Blackjack's first night in the Pitt was one he had hardly remembered, for his cautious curiosity of his new habitat was far overpowered by his desperate need for rest. That evening was spent scaling a decently tall tree amidst the few still standing in the sparse, burnt jungle and then promptly passing out in it, limbs dangling carelessly from the thick, powerful branch that he slept on.

The next day he had spent searching for a more suitable home in the remains of the jungle, something a little more comfortable than an exposed tree branch. Taking refuge in the cave system was also an option, but he felt that many would have opted to take residence there already, and he valued his privacy a considerable amount, driving him deeper into what was left of the jungle, where there were still a few tall trees lingering, along with the remnants of...a treehouse? Yes, a home above ground, ruined by the forces of Mother Nature (at least, that was Jackie's thought process) but much of the skeleton of its structure still standing. There was already enough of its base to reside in — making it comfortable, however, would be a process that would take most of the day.

The horned jaguar had once again enlisted the assistance of his all-seeing companion Oscuro, who hovered above prospective pieces of wood and other vital materials for the treehouse until Blackjack picked them up and incorporated them into the structure of the house, repairing holes in the walls and patches in the roof. He was no handyman nor a master of any crafting trade, so the process of trial and error proved essential in his mission. His paws would be sliced and covered with many a splinter as a result of his ambitious project, and once the essential repairs were done to this house, he spent the remaining time he had in the sunlight removing the sharp chips of wood from himself, yanking them out and tossing them aside unceremoniously.

By the evening the treehouse looked better than it did before Blackjack had designated it his own. There were many things about the home that compelled him to make his decision: a wooden perch in the corner with enough space for a spacious nest for Oscuro, its respectable distance from the rest of the Pittian homes, and its considerably tall height — he preferred to stay on high ground, after all, and the treehouse's position on the jungle canopy gave him quite the tremendous view of the territory from his location.

With the sun retreating and the moon now illuminating the sky, Blackjack was finishing up his renovations to his new home. Its interior was more or less empty still, devoid of any character due to the lack of decorating. Not that he had any time to, anyway, but that would be a project for another time. For now he would bask in the glory of his work, drinking in the landscape of the desert in the distance as seen from his home. It was quiet, peaceful, beautiful.

[member=18043]JORMUNGAND[/member]

The feline twitched a rounded ear at a familiar noise, and he turned to see the other panther call out to him from below the height of his treehouse before scaling the path up to sit by him. "Who's to say it's not intentional?" Blackjack mused to the other jaguar, a beast he remembered to identify as Jormungand. His voice was calm, playful even, but in spite of his tone, his words came with a subtle sense of seriousness. He was perhaps the furthest thing from a social butterfly, and he valued his privacy and time to himself greatly. If anything, fending off trespassers and people that were destined to bother him was a goal with this home, but he wasn't going out of his way to fence out visitors or set booby traps to deter them from appearing. He simply just preferred they didn't come in the first place, but ultimately it wouldn't be his decision to make.

The Skald was quite intrigued by his presence, he remembered. Almost excited. Blackjack admittedly failed to understand his enthusiasm, but he accepted it nonetheless, for it made it easier to settle into his new home with little setbacks. Not that it mattered what anyone thought of him, but holding a positive (if not feared) status amongst the creatures around him was a generally decent goal to have. It made it easier to ask for favors, get what he wanted with little interrogation, and assume any position or identity he desired eventually. But of course, that sort of silver-tongued power came with time. For now he had to focus on getting to that level of respect and understanding in the first place, and this would be a good place to start.

The jaguar ran his reptilian tongue across his lips as he eyed the other feline curiously, his rich golden gaze traveling down to the pouch that clinked and clanged at the slightest movement. Some kind of container, no doubt. "What've you got there, Jor?" he asked curiously, a ghost of a smile upon his maw. There was an aura of playfulness and the slightest hint of rambunctiousness about the icy-eyed panther that prompted him to drop his formal speech for something more relaxed. He wouldn't waste formalities on someone who wouldn't return them or appreciate them, anyway. Always know who you're talking to. What Blackjack knew of Jormungand right now was that he seemed to be looking to bring a housewarming gift or just to stop by and have a good time.

