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Post by jazzs3quence on Aug 24, 2010 7:33:28 GMT -8
((this is where the game will go))
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Post by jazzs3quence on Sept 12, 2010 17:16:47 GMT -8
Rules of the con. In no particular order.
- You can't con an honest man
- Feed the greed
- Always give the mark an out
- Never give a sucker an even break
- It's all in the detail
- Don't have anything in your life you can't walk away from in a second
- Always look after number one
- It's not just about the money
There’s more, but I forget. Anyway, it’s all relative.
No single rule is more important than any of the others. Just when you think it is, you’ve lost. Each rule, truly, should be rule number one. So: Rule number one: feed the greed.
There isn’t a single city in America – possibly the world – where the most dominant trait among visitors and inhabitants is greed than Las Vegas. The only ones immune, it seems, are the locals; the ones who choose to live there. So we ignore them – that’s not where the money is. And the money is all around you – you can see it in the gaudy lights, the expensive nightly fireworks shows, the dueling banjos of casino facades. I tell you, when I first saw the pirate show in front of Treasure Island, I said to myself: Jesus H. Christ, where the fuck are we? Disneyland?
The problem is, the casinos know it, too, and they don’t like competition. Grifters who outstayed their welcome have wound up with an all-expense-paid permanent vacation courtesy of one or the other of the two conglomerates that own most of the Strip. The lucky ones, the smart ones, they get chased out of town never to return. There’s a lot of money to be made in Vegas, and the casinos want to be sure they’re the ones with their hands in the marks’ pockets. Still, a town full of marks? How can any grifter worth his salt resist taking his piece just once?
I don’t believe in things like Fate. Fate is for suckers. But there may have been some kind of planetary alignment or serendipity involved that brought an old airplane mechanic, a failed actor, and an oddly superstitious London girl to town under the flashing signs for Wayne Newton performing all weekend at the Fremont.You arrive in Vegas. It’s 3am but who can tell in the city that never sleeps? The town is full of zombie-eyed drones dumping cash into machines. It’s your job to get them to dump that cash, instead, into your pockets. Where to begin? ((I’ll let you guys figure out how you got to Vegas, where you’re at -- whether you’re at the Las Vegas airport or on the Strip, or already casing some casinos – and why you’re there. Technically, the game starts tomorrow, but I figured I'd get this in early.)) 1. Viva Las Vegas
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Post by Gravedust on Sept 13, 2010 9:23:58 GMT -8
Benjamin walked clear of the boarding ramp and, as was is tradition, smelled everything. Not directly of course, but once he was clear of the stream of other exiting passengers, he took a few steps to the side, set down his carry-on and brought in a lungful of airport air. This was one half of the tradition, the other part would happen once he got outside. The purpose, besides being an odd personal quirk (which he appreciated in other people as well as himself) was to remind him he was someplace new. With new rules, and new kinds of people. ...Also apparently with a few fewer smoking laws, he though with an amused chuffle as he detected the scent of cigarette smoke.
In any case, down to business. There was the whole tedious ritual of baggage claim and rental cars and all such to wade through before anything of real import could happen. He picked up his carry-on and rejoined the herd marching towards the security check.
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Post by brendur on Sept 13, 2010 15:09:18 GMT -8
Arch hated lines, even more so he hated lines in an airport. Endless milling about for yet another cock-knocker with a three piece suit and a bit of authority to either a.) ask you about where you were from, b.) grill you about where you were going, and/or c.) imply you did not know where you were going, and were lying about where you were from (Arch's personal favorite). Then of course there was the added joy that all you had to look at was either some fat sot's wide backside, or out window at the the latest piece of shit that the Puerto Rican's had deemed worthy of flight.
That's where all these commercial airlines sent their birds now a days, Puerto Rico, where the labor was cheap and safety regulations where non existent. It was why he only flew private overseas, shook the mechanic and the pilot's hand before he got on the plane, and made damn sure to check the struts before setting foot on the stairs. Hell he wouldn't even be going overseas, but Diego assured him that a trip to the America's would be a career cap, particularly in the Las Vegas area.
