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Post by Jack Sullivan on Mar 18, 2013 16:06:03 GMT -8
Chips clinked as they were tossed into the middle of the table. The cards in his hands had seen better days, and he had seen better hands. They weren't bad enough to have him folding, though. Poker was a game of lies and luck. Since lately his luck seemed to be on holiday, it was a good thing he could spin a tale when he needed to.
Ivan’s was a hole in the wall pub that was located in the shadows of the Brooklyn Bridge, and had been long forgotten by the outside world. The makeshift bar was made of scraps of whatever was could be stolen, along with the liquor. No one inside the pub asked where it came from. Just so long as it was still there. It wasn’t like they were all there for the atmosphere and view of the trash barges through the smoked filled air.
Laying low was the best course of action after what had happened on that beach in Los Angeles. It had cost him a handful of good Dealers, and he wasn’t eager to replace them. Especially when it came to those he’d turned himself. The latest of which had developed a hero complex. The little shit’s first action seemed to put an end to his creator. Something the creator would like to see.
If the Anomaly Unit had tried once before by sending an agent into the Antique Store. All that had managed to do was force him into building he owned in a different part of Brooklyn. They’d tried again on the beach, and all they had to show for this was dead agents. Somehow he doubted a newblood was going to manage it.
He shifted in his chair, sticking another cigarette between his teeth. Pale fingers lit a match off the edge of the table to light the end. It wasn’t long before smoke hid his face before joining the growing fog at the ceiling. A hand then reached down to shift his dagger that was digging into his leg. He couldn't help but let an old smirk stretch across his face as he flipped a spare chip over his knuckles of the hand not holding his cards.
This hand might be shit, but he wasn’t going down without a fight. It wasn’t like he didn’t have the money to spare. Or, a reputation to keep people from asking stupid questions. |
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Post by Deidre Cunningham on Apr 11, 2013 14:49:21 GMT -8
The door to the black car opened and a pair of long, pale legs slipped out. Deidre stood underneath the Brooklyn Bridge in her long black dress and watched the city lights in the distance. Ever since she had started dating the senator she had had to appear at various functions and tonight had been no exception.
The vampire reached up to pull the black wig off her head. She dropped it into the backseat of the car before shaking out her own crimson curls. In recent months, Deidre's hair had gotten very long and it was nearly down to the middle of her back. Lately, Deidre was known as Megan Adair, and she was finding it to be extremely tedious pretending to be human. Dating a senator wasn't all that exciting either, although she had been able to get her hands on a few items that had proven to produce a large profit.
Deidre headed towards the small pub, her eyes scanning the area for any unwanted media. Deidre was enjoying having fun dodging the media and if they got to close she also enjoyed a quick snack.
It had been a while since Deidre had met with Jack. She had had to lay low for a while until she got fully set up and she felt a meeting was long overdue.
Her eyes were hooded by long eyelashes as she scanned the room for Jack. Her gaze rested on a poker game and she picked the Death Dealer Leader out immediately. Deidre made her way quietly over to a shady corner and made herself comfortable. She had never been one for card games, or any type of game really. Deidre propped herself against the wall and quietly observed the men at the table.
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