Post by Krähe on Mar 26, 2020 18:07:50 GMT -8
[Off Camera]
"Gotta say, this isn't the usual case."
Krahe glances over the file while taking a draw from his cigarette. His slow exhale sends a plume of smoke that mostly makes it out the open window, leaving the rest to coil around the papers before him.
"That's what I'm telling you, man. Honestly, I couldn't think of anyone else that could pull this off. The family considers this a delicate situation, to say the least."
Krahe grunted and flicked over to the next page.
"Glad you always think of me when you get the weird shit Jordan."
"It's not my fault you've developed a reputation for dealing with the odd ones as much as the messy ones. Hey, maybe with the extra cash, you can get yourself a damn iPhone. You sound like shit on that android, it's like I hear you talking in a bowl."
That had Krahe darting his eyes to the android resting in the drink holder with an amused smirk.
"I hear you just fine, it must be your I shit phone."
"Don't talk about my baby like that, those are fighting words."
"Is that so?" Krahe asks in a casual tone, before tucking the folder away with a sigh. The answer is immediate without a moment's hesitation.
"No, not really. We both know I'm a lover, not a fighter."
That draws a chuckle from The Catalyst, as he rolls up his window, and snatches the phone.
"Last I heard you weren't much a lover either."
Stepping out of the car, he pauses to look up at the casino and wonder what idiot names a gambling hall "Event Solutions." A rich one, more than likely, and that was a crying shame.
"That hurts Krahe, deeply. Don't you know that words cut more profoundly than any knife?"
"Only people that have never been cut with a knife say that kinda shit." He switches topics fast, knowing that Jordan will ramble all night if he lets him. "Table five, poker, right?"
"Yeah, asshole, that's right. I'll have the warehouse ready, but call me when you're on your way."
"Will do."
"By the way-"
Before the man could jump into his next act, Krahe cut the line with a chuckle.
"Bye, Jordan." He said into the sudden silence.
He steps up to the entrance inhaling a final draw from his cigarette. His grey eyes observing each person that mills about. They came from every walk of life and covered a vast spectrum of sobriety, but most of them were chasing that same high. To win that next big win.
Oh, they could pretty it up or dirty it up as much as they want, but in the end, that's what ninety percent boils down to. Then there's that last ten percent that plays for the love of the game itself, and that is a dangerous group to find yourself in.
He couldn't judge any of them, though. The sobering fact is that gamblers and wrestlers had far more in common than most would care to admit.
With that thought, he flicks his cigarette into the public ashtray and pushes his way through the gilded doors.
The loud music is the first thing to greet his senses, The Silent Comedy's Bartholomew slamming into him. The irony of the song wasn't lost on him.
"Oh my god
Please help me
Knee deep in the river tryin' to get clean
He says wash your hands
Get out the stains
But you best believe, boy, there's hell to pay
Yeah, you best believe, boy, there's hell to pay, sayin'."
Like a shark blending into the schools of fish, he makes his way through the crowds. The whole thing far too close to second nature than he cared to admit, but then we all have parts of our past we would rather avoid.
"Come on."
Once upon a time, he would have trolled these waters as a prime hunting ground. Even now, the smell of desperation has his nose twitching as if sensing blood in the water, and if you doubt desperation has a scent, then you haven't seen nearly as much of the darker side of life as you think you have.
"Oh my god
Please help me
Waist deep in the river, can you hear my plea?
He says, son, you come like a beggar in the street
You might make it, boy, but by the skin of your teeth
You might make it, boy, but by the skin of your teeth, sayin'."
They try to sell places like this as some higher echelon of society, the rich man's sporting paradise. It's a lie, these people hiding behind their expensive clothes and masks of civilized superiority are as savage as any street thug. Gambling isn't a rich man sport; it's a smart criminals turf.
"I rambled with the worst of them
Fell in love with a Harlequin
Saw the darkest hearts of men
And I saw myself starin' back again
And I saw myself starin' back again."
Once upon a time, he enjoyed the brutal game they played. Now the fake white smiles, bright lights, and the ringing sound of slots just left him feeling ill. Funny, how all things change with time and life.
Where once he would have been the devil coming for his due, now he found himself diving back into the snake pit to save a soul. The very thought of it was ridiculous, yet here he was.
