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Old February 28, 2019, 05:05 PM   #1
Darian
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[Primus Gaudeo] The Rubber Suitcase Job

Era XVI, Summer

His hand was a two and a seven of spades, as well as an unlikely queen of hearts. Amidst the rattle of dice and the occasional holler when someone won big, he was not paying his cards an awful lot of attention.

His name, on this occasion, was Arn Hawke. The three-piece suit he wore covered a body that was skeletally thin. It had been tailor made, he fit into this high-stakes game as if he had been born here. The others at the table might have been more suspicious had they known about the many secret pockets that had been sewn into it, allowing him to carry a number of small vials of potions on his body. His sleeves were specially modified to allow him access to several at his whim. The purple cravat at his neck had been alchemically treated to purify the air should he need to employ any gas grenades.

In addition he had a slim briefcase at his side, for those things you could not easily fit or disguise inside a suit. A pair of goggles with interchangeable lenses for whatever his needs were. He folded and nodded briefly at the old manObligatory Stan Lee cameo greedily grabbing the pile of chips in the middle of the table. The important thing was not winning, it was staying in the game until an opportunity presented itself.

It was why he had chosen this particular table, a good view of the entrance to where the vault would be. The card game was not what he was here for. Darian did not gamble if he could avoid it, neither did Arn Hawke for that matter. All of Darian's many identities served different purposes. Hawke was a thief, plain and simple.

He was here to steal the casino's ledger. He frowned for a second, glancing across the table. Was thatů? Why did everything have to get complicated? No, matter. He pushed some chips into the middle of the table. It was time to ante up.
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Old March 17, 2019, 12:20 PM   #2
Adynirach
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The man across the table was hardly paying attention to his own hand. Perhaps it only seemed that way, given that he wore nonchalance as if he had brought it into fashion, making his lack of meticulousness seem natural, intentional - a part of that humanly imperfect charm granted to young and overconfident heirs.

And so he leaned back, rolled the sleeves of the white shirt beneath his waistcoat nearly to his elbows, and had tugged gently on the knot of his tie until the whole thing had fallen somewhat slack and to the side. An arm slung over the back of his chair, the toothpick from an olive bobbing up and down from the corner of his mouth, his eyes had strayed from the game before him to the sights and faces beyond.

He might have missed Arn's glance of recognition by then - or perhaps it had yet to come - because by the time Adyn had landed much the same, the man didn't seem to be paying him any mind.

There was but the subtlest crease at the center of Adyn's brow, a brief relapse into irritation at the memory of that man abandoning him to hungry, vindictive ghosts... but as always, Adyn realized that only moments prior, his own intention had been to do the same. He had to remind himself that such a gesture - to simply abandon the person without an outward attempt at accomplishing the deed one's self - was almost a professional courtesy in this line of business these days.

Well, either way, there was certainly a new obstacle to consider for the rogue. Why else would Arn Hawke be here, and at this very table no less, than to try his hand at the same prize that Adyn himself had eyes on? As if the night hadn't already promised a challenge as it was.

That was fine, though, wasn't it? As if spurred on by the thought of having someone to beat to the punch, a corner of Adyn's lips twitched upward as he met Arn Hawke's new bet.
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