Daniel hadn't been useful in quite some time, by his own intent. He had effectively removed himself from not only civilized society, but all the other kinds, too. Another reason not to get himself involved in the community that was poker. Half of gambling addiction could be sudden serotonin shock at every win, but Daniel really wasn't paying much attention to his tally, whether he won or lost, because he was paying ten dollar minimum blackjack and not even Daniel could lose that much unless he decided to throw basic strategy out the window--he was that rich. In fact, his saucy accountant had just informed him that he had barely made a dent that month, which made him kind of grouchy.
The sharp blue eyes slid sideways to take in the biddy on the stool. Daniel had seen so many like her that he had to blink before the woman even came into focus out of the sparkling lights and the false chink of recorded coin. He watched her ceremony at the whirling symbols, chewing on nothing as he did so. He smelled a story and he was trying to resist it.
Daniel turned his eyes back to the girl. She was the story, not the woman. Maybe not the man, either. He shifted his weight onto the heel of one foot and slid his hand down the side of his pant leg in thought. "Yeah, no," he said, ignoring her introduction, "not here. He'd get nabbed in seconds. Big Brother is watching, sweetheart." He lifted one index finger like St. John in Leonardo (and with much the same smirk). He twirled it toward the ceiling, indicating the black globes of watching cameras. "Care to try again?"