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Like a slow tilt towards the inevitable, word had gotten out, and word was that a certain someone with certain information was here, loitering around one of the gambling dens propped up by the Mafia, and that the time to catch find them would be now. Of course it's raining. A signless entrance leads into a traditional Italian cuisine shop, and the smoke-filled basement is where the cards and chips fall, as one would say, as they may.
Nevermore knows that their usual mode of dress is pretty... let's say, distinctive. The sort of distinctive that makes it a bad idea when dealing with, probably, actual freaking mafia. So they've made the difficult decision to leave their coat at home. Instead, they're wearing a black pantsuit and red button-up shirt. Frankly, the result isn't much less distinctive, but at least it's not singular.
A stretch Escalade limousine pulls up outside of the establishment, black and chrome, fog lights, the works. A driver steps out to get the door for whoever is in back, and out steps a tall and slender figure with slicked back dark hair and a pair of wire rimmed sunglasses. He's wearing the kind of suit with a four digit price tag, pin striped merino wool with satin lining. A Rolex watch. Gold chains around his neck, no tie. He oozes money and privilege the way open wounds ooze pus. He buttons his jacket, flicks his fingers dismissively at the driver, and takes in the eclectic crowd this event has gathered. Right.
Ellie gets out of the limousine right behind Vasily, looking like she's his arm candy for the night. She's in an expensive dress and too much jewelry, which she technically just borrowed from the Guardians of the Veil for this particular mission, and she adds to the arm candy look by actually attaching herself to his arm. "Are you sure this is the right place?" she asks him teasingly, in Russian, with a bit of a smirk.
The sharp click of good shoes precedes the last member of the arriving quartet. The owner is tall, thin, old, and wearing a suit of the sort of dead black cloth only usually worn by undertakers. Vasha radiates money and privilege- this llow radiates purpose the same way, and to anyone with the connections to recognize him, more than just purpose.
The man is known as Threnody, and anyone who knows that name knows that the li expectancy of those who cross him is very, very, very short.
That he is here is not a good sign for whoever he seeks.
A skinny man with a face like an eagle and wearing a wool suit ambles out, cigarette in hand, and leans against the worn brick wall to reach into the folds of his jacket and find a light, spark the dart. He takes a long sideways look at the tourists, and inhales a cloud of the poison, muttering something under his breath in Italian, finishing in English. "You late."
They glance around the place, at the fancy rich Russians and the scary man and the Mafia restaurant, and swallow, then square their jaw. They can do this. They're Nevermore mother-hugging Usher! They walk up to the man. "It's the fashion," They say.
"If you don't want our money," the now very obviously slavic llow begins, "I can have my driver return and we can visit an establishment where I don't have to walk through a kitchen to play canasta." The man leans aside to his eye candy and murmurs to her quietly in Russian, "If you get tired of this, we can leave. Italian bravado is grating even in small doses." Then he smiles charmingly back at the complaining llow. "As the lady says, though. It's the fashion! Show me how the game is run, yes?"
Ellie rolls her eyes as the slavic gentleman whose arm she's on berates the Italian man and she says to him, in Italian, "it's my fault that we're late, anyway." She just shrugs at him helplessly, like that's the way of her li , and then she says once again, in English, to Vasily and with a smirk. "I thought you said you were going to win, for me?"
Late. The Thin Man blinks slowly. "Interesting choice of words." A pregnant pause. "I am not the only person coming up late recently. I am told you have information on why." Another pause. "Do you?" The question rolls a bit, delivered with ease expectant of the truth.
The skinny man rolls his eyes at the back and forth, eyes the lot of them up and down, noticing what details there are in their clothes that might indicate some fortune to part from them, all the while sucking on his cancer stick like it's his civic duty. "Buono," he sighs on the exhale, hooking a thumb inside.
Inside, it's a small, modest Italian restaurant. A passing server jerks his head towards the corner when the group comes inside. A stairwell leads downstairs into the smoke-filled lounge where the atmosphere is decidedly dif rent, and a hostess whose decolletage possesses not even the memory of modesty is waiting for them. Music plays, and there are a w small tables where games of chance are being played.
Nevy looks around the place, taking in the atmosphere, the story of the place - and taking the measure of the people inside.
