What Happens in Vegas...

As soon as Vince entered the VIP area there were eyes turned on him. He saw grinning faces, hands and drinks raised in his direction and a few calls of his name as he was welcomed into the private section of the Casino. The smiles, the waves, and the greetings were all returned as he made his way across the floor, making sure anyone who had something to say got the chance to say it. It was a steady night in the VIP lounge of the Westerhall Casino which made Vince’s crossing all the more tedious to make.

In the six months, Vincent Taylor had been working as a private bodyguard to one of the upper echelon members of the casino, he had made great strides in becoming a notable person who was well-regarded by most of the VIP members. He had given some gambling advice to some fresh-faced college grads who had earned membership through their wealthy families, earning their respect with ease.  He often helped a couple of the bartenders haul up some of the heavier cases of drinks, which got him more than one free drink over the last few months. He was sure to flirt and compliment a few of the single…or just lonely women who were enjoying the evening at the casino, ensuring that they didn’t feel unappreciated. And, with some care, he had managed to help a few of the dealers vent about a few of the noisy and rougher clients they had to deal with.

He was well-liked and made good impressions all around.

This all, of course, was a lie. Vincent Tayor was a lie. Most of everything he did was an act, a show of sorts. Vincent Taylor didn't actually exist, or rather, he had only existed for the six months he had spent in Vegas. Nicolas was Vince's real, and Nicolas had spent these last few months on a very different job compared to Vince. While Vince was the bodyguard to one Jonas Higgs, Nicolas was working on the long con, building trust and getting close. Jonas Higgs was the cousin to one Adrien Higgs, head honcho of the Higgs Crime Family, a small, but well-respected mob here in Vegas. Nicolas's job was easy, bar getting close to Adrien, which was to sell them on a product that didn't actually exist. By the time they would find out this, all traces of Vincent Taylor would be gone, along with most of their money.

It was all coming into place. Tonight, just a few minutes from now, a meeting would take place discussing the future of the Mob's finances, what it would delving its funds into and what their goals were. Vince might accidentally blurt something out, and from there it was just a simple job of getting traction. It would be easy enough with his reputation. It was essentially smooth sailing from here.

He leaned on the railing of the VIP club, looking out and into the rest of the casino. It was the second floor and had a good view of it all, the games, the people, and everything in between. He kept his eyes out for the other upper echelon members of the mob, just counting the time down until it was time to act. He was so close, all that he needed now was for no last-minute surprises, no sudden contenders from left field...he just needed this meeting to go on as normal and then he could get back to being Nick.

In the casino below, a figure stepped out of the ladies' washroom. One that nobody remembered having seen go in there in the first place. At first glance, standing beside the full height of the door, she could have been taken for a child, standing just less than five feet in height. However, the face that raised with a determined set of her jaw was that of a young woman in her twenties, or early thirties, perhaps, and as she lowered the bag she had been holding at her chest, rummaging around in, the curves of her figure backed up that flattering lie. It was in her clothing, however, that she really stood out, and an observer could have been forgiven for surmising that the woman had fallen into some rift in time in the washroom stalls some time in the seventies and only just emerged now, fifty years on. She wore an evening gown with huge, wide, floaty sleeves, made from long, spiralling patchwork panels twisting down her body from a wrapped bodice into a full circle skirt that flared wide with each step, each panel in the spiral made from a different tone of green and purple, and decorated with a bold, paisley pattern woven in gaudy, metallic threads. The skirt fell to the floor, brushing the ground as she walked, only a little longer than her wavy blonde hair that fell all the way down to her ankles like a cartoon mermaid made flesh. She held out in front of her a photograph of an unsmiling man against a pale, plain background. A blown-up version of an official shot taken for a drivers’ license, or a passport, perhaps, though she clutched it too tight for anyone to get a good look but herself.

More obvious from far above, perhaps, she made her way around the floor of the casino through what looked like Brownian motion, people a foot or more taller than her bumping her out of the way unseen, and forcing her to take quick sidesteps here and there to avoid being trampled by those fixated on their next fix, whether of alcohol, or merely adrenaline at the luck or otherwise of the wheel, or the cards, or the dice, whatever stacked odds they chose to throw their money away in the direction of. She peered determinedly up at each face as it passed, comparing it with the portrait in her hand, frowning as each one after another and another failed to match up. Those who did notice her greeted her with a frown of confusion, perplexed by this miniaturised woman in the retro evening gown, and wondering whether she was merely so rich that her eccentricities were tolerated, or a lost member of some themed bachelorette party they had not spotted the remainder of as yet. Once she had circumambulated the entirety of the floor, the woman pocketed her picture with a sigh, squeezed herself out of the throng by the side of the bar, and grabbed onto the wooden counter to heave herself up onto a high barstool. Then, after ordering herself a whisky and ginger, she turned around on the stool to watch the people go by with a look of resignation.

