French Vanilla
(?)Community Member
Timid Dabbler
Offline
- Report Post
- Posted: Tue, 03 Aug 2010 03:45:54 +0000
Ptero LaNeuro
...
* warning: some cursing.
// bows at your feet to receive your wrath
Ronnie stares down the flight attendant that tries to tell him he cannot smoke in first class. She cowers a little and he might be a bit impressed when she has the courage to insist despite it. He can respect her professionalism and in return, he graciously tucks the unlit cigarette away, smoothing the silk cuffs of his light grey shirt. "I promise," he says lightly with a polite grin forming on his face.
She brings him a glass of 2003 Ermitage le Meal Blanc Chapoutier, which, by the by, is an excellent vintage, and wastes a dazzling smile on him - it crinkles the corners of her eyes and spreads her lips too wide, but he appreciates the meaningless gesture of flirtation regardless. A gentleman keeps his promises, especially to such a kind lady who comes bearing white wine.
He lights a second cigarette the moment he gets off the plane, forgetting about the first one sitting placidly in his pocket, collecting dust. Their hands have been dealt.
d i a m o n d s--- ♔ ---
Las Vegas is quickly turning into little more than an overgrown playground for Jay. It is thrilling and loud and very, very crowded. Even better, it is a sprawling metropolis waiting for him to conquer; he does so one casino at a time, irreverent of the enemies he leaves behind at the table. Every time he walks away with chips in his hand, Don Minelli gets a not so discrete call and his name is moved up an unwritten list.
( "Si, non lo so come si vince. Si, è Monroe."
"Vederlo."
"Si." )
He is well liked, if only because he is rich and young and handsome, at the prime of his life and prone to charming beautiful women. Status and wealth however, do not protect him from a ruthless man in New York City picking up a burned cellphone and dialing a number that ends up being routed through three different countries.
( "What's the job?"
"An easy mark. I need it done quickly and if you can avoid mess, that is preferable. If you can't, it is fine. Three hundred grand."
"Send me the specifics." )
It takes one game for the card house to come tumbling down and Jay Monroe doesn't even know it yet. It's already falling apart by the time a flight from JFK touches down in LAS.
d i a m o n d s--- ♔ ---
There is time enough to check the package waiting in his suite, to meticulously go through each item and familiarizing himself with them. He has his own little tool kit, but there was no way to smuggle it past customs, not with the rush order placed on 300 Gs' life. Ronnie settles for the replacements that have been arranged for him and finds them adequate, as the Don had promised. It not in his nature to trust his employers, not even with the simple task of providing the weapons he will kill with. He chooses a charcoal grey suit with a startling ice blue tie that blazes against the dove grey of his shirt. Clad with elegance and draped in finery, he ponders the way he will spend the pay out.
The new limited edition Cartier watch, only 1,200 in the world. A custom Harry Winston piece, possibly a new pair of earrings to replace his studs.
At the front desk, the receptionist wonders which incognito high roller just walked out the door.
d i a m o n d s--- ♔ ---
"Can I buy in?"
Jay looks up at the intrusion and says one word that will change everything.
"Sure."
d i a m o n d s--- ♔ ---
It feels like this new player is magnetic. His face is certainly lovely enough, his skin fair enough and his fingers slender enough, but there is no mistaking him for a woman. Ronnie cuts an impressive figure, scar or no, and Jay has no qualms in admitting his interest. The table's buy in is high enough to scare away the majority of gamblers so anyone who makes it to one of these chairs is worth the attention. Oh, none of them are good enough to beat him, but Jay likes to keep things interesting. He doesn't mind being kept on his toes in the slightest.
There is a look in this one's eyes that makes him sit straighter, try harder. It is inevitable - Jay Monore has been making a name for himself in these parts and he knows there is something of a proverbial target painted on his back. Not that it matters, because he isn't about to lose.
He pushes a pile of chips in and challenges the pale haired mystery. "Call." Eyes the color of morning frost snap to his with an inaudible click and the faint furrow of his brow tells Jay that he has accepted. They share a delicate dance where he chases and baits, waiting for the moment when the tension between them will burst. Some would call this adrenaline; Jay calls it anticipation.
d i a m o n d s--- ♔ ---
Everything goes to hell in the span of five seconds.
It is five very short seconds too, crammed with colors and sounds and plenty of shouting. All of a sudden there is a gun even though firearms are most definitely NOT allowed on the casino floor and then there is screaming and now there is a pistol appearing out of nowhere (his objective mind points out that it came from a certain someone's waistline, where he would have never expected such a thing).
All he knows is that the stranger has saved his life.
Chaos is swirling everywhere around him and people are swelling around the exits like busy ants, scampering from a kicked over ant hill. The disgruntled player apparently has a friend, who would have thought, and it's two against two, but somehow it feels more like two against one. Jay would wonder about it, but he doesn't have the time and it is mostly the shock talking anyways. Being dragged around like a rag doll isn't on his itinerary for today and by the time he has been thrown behind a slot machine he has regained enough of his faculties to be horrified.
"What is going on!"
"Well, it would appear to the observant eye that he just tried to shoot you."
( He finds that the wry twist of humor to those words oddly fascinating, but now is not the time for him to be fascinated. )
"Let's make a run for it," he offers, though he sorely wants to exchange banter and be eminently witty. Now is not the time for him to be witty either.
His savior gives him a look like he has three heads (and not a single brain to share between them) and handcuffs him instead. To think he had been having such a lucky day too.
d i a m o n d s--- ♔ ---
When Ronnie looks back, 300 Gs is gone.
"********."
It is the start of a long and frustrating pattern, always catching up, always just an inch behind. He has failed and he cannot fail, not ever, so he keeps running, eyes pinned on the prodigal son. Can he be blamed when he grows sick of seeing only Monroe's back? ( When did 300 Gs become Monroe, he doesn't know, but it is personal now, this kill. )
The next time there are close enough to exchange words, he has his Cartier watch and a flute of champagne in hand. If it wasn't such damn good champagne he would have upended it onto that smug face.
( "Up for another game then?" )
