Countdown... // [NYE; open!]

atticus manor

With a six-sided die in one hand and a cup of hot chocolate in the other, Atticus Manor played a classic with the locals. Left, Right, and Center. Everyone bet on the barrel, a dollar for each entry. He rolled the die once the game got back to him: left. Atticus slid the bill to the gentleman on his left. If you roll left, right, or center, that's where you move your bill. And the last person with a bill left in their hand would be declared the pot winner.

It was monotonous, and when it wasn't his turn, Atticus's gaze locked in with the clock. Not long until midnight, the one moment in the year when everyone would be cheering for a made-up chronological mechanic for as much of a reason as they would a turtle crawling to the shore. Normally, he'd spend it at home, his husband rushing in to wish him a Happy New Year with a kiss on the cheek. Even in his own home, Atticus felt out of place. Tonight's event forced him to socialize, and with his children wandering the floor and his husband out with other friends tonight, he welcomed the opportunity.

His New Year's Resolution? To avoid being a stick in the mud as much as possible. He already started. He sipped the hot chocolate, warm to start with the sweet taste of bourbon in it to last. The gentleman beside Atticus rolled his die: right. The dollar went his way.

"Look at you! Showing you've still got moves in the fighting department at forty-one, and now you're winning here, too! Luck's on your side. Hopefully, it doesn't run out by the new year!"

Atticus palmed the dollar bill and rolled up the sleeves of his white-collar shirt. His forest green coat was wrapped around a chair behind him. "The new year's in five minutes, so I certainly hope not."

Another minute went by, leaving only a few dollars left in circulation. Atticus didn't have any on hand, but no one was ever out in this game unless they walked away from the table. He leaned back against the wall, absorbing claps, cheers, and clanking of champagne glasses. He never asked for much, but if he had one wish in the New Year, it was that the luck would stay. A rebirth in his relationship, a real connection with any of his kids, or even a new District Three victor would suffice. Anything to lessen the load that undoubtedly pulled years out of his lifetime.

One of the man's dollar bills slid in his direction. "Jesus, Atticus. Don't luck know you're rich already?"

"Hardly," he replied, locking his thumb through his belt loop.

"Where's my four-leaf clover when I need it?"

A pair of velvet green legs snaked in their direction. If these people were so misfortune, why hadn't they learned not to speak too soon? "Do y'all need another?"

Atticus recognized Lauren Kinkade without much trouble. The mug of bourbon hot chocolate lost half its weight in one breath. Lauren approached the table without an answer to his question. "Or should I just grab a Peacekeeper for a partner?"

He was referencing the New Year's kiss, of course. Atticus shrugged, squeezing tighter to one side to let Lauren in. No use in arguing with someone who doesn't care about etiquette lest it's to their benefit.

His die rolled on the surface, but Atticus took no chances. He flubbed the roll with a kick to the barrel's side, and the game ended when the second-to-last dollar entered the jackpot. Everyone cheered for the winner.

"We can always do with one more to ring in the New Year," Atticus said with courtesy, pulling his suit coat back on.

"Two minutes until the light show, everyone!"

He kept close to Lauren and his acquaintances to ensure nobody got into trouble.