I'm hell on heels say what you will I've done made the devil a deal
1985
Briar Tulip + Julius
PG | COMPLETE (Pt. 1)
Tulip Flores was rather fond of Las Vegas in 1985, what was there to not enjoy? It was glitzy, glam filled, shiny, people were irresponsible with their money and their everything that it made her job easier and more fun. Personally, she could do with a little less cocaine, that was a business she was content to never get involved in. Nasty thing. Somehow just almost as insidious as some of the magical drugs she had seen, just in a different way.
So, later on, she would blame her lack of awareness on the giddiness of the atmosphere, of a plan going so well, the easy laughter in the air, the ruffles, the sequins, the hairspray. Because even if the room they were in — one sequestered in the back of the casino, just a few roulette wheels and poker tables, the exclusive sort it took a specific kind of name to get into instead of merely money — was her comfort zone, and a more filtered environment than some, there was no reason she shouldn’t have seen him before he sat down across from her.
Twenty five years she had gone without seeing his smirk, and yet it his face didn’t seem any less familiar somehow.
It was fine, she was still relaxed and pleased with the way her game was playing out. The skeevy, oily human man beside Julius had a home he had stolen from a Lamia family that they hadn’t been able to get back, and a little research on her part had found he had a mean gambling problem. So all she had to do was keep her win to lose ratio reasonable with the help of the spinner she had paid who had control of the magnet below the wheel, and wait for him to throw down the house. Betting using things more valuable and uncommon than cash was common in this room, and she knew it was just a matter of time.
Even Julius’s presence couldn’t fuck this up, so she found herself raising an eyebrow in interest and looking him over for changes over the rim of her martini glass, knowing the warmth that filtered down to her toes was a mix of the gin and his presence. The waitress in the heavily sequined skirt came back to them to get refills for the two people who had been there and the newcomers order and the spinner announced the new round would start in five minutes.
The 1980s so far had been one major fashion faux pas after another, to say nothing about the general overwhelming Cold War tension making everyone and everything so terribly depressing and dull. And those who weren’t depressed or afraid were either completely ignoring (or rebelling) against it or feeding into the anxiety with ferocity because it was a lucrative business.
No thank you.
But then there was Las Vegas: a completely ludicrous playground for adults. Flashing lights, constant noise, flowing alcohol, copious drugs, prostitution, and easy money. If you knew what you were doing, and weren’t too greedy. That wasn’t to say Julius spent a large amount of time there. The desert climate was somewhat unfavorable, though he’d parted ways with New York for the time being. The Wall Street yuppies became a bit unbearable after a while, so for much of the past couple years, he’d been spending time in high end Napa Valley restaurants and wineries. In fact, he’d come to Vegas under the pretense of attending a sommelier convention, but after a few days he’d gotten it into his head that he might stick around a bit longer and maybe make a lot of money and quickly. That and it was just nice to flex a skill he didn’t use very often. Hadn’t in some time, not since Chicago, honestly.
He’d gained access to the exclusive back room in the way he always managed such things: with a heavy dose of charm. That seemed to be one of those keys that opened a lot of doors in this city, surprisingly enough. It wasn’t his charm that was helping to accumulate all these chips. Only a little. That one hand of poker he’d played just for old times sake had made it sort of necessary, or else he might have lost a little more soundly. After that he’d made the choice to stick to the roulette tables exclusively. Cards were much harder to manipulate.
This particular Roulette table had been chosen for two reasons: first, the stakes on this one seemed even higher than some of the others in the room, and second, the best piece of clothing he’d seen in the last five years. And the stunning woman in it. It was an interesting couple rounds so far. The wheel occasionally seemed a little more difficult to manipulate than usual, and wasn’t going in his favor as often as he’d like, but that sort of made it intriguing. Like someone here might be trying to throw things. Or even the house itself. More than money, Julius liked a mystery. Especially if it ended with him finding out a secret of some kind. So for the moment, he’d decided to stick around a bit. If nothing else, he got to keep his eyes on the woman in the jacket a bit longer. He’d caught her gaze in the last round, and since it seemed like she’d be sticking around for another one, it felt like a good time to make the game more interesting.
“I don’t say this lightly,” he said, accepting the refill on his wine from the waitress, eyes flicking back to the woman with the jacket, “But you have to be the best dressed person in this room.” Not hard to do, considering everyone else seemed to be operating under the impression that louder and bigger was better. His own blazer over a tee-shirt and matching slacks combo--something he’d picked up off of Miami Vice and Hall & Oates videos because it was the least offensive, non business suit, style option available as far as he could see--in an unusual color combination (a deep, muted purple suit over a gray tee-shirt) that turned the convention on its head (he just couldn’t abide all the pastels), was far too subdued for the atmosphere, but he’d never been one to conform to things that didn’t suit his sensibilities. He’d happily cede best dressed to someone who clearly managed to navigate the fashion world in this neon nonsense decade better than he had.
Tulip accepted the fresh Martini — easy on the gin, but heavy on the vermouth and olive — with a nod and a pleased smile, the waitress hanging around after bringing Julius his, ah, of course it was wine. That would have been her first guess after bourbon, always something posh. Not that she was one to criticize that with her Martini that had a veritable bullet point list of personalizations, including the orange twist beside the lemon when usually it was just the latter. The girl hung around as she took a sip, watched her while trying poorly to hide the admiration in her face at Tulip, with her sharp makeup and her practiced to look natural (even though it definitely wasn’t) impeccable poise.
“This is lovely honey, give my approval to the bartender, this is for him.” Tulip slid one neatly folded bill down out of her jacket in a smooth, seamless move as elegant as any magician’s sleight of hand, “And this one is for you.” The girl brightened before blushing as she took both blushing for a moment to have the older woman’s entire, intense focus on her for a long moment. It might also partially be her accent, Portuguese roots faintly softened her syllables and gently rolled r’s, making even some of her slightly odd sentences still sound elegant in English.
Then she took both bills, nodded and darted away leaving a trail of perfume and second hand smoke that clung to her. Tulip fought to urge to wrinkle her face or wave her hand in front of her face to make the smell dissipate faster, but that wasn’t her way, especially not in public. Instead she turned her slow, pleased smile towards Julius just as he started to speak.
