Re: The Capital: Jude and Sasha
Who were the wrong people, exactly? Because to Jude's mind, hello the room. Upstanding citizens of America with full-fledged integrity they were not. He had remit for the evening, thank you, fleecing high-rollers out of their ill-gotten gains until they became Jude's ill-gotten gains. And as for a week's pay? It was all competitive shift-work now, wasn't it? Names on the schedule at the Cat's discretion and constrained work hours made naught for savings in the bank. No jobs, not close to home and not with Oliver, please and thank you. Oliver deserved the small town, the art store, peace and quiet and no one pursuing an end-game.
Jude's mouth twitched with suppressed-smile of condescension as he watched sister-for-a-night dangle strings and yank the inevitable reaction from the suit next-door. He removed the gentleman's hand from its wanderings-destined for his sister's hip and admired the contents of the table.
"American men cannot gamble," he informed Sasha with lofty disdain for the bets spread over the baize. "They cannot handle risk. Me, I will risk everything. They doubt. I never doubt." Ante-up then, gentlemen.
A generosity of watchers now, and that had nothing to do with his own display of petulant riches and everything to do with the nature of Sasha's charms. There was a blond, the next table over or two, who had set up a fixed stare. If that was admiration, Jude wanted to let him know it looked startlingly close to intimidation, but perhaps his face was just made that way.
The dealer made a call, and the bets were swept into a pile. Jude looked at his sister. "Double again?"