"Oh my god
Please help me
Neck deep in the river screamin' for relief
He says it's mine to give
But it's yours to choose
You're gonna sink or swim, you're gonna learn the truth
No matter what you do, you're gonna learn the truth sayin'."
This isn't how he planned to spend his Patty's Day, but at least it doesn't take him long to find his mark.
He finds Mr. Robert Johnson sitting at the poker table with a small closed-lip smile and his pale blonde hair cut in a neat but nondescript style. He is the picture of the mild-mannered nuclear family father and completely unremarkable in appearance.
Krahe idly muses that he would've made the excellent hitman in another life, but in this one, he's simply the all American dad that happens to have a crippling gambling problem.
"Ate the bread that once was stone
Fell from a cliff, never broke a bone
Bowed down to get the kings overthrown
And I'm all alone, and the fire grows
And I'm all alone, and the fire grows."
"Mr. Johnson?"
Robert looked up at the tall man before him, standing as casually confident in his simple jeans and leather jacket, as any of the men wearing a thousand-dollar suit.
His first instinct was to dismiss the man. The words even forming on his lips, before promptly dying at the look in the man's grey eyes. The small knowing smile that tugged up the corner of his mouth did absolutely nothing to soothe his nerves.
"Y-yes, can I help you?" He manages to choke the words out over the lump in his throat, though he can barely hear himself over the pounding of his heart, and the swell of the music.
"La la la la la la la la la la la
La la la la la la la la la la la
La la la la la la la la la la la"
"In a manner of speaking, I'm going to need you to take a walk with me. I'd prefer you to do so calmly and without any fuss. If you cause a scene, and I'll be more than a little annoyed. You don't want me annoyed, Mr. Johnson...Do you understand?"
Robert could only bob his head with a gulp, struggling not to choke on his saliva. The rest of the table averts their attention as he stands, leaving his final three chips where they lay.
"Good."
"Swing sweet charity
Take what's left of me
A new beginning, or is this the end?
Swing sweet Seraphim
Take me back again
Or watch me make the messes of men...."
To Be Continued in "The Games We Play"
"Gotta say, this isn't the usual case."
Krahe glances over the file while taking a draw from his cigarette. His slow exhale sends a plume of smoke that mostly makes it out the open window, leaving the rest to coil around the papers before him.
"That's what I'm telling you, man. Honestly, I couldn't think of anyone else that could pull this off. The family considers this a delicate situation, to say the least."
Krahe grunted and flicked over to the next page.
"Glad you always think of me when you get the weird shit Jordan."
"It's not my fault you've developed a reputation for dealing with the odd ones as much as the messy ones. Hey, maybe with the extra cash, you can get yourself a damn iPhone. You sound like shit on that android, it's like I hear you talking in a bowl."
That had Krahe darting his eyes to the android resting in the drink holder with an amused smirk.
"I hear you just fine, it must be your I shit phone."
"Don't talk about my baby like that, those are fighting words."
"Is that so?" Krahe asks in a casual tone, before tucking the folder away with a sigh. The answer is immediate without a moment's hesitation.
"No, not really. We both know I'm a lover, not a fighter."
That draws a chuckle from The Catalyst, as he rolls up his window, and snatches the phone.
"Last I heard you weren't much a lover either."
Stepping out of the car, he pauses to look up at the casino and wonder what idiot names a gambling hall "Event Solutions." A rich one, more than likely, and that was a crying shame.
"That hurts Krahe, deeply. Don't you know that words cut more profoundly than any knife?"
"Only people that have never been cut with a knife say that kinda shit." He switches topics fast, knowing that Jordan will ramble all night if he lets him. "Table five, poker, right?"
"Yeah, asshole, that's right. I'll have the warehouse ready, but call me when you're on your way."
"Will do."
"By the way-"
Before the man could jump into his next act, Krahe cut the line with a chuckle.
"Bye, Jordan." He said into the sudden silence.
He steps up to the entrance inhaling a final draw from his cigarette. His grey eyes observing each person that mills about. They came from every walk of life and covered a vast spectrum of sobriety, but most of them were chasing that same high. To win that next big win.