"Anything to declare Mr. Dover?"
Arch blinked and looked about at the chipper and more than likely highly caffeinated young slip of a woman holding his passport and chirping at him. He checked his watch, which said 3 A.M. and looked back to her, way too fucking happy for three in the A.M.
"Yeah, if one more feckin hen asks me if I want a drip oh tea, or says I sound like Micheal Caine, I declare I'm goin to pop them in the nadgers they ain't got."
It was the woman's turn to blink, confusion dotting her face, as if anything beyond a yes or a no simply wasn't an option in her little universe.
"Excuse me?"
Arch sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.
"Just stamp the damn papers so's we can get on with the whole "It's three feckin a.m." thing."
A frown twisted it's way on her features as she shrunk back from the foul shriveled thing that fate had put in front of her, the animal brain kicked in and she realized to be rid of him she would have to stamp his passport. So she did.
"Welcome to Las Vegas Mr. Dover." She managed to say without meaning a single word of it.
Snapping the passport out her hand he headed for one of the mini-conveniences that dotted the air-port for coffee. No one smiled at him at 3 a.m. and got away with it.
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Post by e on Sept 13, 2010 18:26:16 GMT -8
In town for the X-teme birthday bash for an old school chum yesterday (terrible bore, naturally), Penn decided to stick around a few more days in Vegas... play the slots, maybe line up a gig, stay in a nice hotel and read a vampire romance in the tub, that sort of thing. That was what she was thinking anyway, when she didn't arrange a flight back to London right quick.
Then she remembered she didn't have enough padding in her purse to afford anything besides The Stardust Motel. Bollocks. Room 7 turns out to be an awful orangey pink box with a tiny gogglebox and no tub on the ground floor. Room 7... well, at least she didn't get 3. Then she'd have to go inspecting it for hidden cams.
Penn gets a distinct feeling she's going to be wishing for a holiday from this holiday. But wait, hang about! She'll just ring the guy she met in NYC who said he works on the strip and could get her an hour on the stage anytime she liked. What was that garyboy's name anyway? Oh, right. Kevin.
A few hours later Penn finds herself having a bit of a smoke in the dressing room in a spanking new frock a few minutes before stepping out to sing for the first time in at least a year. As she's wont to do while waiting, she turns her face up to the ceiling. There's something scrawled up there in lipstick... For a good time, call Eric 277-9306
Penn smiles. The sheer effort of getting up that high and finishing out that whole message, well she figures that leaves behind some rich karma in the club for whoever uses the dressing room. Thanks Eric, wherever you are, tosser. She smiles again, happy, and takes another drag.
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Post by jazzs3quence on Sept 13, 2010 19:01:42 GMT -8
Benjamin is about to head straight through the security check when he hears something resembling a minor tussle behind him. Normally he'd ignore it, but hearing "says I sound like Micheal Caine" makes his ears perk up. He met Michael Caine, once. He was a bastard. A little too like the character he played in Dirty, Rotten Scoundrels. Also, not like said character nearly enough. Taking a second glance at the old Brit, he can just make out the rough texture of his too-dark hands, like he's got some machine grease that buried so deep in the skin that no soap can fully remove it. He guesses he's some kind of mechanic and a litter surprised when he realizes the man probably still practices. His long dexterous fingers give him the appearance of someone who might be equally talented with an engine block as he would tuning a piano. =============== Speaking of pianos....Penelope sighs as she hears 3 claps and one "Take it off baby" (which, she notes, is thankfully whisked off by staff security) as she takes the stage. As she starts into her set, she notices a pair of foreigners sitting at the table nearest the stage. She realizes they must be foreigners because they don't look foreign to her. The one on the left, tall and lanky as he leans back in his chair, his eyes sunken with heavy bags above hollow cheeks, has the obvious look of a Londoner, even if he wasn't wearing an obnoxiously gaudy shirt she saw last time she was in Camden-town. The one on the right, round faced with rosy cheeks and a stubby nose, pays obviously too much attention to his hair, a sort of vanity she distinctly remembers in a fellow she once dated who liked to brag about how he went to Uni in Oxford. Prat. The one with the loud t-shirt smiles at her behind his Jack and Coke with no ice in a way that's not quite leering, and seems to recognize a certain connection. It's unsettling enough for her to temporarily forget where she is for a moment until the first few notes of "Good Morning, Heartache" plays from the 3-piece behind her. She closes the set with her usual, "The Night has a Thousand Eyes," and sits backstage pondering his stare. 2 - The Night Has a Thousand Eyes((go ahead and post if y'all want, I'll do upkeep in the morning.))