Friendship. In his years of roving, working, hunting, deal-making, Blackjack Venturo had never once considered sparking real friendship. He knew the importance of diplomacy, especially when working with clients, but he failed to appreciate the camaraderie of a comrade by his side or anything of the sort. He was, and most likely always would be, a lone wolf, accepting his complete and utter disinterest in bonds, regardless of their platonic or romantic intentions. But times changed quicker than he could so much as blink, and he needed to adapt. He was a clanmate now, a cog in some desert-dwelling, bloodthirsty machine. A cog that could only find purpose among others.

He hated the idea of relying on others. Hated, hated, hated it. But thankfully with that tall bottle of vodka Jormungand produced from his satchel, he wouldn't have to entertain that idea. Instead, he could get inevitably inebriated with this wayward soul, all in the name of friendship. He drank rarely, and it was never to the point of betraying his sobriety. Most of his time was occupied with some bounty or, as of late, settling into his new home and perfecting his quarters, and even when he did have time to spare, he didn't spend it drinking, usually sleeping or going out on a walk. Tonight would be different, though, wouldn't it? A chance to wind down, make himself more vulnerable. Vulnerable. Don't think of it like that, Blackjack thought bitterly. Not vulnerable. Just...not so tense.

Reality caught up with him and he had yet to respond to the other panther's offer. "I'm no enthusiast of spirits. I drink whatever's in front of me," Jackie mused, his soft smile widening slightly in an attempt to display some warmth and kindness to the Skald.

His eyes traveled back to the cards that the other feline lay in front of him. Cards, yes. It had been ages since he had last played a game of cards — or any game, for that matter. Perhaps that was the price of isolation. He was never bothered by loneliness or the prospect of being by one's self, but he wouldn't have minded someone to gamble with, to pass the time with a deck or a board game or a pair of dice or anything they had at their disposal. The horned jaguar was most likely rusty at this point, but it didn't matter. He played to have fun. "What're you down for?" he asked, tilting his head towards the cards besides Jormungand.

Blackjack took hold of the vodka once Jormungand was finished, lifting it to his lips and letting the clear, strong liquid sink down his throat. He gulped harshly, thankfully without a wince, and set the bottle back onto the ground between the two of them in case either wanted to take another swig from the bottle. It would be an immense stretch to consider him a drinker, but he was more than happy to indulge in alcohol and some various mind-altering substances if he had the chance and the time to.

His ear twitched at Jor's inquiry, and he snorted in reply. "Does Blackjack know blackjack?" he mused. "Of course he does." He was rusty, granted, but he doubted that mattered even slightly to the Skald, who was just here for a good time. His eyes traveled to the cards and back up at Jor. "Will you play or deal?" Jackie didn't really care, and he was content with assuming whatever position the other desired. In all honesty, he was enjoying the idea of drinking more than the cards, but his love for games was regardless a quite passionate one. He sneaked another drink of vodka from the bottle before setting it back down between them. Sure, he wasn't drunk yet, and it wasn't entirely his goal, but he had no doubts that that was where he was heading tonight.

Hmm. That was a fair proposition, he supposed, and one he could certainly admire. He would appreciate the opportunity to brush up on his knowledge of the game as Jor permitted him to. Blackjack waited for the other panther to shuffle the deck and place their cards down, and his rich gaze rested now upon the cards he was dealt. He was far enough from his target that he could consider the risk of hitting, though as it currently stood there was always the chance of him busting.

Roving obsidian paws made their way to the bottle once more, pulling it closer to him and granting him another gulp of vodka, which he swallowed with a newfound thirst he hadn't had before. He wasn't drunk yet, but by the time his system would fully process the alcohol that he was drowning himself in, he sure as hell would be. Willing to let the Skald have the last of the vodka, he set the bottle between them again and now focused entirely on his cards. Soon after a decision was made.

"I'll hit."