Oh, they could pretty it up or dirty it up as much as they want, but in the end, that's what ninety percent boils down to. Then there's that last ten percent that plays for the love of the game itself, and that is a dangerous group to find yourself in.
He couldn't judge any of them, though. The sobering fact is that gamblers and wrestlers had far more in common than most would care to admit.
With that thought, he flicks his cigarette into the public ashtray and pushes his way through the gilded doors.
The loud music is the first thing to greet his senses, The Silent Comedy's Bartholomew slamming into him. The irony of the song wasn't lost on him.
"Oh my god
Please help me
Knee deep in the river tryin' to get clean
He says wash your hands
Get out the stains
But you best believe, boy, there's hell to pay
Yeah, you best believe, boy, there's hell to pay, sayin'."
Like a shark blending into the schools of fish, he makes his way through the crowds. The whole thing far too close to second nature than he cared to admit, but then we all have parts of our past we would rather avoid.
"Come on."
Once upon a time, he would have trolled these waters as a prime hunting ground. Even now, the smell of desperation has his nose twitching as if sensing blood in the water, and if you doubt desperation has a scent, then you haven't seen nearly as much of the darker side of life as you think you have.
"Oh my god
Please help me
Waist deep in the river, can you hear my plea?
He says, son, you come like a beggar in the street
You might make it, boy, but by the skin of your teeth
You might make it, boy, but by the skin of your teeth, sayin'."
They try to sell places like this as some higher echelon of society, the rich man's sporting paradise. It's a lie, these people hiding behind their expensive clothes and masks of civilized superiority are as savage as any street thug. Gambling isn't a rich man sport; it's a smart criminals turf.
"I rambled with the worst of them
Fell in love with a Harlequin
Saw the darkest hearts of men
And I saw myself starin' back again
And I saw myself starin' back again."
Once upon a time, he enjoyed the brutal game they played. Now the fake white smiles, bright lights, and the ringing sound of slots just left him feeling ill. Funny, how all things change with time and life.
Where once he would have been the devil coming for his due, now he found himself diving back into the snake pit to save a soul. The very thought of it was ridiculous, yet here he was.
"Oh my god
Please help me
Neck deep in the river screamin' for relief
He says it's mine to give
But it's yours to choose
You're gonna sink or swim, you're gonna learn the truth
No matter what you do, you're gonna learn the truth sayin'."
This isn't how he planned to spend his Patty's Day, but at least it doesn't take him long to find his mark.
He finds Mr. Robert Johnson sitting at the poker table with a small closed-lip smile and his pale blonde hair cut in a neat but nondescript style. He is the picture of the mild-mannered nuclear family father and completely unremarkable in appearance.
Krahe idly muses that he would've made the excellent hitman in another life, but in this one, he's simply the all American dad that happens to have a crippling gambling problem.
"Ate the bread that once was stone
Fell from a cliff, never broke a bone
Bowed down to get the kings overthrown
And I'm all alone, and the fire grows
And I'm all alone, and the fire grows."
"Mr. Johnson?"
Robert looked up at the tall man before him, standing as casually confident in his simple jeans and leather jacket, as any of the men wearing a thousand-dollar suit.
His first instinct was to dismiss the man. The words even forming on his lips, before promptly dying at the look in the man's grey eyes. The small knowing smile that tugged up the corner of his mouth did absolutely nothing to soothe his nerves.
"Y-yes, can I help you?" He manages to choke the words out over the lump in his throat, though he can barely hear himself over the pounding of his heart, and the swell of the music.
"La la la la la la la la la la la
La la la la la la la la la la la
La la la la la la la la la la la"
"In a manner of speaking, I'm going to need you to take a walk with me. I'd prefer you to do so calmly and without any fuss. If you cause a scene, and I'll be more than a little annoyed. You don't want me annoyed, Mr. Johnson...Do you understand?"
Robert could only bob his head with a gulp, struggling not to choke on his saliva. The rest of the table averts their attention as he stands, leaving his final three chips where they lay.
"Good."
"Swing sweet charity
Take what's left of me
A new beginning, or is this the end?
Swing sweet Seraphim
Take me back again
Or watch me make the messes of men...."
To Be Continued in "The Games We Play"
