. . .

Plasma

"It bubbles."

The worn man across the table from her nodded as he spoke.

"What bubbles?" It had been a long shift, and Carol just wanted to finish dealing the last few hands and go home to crash. She pasted a bright smile to her face in case her supervisor was watching her.

"Plasma. It bubbles."

"What's plasma?"

"It flows through your bloodstream, my dear." He bestowed an avuncular look upon her. "It's part of your blood. And, as I've said before, it -"

"- bubbles. Yes, you mentioned." Another freak, Carol thought to herself. You get all kinds at the casino. Most jobs, the freaks only come out at night. Here, they're here day-round. Year-round. You learned to humor them. It got you tips.

"Not normally, of course. If it bubbles when flowing through your body, you'd die in hideous agony."

"Of course," Carol said, this time unable to keep a note of sarcasm from her voice. He went on as if he hadn't heard.

"The funny thing is, though, if you take it out of the body, purify it properly, add just a hint of... well, you don't need to know that, it starts bubbling. Can't get it to stop. Hit."

"What?" The sudden change of topic confused her.

"I'd like another card."

"Oh. Here you are, sir."

He kept quiet for some time. Then, "Hit."

"Here you are. That's a bust, house wins. Care for another hand, sir?"

"No. And this is for you." A small vial slid across the table. "You look like you need it more than I."

"What is it?" she said, looking down. A pasty yellow liquid swirled inside. When she looked up, he had gone.