scars from tomorrow [open] Mar 18, 2013 16:06:03 GMT -8
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.