After earning a small fortune from being a Yahtzee savant, Uncle Henry had decided enough was enough and he was going to leave the family home to make something of himself on his own. He just had to tell the pathetic, no good, pond life he called his parents. Before he did, he made sure to give each of his siblings enough money to keep them fed, for a while at least. He did love them and he felt guilty for leaving, but he knew he couldn't stay, and he knew he couldn't take them with him, so he promised himself that even if they were miles apart from each other he would still look after them better than their parents ever did. He told them he loved them and not to worry, as soon as he was making more money he would send more back to them. And Henry was always true to his word. He gave them all a huge hug then it was time to face the music... well, his parents.
The conversation, as you may have predicted, did not go well. In fact, it was a particularly messy affair. Henry's father was apoplectic with rage, proclaiming that no son of his would waste his life away as a no good grifter. Henry made the point that at least grifters earned their own money rather than spending their lives sitting on their Dad's wad. I'm talking about money here you perverts. But, as soon as Henry's dad heard his insolence, the big fat sloppy baba really hit the fan. His father flew into a rage. He looked a bit like a catholic priest when a choir boy insists he has a headache. His mother stayed quiet as usual. Primarily out of fear. She certainly didn't want clattering.
His father made it clear how he would not harbour a son set on a life as a professional gambler, and how much Henry had shamed him. He made it clear that if Henry left, he was not ever to return. He had a smug little grin on his face, as if he was confident that Henry would never walk away from his father's money. But this type of threat did not phase Henry. He stayed strong and told his father where he could stick his house and his wealth and he left. If he never saw that pompous twat again it would have been too soon. Henry left, with an emphatic middle finger thrown towards his ex-home, on a journey of his own making, with just the clothes he was wearing and the money he had saved. He had no idea where he was going, and he really couldn't have cared less, he just knew he was going a long way away.
His travels were far from uneventful; he had to fend off wolves in the black of night using nothing but his wits and his bare hands; he would sleep in barns when the opportunity arose, sleeping with pigs and goats, nestling up to them for warmth; he encountered real highwaymen attempting to rob him blind. But Henry was shrewd, he played himself off as a pauper and he had also hidden his wealth in the one place no man would want to go searching for it. Well, not in those days anyway. It was a long old slog for Henry. It wouldn't have taken half as long if he'd actually known where he was going, he was, after all, a sheltered child. But, nevertheless, after weeks of roaming, he heard the distant murmur of people. Then he saw it. He hadn't just chanced upon a village, or a town, but a city. That city was Leeds.
Compared to the small alleys and snickets that Windhill had to offer, Leeds was gigantic. This wasn't just a new horizon to Henry, this was a whole new world. There was an edge of danger to the place that he could almost feel, but rather than been perturbed by it, Henry was excited by it. He revelled in the hustle and bustle that comes with all major cities, and he just knew he could make his mark there. He no longer needed to bother with silly disguises and crap aliases. He could finally be himself.
For the first few weeks of his stay, Henry played dice on the streets, much like he did back home. He was somewhat surprised at the stiff competition he found himself up against; the locals clearly knew their way around a set of dice. They were far more steely and focused than their Windhill counterparts, so Henry hard to sharpen up his wits and play with a cautiousness he had not previously needed to employ. But he soon got the measure of them, so his winning ways eventually continued, largely without interruption and the money just kept rolling in. It wasn't all plain sailing though. He did have a few narrow scrapes with some of the rougher, more street tough crowd. They certainly didn't like to lose. But Henry could pretty much talk his way out of a room with no doors, so he usually came out okay.
Henry took up lodgings above a pub in the city center called The Horny Toad. It was, to put it mildly, a shit hole. It was a refuge for alcoholics (obviously), thieves, murderers and prostitutes. The bar was a ramshackle structure made almost entirely out of driftwood, the beer was the dregs from the other pub's barrels and the floor was ankle deep in sawdust to disguise the blood and vomit, because it would be just too much like hard work to actually clean it. Rather than being repulsed by the atmosphere, Henry felt right at home. Anything is better than a coal cellar.
After Henry had stayed there for a few weeks, he had struck up a pretty good relationship with the landlord, who was known simply as Belch. If you'd met him you'd know. Belch saw Henry as a model tennant. This was mainly because Henry was the only lodger that actually paid his way, in full and on time. It was because of this rapport that Henry managed to convince the landlord to set up a Yahtzee table in his boozer. Belch actually saw this as an opportunity to entice more customers, after all, more customers meant more money. And it worked. The money came rolling in, both Belch and Henry were rubbing their hands. People were literally queueing up to challenge Henry. He was making such a mark, the landlord actually put up a sign outside advertising the "Dice Sensation", as if he was some kind of circus freak. But Henry didn't care because it worked.