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Post by Gravedust on Sept 14, 2010 9:46:59 GMT -8
Mr. Dover.
Ben filed that one away, more out of habit than anything else. A long while ago he'd trained himself to remember every miscellaneous scrap of information about just about everyone he met, thought he might meet again or just seemed interesting. It was a good habit to have, he thought, and once or twice it had come in handy.
From his place in line he wouldn't very will pivot on the spot and have a look, but he found a bit of reflective chrome on a nearby information kiosk that let him have a peek anyway. Interesting.
But unfortunately the airport was a terrible place to make new acquaintances, probably one of the worst. Everyone was always in a hurry, and everyone was always annoyed with everyone else, worried about being late, and in some dark corner nursing the tiny fear they might die in a plane crash or be exploded by bombs. Very much not an ideal place for a stranger to introduce himself. So he sighed and made his way through the rest of the line to the baggage carousel.
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Post by jazzs3quence on Sept 14, 2010 10:23:35 GMT -8
Ben grabs his bags from the carousel and heads outside. He immediately wishes he hadn't. The blast of dry heat hits him like a shot of bourbon with a chaser of heavy cigarette smoke. The air feels like a physical thing, like someone dropped a quilted blanked over him. He begins to sweat immediately.
It takes him a moment to recover from the sudden stark difference in climate and glance up and down the loading and unloading area for a taxi. The curb is cluttered with SUVs and minivans, in various states of parallel parking, with an occasional yellow checkered car speeding by with its top light off indicating that it's already got a client, thank you very much.
After a few minutes of scanning the road, he hears a familiar grumbling and turns around to see Mr. Dover shuffling under his luggage.
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Post by brendur on Sept 14, 2010 15:24:54 GMT -8
Arch dragged his luggage behind him while struggling to keep his coffee in his cup, at least what this country called coffee. He supposed he could have packed lighter, but he just felt so naked without a full kit. In the way of clothes he'd brought three shirts, three sets of jeans, and two fresh changes of britches. The rest of the suit case was stuffed to the brim with spanners, screwdrivers, soldering iron, and whatever else he could manage to bring from his personal stock.
When he got to the side of the street, he took a sip from the hot piss in a cup, and oriented himself. He reached into his jacket and came out with his measurements book, flipping though the various notes for the list of contact numbers Deigo had sent him here with. The poof refused to hand out names, Arch suspected it was because the damn Spaniard liked to see him twist in the wind.
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Post by e on Sept 14, 2010 18:30:28 GMT -8
Penn hums absently to herself backstage, pondering the two blokes staring at her during the show. She didn't recognize either of them, but they seemed familiar all the same. She briefly entertains the notion of peeking through the curtain to see if they're still perched on their stools, but instead lights a cigarette and enjoys her usual company: herself.
She leans back and stares at her face in the huge mirror, wishing she had anywhere else at all to go but back to room 7 at the Stardust Motel.
Penn adores singing, it's just one of those things that is always a good time and like they say about riding a cycle, you never forget. She does worry that someday a ciggy here and a ciggy there will add up to losing her voice but that's what a glass of red wine in the afty's for, anyhow. She pulls out a pen and a tiny notepad with a little picture of cupid on it and writes "bottle of Pinot from the market," then she stuffs it back inside her purse on top of several other notes.
She kicks her heels off, and notices a run in her stocking. Oh, indeed. Smashing. Should've just gotten those sequined trousers. She reaches for the notepad again, then sighs and pulls the stockings down her legs and tosses them neatly in the wastebin next to her. Get rid of the old, make way for the new, she repeats a few times to herself. After a few moments of pondering what the 'new' might be, she feels a wee bit sunnier.