That was...Different. Or maybe it was different just for their last few encounters. Their very first had started off with a compliment on her cleverness and sharp eyes. Personally she wasn’t sure which she preferred. Both had given her a pleased bubble of warmth and pride in her chest. But she nodded slightly in acknowledgement, “I am, aren’t I?” Pleased, and faintly amused all the same, taking a sip of her drink as she took in his features with the same sort of interest that he had given her. “Some of us don’t need garish colors or sequins to draw the eye.” And Tulip didn’t dish out compliments lightly — even as elegantly subdued as this one was — but Julius had managed to adapt this era’s style to himself well, and she would have been disappointed if he hadn’t, truthfully.
Ah, good. But of course someone as well dressed as her would recognize the effort he’d put into dressing in this decade. It was nice to be appreciated for being subtle yet noticeable by someone who was pretty much killing it doing the same thing, as far as he was concerned. It brought about a smirk from him as he raised his glass to her in a silent toast. “Fashion rules are meant to be broken, sometimes.” Especially when conforming to them meant looking like slightly more subtle circus performers. “I have a feeling you’d out shine any sequins, anyway. Might be just as well you didn’t go that direction.” Even though it would probably still be stunning.
Julius took a sip of his drink, and pushed up the sleeves of his own blazer, resting his elbows on the table. “That jacket though, is really what got my attention.” It was, after all, what caught his eye from across the room before he’d even seen her face--though now he was doubly glad he had.
She raised her glass to his, a smile still working the corner of her lips but still waiting to truly bloom. That was one of Tulip’s signatures, holding back just enough to keep the chase up, make people wonder what else was up her sleeve, something worth struggling for and wondering about. “To rule breakers who do it so well.” Obviously only those who knew what they were doing should try and color outside of the lines, like them, instead of a number of other people here with more money than sense. She let out a quiet, hardly there, amused laugh at his compliment, “Careful handsome, I am not the Lady Luck you need to charm tonight, at least not for this game.” A wave towards the wheel as she spoke, but there were always others. Some even had rules, but ah, not the best ones. There was that smile she had perfected, the one that said she knew lovely things that you wanted to know. Although in this case it was true on a few levels. Tulip liked working in layers, it was one of her specialties. Although she so rarely met people who could pick them apart.
Soft, delicately manicured fingers plucked at her sleeve after setting down her glass carefully, “Oh? It was just this?” And her eyes flicked from it to him for a moment, a slight quirk of her head, an elegant and subtle bait before she nodded, “Thank you, it’s a Carolina Herrera original, the only one of it’s kind.” Truth, and another one was that she would miss it dearly when she stepped out of these shoes permanently. Tulip had a very, ah, particular body type that the shirt had been tailored to.
If Julius had any doubt that he did not have at least some shred of approval then he would know it by the contrasting look she gave to the man just two seats down from him a moment later when he started muttering to himself loudly yet incoherently as he counted his chips. Her mark was a disgusting man, hence the reason she had gone this route instead of seducing him. Because standards. There were also some rather tedious rules surrounding the handing over of this house, hence the reason the Family had hired her instead of an ordinary thief.
Magic. More trouble than it was worth sometimes.
“Two minutes.” The attendant announced, as the waitress returned with her mark’s drink, even keeping a distance herself. It was entirely possible he had an odor about him. Julius had been accidentally wise to not sit too close to him, and still managed to sit far enough away that she couldn’t easily pick his pockets. Sometimes he had all the luck.
“I wouldn’t dream of trying such a thing,” he said, smirk broadening. “I think I much prefer having you on the other side of the table for now. I don’t mind a little friendly competition.” All the better when the competition was easy on the eyes, a compliment which he could not extend to the rest of the people at the table. “And, I don’t think you’d make a very good luck charm while you’re playing against me.” Not that he wasn’t going to enjoy that.
“Incredible,” Julius mused, eyes flicking over her once more. “But too bad for me, I suppose. I might have liked something like that for myself.” It was clearly a woman’s jacket, not that this had ever bothered him before or now for that matter. He’d wear whatever he wanted as long as it looked good. But one of a kind put a kink in that plan. He supposed he could make one but what fun was that when you could own something with that kind of name attached to it.
His nose wrinkled only slightly when the man two seats down from him returned. There was a reason he’d chosen this seat, (aside from, of course, the obvious vantage point it gave him) and it had everything to do with the odd smell. Like body odor that was barely contained by having bathed in a bottle of Drakkar Noir. But as long as the man kept his movements to a minimum, the smell was kept at bay. He was a little sloppy with his betting though, which seemed very dangerous for him, and possibly very good for Julius.
“You’re rather lucky you’re facing me in a game that is more luck than skill.” Or, it usually was when you didn’t have an inside source like she did. But then she swirled her glass contemplatively, head tilting slightly at him, “A shame for me though, I don’t say this often, but you have me a bit curious.” It was a purposeful mirroring of his own words from earlier, the fingers on her free hand leisurely tracing her own collar as she examined him without a hint of shyness — however, it was nothing so simple as hunger either, as Sebastian’s had largely shone with when they had watched him.
Tulip leaned forward at that, both elbows balanced on the table, fingers intertwined so she could rest her chin on her fingers, “Oh? Do you think you could do it justice then?” Even she wasn’t entirely sure about it, but she was amused(and something else) by the image of him struggling to button it, though he would of course have it tailored, but she was enjoying her version of events playing out in her head. It also gave her ideas. That she would leave for later. Oh, but the true fun would be dangling it in front of him, just to draw him out, just to play.
The attendant was too well trained to wrinkle her nose as the man returned, though Tulip did spot the corner of her eye twitch just slightly. It had Tulip snorting quietly in amusement, head ducking to hide the half grin on her face for a moment before reaching out to a few of her red chips. “Place your bets please, ladies and gentlemen.” Tulip slid a hundred dollars worth of chips down across the board for a street bet on five, six and seven. It was a low ball for this room, especially because they were just betting with chips at the moment. The slimeball didn’t have many to play with even, which is probably why he only met her by half and made a safer bet of evens, though it almost seemed to physically pain him not to bet even more of his few chips left. He was the type to get cocky and throw down large bets, becoming cautious just a little too late. With any luck they just had a few rounds until he would get angry and start throwing out things other than money, the asshole would probably even brag about it so they would give it a high enough value.
