Post by Deleted on Oct 4, 2013 16:25:55 GMT
She was a woman, and her money, packaged in the curves of a million poker chips, that tempted the Hurst with ravishing, serpentine smiles and second chances to break even. Damien was a man with blood above the poker games he frequented among the tenements. He was above the cheap cigars he smoked in the laundromat, and the yellowed pack of cards in his lining pocket. He was better than all of the common folks and neighbors he gambled with when he spent it all at the casino. For Damien Hurst was a casino man, and a casino man that could not afford to lose anymore.
He sat at a bar near the craps tables, a fidget in his eye, like a proper ferret waiting for the purest weasel of them all. Damien had lost an incredible sum in the casino last night - a month advance in allowance. The girls cried on his arms, and he brushed it off like it were but a mouse's share of his property. But truth be told, he needed the money back, or a second job it seemed. He hadn't slept last night, so torn he was about running to the bank, taking out a loan, and using it to at least win some of it back.
But then the little idea got into his head that maybe something could be done about Cassiopeia Malloy, and how tight her hands were on the money he'd lost. He remembered the newspaper photos, black and white, not a decent soul in the eyes of her smug face. But she could have a brain, and reason to be generous and favor him. He looked nice in his tuxedo, and he checked his face in the mirrors that held the whiskey and scotch over the bar's counter with a quick turn.
So he had a message passed on to her. Wealth can speak to wealth so easily without meeting in person. He had it passed on that he wanted to buy her a drink.
@cassiopeia
He sat at a bar near the craps tables, a fidget in his eye, like a proper ferret waiting for the purest weasel of them all. Damien had lost an incredible sum in the casino last night - a month advance in allowance. The girls cried on his arms, and he brushed it off like it were but a mouse's share of his property. But truth be told, he needed the money back, or a second job it seemed. He hadn't slept last night, so torn he was about running to the bank, taking out a loan, and using it to at least win some of it back.
But then the little idea got into his head that maybe something could be done about Cassiopeia Malloy, and how tight her hands were on the money he'd lost. He remembered the newspaper photos, black and white, not a decent soul in the eyes of her smug face. But she could have a brain, and reason to be generous and favor him. He looked nice in his tuxedo, and he checked his face in the mirrors that held the whiskey and scotch over the bar's counter with a quick turn.
So he had a message passed on to her. Wealth can speak to wealth so easily without meeting in person. He had it passed on that he wanted to buy her a drink.
@cassiopeia
