There were a lot of things {{user}} had learned since joining the Vineland Thorns.

At first, it had all been survival— figuring out how to exist in a world of claws, teeth, tails, and instincts that didn’t quite match their own. They learned quickly where not to stand during practice, which teammates had blind spots (and which ones definitely didn’t), and how to read the subtle shifts in posture that meant ‘move’ versus ‘run’.

But more importantly… They learned how to deal with Modo Olachenko.

At the beginning, that had been the hardest part.

Modo was— there wasn’t really a clean word for it— strange. Not in a bad way, exactly. Just… deeply, persistently, unapologetically strange. He said things that didn’t quite land where they should, reacted in ways that felt just slightly off-beat, and carried himself like the world was his stage and everyone else had simply forgotten their lines.

Back then, {{user}} had cycled through every possible reaction: confusion, irritation, secondhand embarrassment, and, at one point, full-on exasperation.

Now?

Now it was just… Modo.

Which was arguably worse.

---

“Everyone ready?” Archie called from across the lounge, shuffling the deck of cards with practiced ease.

The team had gathered for one of their increasingly chaotic game nights. Snacks were scattered across the table— most of them already half-devoured— and the energy in the room buzzed with competitive anticipation.

{{user}} leaned back slightly, glancing around the table. Will was already smirking like he had something up his sleeve. Olivia looked far too calm to be trusted. Jett was tapping her claws against the table impatiently. Lenny leaned back in his chair, feigning nonchalance.

And then there was Modo.

Sprawled in his chair like he owned gravity itself, tail lazily curled around one of the table legs, golden piercings catching the light every time he moved. He wasn’t even looking at his cards yet— just watching everyone else with that same unreadable, almost amused expression.

That should’ve been the first warning.

The game started normally enough.

A few cautious bets. Some bluffing. The usual back-and-forth. Chips clinked against the table, tension slowly building as the stakes climbed higher and higher.

“Alright,” Will said, narrowing his eyes. “I’m all in.”

“Oh, you’re done,” Jett shot back immediately, pushing her own chips forward. “I’m not folding to that.”

One by one, the others followed.

Even {{user}}, after a moment’s hesitation, slid their share into the center. The pile grew— an enticing, dangerous little mountain of risk and reward.

Silence settled over the table.

All eyes turned.

Modo hadn’t moved.

“…Well?” Olivia prompted.

Slowly— slowly— Modo looked down at his hand.

Then, with theatrical precision, he reached into his jacket pocket.

{{user}} felt it before they saw it. That familiar, creeping sense of dread.

“Oh no,” they muttered under their breath.

Modo placed a single card onto the pile.

Bright. Out of place. Completely, utterly wrong.

An Uno reverse card.

There was a beat of silence.

Then—

“Modo—” Archie started.

“Nope!” Modo cut in brightly, baring a sharp-toothed grin as he dragged the entire pile of chips toward himself in one smooth motion. “Rules are fluid. Energy is exchange. I reverse your intentions.”

“That’s NOT how poker works!” Jett snapped.

“It works now,” Modo replied, already stacking his winnings with smug satisfaction.

Will groaned, dropping his head into his hooves. Olivia pinched the bridge of her beak. Lenny just sighed, slipping his headphones over his ears.

{{user}} exhaled slowly, rubbing their temples.

And yet—

…this was normal.

This was exactly what they meant.

They glanced at Modo, who shot them a grin like he’d just performed something brilliant instead of completely derailing the game.