Funny she should bring that up, because games of luck were more Julius’s forte than anything with skill. Had been since he’d learned the rules to most of these games. Magic could only get you so far when you were cheating at a game of skill, ultimately you still had to be able to actually play and also well. It was something too easy to mess up after a few drinks. This was something he could typically do in his sleep, which left him free to enjoy himself (and her company) a bit more. “Oh,” he asked, arching an eyebrow, “what about?”
He chewed on the question a moment, sizing up her and the jacket again. There was no question he’d have to get it tailored. That was a given. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d altered a jacket that had belonged to someone else for his own purposes, and likely wouldn’t be the last. “Possibly,” he said finally, “Not nearly as well as you, but I think I could make it work, with a little effort.”
Julius followed her lead on the betting amount, since she’d been at the table a bit longer, she likely had a better read on some of the other players, and he was content to play things safe until he’d figured out why he was having a harder time than usual with the manipulation of the wheel, throwing his money on eleven, twelve and thirteen. He’d always had a thing for nominally unlucky numbers. The oily man seemed like the one to really keep an eye on, though Julius had already written him off as not nearly clever enough to be manipulating the game. Just the sort of person who would make winning a little more interesting.
They couldn't have talked like this in the casino proper, too loud too filled with childish drunks, and giggly women clinging to whichever man wanted to pay them to blow on their dice. Metaphorically and literally. People here were supposed to be of a higher class and they only wanted the company of those like them. “You seem at home here,” A sip of her martini as she took her time speaking, “But you don't have the air of a Vegas addict, as they say.”
Tulip let him examine her with that faint air of amusement, expressions as reserved yet sharp as her clothing, “The most exquisite things take a little effort, otherwise what's the point of having them?” It was rather like her jacket, if anyone could have it then what was it worth? One could say that about her even, if they were so bold. But Tulip preferred a slow dance.
Julius wasn't the sort to give up after a minor loss, but all the time her fingers stayed still on her glass, and the marble landed on eleven, leaving Julius a winner, Tulip unphased as her considerable stack of chips hardly suffered though it didn't grow, and her mark muttered to himself with a scowl. Excellent. The goal was not for her to get rich, but to make him frustrated and desperate. There was an art to keeping an addict like him on the hook. The winnings were dished out and another round of bets called for, “Not a bad show for your first time.” She commented as she slid a stack of chips down to 1,2 and three.
He took a long sip of wine as he listened to her assessment, and shook his head. “Not so much at home, so much as at ease. No one should be at home here. It’s a trap. But I don’t mind being comfortable here if it’s only temporary.” Until it outlived its charm and usefulness. Then he’d go back to a place where he could actually breathe. “But I think that’s what sets apart those who are addicted and those who aren’t,” he added, with a quick sideways glance at the greasy man.
“Hmm,” he hummed, nodding in agreement, “I can’t argue with you there.” Julius collected his winnings casually, as if he didn’t particularly care if he’d won or lost, which was at least partially true. He wasn’t betting particularly high at the moment, so a loss wouldn’t have been excruciating, and for the moment he was still feeling things out. Even if he had tweaked that one in his favor. “Hardly,” he replied with a grin, “Though I’ve always been sort of lucky.” Always was maybe a bit of a stretch. There were certainly times in his life where he’d been decidedly unlucky, and luck wasn’t so helpful when you weren’t relying on it anyway. He slid his chips in the opposite direction of hers, counting up rather than down, betting this time on thirteen, fourteen and fifteen, playing it safe for now, staying in a similar range as before.
Tulip gave a low chuckle as she listened to him, one finger drawing idle designs in the condensation on the surface of her glass, flicking a finger in vague dismissal at the greasy, weak willed man. “It’s only a trap if you don’t see it, then it’s a challenge.” But he did have his point. There were no clocks, no windows here, and everything in the world was against you. Not to mention the smoke and sleaze in the air, which she liked because it could be turned to her advantage, but disliked being in the middle of it. Tulip mostly just hated the loss of control, if she were being honest. Speaking of which, “And is there anywhere you don’t feel at ease then, Mister?”
The toothpick with her four olives was plucked out of the glass so she could slide one olive off the end delicately into her mouth without budging her bright red lipstick. It was the only bit of color she had on other than a gleaming but subtle necklace. Her signal given, the roulette wheel spun, the marble clicking loudly in a way that she could so easily find grating if here spirits weren’t high and she didn’t have something to focus on like now. “And how do you define luck?” The marble slowed and landed neatly on 1, and she gathered her winnings with a satisfied glint in her eye that only increased with her mark muttered again, running a frantic hand throw his hair.
Ah. That was his tell. She had seen it at two other casinos.
He shoved the last of his meager chips in. This round he would win, and the next they would take it all back. A bite would be enough for him to throw all in, including the house. Surely.
Places like this were sort of eerie, if you gave them that much thought. Like some kind of prison, perhaps. Which certainly didn’t dissuade him from the notion that it was easy to be trapped there. It was actually the exact sort of place that could easily be run by Fair Folk or Witches--Sirens even, if the climate wasn’t so intolerable to them--if they were so inclined. But that would make winning more difficult for him, and he wasn’t about to get sucked into games that he couldn’t win. He liked a challenge, sure, but wasn’t particularly interested in anything that was futile. “That’s true about a great many things,” he replied with a half shrug. He had no intention of being here longer than the challenge proved interesting. Her question gave him pause for a moment before he responded with a crooked grin. “Caves, honestly.” But that was mostly because the last one he’d been in had practically collapsed on him, and twenty five years was too soon to forget such a thing.
His eyes focused intently on her lips when she drew the olive into her mouth--surely that was on purpose, but thankfully this wasn’t poker where it was so distracting it would affect how he was playing--and he took another sip of wine, ignoring the wheel for a moment. “You tell me, since you seem to have some on your side,” he commented, raising both eyebrows as she gathered her winnings.