"Gratzia milli," the Russian of rs to the man at the door. Rather than barge ahead, he gestures for Nevermore to lead the procession, watching Trenody with interest for a w moments before gesturing the way forward for him, too. He pulls up the rear with his lady of the day, taking her hand from his arm briefly to guide her inside and pulling up the rear, returning it to his arm once there's space to do so.
Once he's down in the den, he draws out a cash wrap of hundreds and drops it on the table of whoever is selling chips. Once he's got his rack, he pulls out a $100 chip and leaves it on the table as a tip. "Where should we sit, my dear? And what shall we play?" Like the others, he's eyeing the room and the crowd oh so casually.
There's two mayoral assistants here, they're even playing poker at the same table together. There are multiple games running: cards, dice, dominos, mah jonng tiles, even a back wall dedicated to those fish games that are the new rage. The hierarchy of bodies in the room seems to start by that back wall, with increase in esteem being measured in distance from it.
The atmosphere of the room is a mixture of giddiness, frustration, alcohol, and haze. There are several doors that lead out to who knows where, as the square footage ground floor structure of the (cover) restaurant seems to already be extended across the available space. There certainly does seem to be a quick turnover at one table in particular, in about the middle of the room near the side, and another patron is chugging his drink nervously, tugging at his collar. He seems so terribly vexed.
"Buono," the hostess tells them all, especially Vasiliy.
"Let's do cards, darling," Ellie says to the Russian who definitely isn't Vasily. "I like card games the most. It els like there's more skill in it." She glances around and points at the table with the vexed patron. "Maybe over there?" she suggests quietly. "He looks like he might not be playing at his best, tonight."
"Grazi," Nevy says. They agonize over the chips, before buying what they hope will be enough to be realistic (guess it's Ramen for dinner this month), then make their way toward the nervous patron's table. They consider him as they go, trying to pierce together what might be vexing him.
Vasha of rs a pleased smile, of ring another of his chips to the hostess. "If you are serving, I would like a bourbon cocktail. Kentucky bourbon, pre rably. Lemon sour for my beauty. And I believe she has chosen our table." Vasha tilts his head Layla's way at the question. Though in her head she can hear him clearly, 'Two mayoral aides. The closer to the door the bigger the fish.' "Of course, darling. Lead the way."
The sweating, chugging man isn't the only one vexed at the table. The stack of chips is inordinately high in front of one patron in particular, a weasel-faced man, tray in the hair and long in the tooth, leaning back with a shit-eating grin on his face. Around him, several patrons look miserable, their chip stacks exceedingly low. There are enough open chairs for the party to sit down, and buy in if they wish to play, but for now, the game is still in the middle of a round, though it nears the close, much, apparently, to the weasel-faced man's delight.
"What'll it be, then?" Weasel-face jibes at Sweaty. "You got that pair, maybe?" He cackles, and Sweaty chugs.
They go around the table. Call. Fold. Call. Fold. Until it's Sweaty, Weasel-face, and just one other player.
"Grazie," murmurs the Thin Man in response to the hostess's greeting. His eyes fix on the nervous man, remembering the detail that it's a man trading information for protection that he's here to meet. There's seats open, and it's to one of these that he moves, settling into the seat without a word, watching the game silently, as if he can see something in each man's hand that might be eluding even their owners.
Vasha leans in to press a kiss to Layla's cheek before stepping away so that he can set his tray of chips down and pull out a chair for Layla and then for himself. He unbuttons his suit jacket as he settles into his chair, watching the state of play with casual disinterest. He reclines in his seat and begins fiddling with the jeweled ring on his left pinky finger, its many gemstones glinting in even the miserable light of a gambling den. He doesn't interrupt the hand, gentleman that he is pretending to be.
Ellie beams at Vasily when he agrees to go where she said, and then quietly joins him when they head that direction. 'The nervous man seems like the sort we might be looking for' she thinks at him through their connection. When they get there she takes her seat, crosses her legs, and smiles at everyone around the table. "Oooh, it looks like someone is having a good night," she remarks when her eyes hit the stack of chips. Jokingly, like she's saying it for the benefit of everyone at the table and their amusement, she says to Vasily, "darling, I want that stack of chips. Will you win it for me?"
