Manehattan Roulette

Have you ever been to Manehattan? Have you ever seen it's beautiful skylines, been to it's gorgeous parks and talked to it's twiddle-diddle-High-Society-Ponys on one of their partys? It has more charm than Appleloosa, more glamour than Fillydelphia and even more luxury than Canterlot!
This is, of course, if you have the bits for it - and Seven Smith, he had the bits. Seven was the founder and owner of the Golden Hooves, the most magnificent casino in all of Manehattan.
At this part of the story, somepony always mentions Las Pegasus, where casinos were literally born, but after all, it's mostly a cloud city and earth-bound ponys have no chance of ever visiting the best clubs - and that's where the Golden Hooves kicks in, a casino for everypony.

It was the fifth year after the return of Princess Luna and everything went not-so-well anymore as in the years before. The Bearers of the Elements of harmony inspired everypony to do something for the greater good and so being in a filthy casino and spending your bits on the roulette table wasn't en vogue anymore, especially after the most casinos had more than a bad reputation. The Golden Hooves, in fact, had made forty percent less profits over the last half a year.

“If we keep losing customers like this, we don't stand another year.” Two strong earth-ponys were heading down a long hallway ending in an elevator door.
“At this rate we're not even making it to Hearth's Warming Eve...”
The yellow stallion stopped.
“Now, what are we going to do?”
The other stopped too and turned around.
“Mr. Smith, I...Erm.”
“Listen, Rick, I know business' been tight, but we'll have to work it out. Or do you want to live on the streets?”
“No Mr. Smith.” Rick lowered his head and stared at the red, soft carpet on the floor. He spotted a speckle and made a mental note to yell at the maids as soon as they ended their tour.
“Derrick, I don't know what to do either. I don't think that inventing a new game could save us. Nothing could,” he added as he walked on.
“So what do we do? Sell the Golden Hooves? Quit? You know, we could get rid of the six mares, that are causing all these troubles...”
Mr. Smith whinnied.
“No, the would become martyrs and that would make everything just worse...” He shook his head as they entered the elevator. Rick pushed the button for the ground floor.
“I guess we have to sit it through and hope for the best. Maybe we can make some other casinos to close, then there would be more customers for us, but the Golden Hooves is already the best visited casino in Manehattan.”
The both stood there in silence as they left the upper most floor behind them and skipped the other forty-one floors to the great entrance hall. They would go to some of the tables on the ground floor, greet some regulars, then to the cashier and to the check-in, which were both located at the front entrance and then over the left, big, swung wooden staircase to the second floor where Mr. Smith could talk to some of his High-rollers and their wives. After that brief visit they would inspect the two restaurants, one in each wing of the giant, horseshoe-shaped building, and stayed for dinner. At 9 o'clock they would sit in the gallery of the theatre watching the show and talking to some more sophisticated ponys. The show at the Golden Hooves was full of young mares believing they could become famous. They danced and sang a variety of songs, all in saucy but beautiful dresses, accompanied by the big band.
The second half of the show was dominated by Roo, a light pink pegasus mostly in a corsage and fishnet-stockings with garter-belts. The finale was always preceded by a break where they darkened the stage and rolled in a grand piano. With a loud noise the spot was switched on and pointed to Betty, lying in a beautiful, long dress on that piano and singing a ballad.
As she finished the smooth song, in all of a sudden everything went crazy: Betty ripped off her dress revealing a even more narrow dress and some of her underwear and all the dancers of the previous songs burst onto the stage, including Roo in a new outfit. When the pegasus hadn't fired up the audience before, the unicorn mare made them all squeal, cheer and hoof-stomping. The crowd went simply nuts, every evening of every month since Seven discovered her in a gloomy dance-club in downtown.
After the show, some of the girls danced on the stage of the basement, where the less richer and more filthy ponys were playing. These shows often involved little clothes and some bits, or even a hotel-room for an hour or two. Roo herself seized that opportunity every evening.
Mr. Smith would visit Betty in her dressing room and either take her upstairs to his room in the giant bit, that seemed to float between the two wings of the Golden Hooves or introduce her to a high-roller that asked for her company. Betty hated those nights as much as she loved Seven, who often gave her some pills or a powder to get through this – she always fought them but was too weak to resist.
The casino-owner himself had no problems with drugs. In fact he found them really useful, a little nose full of dried poison joke stomped to powder could do wonders. But first and foremost he needed them to make Betty doing what he wanted and keep her in a good mood. He hated giving her away for those special occasions too and was days after such a night disgusted of her and especially of himself, what often ended in arguments and sometimes, if the were both on a trip, a black eye for Betty. But he did what a pony had to do to keep his business alive. And those nights with Betty had saved the Golden Hooves from its closure before.
Rick on the other hand, or Derrick Watcher by his full name, was supposed to stay in the casino and handle some minor incidents.
This was their daily route and they had never taken another up to this day
But on this day they didn't make it to the theatre. They even didn't make it to the second floor. The stopped at the reception.
“Wait, WHAT?” With an open muzzle the casino-owner stared at the receptionist, a quite beautiful but unremarkable mare. He tried to be quiet while maintaining a certain instance.
The receptionist however stared at the table and repeated what she had said seconds before.
“The stallion named Lucas Fitzwilliam just checked in.”
Derrick put a hoof on his muzzle. With wide eyes he looked at Seven, who himself put a hoof through his brown, greased back mane.

Lucas Fitzwilliam. This name is known amongst casino owners almost everywhere. Appleloosa, Las Pegasus, Fillydelphia, Baltimare, every city with the tiniest amount of gambling knows Lucas Fitzwilliam. They call him the Lucky Bastard. At first because he is an illegitimate colt and secondly: he wins so often. And often is an understatement. He wins. Every. Freakin'. Time.

About every casino where he played had either to shut down or fire dozens of ponys to go through this crisis. Some Casino-owners had tried to let him assassinate but there it kicked in again, his endless luck and saved him from various things that should have crushed his skull. He even dodged a bullet by pure luck.

And this stallion just checked into the Golden Hooves, Seven Smiths Casino.

Some ponys in fact consider it better to be robbed by Danny Sea and Danny Sea pulled at least one coup where he left nothing from 160 billion bits. Not to mention the William-Flank-fraud and the Fabergé-Egg-heist where he is supposed to have his hooves in. But the advantage of being robbed by Danny Sea is that you have at least your insurance giving you back your lost money.
There is no insurance paying out when somepony wins.