Ah, and now things were going to get interesting. Greasy seemed like the sort who’d either throw a fit for losing, or start betting wildly, either of which was always entertaining.
Oh he didn’t. If she wasn’t so good at what she did she might have broken out into a smile, but instead she only raised a curious eyebrow before ceeding the point with a nod, “Fair point. Limited light and limited exits is not the sort of helplessness I enjoy.” Briar had developed a rather annoying sensitivity of the dark after that, a little more of a tendency to to stare at the shadows too long just to make sure they weren't’ moving. It was tedious when near traumatic experiences carried over from one face to the next, but it really wasn’t avoidable. At least not yet. Give her another century or two. And yes, she did think awful high of herself to throw out such a subtle euphemism considering the circumstances, but it was fun, thank you, and she needed no other reason.
It, like the fine wine he was sipping, paired well with the way he was watching her too. Ah, now that she would take any lifetime, but it was especially lovely now. “What is that adorable phrase again?” A slightly larger stack was slid over to just the odds this time, to spice things up, “Fortune favors the bold?” It worked, the mark followed her, not acting until she threw down her own bet, putting everything he had left on odds.
It landed squarely on thirteen, making them all win at various tiers, and it was clear that this was what the man lived for. Jumping up and clapping Julius roughly on the shoulder as he cheered, even though his winnings weren’t enough to buy her bracelets even. It didn’t really matter what gamblers won as long as they won at all. Tulip paid little attention to his antics other than a quiet sigh at it’s tediousness, waiting for him to sit down for her to lean forward slightly, “What do you say, double or nothing?” She asked the man, shoving the entirety of her pile forward and tapping the evens square. It was far more than she would have ever bet one one game, especially not if it weren’t rigged.
But it was. And it worked, his eyes lit up, sliding all of his chips to the odds square. She would win, he would lose, he would get desperate, and lay down the house, and she would take it, just as she planned.
As long as Julius didn’t muck things up.
If only he’d thrown that out on purpose, even he would have likely been amused with himself, but not knowing who he was actually dealing with meant it was entirely coincidental. The irony was unfortunately lost in him. “I suppose there are worse things, but I haven’t found it yet.” Honestly caves was more of a throw away, there were certainly other places that made him uncomfortable. Like the home he couldn’t return to—even being close to it was enough to make him physically ill, which was by design of course—and he sometimes got flashbacks when on boats or ships, but the more modern they got the less likely that was to happen. All of that was far too much to explain to a stranger over a game of Roulette.
He pushed his chips now to seven, eight and nine this time, switching things up a bit after that small windfall. “Well I suppose it’s no surprise fortune favors you, then,” he commented wryly. If her fashion choices were any indication, she was definitely on the bold side of things.
There was definitely something going on here, a sort of behind the scenes game being played between her and the oily man, who Julius was trying extra hard to ignore now that he’d been touched by the creep in a moment of exuberant celebration. It had taken a lot of energy to not smack his hand out of the way. Now though he wanted to both test this theory and take some more money away from the man for that egregious misstep. But the wheel was doing that thing again where it was conspicuously hard to control and he miscalculated. The win went instead to the woman across from him. Not how he’d planned it though it certainly could have been worse. In any case, the greasy man seemed extra determined to do something dumb, now. So maybe he was still lucky. Maybe the next round would be the one worth winning.
“Tedious luncheons, perhaps?” Clearly a joke. Or not so clearly, with her level and dry tone as she equated annoying, obligatory, social occasions with being trapped in a cave. That was the problem with being high class and having a reputation to uphold, so much of it was just staying in the good graces of certain people. Certain rather aggravating people. Sometimes it was easier to trade solely on money than a name, but you know what they say about having all one's eggs in one basket.
Another twitch into a half grin, “Indeed.” Oh, he had no idea, and best it stay that way. But some safes were better cracked with a deft hand than with dynamite, and contrary to what some believed, she knew the difference.
He may not have been trying to be obvious, but Tulip, or at least parts of her, knew well the look of disgusted, uncomfortable Julius, and she was amused. The quick, genuine amused smile was hidden as she ducked her head for a moment, the excuse of adjusting her bracelets and clearing her throat before she glanced up with her composure regained. She slid a stack of chips, tallest yet, back to 5, 6 and 7, raising an eyebrow at the man who now had nothing but what she wanted, “What a shame darling, another time perhaps?” Which was just the right thing, apparently, because he flushed deep red under her intense gaze and dug into his suit to pull out an envelope and a key that was so heavily glamoured to cover up it’s true shape and age that it nearly hurt for her to look at it.
“No! I bet this, worth twice as much as anything currently on the table. A sprawling property in upstate New York, traces it’s lineage back to the Pilgrims —” Oh he had no idea how wrong he was, but that was fine, “It has exotic gardens on the property the likes that you won’t find anywhere else in America!” The attendant examined the key and the papers in the envelope.
“The house accepts.” The man looked back at Tulip, seeming to challenge her and beg for approval at once, though all she did was lean back to sip at her martini. Another olive was slid off the toothpick, eyes sliding back to Julius, not even watching the wheel when it spun. Quite deliberate this time. But maybe that was a mistake on her part, because the attendant only barely hid her surprise when the ball landed on the wrong number. Julius’s number, instead of her’s.
What.
The man threw a fit, even if he didn’t snatch his losses back off the table. For her part, Tulip only took a more generous pull on her drink and twitched one corner of her eye as she ‘tabbed out’ as it were. Great, now she had to come up with a plan B that would work with Julius. Because of course she had a plan B, but it would have to be reshapped for him, as it did too often apparently.
Julius let out a soft laugh at that. “Maybe. At the very least, it’s a close second.” But definitely a second. Being walled in with a horrifying cursed artifact and a very annoyed woman (who was apparently completely unreceptive to his charms) was really quite awful, and not something he wanted to revisit. A dreary social occasion he might be more easily talked into.