Nevy smiles at the group. "So!" They say brightly. "What's the game?"
"It's poker, baby," Weasel-face replies, winking at Ellie. In true Texas Hold 'Em style, then comes the river.
Sweaty whimpers. Weasel-face crows. The other player says nothing. The cards all come down, Sweaty with his measly pair, Weasel-face with a straight.
And the other player just waits. The other player is a woman, thin but with a round face like a cherub, dark hair and bangs swept over dark eyes. And she sets her cards down.
A flush.
Sweaty's disposition is unchanged, but Weasel-face sneers. "Goddamnit, Ray."
'Ray', as she's called, just shrugs, and drapes her arms around the chip pile to pull it towards herself. "You had a chance out, Louie. You shoulda taken it." And now the lot of them seem to give the new arrivals more of their attention. Ray regards them each for a moment in turn. "Maybe you boys need a rest," she supposes at the rest of them, and some of them do, in fact, start to rise, needing no more of an exit-ramp off the path that has led them to nothing but separation from their chips.
Vasha applauds the turn of events, inclining his head politely to those leaving the table with polite words of parting. To those remaining, he straightens up in his chair and leans towards the table, becoming a part of it now that his doing so isn't a distraction from play. "Well done, miss. I am Ivan Medvedev. Who might you be?" He of rs a hand along with his introduction, likewise adorned with numerous rings. "My guest this evening--" he gestures to Layla, "Isabella Camini." A look to Nevermore as well, and an of r of his hand just the same as to Ray, "Ivan Medvedev."
"Call me Madeline," Nevy says, shaking the hand. They look at Ray. "Ray? Wow, I like it!"
"Tonight, it's 'Goddamnit Ray'," she chirps back, pushing a hand through her hair and nudging it out of her eyesight. "Though I also respond to 'Ray'," she adds, reaching out to shake the of red hands in turn "Please, sit. Madeline. Ivan. Isabella." She glances at Threnody. "And you. How come I haven't seen you lot here before?" There's a knowingness in her eyes, particularly as she looks at Ivan and Threnody. Recognition. It's subtle, but it's there.
Ellie laughs with delight when Ray takes all the chips, but mostly just serves, for the time being, as decoration, while pretending not to be studying everyone carefully.
The Thin Man's smile spreads at the turn of the cards, sitting back as if he already knows how the hand is going to play out. Perhaps he even does! Or perhaps he's just familiar enough with the game to know he can present that way once the last card is turned. Whatever the source, he remains as Ray dismisses the others who have contributed to her tower of chips, eyes sliding to Ivan as he introduces himself and Isabella. The absence of an of r of introduction to himself seems of no consequence- though perhaps he simply assumes Ivan's already recognized him.
"There's a certain charm to tonight's "full" name." He states, sitting and settling his hands one over the other on the table in front of him. His hands are bare of rings- watches- bracelets- anything of any assistance in indicating his identity. He catches the glint of recognition and holds her gaze while it lingers, letting the others handle the small talk. "And you haven't seen me here before because I haven't been here to be seen." The delivery is calm, patient, without the self-excitement that would mark it a joke he thought funny, nor the edge to imply he's irritated. It's simply the truth. In fact, that's true of all his speech- it rolls with the slow patience of someone who believes the timetable will progress at their pleasure, and nobody else's, and is content to take their time.
'We've been made. What was the tell, do you think? Fuck.' Vasha's smile remains placid all the while, his eyebrows lifting very slightly up his forehead. "I am visiting from Russia, of course. Isabella has been... most hospitable. And her uncle knew of the game. You know how the game is played, I see." Vasha glances back over his shoulder at the door, then turns back to Ray with that same easy smile. "But truthfully, and you must forgive me for saying so, Isabella-- it's the Hosts. I ordered two drinks ten minutes ago and here I am without a bourbon to my name. As Hosts, Italians are worse than Rats. So that's been keeping me away." His smile spreads wider, "But now I'm here. Across the table from you. And me only in the city these three days. Imagine where we'll be in a week."