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Post by Gravedust on Sept 14, 2010 18:50:24 GMT -8
Armed with his luggage, Ben wanders out to the curb and waits. And waits. The steady stop and flow of traffic oozes by him like a sluggish river, but none of the cars stops for him. He begins to fidget. He'd arranged to be met at the airport.. Or at least he -thought- he had.
His trip out west hadn't really been planned to the utmost. It was more of a- 'Get out of town. Now.' -sort of a thing. The fact he landed in Vegas was more of a function of walking up to the counter and asking for the quickest, furthest flight they had available than any premeditated plan. He supposed other guys in his line of work probably had a plan. But come on, what were the chances of what happened happening? To a guy like him? He wouldn't have put money on it.
However, he reminds himself, none of that as particularly important at this second, sweltering on the sidewalk. Had he remembered to call his friend? (More of an aquaintence, really) He thought he had. But his phone had run out it's charge on the flight (sleep mode his ASS) and these days you had a better chance of finding a hundred dollar bill on the sidewalk than a payphone. He sighed. It was possible his ride just hadn't showed up yet. It was possible, in defiance of all universal and human laws, that the plane has somehow arrived before it was scheduled.
Reflexively he looks down at the pale band of skin where his watch used to be.
"Ah. Well. God Damn it."
Something else that would have to be seen to.
No phone, no watch. He was beginning to feel downright primitive. He looks around. A few feet away is Mr. Dover, from the line.
"Excuse me..." He ambles over, loading a precisely calibrated smile, weary and exasperated, but hopeful. "I seem to be having one hell of a day. Do you happen to have the time?"
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Post by jazzs3quence on Sept 14, 2010 19:51:57 GMT -8
((I'll let what's going on at the airport happen. You guys keep going )) Penn hears a knock on her door. She opens it to see the two blokes from table two. The tall lanky one smiles like a rock star. Seriously. Only rock stars smile like this. Big and toothy like Liam Gallager or Robbie Williams. "Spencer here wanted to come back and tell you that he thought your show was absolutely bloody brilliant. Truly. Well done. But Spencer is a bit dodgy when it comes to the ladies, so he asked me to say it instead." His accent is art school London, sort of posh but edgy, like the boy your mother warned you about. "I told him, 'Spencer, if I talk to that girl, she will ruin me. She will be my utter destruction. I will go home and all my teeth will fall out.' 'David,' he will say, though that's not my name, 'you are a complete bastard. An utter fuckface moron.' And so we are here. My name's Brian, though at times I'm called Davy Jones, and otherwise go by the nom de plume of Napoleon Fantastic. My second wife liked to call me Bri. I have a friend who would absolutely love to see you sing, do you have another gig in town?" ================== aaaaaaaaaaaand upkeep. plus today's. Penn +2 XP +1 Buzz Notice Ben +2 XP +1 Buzz Notice Arch +2 XP 3 - Knock 123
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Post by brendur on Sept 15, 2010 7:56:05 GMT -8
"Excuse me... I seem to be having one hell of a day. Do you happen to have the time?"
Arch instinctively flipped the note-book shut as he was addressed, it never hurt to be cautious in these crowds. He glanced over at the chronologically challenged party, a moment of study to take in the man's look of "just rolled out of bed".
"Son if you think it's still daytime your sunshine's a little off. But have no fear squire, the world's still tickin away."
He raised up his arm so the boy could get a good look at the diving watch on his arm that ticked as reliably as his own heart.
"S'nearin the 4th hour after the witcher, bloody horrid time if you ask me. S'matter wif you anyway eh? Didn't your da teach you to carry a watch proper like?"
He's jostled as someone shoves by him to snag the cab that just pulled up, and just like that the old man's mouth goes from 0 to 120. Hurling insults at the figure now safely flipping him the bird from the retreating cab window.
"Oy! Smeg off cunt rag! M'havin conversations here can't yew see that?? Oh aye wave that digit round like it's ever seen a pair! Bloody feckin McDonald's swillin scum."