Aha, and here it was. There was something she wanted from that smelly, oily man. And here it was. And even over that wildly overpowering Drakkar Noir (did the man bathe in it?), Julius could frankly smell the magic all over it before he even got a glimpse of the key.
Oh, how deliciously interesting.
While part of him felt like maybe he ought to stay out of her way and see how this played out, a bigger part of him was curious enough about the house the key belonged to to not dive in headfirst. Really, he’d regret it forever if he didn’t. He knew that about himself. And this decade thus far had been a bitter disappointment. Why not get a little something for himself for once, instead of just floating like he’d been doing for the past few years?
So, he placed his bets on fifteen, sixteen and seventeen. Sure enough, the tension in the wheel was palpable. Some kind of magnet probably. But now he knew how it worked, he wouldn’t make the same mistake as last time. Which meant it required a bit more of his attention than this sort of small trick usually would. Disappointing, considering it meant he had to take his eyes off her, but sacrifices must be made now and again. He sipped at his wine, and when the ball landed on fifteen, put on his most charmingly befuddled expression. “Well what do you know? Seems like luck was with me tonight after all,” he said, with a half shrug for good measure.
This was definitely one of those ‘quit while you’re ahead’ moments, however, so he made a point to tab out as well, leaving the attendant a generous tip, and headed for the nearest bar for something stronger than that glass of wine. For celebratory purposes, naturally.
Inside her head, Mieke quite agreed with him, having thought that entire experience was dreadful, nearly every bit of it. It was one of her worst experiences with Magic so far, and that was saying something coming from someone who threw herself at security systems. “At least in the dark no one can see me roll my eyes.”
Befuddled her ass. He was lucky he was handsome. Damn it all. Because Julius had definitely cheated, there was no way he didn't if he circumvented her cheating, and the way his eyes lit up when eyes lit up when he recognized how much potential power was weaved into the metal. What a bastard. And here she had been so cordial!
“Something like that I'm sure.” Tulip said dryly, eyeballing him with one raised eyeshadow raised over glass, conveying loud and clear she knew exactly what his little game was.
When he walked away Tulip let out a sigh and slid a tip over to the attendant, waving off her apologies before they could tumble out. It wasn't her fault, they weren't ready for a Fae and certainly not one as clever and skilled at mortal antics as Julius was. Later on they would sit down and talk about how to work around this sort of thing next time. There was no reason to be this unprepared, although this method of rigging had little room for adjustment midway, unlike, say cards.
A few minutes later she finished her drink, glanced at a passing tray before holding back, twirling the empty the glass in her hand with a contemplative look before heading towards the bar instead. A gut feeling leading her there with another plan already blossoming in her mind. Her boots clicked, muffled but as distinct as her metal, deep silver engraved billfold that matched her necklace perfectly, as she saw what she was looking for.
Or who, rather.
Because of course he was at the bar, making the girl there flutter her eyelashes like some simpering fool that she could even see from here. Wonderful, she was going to have to engage in a duel-esque bartering match with a Fae while being interrupted by a fawning bartender in a scooping v-neck that even she found distracting. Tulip slid into the seat beside him, holding up her glass for another, “That was a well done trick.” Tulip faced the bar instead of him, though she tilted her head towards him as soon as she was sure the bartender recognized her and her glass enough to remember her order in detail. It wasn’t an accusation, but a genuine compliment, at least if she had gotten screwed over it wasn’t by an idiot that she could have easily gotten around. Her pride couldn’t have dealt with that, or at least not as calmly as she had thus far.
The funny thing about that bartender was that he hadn’t even turned the charm on. Honestly, her hair was too terrible, and she’d clearly caught on that he was celebrating (probably what he got for ordering his bourbon from the top-est of top shelves) and was angling for a bigger tip. She’d definitely turned around at some point and adjusted her cleavage for maximum impact. Not that he was judging, by any means. Julius was all for using what you had to get what you wanted (case in point, that game).
And alright, he wasn’t exactly discouraging her either, because what was wrong with a little extra ego boost after a really good night? Plus, if they did something about the hair, she was kind of cute, he supposed. And funny. Funnier than he’d expected. Coming on a little strong, but still. Better entertainment than whatever was out in the main casino.
But he should have guessed they might be interrupted. No one who’d worked so hard to win something that was so clearly drenched in magic could possibly let it go. Or not realize he’d been playing his own game above and beyond the one on the surface of the Roulette table. Who had the patience for games of chance when you could just… Cheat? Just a little. Honestly, this was the largest win he’d ever rigged for himself, so again. He probably shouldn’t have expected it to go unnoticed. Or unquestioned. So, when she slid into the seat next to him, he turned to her just as smoothly as you please with a cat-that-caught-the-canary smirk. “I don’t think I know what you mean.”
He knew exactly what she meant.
The girl on the other side was disappointed, but with sharper eyes than she had initially given her credit for. Once she caught a closer look at Tulip’s elegantly subtle but still clearly high dollar jewelry and meticulously applied makeup she seemed to realize that the two of them were not competing, and in fact, Tulip could be a bigger fish to fry.
Proverbially, obviously. Unfortunately she had no ties to any of the sea races, a real shame too because a few of their gifts would come in handy.
So the grin she levelled at Tulip made entirely too much sense, and the lean down as she slid her fresh martini too her along with Julius is own drink was engineered to show off to both of her new patrons — well done, but entirely unnecessary. Or maybe not. Even after all this time she still wasn’t entirely sure what Julius’s type was. But her thoughts were pulled away from the possible future new member of her little network she liked to have at these places back to the matter at hand.
She waited until the girl walked off to help one of the few other patrons at the bar, could’t risk her ears being as sharp as her eyes. The way her lips quirked with amusement didn’t quite reach her hazel eyes at his frankly terrible denial, “I don’t have a problem with it, not really. Water on the bridge, as the Americans say. I just want to know what it will take to get that property back on the table.” Plain as day, she liked being direct when the situation made it possible, and this one did. This was one of those few times she felt the two of them were on a level playing field, why not enjoy it instead of waste time? Besides, she was no less friendly than she had been at the table, no reason they couldn’t handle this like gentlemen.