"Oh, I'm pretty new in town, too," 'Madeline' says cheerfully. "Not as new as - Ivan, you said? But I've only been around for a w weeks. I only heard about this place a couple days ago!"
'I don't know, but we can replay it later to try to work that out. For now, we just improvise' Layla answers in Vasha's head, sounding not particularly concerned. 'Nothing stands out in my variations of Sight. Do you have the Prime to tell if maybe she's supernatural?' "I'm a terrible gambler," she says out loud. "I lose every time, so it takes a particularly silver tongue to get me to come out for something like this." She makes doe eyes at Vasha.
Ray has been idly stacking her chip pile while the dealer was shuffling and cutting the deck, and then she picks up her head and levels Ivan with a belabored gaze. "Gianni," Ray says to dealer softly. "I think these guys and I are gonna play a dif rent game. Would you maybe check on those drinks?"
Gianni seems to cock his head at that, and he takes a long look at the rest of the group. "Okay, Ray," he bobs his head a few times, starts to collect the cards and other accoutrement.
Ray eyeballs them. "Yeah, it seems you brought a silver tongue with you," she mutters. She produces her own cards. They're blank. Blank? They're blank. She starts fanning them out, then she tips them over one way, and then back. They're not blank anymore, but it's not magic. It's sleight of hand. It's card sharking. "What'dyou want?" she asks candidly.
"To trade."
The Thin Man states bluntly. "You are in possession of information that is of use to my employer. In exchange for that information, arrangements will be made to assure your protection. You can either share what you know and what you need to be protected from, so that the arrangements are informed when they are made, or... you can not."
"Pick one."
Nevy follows the cards with apparent interest. "That's... really cool," They say. They're about to follow up with something else when the Thin Man speaks, and they turn to stare at him, wide-eyed, so quickly that their neck cracks.
'Sleepwalker', Vasily confirms in Layla's mind, 'not clear what sort, however. I'm picking up her surface thoughts. I'll try to guide the conversation where we want it to go.' Vasha's eyes shift to Nevermore and on to Threnody, and though he cannot really reach into their minds to compel them to take the woman across the table from them seriously, his look sure attempts to compel such a message.
"I could ask you the same question, Ray. What do you want? You obviously know why we're here. How could you help us resolve our present predicament? What aren't you saying?" Such simple and obvious questions. You hear them in pretty much every interrogation room scene, a gish gallop that never gets an answer. Save what's now spinning through the mind of their mark. Vasha wets his lips at Threnody's of r, his smile returning calmly into place.
"How did you do that?" Ellie asks with apparent interest, sitting up more and leaning forward with definitely curiosity. Well, an extremely good impression of definite curiosity. "That was amazing. But also not what I'm here about, for sure." Meanwhile in Vasily's head she says 'do you want me to just see if the information we want is in her head? It could make this much simpler' She does lean to give Threnody a curious look before saying quietly to Vasily, "that man has no chill."
"I am not paid to have "chill," young lady. I am paid to get results. If you want me to have "chill,"" He states, "- you are free to contract me to do so- another time."
Ray slides the deck out towards Nevermore. "Cut it," she directs, tapping on the top of the deck, while she absorbs what Threnody and Ivan have said. "You want to know about the rats." It is not a question. She exhales. "If I tell you, and you die, and they follow you back to me: you're dead. What good are you to me then? What good is your protection? The men in here with guns," she clicks her tongue behind her teeth and shakes her head. "They won't be any good either. If you piss them off, you will only make it happen faster."
Nevy looks back at Ray, rubbing their neck, and cuts the deck. "I el like things are... escalating a little unnecessarily, here."
Ray collects the deck back, and riffles the deck in her hands like water. Other players in the room glance over when they see her handling a deck; one or two even shift uncomfortably, like they el bad for whatever poor fools she's dealing for.
"No. This is not escalation, miss," The Thin Man says. "This is exposition. She is threatening nothing, simply highlighting stakes which already exist. Ensuring that we know what she risks if she talks. What we risk if we escalate." His eyes never leave Ray. "I am not of ring my protection, young lady, I am of ring the protection of people who know how to kill, Things. People who would pre r more information over less when they take up extermination as a hobby." His head tilts faintly in the other direction. "Rats are Bad For Business, Ray. Help my employers and they will help you. The of r, I should add, is not exclusive to theirs. They do not care who else learns what you share. Share with both. Or neither. But stop wasting my time."