Returning to the curb all fire and steam he delivers a kick to his bag, wincing as it clanks and reminds him in no painless manner that it has nothing to do with this fight. He glares in Ben's direction and shakes his head, as if affirming the young man isn't really deserving of anger. He's just lost and that's no crime in this jungle.
"Can yew believe that shit mate?"
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Post by e on Sept 15, 2010 8:49:49 GMT -8
Penn starts at a sound outside the door. She goes about her usual routine at the arrival of unexpected guests, sidling up the door and laying her hand on the wood in the center as if taking it's pulse. Not hot, and not cold either. Whoever it is on the other side this time must be a bit of a gift and a bit of a curse as well. Cor, this trip has been all sixes and sevens.
She opens the door wide and spies the two gents from the show in front of her. She's glad that the frock she's wearing covers her legs since they are now bare and she's shoeless. Wouldn't do to appear overeager with these two. Oh, no.
Her mild expression as one of them begins speaking in Brit turns to more of a gobsmacked one as the one talking to her is obviously well off his trolley. She quickly overrides her surprise in favor of an alluring sort of glare. She finds it often works wonders with this type.
When he finishes speaking she very sweetly blows a lungful of cigarette smoke in his face, then smiles.
"Glad you enjoyed the do, Davy."
She's certainly not going to be calling him whatever his second wife did. What a load of codswallop.
"Always nice to see someone from home. Bit of a pity, I'm not in town for much longer. You could give me a ring though, for your mate's sake of course. Here."
She reaches into her purse and pulls out a slip of paper with a number scrawled on it in hot pink, runs her finger over it in a figure-eight, then holds it out to Davy-Neopolitan-Bri-the-bloody-twit. She winks at the other one, the quiet one, then takes a step back and crosses her arms. She fixes the loud bloke with a hard stare and a little toss of her hair.
Silence is a sharp tool. Nothing better to get the other person to say something. She waits, flippantly.
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Post by jazzs3quence on Sept 15, 2010 13:22:17 GMT -8
Davy arches an eyebrow at the interesting sign traced on the card Penn hands him. He looks at it, then sniffs it, then turns to his companion and says, "See, Spencer? What did I say? She will be my ruination." He turns back to Penn and says "This chap, he's performing at a jazz club up the road called the Blue Light two nights hence. I'd ask if you'd like to join me for a cup of tea, but I'm afraid it's much too late in the evening to be making such propositions of decent ladies, so I'll bid you adieu." Before Penn can protest, he takes her hand and kisses it lightly. He smiles winsomely and runs a hand through his messy hair, giving her a wink as he turns toward the back door. His companion stays a moment, giving her a once-over as if this was the first time he had a chance to look at her. He flashes a scowl at Davy's back before looking back at Penn uncomfortably and then following his companion silently.
Penn watches them leave, then settles back in her backstage room, alone. As she's finishing her cigarette, Tim, the owner pokes his head in.
"Great show...ah...Penelope did you say your name was? Look, I've gotta start getting ready for last call -- we don't stay open all night like some of those dives on the Strip -- you're welcome to stay back here for a while if you like, but at 4, I gotta kick you out. I wish the crowd was a bit thicker, would have loved to give you a better audience. Let me know if you're in town a little longer and we might be able to hook something up with a better time slot."
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Post by Gravedust on Sept 15, 2010 19:20:18 GMT -8
"Oh, the day doesn't end 'till you fall asleep." Ben smiles wanly, inwardly hoping he was nearing the end of his own 36-hour day.
"But thanks, I..." He trails off as Mr. Dover turns away and directs a stream of fire and brimstone at a passerby.
"Can yew believe that shit mate?"
Ben chuckles, allowing a sliver of self-assurance to work it's way onto his face. Much of the time people can relate to themselves, so simply mirroring what you see in front of you is a valid tack to take, provided you don't play that card too hard. ..He isn't actually out to play this man, but even so he lays some groundwork. More by habit than anything else, like a soccer player on the sideline who twitches at a close pass.
