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Helo watches her play and it's like watching her fly. It seems like there's no pattern, no strategy, but if you watch long enough, it all makes sense, all comes together. There aren't any tricks - she doesn't count cards and doesn't cheat - but there's a method to her madness that no one else sees. When the game first starts, she'll tap the cards on the table and then fan them out. She says it's a hold out from the very first game she played, a new deck, cards stuck together. "It's like nuggets," she laughs, that deep braying laugh of hers that's like a real breeze in the recycled air. "Shake 'em up and see what falls to the bottom on its ass." She fans the cards out then stacks them together again, flipping them over and doing the same. She's like a frakking casino dealer, dazzling them all with sleight of hand until she flips them over, shuffles and deals and the Gods of Kobol smile on her and hand her full colors like she's Zeus's own daughter. He helps her to her rack when she's too drunk to walk or she's pissed off too many other pilots, the two more often than not coinciding. "You ever lose, Starbuck?" She shakes her head and smiles up at him, leaning on him more and more with every step. "Never at cards, Helo." Her smile fades and she closes her eyes and falls out of step for a moment out of time. "Just at everything else."
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