolf and one part a magician... the sums of his parts, sly and cunning when need be. Protective. Fierce.

It was a moment of weakness... wasn't it? He's lonely, without his beloved and ...

Wriothesley smiled more in a short moment than he had in months. Maybe Lyney views that as a win too.

And securing another win feels like something lingering in the air. A challenge... something that they both want to selfishly have whether they want to admit it or not.

Wriothesley wins with his invitation accepted.
Lyney wins with a contraband deck of cards provided, albeit... not in the pristine condition he is use to.

Seated on the floor of the coffee table, looking at the cards laid splayed out between him and Wriothesley – a few idle yawns indicate how hard he had worked and how late it was for them. The invitation, despite such circumstances, was still met with a challenge.

Of course, when Lyney thumbs at his cards, there's a disapproving huff. ]

These are ancient. The edges are peeling off. Truly, how can anyone even enjoy the feeling of the cards when they're in this state?