Her metal billfold was popped open so she could pluck out a cigarette, because Briar preferred not to smoke but Tulip did, though her tastes were refined enough that each one of these damn things cost as much as his drink. At the same time she handed him one as well, knowing very well it was to his taste. It only took four lifetimes for that particular habit to line up.
Ah well. Not being able to lie made denial so much more difficult. And she was clearly as sharp as she looked. So honesty it was. Probably easier, but it didn’t mean he couldn’t have a bit of fun in the meantime. “That depends,” he mused, taking a sip from his glass, drawing things out unnecessarily, “What is it worth to you?” Because that was always a good place to begin when bargaining.
The cigarettes possibly should have been surprising. Maybe even put him on edge—not because she was the one offering them, but because of the particular brand—because really, how many other people have he run into in all this time who smoked the same ones? But he was itching for one at the moment and he’d left his back in his room of all places, to keep distractions to a bare minimum while manipulating the games, since it took more of his attention than most small tricks did. So he happily accepted, swiping a packet of matches from the bar to light them. Hers first, naturally. Just because they were working this out like gentlemen, didn’t mean he was going to lose all his manners.
Oh good, that was the way they were playing this. Tulip could handle to dragging out of the negotiations part, as long as he was at least working with her a little, and she was fairly sure that she would be able to tell if he was outright pulling a fast one on her and wasting her time. Fairly sure. This would be good though, she hadn’t had a verbal challenge in a few years really. The trick would be not letting his grin get more out of her than the deal was worth. But if he wanted to play, she could play, “More than money, darling, and not just because of the time invested.” AFter all, there was no shame in losing to a worthy opponent, and he was that. Some days. Others he was just a prat.
Tulip leaned closer to him when he lit her cigarette, glancing up at him from under her lashes for a brief moment before she leaned away, doing the courtesy of looking away to exhale as she grabbed an ashtray for them to share. Ah, somehow these went with Gin better than any other tobacco she had found, and the smell was so good she didn’t even mind it clinging to her a bit like she usually did. Her legs were crossed while she leaned back, perfect posture ever present, keeping a (mostly) respectable distance between them even while he had her focus.
More than money. Hmm. His eyebrows rose as he chewed on that one. That was terribly open ended. What was worth more than money differed from person to person. That was the problem with the modern era. People valued the strangest things. It used to be so easy--for the Unseelie, in particular--when the most valuable thing for most people was… Oh... Their first born child or something like that. Not so much anymore.
Probably for the best, he didn’t have the foggiest idea what he’d do with a child anyway. The question--the better question--was actually what did he want? In particular, what did he want that was worth giving up the house that might align with what she was willing to give up?
No, it was still too vague. He couldn’t work with that. Julius took a long drag from the cigarette and shook his head. “Listen, Slim, there are a great many things worth more to most people than money. I’ll make a trade, but it has to be worth such a… Magical piece of real estate.”
Damn, she had sort of suspected that wouldn’t be enough to get him to say something outright but there was always the hope. What could she offer up in trade, was the question. Without telling him the value of what he had, that it wasn’t merely a house, especially not to the true owners. Because if he knew then he wouldn’t give it up, surely, and it wasn’t just the reward she wanted, but her reputation that was on the line. Another thing that was worth more than money. At least to her.
So she sipped at her drink, and took another slow draw on her cigarette. Giving it legitimate consideration. Ha. She could always offer him the necklace, but she somehow doubted he really wanted it. Not after last time. Hmm.
Her eyes narrowed at him at the nickname, she was unsure if she found it endearing or grating, though she was already leaning towards endearing, damn it all. Their interactions were always going to be unbalanced, weren’t they? Equal but not quite, not after she took claws in the gut. Or Sebastian did at least. “You have no idea it’s worth, you may not even be able to get through the door.” She countered, reasonably. But she did give a hum of contemplation, “Would you consider it for the jacket?” One soft hand plucked at her own sleeve, eyes travelling the length of her own arm before raising to his.
What it was actually worth was really a moot point, and frankly a terrible argument to put forth to any Fae, but him in particular. Value was transitory. And so what if he couldn’t get past the door. Did she think it was the first time he’d come up against a door he couldn’t open? Please. She clearly knew what he was. What he lacked in magical skills, he more than made up for in the ability to find someone who could do the heavy lifting for him. It was good to have connections.
So to that, he offered a lazy shrug and took another sip of bourbon while she contemplated.
Ah. The jacket.
Technically the monetary value was probably lower (even if it was one of a kind) than the house. Property, even when the economy was tanked, was still typically worth more than a piece of clothing. And he’d certainly have to get it tailored. He was nowhere near as slim as she was (once, maybe, but never again), but he was up to the task there. And if not, he knew a guy. He tilted his head to the side as he considered it, using it as an excuse to let his eyes wander again.
“Perhaps,” he agreed after a moment. “I might.”
The monetary value wasn’t the question though, was it? If it was about that then he would just want the value of the house, or at least to know it. So it wasn’t about money, or what others would deem the value of a thing, but how much you desired it. Like the oily man she had conned out of this thing, who valued chips for more than they were worth, and the high of winning even though there were better, dare she say it, healthier ones to chase.
She reached out to tap her cigarette on the ashtray with a practiced grace, deciding how she wanted to approach this now that she had a direction. Tulip was fine with working on the fly, deciding on a path between alleys even as she ran above them, but a direction certainly helped. And if that direction lead to something that looked delectable in a three piece? A delightful coincidence. The universe owed her an apology or two, frankly.
Tulip reached out to his drink, raising it to her lips and taking a leisurely inhale of the surprisingly (or not, he had good taste when he was able) wonderful scent. She was invading his space, his things, and in no rush about it. He may not be at home in the casino, but she was at home here, even if she wasn’t holding all the cards — she still was. The small sip she took earned him and the glass an approving look, “The personal value we place on a thing can often be judged by the memories you attach to it, yes?”
For Julius, there was a fine line between welcome and unwelcome space invasion. A slap on the back from the oily man was firmly in the unwelcome camp. This was… well, maybe it was just on the line. For the moment. He was still deciding. He took a calculated drag from his cigarette as she sipped from his glass.