"Yeah, well... Welcome to the colonies, friend." He hoists an imaginary pint. "And thanks for the time. I did until very recently have a fine, solid timepiece, 'til it got snatched off my damn wrist earlier today in the way to the airport." This is half a lie. "Some punk just reaches into the open cab window and -Bam-." This is entirely a lie. "If you can believe -that- shit."
He sighs hotly, shaking his head in the familiar what-can-ya-do? manner. "If I catch that little punk I'd like to break his nose," he adds for the benefit of his audience, letting a little brooklyn filter into his voice, a little bounce into his shoulders. Minor adjustments.
"Anyway, thanks." He looks around a moment. "Well shit. Guess my ride ain't comin', then."
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Post by jazzs3quence on Sept 16, 2010 4:57:27 GMT -8
(( not much in the way of GM-ery here, keep on keeping on. here's yer.... ))
UP-KEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP!
Penn +1XP
Ben +1XP
Arch +1XP
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Post by brendur on Sept 16, 2010 7:26:35 GMT -8
The mechanic snorts eying lighter skin on the man's wrist, wondering for a half second if the man actually worked in the light of day or just saw a tanning bed every so often. You never could tell with the younger crowds these days.
"Feckin thieves, mark my words, every one of them will get what's comin to em eventually."
He'd learned to say that with a straight face years ago, at least that marriage had been good for something. He did have a little pity for the man though, smash and grabs were the result of a higher ignorance no one should be subjected to, yet there it was. Oh well, take from the community, give to the community.
"No ride eh? Tell yew what then my son, gotta give a ringer here for a time and place. Soon as I gots em we can split a cab to wherever you've got to get."
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Post by Gravedust on Sept 16, 2010 9:37:23 GMT -8
"Think I'll take you up on that." He grins. "I've still got my wallet, at least."
Nevermind that he didn't actually have anywhere to stay. He could sort that out on the road just as well as anywhere else. Plus, stepping into the minor role he'd made for himself obligated him to. These kinds of detours, -concessions to character- were common and by now he simply took them in stride.
Also... Also, this man was being kind to him, in his gruff sort of way. And he needed that, just a little, after the events of the past day and a half. He felt himself lapping it up like milk, though it left him distressed and a little sickened to realize it.
Well, you never did handle things well when they got off script.
"After you, then." He turns slightly away out of politeness and so Mr. Dover can make his phone call in relative privacy.
((Going to be another longish day, I think. I'll try to get back when I can.))
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Post by brendur on Sept 16, 2010 10:17:11 GMT -8
Arch nods to him and slips his cell phone out of his jacket, punching in the first number on the list, he turns away from the crowd and mutters into the receiver when the phone's picked up.
"This is Arch, Diego Delhoya gave me this number, n'said there was work attached at the other end. Now is that Spanish little fruit toppin a liar or can we set up a meet and greet fore I settle down for twenty winks?"
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Post by brendur on Sept 16, 2010 11:52:53 GMT -8
There comes chatter on the receiver, Arch purses his lips for a moment while he listens, then licks the front of his teeth before he replies with a wry grin.
"No that'll be all sweetheart, sorry, no prostitute. Tell you what though, this proves solid and I'll cover Deigo's payment, we'll call it his finder's fee."
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Post by brendur on Sept 16, 2010 12:20:22 GMT -8
Arch hangs up the phone shaking his head with a slight smile on his face.
"Can't say I didn't try Diego."
He looks over to Ben, and waves him back over. Clapping the phone shut he stows it away.
"Easy peasy lemon squeezy. Whish the rest of my trip had gone so smoothly. You might want to call in the taxi boyo, I tend to scare them away for some reason."
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Post by Gravedust on Sept 16, 2010 18:34:07 GMT -8
"Yeah I think I can imagine why." Ben smiles and turns to complete the the small task set for him. Edging a little out into the street and raising his hand at the nearest cab.
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Post by e on Sept 16, 2010 20:27:36 GMT -8
Penn nods once when Davy mentions his friend again and the show.