"Cool, then, I pass," Ray tells the Thin Man matter-of-factly. "Bye."
Vasha relaxes back into his seat with a terse little sigh, flicking his attention to Nevermore with a small nod of agreement. Yep. Escalating a little unnecessarily, indeed. 'She knows where they are and could take us there if she wanted. She wants to be free of them. They're troubling her, probably using her somehow. She qualifies for protection under the Lex. We could take her in.'
He pauses to wordlessly scratch at his nose at this point and sends through his head to Layla, 'It seems your way may have to be it. Might as well try before she bolts.' Finally, aloud, Vasha inquires in a polite tone, "Make what happen faster, Ray?"
The Thin Man simply nods and moves to stand. "Thank you for being concise, Miss. I'll convey your refusal to my employers. Do have a good night." Barring further intervention, he turns and walks back up the stairs out of the room.
"Look," Ray says in a low voice, leaning forward while she manhandles the deck of cards in her criminally light touch, flicking downward facing cards to each of them in turn. "This isn't just an in station. Okay? They're working on something. I don't know what. But this isn't the end game. I'm pretty sure it's the beginning."
"Ms. Clearwater, please," Ellie says in as soothing a voice as she can manage, in the circumstances. Soothing isn't her strongest suit. "I'm interested in helping be sure you don't end up back there. Can you relax, deal, and we can talk without the threats, while we play?" She shoots a glance toward the door with that, and the departing Thin Man.
To Vasily she provides a bunch of information through their link. 'The staff here won't let her leave with us, or at least she thinks they won't. Her name is Rachel Clearwater, and she knows about us and the vampires already, as well as spirits and horrors of some sort. She's afraid of being brought back to the nest of the rats, and she knows there are other spirits and humans helping the rats'
Nevy sighs. "Then now's the time to stop them, isn't it? Before they can build up steam. I... don't know who that man was, or who..." They gesture to Vasha and Ellie. "You guys are, but... You're not alone, Ray. we're not alone. Trust me. I know how horrible being alone els. But... we don't have to be."
"A friend," Vasha answers Nevy and Ray both, "at least I would like to be. It is as Madeline says. You are not alone. And you know there are others out there who are in a position to assist you in this and other matters. Those who could make it possible for you to walk right up those stairs and out the front door, just like our thin friend." He gestures to the departing Threnody.
Vasha pauses to pull out a tin of cigarettes, selecting one for himself and lighting it before of ring the tin around the table to all parties. Once those who want one have one, he tucks it away and relaxes back into his seat, exhaling towards the ceiling. "We are here because we have a plan to stop them. And because we can keep you sa . Your name is closely tied to all of this. Getting you away from the blast radius seemed a moral and decent thing to do." His smile returns, mild and easy before he takes another drag.
Ray regards Nevy for a moment, and indicates the cards in front of them, and then takes one of the cigarettes that Vasily of rs, and lights it with a match from a book of them that was on the table. She takes a long drag.
"It's not that I doubt your intentions. Really," she assures them through a cloud of smoke. "I just don't think you realize how useless they are. You can't kill them." She leans forward again. "And they're reproducing." She rubs the back of her head. "You're gonna go if you're gonna go. But I'm not going with you. What is it you want to know?"
The crowd has started getting thin. Staff in particular seems to have disappeared from the floor, along with most of the players who were furthest from the back wall.
Nevy picks up their hand, glancing around. "What were the drinks you asked Gianni for?" They say, sounding hesitant.
Like, right on time, a pretty nervous looking server brings over a tray of their drinks, for those who ordered, and sets them down, then scurries away.
"Bourbon cocktail and a lemon drop," Vasha answers Nevy truthfully. He reaches for his amber colored beverage, swirls it with the orange peel, and settles once more back into his seat. 'Did you get what we need? Location, details, what she knows? The staff are getting nervous, and the high rollers are leaving. Which suggests they're either closing up shop or are about to fill the room with lead.'
