Re: At the Roulette Wheels
Jack had been heading downtown to follow up on the reports of a dragon, of all things, when the report started making the rounds about the sirens. Jason was a silent, infuriated presence in his mind, but he got vocal fast when Ivy showed up on TV. Frankly, if the girls weren't hurting anyone, Jack considered the people frozen into cars and trying to escape from the mayhem on the strip more of a priority. But then news of the hostages began to get around, innocent casino workers who had nothing to do with this conflict and a right to get out safe and sound and try to check on their families. So Jack made a detour. Instead of staying on the strip as he'd intended, he quickly helped a man out of his overturned car, then headed for Caesar's.
He kept his head down to avoid the notice of the guards and their guns, as he walked past the front. He curved around the building to the fence that surrounded one of the side entrances. Scaling it wasn't too difficult, nor was shooting off the lock. That likely set off an alarm somewhere, but he had his money on the girls not being in the security booth. They were likely having too much fun to bother with something like that, though there was also a decent possibility someone was monitoring things for them, so he moved as quickly as stealth would allow through service areas and stock rooms, avoiding guards as they wandered through.
He stepped out onto the casino floor behind a bar, and then there was no point in ducking down or trying to hide. No, he was exposed, and there was no going back - not with Ivy laying spread on a roulette wheel in the sparse room, empty of anyone save the guards patrolling in the distance.
She wasn't facing him, from the angle at which she lay, so rather than double back, he moved forward, quietly, pulling the gun from inside his leather jacket and stepping up behind her. Jack was tall and well-muscled, but he didn't have the bulk one might expect from a vigilante, and he'd learned a long time ago how to move softly.
"You must be Ivy," he said, gun out and leveled just a few inches from the back of her head. He'd make something of a sight if she flipped over to look. He wore a black leather jacket, dark clothes all the way down to the steel-toed combat boots, and his face was a pale shock against dark hair, painted white. There was a contact in his eye to even the color between them and obscure his scars. He hadn't gone out in uniform in a while, but if there was one thing he knew, it was that a little show, a little something strange, often distracted people so much that they didn't know what they were looking at. If Brielle was watching in there somewhere, he'd hopefully be difficult to place. "Could you please get up off the table? And don't shout for anyone." Utterly polite, perhaps even gentle.