"I'll have to hold my breath and see if I've got a free moment then."
She pointedly ignores his wink and gives him a very warm glare as he makes his way out. She can just feel that he's the type who likes a little bit of friendly torture.
She notes the discomfort in the other blokes departure, bit dodgy at that. Penn gives him a tiny shrug and a smile, as if to say well, he's a bit odd, but it's horses for courses I suppose.
After they leave she sits down and wonders if she should try and book another gig.
She's about to check if Mars will be in it's retrograde phase in the next few days... might help deciding if she should call Kevin again, when Tim interrupts her thoughts.
"Oh, right. Thank you so much, Tim. I might just give you a ring sometime about another show. It's a fit little place you've got here. I'm just set to be off then."
She collects her things, puts her shoes back on and heads out into the mid-dark of the Vegas night, walking toward the strip with nothing particular in mind except avoiding her room at Stardust.
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Post by jazzs3quence on Sept 16, 2010 21:06:02 GMT -8
(( I realized this evening that I broke my own rule since I said we'd run the game Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday and today is, in fact Thursday (which is probably contrary to what I thought when I woke up this morning). Really, though, I was just waiting for a chance to slip in the next track...Anyway, next round commences Monday... )) After being passed by twice, and flipped off once (Ben briefly wonders if he is, in fact, back on the east coast, if maybe he never left), Arch and Ben are finally greeted by a cab that doubleparks next to a soccer mom in her minivan picking up her husband in a smart suit who smells faintly of perfume while their two kids sleep soundly in the back. Soccer Mom helps him with his luggage, giving the Indian driver of the cab a dirty glare which he uninterestedly shakes his head side-to-side at. As they load their bags into the trunk, Ben can't help but notice that Arch's bags are much heavier than they appear, and make metallic *clink* sounds as they drop into the trunk. The two finish loading their stuff and slide into the back seat. The driver does not bother to ask for a destination, just glares at them in the rearview mirror and starts following the direction the signs are pointing toward the Strip. Every few minutes he glances back at the two of them, silently daring them to give him a location to drive to, but resolutely refusing to ask. His eyebrows seem to say Don't make me do the Indian cab driver thing. Both Ben and Arch are temporarily blinded by the amount of neon lights reflected in the windows of the car, and are surprised by the number of people out despite the time. Apparently, it's not called "the city that never sleeps" for nothing... Elsewhere.............. Penn navigates her way along the sidewalk in the direction of the most gaudy lights. The Sand Dollar, where she just came from, was several blocks away from the stretch of Las Vegas boulevard known as The Strip -- long enough for more than one car to slow down as it drove past, trying to determine if she was a hooker or not, and if so, if she was on duty. Thankfully, no one actually propositioned her. When she finally emerges quickly from the encroaching barrio, she is greeted by 1) a building that appears to be made completely from the gray, reflective rock, hematite, 2) an overly-large (and rather square) Disneyland-style castle, 3) a view of the New York skyline whilst not in New York, 4) several Japanese tourists wanting to take their picture with her, 5) the Tropicana, blaring Frank Sinatra out to the street. It occurs to her that people actually live in this town, though she can't imagine anyone taking up permanent residence. 4 - Let's Run Away TogetherUPKEEP Penn +1XP Ben +1XP Arch +2XP
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Post by Gravedust on Sept 20, 2010 9:14:33 GMT -8
Ben rides with his shoulder against the door, looking out the window. He'd been in town before but it was ages and ages ago at this point, and the city is always changing. He checks the revised version of the strip against the one in his memory, but mostly he keeps an eye out for any promising-looking places to stay. The entire strip is one long ridiculous block of hotels of course, but he's looking to avoid the bigger ones.
In any case Mr. Dover seems to know where he's going, so he's content to sit here till the man gets where he's going, and then find something.
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Post by brendur on Sept 20, 2010 9:53:34 GMT -8
Cab drivers always had something to prove, no matter the country, so the one in the front of their cab was old news to Arch. He reads the man's name off the plate on the back of the driver's seat, and promptly gives up on trying to pronounce it, still that doesn't stop him on growling out their destination.
