A private room, secluded away from everyone else in Café California, had been rented out for the entire night. The room's dark red walls were dimly illuminated by a single lamp, which dangled from the ceiling above an elegant poker table, green felt lined with fine live oak wood. The table was stuffed with a mixture of poker chips, cards, and various beverages. The elegant scent of coffee was potent in the room, mixing with the brash smell of alcohol and cigars somewhere in-between the four people that took up seats by the table. A portable music player laying by one of the men's feet plays relaxing ambience at a comfortable volume. The light lit up the four men's faces, easily identifiable as Altejago, Crackpunch, Reid, and last but not least, Tal, gathered here tonight for a round of Texas Hold 'Em poker.
The cards were dealt and the bets were to be placed. Glances were exchanged and the motives were clear.