He takes another drag from his cigarette, exhales through his nose, and plays the game while his partner works her angle. "Very well. Where are the nests? Are they taking people at random, or is there a method to it? If so, what's the method?"
'Apparently they're in Centralia. Or thereabouts' Layla says in Vasily's head as the conversation continues around them. "Oh, we can," she says with a shake of her head. "This won't be the first time that we've dealt with them, and probably not the last. It's complicated, but it can be done." 'Anything else you want to know while I'm in her head, here? She's pretty sure people are clearing out because Gianni told the bosses things were tense, and in case we make a scene, they don't want people around.'
Ray's voice is quiet, and low, leaning forward in a con ssional tone. "They got me. They have tunnels, underground tunnels that go... for miles. I don't know how many, a hundred. North, northwest. They drag you through the tunnels for what els like days, to the nest. It's so hot there. The air is choking, like sulfur and ash and fire. I was covered in ash for days. I got lucky, I got out, and a trucker picked me up off I-81, gave me a lift back here."
Ray points to the cards that have been set before them all, indicating they should flip them over. Split hands, all of them. The worst of the worst. And drawn in marker in the center of each, a tiny skull and crossbones. Of course, Ray has such a marker tucked behind her ear. Did she just do that in advance for the absolute hell of it, and keep 'em handy? Possible. Likely.
Nevy winces. "That's horrible. I understand why you're afraid. I'm sorry that happened to you."
"That was Centralia. There was a coal mine fire under the town, they condemned the whole thing. You were taken to Centralia." Vasily finishes off his cigarette and exhales with a bit of a hiss, snubbing the cigarette out in the ash tray. "Rachel," and he goes for her full name, "since you are a betting women, an intelligent woman, and a woman very much in the know about matters beyond the reach of most... I would like to make a bet with you." At last he takes a sip of his cocktail, rattling the ice a bit. "Deal out four hands and the river. Face down. If we can guess each card, you come with us. You come under our care. We take care of you. You provide us with the information we need. Everything you can remember. Gianni already emptied the room. Merlino's friends are fading into the night like spooked roaches. You're despairing out of-- forgive me --ignorance. Just because you don't know what can help you doesn't mean it's not sitting across the table from you." He gestures to the three remaining parties. "You have nothing to lose. By your own admission, your present company can't save you."
To Layla he thinks, 'We probably have enough now to reconnoiter with scrying windows. Centralia is remote enough we can bottle off the whole network, turn them back in on themselves. But you've been in her head, so you'd have a better idea than myself. Do what you think is best. I'd like to convince her to come with us. She'd be a tremendous asset in a Labyrinth.'
Layla does flip her cards over, and she laughs softly. "You're one of the Atariya, aren't you?" she asks with an understanding smile, like it just dawned on her. "You're welcome to make your own decisions, of course. I'd suggest listening to my friend, but that's entirely up to you."
'You're right, and hopefully we can get her to listen to reason,' she says back to Vasily.
Ray cannot resist the temptation of a game, and she starts to recollect the cards, shuffles them in her hands. They're regular cards again. She flickers her eyes over to Layla, and rolls her shoulders. "This would probably be a good living if I was, mm? Come, let's play."
Ray deals the cards.
"Was it just the rats? Was there anything else you saw?"
"People. I saw people," she confirms as she starts to slide the cards out to them.
Vasily watches the dealing impassively, tilting his glass for another ice rattling sip. 'If you want to blow her mind, you may. Or you can feed me the cards and I'll do it.'
'Oh, I'll just feed you the cards. I'd like to see how you work'. Layla leans back with her drink, but she doesn't sip it. She just makes it look like she will. Relaxed, unconcerned, curious. She looks over at Nevermore and flashes a smile.
She deals the flop and the turn: jack of spades, 4 of clubs, ace of clubs and 6 of diamonds.
Nevy checks their hand, takes a look, then tilts their head and reaches into their satchel, rummaging for a w moments. At the look from the other player, Nevy gives an uncertain smile in response.
"The suspense," Ray hums, fingers sliding nimbly along the corners of the squared deck while she draws out the drama of dealing the river.
And as every card is dealt out, Layla just eds to Vasily what they all are. 'For you, my friend: 7 of hearts, 10 of spades. Madeline has the 8 ofhearts and 7 of diamonds. For me, 7 of clubs, queen of clubs. For Ray, ace of spades, 7 of spades.'
