Re: At the Roulette Wheels
Well, of course she looked. He was quick and quiet; it earned Ivy's respect first and her annoyance second. There was a subtle tilt of her head at the sound of her name -- not her true name, mind you, but the alias she'd become. She hadn't been Pamela in a long time, long enough that the glimpse of that human memory was nothing more than a hairline shimmer on the retina of time itself. Her green eyes were bright as sugared absinthe, but unafraid when Ivy noted the gun in his hand. Men and their toys. It made her sigh a little, but there was nothing even close to panic here. She'd had too many guns pointed at her in this life, one more wouldn't make her faint. "I might be, that depends on who's asking..."
She didn't get up off the table. In Ivy's experience, it was best to cooperate as little as possible when men had guns. Just enough to get by, then negotiate the rest. With her fingers spread in a slow display of innocence, she rolled slowly onto her stomach. All the better to see him. She'd stopped nudging the roulette wheel when he'd come along to interrupt her, and it finally slowed it's roll into an empty silence. She nudged some black and red chips aside with a pale elbow -- she could control the color of her skin like the potency of her poison -- and used some delicate fingers to cradle her chin. With bent knees, she kicked her feet in a timid seesaw, those patterned stockings somehow covering more of her than the scrap of secondskin lingerie she wore. "Are you sure you're not looking for the clown?" His face paint was suspicious.