The decision by Ivy to venture into high society to get the upper class to challenge Henry was a massive success. Henry and Ivy's savings were at such a point where they could just about put all of their much talked about plans into motion. They were going to move far away, buy a house and start a family. Just another month or two and they were off. For now, things remained as they had for the last eighteen months; Ivy would rile the toffs into thinking they had a point to prove against the no-good, scumbag upstart and Henry would swat them aside.
Meanwhile, Alfred Chessington-Smethwick the Third sat in his mansion, stewing in his own juices. The jeers and titters from his friends telling him that he had no chance of beating Henry played over and over in his head and now he was just a seething mound of hatred. Alfred knew absolutely nothing about Henry apart from his name, but that didn't matter, he hated him with every fiber of his being and he would rather die than come second place to the person he imagined Henry to be. As such, he had spent every waking hour, and more, practicing and perfecting his Yahtzee strategy, making sure there was no roll Henry could make that Alfred couldn't beat. (If this was a movie, there would be a training montage with "Eye of the Tiger" playing over it. But it's not. It's a blog post). After a fortnight of giving his wrist a workout, and practicing Yahtzee, it was time...
The Horny Toad Pub was heaving. Drinkers were drinking, puking, fighting or sleeping; prostitutes were either selling it or getting it and Henry was destroying toffs left, right and center. He had just dispensed with his latest victim when the pub's door flew open. The pub fell silent and the punters squinted to see who had interrupted the evening. It was Alfred, pulling a face that not even his mother could love. Not that she did anyway. He strided over to Henry, slammed his fists on the table and looked straight into Henry's eyes. The room was transfixed. Henry slowly and coolly met his gaze. Imagine a stand off in a Guy Ritchie movie, but... good. Eventually, Alfred leaned into Henry and said through gritted teeth, "Right here, right now".
Henry allowed himself a wry smile and then motioned his hand toward the empty chair opposite him, inviting Alfred to sit. Alfred kept Henry's gaze and slumped down on the chair. There was a tense, but excited murmur from the crowd. They had seen some pretty intense matches from Henry over the past year and however long, but they sensed there was something special occurring here and their bum cracks were sweating in anticipation.
Alfred stared, as if murder wasn't out of the question, while Henry just smiled. This did not help Alfred's disposition. He was furious. But before Alfred could swing for him, Henry picked up the dice and offered them to Alfred, suggesting he should take the first roll. This took Alfred back a bit. He never expected a scumbag like Henry to be the better man, but there it was. Alfred reluctantly took the dice, and the game was underway.
This was a pant wettingly fantastic match. A mind boggling, ball tickling, nipple tingling affair. Don't forget, the crowds of the nineteenth century didn't have the entertainment that we do now. So, this was it. The Horny Toad was full of low lives, that Henry had beaten, and also full of the higher-ups, that Henry had beaten.
The low lives, or, those that had to find cash as opposed to just getting given it, were on Henry's side. It didn't matter how much money they had lost to him. He was one of them. Alfred's backers were those that had just lost a fortune to him, so they were pre-bittered, if you will. So they were most definitely on Alfred's side.
To start with, it was a cagey affair. A simple back and forth, with scores going for and against each competitors favour, merely because it was so close. Then Alfred rolled a Yahtzee. There were roars from the audience and a shit eating grin from Alfred.
He thought he'd done it. Won. But as any Yahtzee veteran will tell you, one Yahtzee is not enough to win a match. Not even if your opponent gets a Yahtzee and you don't. Two Yahtzees, maybe, three Yahtzees, definitely.
Henry noticed this, and saw it as a weakness. What a moron, Alf. To consider a single Yahtzee as a win? Fool. So, Henry, after about fifteen minutes, pretty much had the down low on Alfred.
Meanwhile, Alfred was still sat there with his shit eating grin, thinking he has the making of Henry. Who knows, he might be right.
There were only three rounds apiece each, and it couldn't have been any closer. Alfred was still smiling like a masochist with a tazer on his balls. Henry was all business. It remained tight right up until the final roll.
