(Mind if I join? :3)
Flynn, for the most part, was blending in quite well with the crowd on the dance floor. Rowdy clubs like this weren't his forte. He preferred the more subdued, smokey dives were chips flowed and dangerous men glared at each other from behind their cards. Sure, you had a good chance of losing your money, but also a chance of doubling it.
Just don't get caught cheating.
Rather, don't let anyone suspect you of cheating.
Honestly, did they really believe that he would be naive enough to try and hide an ace in the sleeve of his jacket?
So, without going into full detail, he'd had to run. He'd taken a few licks during his mad dash towards the door, dished a few more out, but had otherwise escaped without a scratch. He deftly rubbed the bruise on his left cheek. It still throbbed, but it was nothing a few glasses of rot-gut whiskey couldn't fix. The one side affect, however, was that he was getting a little more tipsy than he'd planned. Eh, whatever.
They were surely looking for him out on the streets, so the smuggler had taken refuge in this particular club. Just play it cool, mingle, have a few drinks, and he could slip back to his ship and bolt for safer harbors.
Flynn's train of thought was interrupted as someone splashed him down his front with their drinking. Clenching his fist, he prepared a punch for the culprit, but stopped when he found that it was a rather cute redhead. She began to slur about "buying him a new shirt" and whatnot, and he grinned. What could he say? He was in between jobs, and could definitely use a respite.
"Hey! No problem! I'd appreciate it." He told Essie, wiping away some excess liquid that had landed on his face.