No, it was definitely in the welcome camp. A decision was made with the look of approval. He didn’t mind sharing so much when it was with someone who could appreciate the value of something like that. Good drinks (and food, for that matter) were the sorts of things that he assigned value to.
But she was right about one thing. Memory did imbue value into things that might not have much intrinsic value otherwise. “Yes, I suppose that’s true,” he agreed, “I’m not sure this evening has been quite memorable enough, though. Not that your company hasn’t been lovely.”
It's funny, the part of her that was Briar still was fuming at this. Old laws and traps about taking food offered by the Fae and loss of control. But it hadn't been offered, and they weren't in the courts. Besides, she had a picture building of him wherein cleverness and charm were his weapons, magic like that only an accent.
She pulled the glass from her face and examined where her own lips had been, a single finger raising to tap her lips when she saw no red smudge on the glass. “I always enjoy when things live up to their reputation.” Of course, it helped that she wore no makeup, that it was all a highly refined and practiced illusion, but what wasn't?
Tulip only left a mark when she wanted to, actual lipstick left too much room got error.
“Only lovely? I suppose I should actually start trying then, shouldn't I?” There it was again, that amused but reserved smile almost but not quite transforming her features. Another drag of her cigarette, because his words had merit so she gave them the consideration they earned. “That's a fair point,and an easily remedied one.” And her eyes slid from him, towards the elevator doors and back to him, “You can't really examine it while I'm wearing it, can you?”
“Indeed,” he agreed, tapping his cigarette against the ashtray.
Julius’s face broke into a wicked grin. “Yes, perhaps you should.” If this wasn’t her trying, he’d like to see what that was like. He followed her gaze curiously, nodding at her comment. “True. I certainly can’t make an informed decision this way.” Not that he was ultimately planning on making a truly informed decision. He didn’t actually know what he had, only that it was interesting to him and somehow important to her.
But that wasn’t exactly important at the moment anyway. Gently, he took his glass back from her and drained the contents. “Shall we?”
There was that grin again, how many pairs of eyes would she have to see it before it would stop inspiring a spark of mischief in her that she was trying to reign in as Tulip. Mischief. Irritation. Want. Other things she didn’t want to put a name to right at that — or any, really — moment.
“Wouldn’t want to frighten you away, handsome.” Voice a little lower, grin a little closer to genuine and unrestrained at that, letting him take the drink from her so she could finish her own. She needed to be careful with that, because she could hold her liquor well enough, but it wouldn’t be the first time she had been goaded into making a fool of herself out of pride and competitiveness, and if anyone could make her bite off more than she could chew…
A flash of surprise showed on her face before it shifted into pleasure. Tulip rather liked surprises, or rather certain types of surprises. A few bills were slid across the bar as she spun around on the stool to step off, running a hand of her slacks in a probably unnecessary gesture before leading him towards the elevator, her bill fold opening up in her hand so she could pull out her VIP card to show to the security guard at the elevator. The suites on this side of the hotel were larger, nicer, and more expensive, so they were rather careful.
They better be with how much she paid, “If I’m Slim, what does that make you?” It was amusing, the comment such a contrast to their situation as the security guard summoned the elevator for them.
Frighten him away. Hmm. “I’m not sure you could,” he countered. Though, he supposed, stranger things had happened.
Julius followed suit, sliding a bill onto the counter that more that covered his drink (that poor bartender still got her tip, even after being wordlessly shooed away), stubbing out his cigarette and weaving his way through the crowd behind her. The VIP level access was a nice little surprise. He wasn’t actually staying in this particular casino himself, having literally stopped by for that particular secret gambling back room, so the level of security was interesting. Apparently he’d been remiss when choosing his lodging situation.
Something to tuck away for next time, he supposed. It wasn’t as if he had anything so terribly important with him (aside from his winnings from that last game) that required so much security. It was probably fine. For now. He wouldn’t be in town much longer anyway.
“I think that’s up to you. I don’t think I’m allowed to give myself a nickname,” he replied. Of course, he actually had done such a thing, but didn’t plan on doing it again any time soon.
“Oh honey, don’t dangle bait like that in front of me handsome.” Somewhere between a thread and a warning somehow, lower, and a catlike grin pulling at her mouth as she turned smoothly to walk backwards a few steps, moving through the crowd without a glance or hesitance. It was more difficult than normal to not use his name, because names had power, names had pull and there was something to hearing one’s name from someone who looked like her.
What? It wasn’t crafted just for the fun of it. Briar put a lot of thought into her faces, there was no point if she didn't wield them properly.
The button for the tenth floor was pressed as she waved almost demurely to the guard who tipped his hat, equally fond as amused at her antics — or what passed for them as subdued as she tended to be here. In this decade, and in this sort of place, subdued and restrained was on the wild, eye catching side. Or at least, for the eyes she preferred to catch. Tulip leaned back against the wall after the doors closed, looking a bit more relaxed, languid instead of perfectly poised in an incremental change while the elevator climbed. More at ease, even if she seemed to be trapped in a small space with a near-stranger. Her head tilted at him as the number climbed, though she waited until it was halfway to ten before she spoke, “Hmm, not Steve, you don’t wear enough on your sleeve to be him.” That finger tapped on her chin again, expression partially real and partially for obvious dramatic effect.
The thing about it was, he wasn’t even being intentionally withholding--though he certainly had been so on other occasions, considering just how important names were for his kind--it was just one of those things where it was so late in the game it seemed like an odd time to bring it up. And certainly he’d have liked to be able to call her something other than Slim--though she embodied the Lauren Bacall-esque-ness of it all far better than he could possibly ever pull off a passable Bogart, except in cigarettes and slow smirks--but there they were. It was sort of stuck now.
“No,” he agreed, because he didn’t. One didn’t make it so far in life on the same name for decades on end without being just a little cagey now and then. “That would be too easy. But you’re clever, darling.” Honestly, he wasn’t always necessarily for nicknames, though he’d been pleasantly surprised before when one came along that both stuck and didn’t grate on him. It was a rare, but amusing thing.