It was during one of these Yahtzee evenings that Henry first saw her. A beautiful, plump, full breasted woman propping up the bar intently watching him destroy all oncomers. Everytime Henry would shoot a look at her, she would smile back in that sultry way that some women do. Everytime she was absent he would be waiting for her to turn back up. And she did. She would be there most days, just watching him play while sipping on gin. Henry was smitten pretty quickly, so much so that he was scared to talk to her. It took him a good while of just staring at her, considering what he might say, to make a move, but, after a good amount of time plucking up the courage, and after he had done playing, he approached her. They got to talking and immediately, sparks flew. There was an instant connection, an almost animal magnetism that drew them to each other. He loved her open and accepting manner and she loved his forthright eccentricity, and his money. But don't all women?
Her name was Ivy Winthroppe, and, as Henry soon discovered, she was a lady of the night. A pretty good one at that, it would seem. Her clothes were always fresh and clean, her makeup was always pristine and she carried herself with dignity. In fact, if she hadn't have told him, he would never have known. But it didn't phase Henry. After all, he couldn't deny that he himself had paid for such services on numerous occasions since arriving in the city. In fact, one could describe him as rampant, insisting on getting little Henry Jr. wet whenever the opportunity arose. The filthy little imp. Anyway, he bought Ivy a few more drinks and they talked, and talked, and talked. Eventually, it was kicking out time, so Ivy bid him adieu, and went on her way. But she came back. Many times, and Henry would always be sure to make time for her. Over time, they would get to know each other very well, they would become incredibly close and eventually, they were an item, and because of his ever growing wealth, he managed to convince her to give up on her chosen career path. Henry was besotted. Everything he did was for her, every spare minute he had was spent with her, whenever he fancied a bit of bum fun, he did it with her. Luckily, his feelings were more than reciprocated. It was fair to say they were in love.
Not only was she Henry's love interest, she was also his cheerleader. She used to get men interested in her with her ample bosoms, then get the men to challenge Henry, promising them a free hand shandy if they happened to win, which they never did of course. It was a mutually beneficial business relationship as Henry would make more money because of Ivy's boobs, and Ivy wouldn't actually have to let anyone have a go on her boobs because Henry would reward her handsomely for her efforts. Before long, Ivy no longer made her money "legs akimbo", as Henry and herself were making an absolute killing at the Yahtzee table. She was now lodging with him and they would spend their spare time making ambitious plans for the future. That, and skiing down the old pink run.
But trouble was coming.
After roughly eighteen months since Henry's arrival, the locals were beginning to get wise. The novelty of watching the Yahtzee impresario decimate all that crossed his path had worn thin. They also knew there was no point challenging him if they hoped to keep hold of their cash. So they didn't. Business was drying up. This forced Ivy to venture further afield to drum up interest. This forced her to make her way in to Leed's high society. This did have it's benefits. Well, for obvious reasons, they had a lot more to lose. Ivy, who was one shrewd pussycat, played up to their deep seated arrogance and pomposity, inviting them to come and show this low life pretender with illusions of grandeur a thing or two about how the upper class operates. They lapped it up. There is nothing that the higher-ups loved more than to keep a troglodyte, knuckle dragging member lower class in check, so they were well up for it. Henry's game, as a result, saw action once again, and a sharp upswing in profits.
But what Ivy and Henry didn't know is that the young eligible bachelors of high society also loved a game of Yahtzee. Yes, most of the time this was a great thing for Henry. He was a sportsman, he loved a challenge. So, bring them on, he thought. The toffs played long in to the night and their pockets were deep. He lost a few, but just a few, the majority of the time he was able to fleece them for all they had.
Henry's game would soon reach the ears of a particular young... well... twat, named Alfred Chessington-Smethwick the third. An arrogant, silver spoon in the mouth piece of work, born into great wealth, just like Henry. But unlike Henry, he was happy to be spoonfed and live off the family wealth. He was an elitist snob, and unfortunately, the worst loser this side of Marrakech. He was also an incredibly keen roller of the dice.
Alfred heard about Henry's game one night through gossip. He got told that there was a scumbag in a dive bar that reckoned he could beat any player that would dare to challenge him. Alfred not only took issue with the idea that there was somebody that could beat him at Yahtzee, but he was downright apoplectic with rage that his peers seemed to think that Henry could indeed beat him. He guffawed in the way these posh wankers tended to do and, in a fit of bravado, to show that he wasn't about to get beaten at a game he had dedicated so much time perfecting, not only assured them that he would take on the challenge, but he would leave this young scrote penniless, crying in the dirt for his mummy.
He would show them... and Henry too...
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