[Gala: Cat, Flash, Frank]
Flash didn't really fucking do fancy and he sure as fuck wasn't any kind of spy. The good news was that Reaper made a convincing suit and Flash didn't look half bad. He and Cat must have been thinking the same thing, cause he figured the people around him thought he was macho arm candy and not a whole lot else. That was good because they didn't have to tense up around him or wonder if he was a threat.
And, honestly Flash really fucking wasn't one. If there was any talk of business or hushed speak behind open palms, he didn't seem to give one single fuck. Mob shit didn't interest him because it was all systemic to society and therefore wrapped around the fucking government. And, despite his need to be a hero, he wasn't anti-establishment at all. He didn't have the capacity to be that way and that's why killing a bunch of crooks while they were sitting down for business rubbed him the wrong way. Could have been handled better, he thought, with more than a good helping of naivety.
So yeah, he looked simple as fuck and was good at making the old, shitty dudes laugh. Like maybe one day he'd make a good mook for whoever needed a white boy to kick a face in. Golden. Flash watched Cat make nice with an Italian looking motherfucker. Dude looked like he hadn't slept in weeks. Like that old Christmas dude who was visited by dead guys. What were the chances that the mob killer could take out a big dog like that? Flash figured at this rate, it was pretty fucking high.
He made a motion like he was getting drinks for his cougar lady and started moving through the crowd, looking for a dude (or chick...happy Gwen? he was inclusive as fuck) that didn't look worried. He was also looking for a vantage point, cause even the best secured place had a flaw.