Post by Logan on Sept 30, 2009 20:39:05 GMT -5
"You still drinkin that shit Remy?"
I growl the question out around my freshly lit stogie, sharin a smile with the fiery eyed toreador thief sitting across from me at the poker table. Usually I ain't much for socializing, but Remy and I go way back, to a seedy bar on Bourben, and a pair of Fiends that didn't like playing nice. 80 years ain't changed either of us that much. Remy is still a lowdown, dirty rotten scoundrel, and well....I'm still me. But good friends don't really Need to change for each other. Thats kinda the whole point of the thing, at least as far as I've seen.
Tonight ain't exactly social though. More Remy calling in a favor from me to help out with this little card game he's gotten together. Usually there ain't no problems for him with finding good players, but I get the impression this one just fell in his lap. Having a good player at your back with that is always handy, particularly when you're fleecing a pair of neonates from up the coast. Not sure what these boys are doing in Atlantic City, but their elders woulda done better to keep ehm closer to home.
Not that I mind, Remy and I allready agreed to split the proceeds up 50/50. Usual shares, with these two goin home with their pockets turned out. How life goes in the big city.
As Remy deals us in, I take a moment to consider the pair, sizing up how big a challenge they're going to be.
One on my left goes by Bobby. Cool character from what I've seen...perhaps even literally. His share of the table is damp from him, and it actually feels cooler at my left elbow. Hairs cropped down almost the scalp, just some blonde spikes showin through. Eyes covered by a pair of shitty looking chrome glasses. Like he's tryin to emulate how a 'Real' player looks. Failin pretty big. Kid has more tells than a phone book. Easy pickings.
His coutnerpart though, well I don't think he's gonna be near as easy. Not by any means. For one thing, you don't ever want to piss off a guy this big. He's gotta top about six and a half and change. Probably 250 on a slim day. Not fat either, built like a linebacker, huge an strong. Not that he's stupid, not from what I've seen. Behind the rounded specs he's got on, I can see the blue eyes thinking. Ponderin. He'll be a careful palyer I bet. Probably why Remy felt he needed the help. Feet an hands are huge. Maybe even gangrel blood in him, though the blue ponytail speaks more to Brujah. Called himself Henry, but he seems more like a Hank to me. Probably a real beast in a fight.
Of course, as usual things don't quite go according to plan. Almost as soon as we're dealt in, I feel someone move up behind me, smellin off that shitty aftershave the bartender here uses. Glance confirms it. Patch. I give him a look and he holds up a wireless phone for me, tryin his damndest to look apologetic. He damn well better be.
I take the phone offa him, and then pick up my cards, studying them in one hand as I listen to the voice on the line...sounds familar.
Fifteen seconds later I snarl a response and then click off the phone, tossin my cards on the table.
"Sorry fellas. I gotta run. Business came up. Remy, take care of my cash on the table. You owe me it when I make it back. Gotta leave town now."
Turning, I make my way back to the bar proper, tossin the phone to Patch as I ehad out the main entrance, to where my Harley waits. Aidoneus said there'd be a jet waiting for me at the airport, and I can make it in five if I break a few laws. Reason enough to do that, he found Creed.
I growl the question out around my freshly lit stogie, sharin a smile with the fiery eyed toreador thief sitting across from me at the poker table. Usually I ain't much for socializing, but Remy and I go way back, to a seedy bar on Bourben, and a pair of Fiends that didn't like playing nice. 80 years ain't changed either of us that much. Remy is still a lowdown, dirty rotten scoundrel, and well....I'm still me. But good friends don't really Need to change for each other. Thats kinda the whole point of the thing, at least as far as I've seen.
Tonight ain't exactly social though. More Remy calling in a favor from me to help out with this little card game he's gotten together. Usually there ain't no problems for him with finding good players, but I get the impression this one just fell in his lap. Having a good player at your back with that is always handy, particularly when you're fleecing a pair of neonates from up the coast. Not sure what these boys are doing in Atlantic City, but their elders woulda done better to keep ehm closer to home.
Not that I mind, Remy and I allready agreed to split the proceeds up 50/50. Usual shares, with these two goin home with their pockets turned out. How life goes in the big city.
As Remy deals us in, I take a moment to consider the pair, sizing up how big a challenge they're going to be.
One on my left goes by Bobby. Cool character from what I've seen...perhaps even literally. His share of the table is damp from him, and it actually feels cooler at my left elbow. Hairs cropped down almost the scalp, just some blonde spikes showin through. Eyes covered by a pair of shitty looking chrome glasses. Like he's tryin to emulate how a 'Real' player looks. Failin pretty big. Kid has more tells than a phone book. Easy pickings.
His coutnerpart though, well I don't think he's gonna be near as easy. Not by any means. For one thing, you don't ever want to piss off a guy this big. He's gotta top about six and a half and change. Probably 250 on a slim day. Not fat either, built like a linebacker, huge an strong. Not that he's stupid, not from what I've seen. Behind the rounded specs he's got on, I can see the blue eyes thinking. Ponderin. He'll be a careful palyer I bet. Probably why Remy felt he needed the help. Feet an hands are huge. Maybe even gangrel blood in him, though the blue ponytail speaks more to Brujah. Called himself Henry, but he seems more like a Hank to me. Probably a real beast in a fight.
Of course, as usual things don't quite go according to plan. Almost as soon as we're dealt in, I feel someone move up behind me, smellin off that shitty aftershave the bartender here uses. Glance confirms it. Patch. I give him a look and he holds up a wireless phone for me, tryin his damndest to look apologetic. He damn well better be.
I take the phone offa him, and then pick up my cards, studying them in one hand as I listen to the voice on the line...sounds familar.
Fifteen seconds later I snarl a response and then click off the phone, tossin my cards on the table.
"Sorry fellas. I gotta run. Business came up. Remy, take care of my cash on the table. You owe me it when I make it back. Gotta leave town now."
Turning, I make my way back to the bar proper, tossin the phone to Patch as I ehad out the main entrance, to where my Harley waits. Aidoneus said there'd be a jet waiting for me at the airport, and I can make it in five if I break a few laws. Reason enough to do that, he found Creed.