Oh, if he thought she was just talking about his name then he needed to be more creative. But that was fine, maybe he focussed on the small picture it would be better for her, as it would be to keep him distracted during this little...Negotiation. A fun negotiation, with a spark under her skin and a bubble of excitement too, but a negotiation with not unimpressive stakes all the same.
“Oh? And you’re anything but easy, are you?” The tease was uttered just as the doors dinged and slid open and she pushed off from the wall, stepping past the security guard at the doors with a wave and easy smile. Always good to have the ‘little guys’ on your side, as she knew more than most that they held more value than the ones at the top when they wanted to. The doors on this hall were sparse, part of the appeal was not just the space the suites took up, but the fact that you didn’t share the room with very many. Here it was quiet, other than soft music coming from one room and laughter another, nothing caustic or grating, nothing to block out the soft and even thumps of her boots on the carpeted hallway, keeping an even pace with him, unrushed and relaxed, though it was clear she was still putting on a bit of a show. Her feet stopped neatly in front of door number five, and while deft fingers pulled her key out from her billfold to unlock the door she found herself humming Puttin’ on the Ritz’ of all things.
It was always fairly easy for him to get hung up one one aspect of something. He had sort of a one track mind at times, which was usually useful, but occasionally a problem. At the moment it didn’t seem to be causing problems, so he wasn’t going to fight it. But truth be told, the not entirely formed deal regarding the trade for the house had most of his attention, which was probably not what she wanted. But he was also easily distracted. By the right shiny thing.
And as shiny as the deal might be, she was becoming shinier by the minute. “Depends who’s asking.” Because as a rule, she was right, even if she was only teasing. But… “I can be easy when I want to be.” But that was always the thing, wasn’t it? Of course, he’d already made his mind up in this case.
But back to names… “Please tell me that’s not about to be my nickname.” Because that would be horrible.
He stopped short behind her--not knowing where they were headed made it difficult to know where they were stopping, naturally--hands stuffed in his blazer pockets, amused by her humming. It was an old song, though recently redone by some obscure artist in a way that wasn’t entirely unpleasant. Still, it took him back. Way back.
Julius really missed the ‘20s.
The hallway was spacious and quiet enough that her quiet laugh nearly echoed back at her, though muffled by the carpet beneath their feet. Easy in some ways and challenging in others was fine by her, really, she wasn’t known for having the best focus when it came to things outside of a job. For the moment though, he was part of that, both an opponent and a mark — and yes, she considered them to be different categories.
The security was probably overkill, if she were being honest. But a streak of paranoia that had only increased throughout the years and the value of the thing she was supposed to be bringing back (and was still, in a way) made it a reasonable expense. That, and she liked the luxury of a thing she would have never dreamed of having before. On occasion, at least. The humming continued as she unlocked the door, not losing a beat as she pressed a palm to the door jam, weaving the release for her wards in the flex of her fingers and the notes in her throat. Simple security measures were still helpful, even this most basic sort of magical alarm.
Another glance from under her lashes just before she pushed the door open, “Let’s see you earn something better then, hm?” Accent coming out more as she relaxed, this familiar dance and this familiar space pulling her out of a dozen protective masks. Or, you know, five or so. Give or take.
The hotel suite was not standard, in that she had called ahead and had it altered. The right voice, the right name and the right promise of cash had that sort of power. The carpet was still plush, still a red almost too bright for her liking but still just enough, but the garrish chairs had been replaced by ones with more subdued colors, no less plush and inviting, along with the fainting couch that was a plain black suede. It was a proper suite, so she had a receiving area, a spacious bathroom, and down the hall a bedroom big enough for one of the ridiculous parties that seemed to be favored these days — that she would not be hosting. For so many reasons.
There was still gold filigree along the edging of the ceiling, but it was less overwhelming with less of the excess in the room, though there were still a few pieces of art on the wall, they were filled with dancers in motion, or flowers blooming in the dusk. Tulip was still on the fence about post-modern art, rather more attached to styles like Edgar Degas still, and they had gotten close. The world was distorted enough as it was for her, she rather preferred beauty on the walls instead of a rebellion against it.
Even though Tulip had smoked in here, the lingering smell was faint, instead the smell of cinnamon lingered here and there, a lovely thing she had gotten attached to recently. They had also brought in soft pillows and blankets for her to enjoy as she lounged about in this space, reading the books she had travelled with that were stacked here and there, though for now she only stepped to one of the small tables at the ends of the couch, dropping her key, billfold, and fishing a card out of her pocket. It was unmistakably newer than the key he held, but laced with the same magic though it’s fibers. It was her meeting place and time to hand those over, and her token to get to that spot unharmed as well. She still had hopes she would get to use it.
“Do you want anything to drink? Seltzer with lemon, or an old fashioned perhaps?” There was a mini bar in her room, well stocked, because of course there was, as much of both an indulgence and a temptation as it could be.
She had a delightful laugh, but even so, he was definitely going to have to do something about that nickname, because it was not going to stick. No thank you. “Well, I guess I’ll have to, now.” Because could there be anything worse? At the moment, he couldn’t think of one. And he’d really walked right into it too. Lovely.
But in the meantime…
He let out a low whistle as he followed her into the room. It was easily much nicer than the room he had in the casino next door, though that was no surprise. This had a strangely… Lived in feel to it though. Not that it was messy or anything, but it had… What he assumed was her own personal touch to everything. Far too nice for anyone who’d learned interior design in the past ten years or so (which is when he assumed the person who’d designed his room had learned their trade, and done a very bad job--though not the worst he’d seen, by far). It tugged at something in the back of his mind about their earlier conversation. She didn’t strike him as a Vegas addict, either, but she had to have been here for at least a little while.
Long enough to make it worth their while to redecorate.
“An old fashioned would be perfect,” he replied, taking a turn about the room to examine the art hanging from the walls. He wouldn’t have asked for it if she hadn’t offered it, but now that she had it sounded like just the right thing.
“I’m having a hard time believing the room was this well decorated before you got here, by the way,” he commented mostly to make conversation. “I’ve seen some of the other suites in this town, and nothing has been nearly this nice.”