It had taken you far too long to locate him. As soon as you'd realised Alexei was not in his room as you'd expected, you knew he must be downstairs at the roulette table. This was far less than optimal, as he did not have much left in any case - and even if he did, he would probably soon lose it all in any case. Poor, sweet Alexei Ivanovich. So quick to tease and rile the others in your company, all for the sake of pleasing himself with the ensuing arguments, often with the little Frenchman. Yet there he was, sitting at the roulette table. Surrounded by friedrichs d'or and chips of varying colours. The fire was back in his eyes; the attentive, almost predatory fire.

"Thirteen." He calls out.