The creature that now inhabited the body of Sato Aio was decidedly confused as to why he was suddenly thousands of miles away in an entirely different ocean possessing a different body and a different name. 

He had been in the Atlantic Ocean on a ship called the Sea Seraph heading to the New World just the day prior, in a Skin with the name of James Wilkins. 

They had been two weeks into their journey, at the halfway point. The weather had been kind to them. It was late in the evening when James Wilkins dropped onto the ‘tween deck, skipping the last two rungs of the latter, his feet thudding heavily onto the wooden floor, his knees bending into a crouch – he remained in that position. There was no room to stand on the ‘tween deck, the ceiling being so low even the shortest of passengers had to crouch. Movement was even more difficult. One either had to shuffle forward in an awkward waddle or crawl. There was little dignity to be had on this ship, James thought to himself. 

“Good evening,” James said, smiling at the people surrounding him even as the stench of the lower deck stung at his eyes and burned his nose. He had thought he would grow used to the smell but every time he ventured below deck it only seemed to grow worse in his absence. 

The ventilation was poor, the air was thick and stale. The stench of unwashed bodies grew stronger with every week that passed. Worse still was the smell of the bilge water, stagnant water that gathered below the ship, bacteria making it smell like sewage and sulfur. 

Despite the poor accommodations, people greeted him cheerfully. “Good evening, My Lord.” Men and women called back, voices filled with excitement. Faces brightened in the dim lantern light at the sight of him. 

It wasn’t him they were excited for, not really, but the fortune he brought with him. Still, James was pleased with the pleasant atmosphere on the ‘tween deck. He had worried the mood would grow sullen the longer the ship was at sea, the anticipation for a new life in the New World dulled by poor food, and poorer accommodations, but it seemed he feared for nothing. 

James waddled forward, his head bumping against the ceiling as he slowly moved to the center of the deck where there was a makeshift table the people had made from a creat. Someone was kind enough to put a folded blanket where he usually sat to use as a cushion.

James settled down into his seat, looking out at the mass of faces. “Now, who’s in the mood for a game?” He asked, his lips quirking in a crooked smile as people clambered around him.

He picked three people for a bastardized game of Lansquenet, two men and one woman, all three had yet to play him, the others groaned in disappointment at not being chosen, but it was well natured, they settled down quickly and gathered around as the men and the woman took their seats around the table.

There wasn’t enough room or light for all the people to observe the game, a man by Bill Leising, who had a deep booming voice, took it upon himself to narrate the games. 

“I’ll be the dealer,” James said, pulling out a deck of cards from his coat and shuffling them. “Your bets?” 

“6 shillings,” The man on James left said. 

“10 Shillings,” the man directly across from him said. Bill called out the bets to the crowd, and a murmur rose at the second man's bet. It was the highest starting bet anyone had called since James had started coming to the ‘tween deck. 

“Very well,” James said. “And you Ms? What is your bet?”

The woman looked James dead in the eye, “One pound Sterling.”

The room went dead quiet, everyone seemed to hold their breath. James couldn’t help but grin. “A bold bet.” 

The woman didn’t flinch, and she didn’t take it back either. “I’m good for it.” She was young, more of a girl, late teens at most, her dress was threadbare, her skin tanned, hands calloused from hard labor. She had a wide jaw and a heavy brow. 

“I’m sure you are.” James took out a pouch of money, no one else did. 

He placed one crown and a shilling for the first man, two crowns for the second, and a shiny gold sovereign for the girl's bet onto the table. The small coin was probably worth more than a month of labor for the girl. 

Then he doubled it. 

Three more crowns, one more shilling, and another sovereign went onto the table. “Your cards?” James asked.

“Player,” all three passengers said.

James dealt two cards placing one to the left and the other to the right, both face down. The left card was the player card the right was the bank card. The highest card won.

The three betting against him stared transfixed at the cards. “What’s your name?” James asked the girl, flipping the card on the left, it was a four of hearts. One of the men cursed under his breath. The girl swallowed thickly, her hands clenched into fists on the table, before she pulled them away and hid them in her lap. 

“Rebecca,” The girl answered after a long drawn-out silence.”Becca.”

“And why are you here, Becca? What is your plan for the New World?” 

She glared at him, tucking her chin in, her thick brows drawing together, “Why do you think?” 

He had been in London long enough to make an educated guess. A young woman of lower class with no family, used to hard labor, with her stern looks and a brass attitude, her prospects weren’t good in London. However the colonies had a severe gender imbalance, not as many women choosing to make the journey across the ocean. She would have better prospects for marriage, and could probably wed into a higher social class. And she was clever enough and brave enough to make the journey. It was unfortunate that she was beholden to European beauty standards. Other cultures would consider her beautiful, but Europe favored delicate features, pale skin, and small builds. 

“Perhaps open an Inn with your winnings? Or a tavern?” 

The girl blinked, her scowl fading away, “you think I could?”

“With a few hundred pounds sterling, sure,” James said. Her glare was back again. James flipped the dealer's card, an Ace of Spades. “Oh, I guess I lost this round.”

The crowd cheered, the men in front of him grinning as they collected their money. Rebecca didn’t move. She had transferred her glare from him to the two Sovereigns. 

“Another round? What's your bet?” The men looked at their coins hesitating, the first one placed six shillings this time, reserving six, the second man bet ten and reserved ten. “Player.” They both said. 

He matched the bets and turned to Becca. “Your bet?” 

She put both of the sovereigns down, “I bet on the Bank.”

“Are you sure?” James asked. The bank notoriously had a bad hand… at least when he played. 

“Yes.”

“Very well,” he placed two more sovereigns and shuffled the deck again. He placed two cards down, and flipped the first and then the second. The player card was two of diamonds, the bank was a six of spades.

“Bank card wins,” James said. 

“Lucky me,” Becca said, collecting her four Sovereigns. “Another game?”

“Sure,” James said.

The man to his left him started to sweat as he placed six shillings, betting the last of his money. Up to this point, no one lost their initial bet. It was the coins he claimed himself to be good for. Hidden away in some nonexistent luggage. James wondered what he would do if he lost. 

The second man passed on the game, happy to take away his ten shillings. 

“Your bet, Becca?”

“One hundred pounds sterling,” Becca said. 

James laughed. He hadn’t meant to. It had burst from inside him, so sudden and unexpected that he couldn’t stifle it. Bill called out the bet to the room, and nervous chuckles spread into laughter, thinking she was joking. She wasn’t.

“That’s a dangerous bet,” James said once he got himself under control. “What is it? Five years of wages? Eight?” 

“Well, it’s my dream to open an Inn.” She said, stubborn as a mule. 

It hadn't been five seconds ago, James thought.

“Sometimes one must be bold to achieve their dreams.”

“Well said.”

“I bet one hundred pounds sterling,” She said again. “I’m good for it. Are you?” 

“Yes. Though I don’t have that much on me at this time. But I can pay if I lose.” He shuffled the deck a few more times, it was unnecessary but he liked having his hands busy, “You’re that confident you’ll win?” 

 She was no longer glaring, the tension in her shoulders had eased. She smirked, “No. I'm that confident you’ll lose, My Lord.” What a clever girl. 

“One hundred pounds sterling then,” James said, placing the cards. “Your card?”

“Player,” the man said.

“Player,” Becca seconded. 

James flipped the cards.