dieroll | open post | free-for-all tuesday.

open post | free-for-all tuesday.

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[ kicks this shit off like it's 1999 ]

[ Outside, after it all. She's still in her bodysuit, blue silk and lycra and fake, shining diamonds to make her out to be as boneless and seamless as water, shifting like the ocean and the tide to fill up all the spaces in between. Her makeup, varying shades of steel and blue are smudged at the corners of her eyes. She leans, just enough, to let her head rest on his shoulder. ]

Thanks for coming.

[ To the show, she means, and a multitude of other things that'll come to pass eventually. ]

[ Eddie's something of an enigma on the Strip; everyone's seem him, once or twice (he's been kicked out of various clubs and casinos), but he's hard to find, even at the best of times. He's the guy drinking at the bar counter, who talks to all the tourists only just long enough to make an impression and then disappears. There aren't a whole lot of people he really knows.

(There's the girl he always seems to be tagging after, in the red shoes and the smile of an angel, but that's a story for a different time.) ]

Wouldn't'a missed it for the world.

[ His cheek brushes her hair as he turns his head. (Snakes, favored in his estimation because of the stigma they otherwise bear.) His clothes are ill-fitting by contrast, wrinkled in a way that suggests he hasn't left the poker tables for some time, though he miraculously doesn't smell like the booze and smoke that the casino floors usually reek of. ]

What, 'd you think I wouldn't show?

[ She makes a tuneless, simply vocal kind of noise. High-pitched, where one might look at her and expect something lower, smoother like the way she moves in the air. Maybe yes, maybe no, maybe I thought so; she lifts her chin a little to look at him properly. ]

Funny man.

[ Is her retort, which comes out mostly flat but a little dry, in that way Adria gets sometimes. (That is to say: sure, he'd show. The Strip is big but it's not that big, and the way the world goes, Eddie Ash is a buisnessman who's hung up his briefcase for the end of the day.) There's silence that lingers for a moment after, like she might tack something onto the end of that sentence. She yawns instead, turning her head to smother it in the crook of his shoulder. ]

[ The question exists as to how long he'll last in this life. Maybe he'll lose it all on a bad table, maybe he'll get bored and move on to something else. (Not that anyone ever can move on from Vegas, not if they stay for too long to begin with. The desert gets its claws in and it doesn't let go. Even Eddie Ash isn't exempt from the rule.) ]

Just for you, darlin'.

[ He almost doesn't say anything at all, hanging on that beat of silence before her yawn. Her breath is warm even through the fabric of his shirt, not something he particularly minds in the relative cool of the evening. It's only now that the Strip really comes to life, lights glittering in a technicolor showcase. As easy as it is to think of oneself as jaded when it comes to the ins and outs, here, that's a sight that never really gets old. ]

Looks like we gotta get you home, [ he notes, though his voice doesn't carry any note of urgency. ] I'm not takin' the fall if you come into work tired tomorrow.