King and a king in his hand, with a K, A, A in the flop. With that Ellie lass picking up and shoving off before he could even catch who she flew for, it seemed things were starting to turn sweet in his hand, and sour in the bar. O'Hare shook his head, returning to concentrate on the game. The stakes started rising pretty quickly, going from the required shot as the blind to three kegs, a bottle of 60 year old scotch, and a shot something the Order pilot had assured him was so valuable, it out-trumped the entirety of the pot together.
The hand unfolded as might be expected, the biggest opposition against his full house was a two pair, aces and queens. He took the shot of whatever the hell the Order pilot was betting (some green bottle with Rheinland writing on it. He was also pretty sure he caught a glimpse of a "1997" on there somewhere, too) before staggering over to collapse on the bar's couch, to watch the football game being broadcasted on its TV set. If people didn't want to talk to him, that was fine, but by god he was going to make sure that the Newcastle United would win this freaking match. The Mollys had the resident team, after all.