[ by the time rufus asks, tseng has already started retrieving ingredients from the refrigerator, so he doesn't have to look directly at rufus as he considers the answer. he can tell, on instinct, that rufus isn't really asking about the worst thing that can be done, morally—he's asking about the worst that he himself might expect, and that changes the answer somewhat.

tseng sets the oven to preheat, then puts the bag of potatoes on the counter and withdraws a handful of them. small new potatoes, easy to roast. ]

The resort likes to force us all to play games, sometimes. [ methodically, tseng chops each of the potatoes in half, setting them aside into a large bowl as he goes. ] There was one of them, several months ago, in which each suit was assigned an animal counterpart. Diamonds were rabbits, hearts were foxes, and so forth.

[ chop, chop, chop. ]

There was a hierarchy to it. Wolves at the top, eager to mate with any animal beneath them. Rabbits at the bottom, eager to be mated by any animal who could catch them. [ rufus can probably imagine how much tseng fucking hated feeling like prey. ] By the end of it, many of the rabbits were so desperate to be bred that they would allow themselves to be used by anyone who could get their hands on them. Like being in heat.

[ when tseng sets the knife down it's just a touch too hard. he makes up for it by being a little too gentle when he opens the cabinet in search of olive oil and salt. ]

To me, that's the worst the resort can do. Make us lose control of ourselves entirely.