They were four points apart, Alfred just had the edge. He leaned forward, cool as a cucumber, and rolled. It was an automatic four of a kind, sixes and a five. A bloody good roll. Henry would be lying if he didn't feel at least a bit of pressure going in to his final rolls. He breathed heavy and let them bones go. He had a large straight to fill. He rolled a six and a five. He saved them and rolled the rest. His three dice were three ones, not optimal, so Henry picked them back up and held them, said a little prayer and let them roll. It was like slow motion in a Rocky movie. But when those dice stopped rolling and Henry looked up, not at the dice, but at Alfred, he noticed his face, he realised the shit eating grin had changed to one that looked like it was being forced to eat shit. Then he looked at the dice. He had just rolled a two, three and four and clinched the victory. The usually cool, calm and collected Henry could not help himself. He leaped from his seat and let out a roar of victory. The crowd went wild, or at least the working class portion. Although he did notice that even some of the well-to-do's allowed themselves a smile and a muted fist in the air.
Alfred, as you would imagine, was devastated. Henry offered his hand in a sportsmanly gesture of good will, but Alfred was having none of it. He pushed Henry out of the way and stormed out of the bar. Henry was of course pleased to have won, but to him, Alfred was just another in a long line of contenders he had seen on their way. The same could not be said for Alfred. His pride was bruised and his honour, defiled. If he couldn't get the better of Henry over the dice board,he would have to find some other way to see to him. And, unfortunately, he did...
Alfred's parents were incredibly well connected. They knew the kind of people that could make stuff happen, and they weren't shy about taking advantage of that fact. So when Alfred ran home after his defeat with tears in his eyes and went crying to mummy and daddy, they jumped into action. The way they saw it, Henry wasn't just a fella that beat their son in a game of dice, he was a degenerate low life corrupting the fine people of the upper class with gambling, drinking and god knows what else.
Henry was done for the evening, and it had been a profitable one. It was now time for his favourite part of every night. It was the time where he and Ivy got to settle in for the evening, commit various sins of the flesh and discuss their future until they both fell asleep. Henry had all but forgotten about Alfred. He wasn't the first toff to throw his toys out of the pram because he got beat, and he doubted he would be the last. Sure enough, Henry and Ivy bumped uglies, and talked long into the morning until they both finally drifted off to the land of nod.
The next morning, Henry and Ivy were still sound asleep when they burst in. Both Henry and Ivy sat bolt upright in bed, suffering both shock and confusion. Through a dazed gaze that comes with being woken up suddenly, Henry saw that the room was occupied by two police constables and a man wearing a tweed suit and a bit of an intense glare. Before Henry could ask what the bloody hell was going on, the suited man told him that his name was Percival Smythe, and he was from the city's asylum and Henry was to come with him to be psychologically evaluated as he had recieved reports that Henry was an unstable man with a history spreading moral corruption. These words did nothing to lift the veil of confusion, but he made it clear that he wouldn't be going anywhere. There was no more talking after that. The police restrained Henry and handcuffed him. Both he and Ivy fought hard against them but ultimately it was futile and he was led away.
At the asylum, Henry underwent a barrage of pointless tests and procedures. It didn't matter what the results were, his fate was already decided, the procedures were just a way to break Henry before he was sent to his stinking cell until Father Time got bored of him and let him die.
I wish I could tell you that Henry got the better of them and he ended up getting out of there and running away with Ivy to live out the rest of their lives somewhere warm and hopelessly in love. But that wouldn't be the truth. Ivy ended up having to go back to prostitution as the police not only took the only man she'd ever loved away from her, but they also took their savings. She tried and tried to visit Henry in the asylum but she was denied every time. She died several years later due to cholera, she was a heartbroken woman and she had completely given up. Henry was left to rot in his disgusting cell, isolated from any human contact. For years he withered away to nothing both physically and mentally, until finally when his body could take no more, he expired.
Henry may be gone, his final years may have been torture, but his legacy lives on, beyond that of any of the pompous pricks that would do him harm. His legacy lives on everytime the BHO picks up a set of dice and embarks upon a league, team or knockout match. So, the next time you pick up those dice, spare a thought for this giant of our "sport", (yes, sport).
Here's to you Henry!
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