Maren is not the first Avenger (backintheworld) wrote in doorslogs, @ 2012-03-14 23:16:00 |
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Entry tags: | sansa stark |
Who: Maren
What: Narrative: A little con
Where: The Wynn
When: Tonight
Warnings/Rating: Nope
To the unsuspecting eye, she just looked like a really terrible cheat.
Wednesday night found Maren at a blackjack table on the main floor of the Wynn. It was low stakes, five dollars, and she was sitting with her elbows on the table and a maraschino cherry between her heavily glossed lips. Her ID, which she’d had to show when she sat down, said she was Maren Westerberg, 21, and a resident of a local RV park.
The majority of the time, Maren used fake IDs. She used wigs, and she used accents, and she put on the personality of this heroine or that villain from a favorite book as if people were coats and she had a closet full. But tonight’s job was different. She wanted to look guilty from the very moment she sat down, and her own ID was the best way to do that. It wasn’t that she had a rap sheet, because she didn’t; she was squeaky clean. But she was young, broke, and she hadn’t filed an income tax with the same W-2 in her entire life. That, along with a few bids for food stamps and government assistance over the years all smelled of desperation, and it would flash like a lightbulb somewhere as pricey as the Wynn.
The fake cards that were tucked up her sleeves were badly hidden, and she “accidentally” flipped her sandals off as she sat there and nervously tried to switch one of them out. It was bad, obvious, and her nervousness was perfect. Right then, she was Oliver trying to pick his first pocket, Fagan just out of sight and with fists that were ready to fall. She dropped the card, almost fell off the chair as it landed on the floor, and she apologized and tried to excuse herself, as if she’d gotten scared when she’d messed up. Not two seconds later, the floor manager was at her side, and a security guard had his hand on her arm, and she was being shown into an office near the front of the casino.
She cried, the waterworks transforming her from Oliver to one of the sad orphans in Annie, the ones with a hard knock life and tricks instead of treats. She hadn’t taken anything, and even the stakes at the table she’d chosen were too small to warrant arrest, which she knew would be the case. She was escorted out seconds later, along with a warning not to return to the casino or hotel.
Unfortunately for the floor manager, he was just turning back in from escorting Maren to the door when his radio went off. Someone had just hit the high stakes roulette table. Maren slipped away during the chaos, distraction complete and no tie to the actual crime that had been committed. It was an easy day’s pay, and she intended to go buy a new book with her paycheck. The night was warm and sticky, and the lights of the strip reflected off her pale blonde hair. When her cellphone rang a second later, she answered immediately, jotting down the directions for the money drop on the back of her hand with the eyeliner from her skirt pocket.
Maybe she’d have enough for two books.