"Women don't bet, they win," he says, smoky laughter carried there without actually laughing at all. His voice is one shaped by region, culture, and cigarettes, accented and carrying a bit of gravel, but still warm in that inexplicable way the American south has under all circumstances. He straightens up and faces Deacon, appraising him for a lazy heartbeat before extending one hand.

"Remy LeBeau."

(The cards are a weapon, and a symbol that's personal; Remy isn't the sort of man to pay any particular reverence to gods or saints, but he's observant about his surroundings.)