Meanwhile, somewhere that is definitely not definitely is right here, the Thin Man nods sagely to himself and thinks, "oh, yeah, actually, that makes a lot of sense in context."
'I thought you'd say that,' Vasily's thoughts come with a hint of amusement. He carefully sets his glass down and points to his face down cards. "Seven of Hearts. Ten of Spades." He begins twisting that pinky ring of his again as he carefully uncrosses and recrosses his legs, shifting his weight in his chair. "If you were hoping to pick up a full house off your Ace Seven, Rachel, I'm afraid you'll be in some trouble there. Because Madeline and Isabelle have the Diamond and the Club to your Spade and my Heart. Madeline has also ruined my straight flush option with that Eight of Hearts she's holding. But true to the Atariya's luck, you've got a pair of aces. Well done. You could deal the Ace of the bottom of the deck to seal the deal. That would impress me."
Vasily's head cocks slightly to the side, watching Ray carefully, but with a kind if sad smile. "Think back to when you were happy, Ray. Before all of this. An April day-- it was April, wasn't it? You in your little floral sundress. The carousel spinning, and spinning, and spinning. The sun pouring through the trees like God made a day just for you. You can taste it, smell it, see it. You want to be that girl again, hair free, laughing. You'd get back on that ride again if you could."
He licks his first two fingertips, taps the cards before him, and lifts them making his statement very obviously true with respect to his hand. "I have a quarter in my pocket. And tomorrow is supposed to be lovely." He flicks the cards off, reaches for his drink, and finishes it off. "We have what we need. It's you that doesn't." Vasily begins to rise from his seat.
Nevy eyes the man, then pulls a card out of their satchel - a tarot card. Its artwork, beautifully rendered, shows two travelers, ragged and injured, walking through a snowy wilderness. Ignored on the card behind them is a building, a church or large home, with five circular windows. "Are you familiar with the tarot?" They say quietly. "The five of pentacles. Facing trial and difficulty - but blinded by that trial to hope." They give a lopsided smile. "Which, I think, gives me a straight, if we bend the rules a bit." They look at Ray. "The darkness isn't hopeless, Ray."
Ray watches Vasily for a moment, and holds the deck over to Ellie for her to pull the top card. When she does, she deals a 3 of diamonds on the river, and Ray glances at Madeline. "I didn't use my magic."
Ellie flips the card, but seems to be viewing it as just going through the motions. Perfunctory. She starts rising a moment later, herself.
Ray studies the tarots as Madeline lays them out, and eyes the cards, and gives the woman a skeptical sideways look, but to Vasily, she relents. "Alright. I will come with you. But I'm not going back there. Not even close," she affirms.
Vasha plucks up his glass once he's on his et, collects his cigarette butt and drops it into the glass, then claims his two cards, sliding them into his pocket. He then upends his chip tray onto the table, reaches into his breast pocket and pulls out another wrap of hundreds, and places it onto the pile in the middle of the table. "Apologies to the house," since their presence seems to have killed the game and piked the night's revenue. A little ' el better' cash will go some distance to mollifying the mob. "But I'm keeping the chip tray as a memento." And because it has his prints. He sets his glass onto the tray, turns about, and begins ambling for the exit, "Grab your coat, Rachel, I have the AC on in the limo."
Ellie picks up her own glass once she's on her et, and the one card that she picked up and turned just a w moments before -- the things in the room that she touched herself -- and then turns to give Nevermore a smile and a tip of her head. "Ms. Madeline. Give my regards to Roderick." And then she heads for the exit too. She doesn't look to see Ray is following or anyone else is, but only because she can see behind her.
Nevy picks up their tarot card, double-takes at Ellie, narrows their eyes, and bustles after the woman as fast as their plump little legs will take them. "Now, hold on, I'm not done yet..."
With minimal muss or fuss, Ray snags her coat from where it hangs on the back of her chair and rises, filling her pockets with chips. She does seem a bit curious as to why no one stops them on their way out, so peculiar is the notion of her leaving with strangers, given the circumstances, but, so it is.
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