"No need for any scenic routes, I'll get my site seein in tomorrow, just get me to a hotel close to Harrah's, savy?"
When the lights hit his eyes like an acetylene torch he winces and throws up a hand, cursing in colorful cockney.
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Post by e on Sept 20, 2010 11:44:04 GMT -8
Penn stops a moment to admire the view. She always loves seeing the strange juxtaposition of Vegas, the people with everything and those with nothing all together in a strange dance, surrounded by sand and mirages.
She stops for a few snapshots with the Japanese women. They are just so cute, she can't say no. Besides, she thinks she heard one of them say she looks like Demi Moore. She crouches down so she's not towering over the group and smiles her jammy stage smile at the click and subsequently accepts an excited hug accompanied by an unending stream of happy babble she cannot understand a single word of.
She continues on her way, steering away from the castle like complex (she has never wanted to be a princess, yes, she knows she's an odd duck) and instead heads toward what looks just like the skyscrapers in NYC, instinctively quickening her step and keeping her gaze from wandering, as she learned to do on the streets in the city.
She sighs as she realizes she has to go to the loo. She hopes she can find one without having to go up a dozen flights of stairs or buying one of those horrid blue drinks that are so popular with the yanks.
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Post by jazzs3quence on Sept 20, 2010 12:39:02 GMT -8
The taxi driver says nothing, just shakes his head side-to-side -- which Arch hopes is an acknowledgement of the affirmative -- and turns the volume up on the stereo. As they're waiting for the pedestrian traffic to cross at the sprawling, 4-way intersection in front of the MGM Grand Hotel, New York, New York, and Excalibur across the way, both men in the back of the cab notice an attractive, very pale dark haired woman in a black dress taking pictures with a random group of Japanese tourists. As she stands up and lights a cigarette, something about her causes Arch to do a doubletake ((check yr messages)). The group of Japanese tourists stop mid-crosswalk to snap photos of the Statue of Liberty replica in front of New York, New York, causing the taxi driver to curse in Hindi. 5. Ho Jayegi Balle Balle(( Current location (except at night) ))
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Post by brendur on Sept 20, 2010 15:43:04 GMT -8
"Tellin yew, no matter how many times you wave that in my face, never seen the girl."
Arch had been getting tired of telling them that, it as the truth and he wasn't going to tell them anything else. He was being faced with one of the many problems of the Buisiness. When it was important to know almost everyone in your line of work, everyone expected you to. The insulting part of this was that they expected him to rat on whoever this young snippet of a thing was, and that lords and ladies, was not kosher. "Sol says you would, you calling Sol a liar then?"
"I wouldn't call him that, but I would call him a piss-drunk knob hugger what couldn't tell if it was the hobo outside, or his own mother that he was settin on fire that afternoon. I mean...yew two fine gentlemen had the good sense to ask him about this before yew sauced him up right?"
The look the two gorillas in jump suits gave one another said that they hadn't. Arch let out a less than patient breath, snatching up the scotch in front of him and getting up out of his seat. Opening his door he pointed towards his shop exit with the same hand holding the scotch.
"Kindly fuck off then, n'the next time yew decide to rough up one oh my workers, I'll ask yew to kindly remember I'm gonna mention it to Jericho the next time he comes up here for cards."
They leave, but not before the shorter of the two shoves the picture into his face one last time.
"You remember this face old timer, we expect a call if she shows up around here."
It had been a good few years, and Arch still remembered that face. She'd been lighting a cigarette in that picture to, ignoring the world in a fashion that made her all the more alluring, and probably so damn elusive. Pity he didn't have a name to go with it, she must have made off like a bandit if they'd been that desperate to lay hands on her.
He zones out their cursing driver as he ponders on this new development for a few seconds. He was an out of towner, he knew she'd been island side at least once in her life, and she had been there for Business. Serendipity didn't knock enough times in this line of work to ignore when it did.
He gives a quick glance to the meter, digging around in one of the inner pockets to his jacket he comes out with an appropriate denomination and thrusts it out next to the driver.
"My stop's here."
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