Tipping her head back to sip at her drink when it had arrived, her eyes rose up to the balcony above, the smoked windows of the VIP lounge, and the man standing in front of them, leaning on the railing, taking in the view of the people down below. There was something familiar about the man’s face, she thought, idly. Perhaps she had seen him before. Not here, however. The last time she had been in a casino, a man this age would not have been born. A lot had changed since then. People milled about in jeans and casual clothes, and in outfits that wouldn’t seem out of place on any street corner. Gone were the formal suits and evening gowns from wall to wall she had seen back then, and all the young faces that had sat proudly above such prestigious outfits were deeply lined, now, beneath crowns of hair of white or grey. But then a cold grip of excitement roiled in her stomach. It couldn’t be! Not now, when she had just given up? The very next face that she saw? She drew the photograph out of her bag again with shaking fingers and held it up, looking from the faded pixels, to the man, and back, and a wide, beaming smile spread slowly across her face.

“Nicolas!” the woman yelled, grinning from ear to ear, as she raced across the floor of the casino with uncanny speed, and leapt onto an empty card table beneath the balcony with an agility more suited to a mountain goat than a woman in full evening dress. She raised her hands, pointing straight at Vince with a cheesy grin. True to the woman's origins as a crofter, she was proving herself the owner of a powerful set of lungs as she called up to him, better suited indeed to calling the sheep down from the hills of Skye. Or, if one was feeling particularly uncharitable, watching the sea of heads turn in her direction, possibly from Mars. “Nicolas Faelan! Aye, 'tis, ain’t it? Ha! Ach, yer a slipp'ry wee bugger, ain't ye? Aye but no matter, I found ye at last! Please, a moment a'yer time, lad! We've much tae discuss, you an' I. An inheritance, a'sorts, though there's nae money in it, per se, 'tis, if I say so m'self, as far fae worthless as John o' Groats is fae Land's End! If ye use it canny, mind. An' if I've been readin' right, yer a canny bastard alright, white'er else yer lackin'!” she added with a wink and a laugh, wagging her finger at him chastisingly.

It wasn’t hard to spot the woman as she entered. Vince, or Nick as he actually was known as, had a keen eye for catching things that weren’t exactly “right”. It was part of the job to notice those little things about people. Of course, the woman who entered had the subtly of a firework and didn’t even seem to try and hide it. Despite her lack of tact, there was grace and purpose behind her movements, something that he couldn’t really fault her on. Judging by the look in her eyes, she seemed as though she was…looking for someone? Made sense…maybe she lost a friend or something in this place and was trying desperately to get back.

It was hardly worth the attention to give her as he came to that conclusion, yet his eyes didn’t draw away from her. He kept a curious gaze on her as she moved about. It was like watching…what was the analogy he was looking for? When you had a good sense of what was going to happen but you still watched anyways. He was sure there was a term or quote about that, but it escaped him. It would come to him later, he was sure of that.

It wasn’t until he saw that smile that Nicolas thought that something was terribly wrong. His brow furrowed at the woman, not sure why, but he got the feeling that she was incredibly dangerous, at least to him. It was only when he realized that her smile was directed at him that the full scope of the situation began to dawn on him. The notion of what that meant caused him to shift in the spot where he stood, suddenly uncomfortable with what might this woman might just do.

Before he had a chance to break away, everything was suddenly swung in motion. She hopped up on a table, pointed straight at him, and declared his name right in the open. Jumping on the table in itself was enough to draw the gaze of several people, but her address of him brought people’s attention to him as well. There wasn’t a lot of time to process what was happening, but, somehow, he played it off. He straightened a bit and then looked around as if she was addressing someone else, a confused expression expertly drawn across his face. Cleared, at least for now, as a few people saw this and began to look with him, trying to find whoever it was this woman was calling to.

This wasn’t good. This was so far from good that he began to think of outs, just to caught the ties here and move onto the next job. Of course, that battled with the thoughts of being so close to being done, so close to being over, that he really didn’t know what to do next. Thankfully, as if a gift from god, his eyes were drawn to the encroaching security guards, now quickly moving towards the woman who was poised on the table. In moments, they would be upon her and this situation would be over. Anyone who asked him about the name could quickly dismissed or pardoned as a misunderstanding or just by claiming she must’ve meant someone else. Or that she was a loon. All of these would be acceptable excuses, he wasn’t out of it yet.

He didn’t stay to find out what would happen with the woman and encroaching guards. Instead, pushing himself off the rail and back towards the bar where he would find himself a nice drink and ignore whatever that was all about.

Her feeling of triumph drained out of her as though someone had ripped the bottom out of her emotions and it was pouring out of her like water. Why was he turning away like that? Didn’t he hear her? He must have, surely! Had she got the wrong man? The resemblance was eerily uncanny, if so. She would have sworn that he was close family, at least, had she not known his family tree so well. No, the chances of a coincidental doppelganger in the self same city he had last been seen were too low to countenance. More outlandish theories began to occur to her as she watched the security guards begin to converge upon her so rapidly, as if called down upon her by the mention of Nicolas’s name. Something didn’t add up here, and she had precious little time to make up her mind how to make it do so.

She thought back to the last time she had been in Vegas, hunting for clues. Her clothes were not out of place, back then. She had enjoyed her stay, wearing down her hooves dancing the Madison in between hauling her great-great-great-something-nephew out of whatever gutter he had staggered into whilst high on dear knows what, trying to keep him out of trouble and out of penury. Which had been a difficult task, as atrocious as the man had been at poker. She had had to make herself invisible and ‘help’ the ball into the right place on the roulette wheel, in the end, and then frogmarch the man onto the next Greyhound to avoid him going home in his underpants, if not a box. She thought back to those dark-suited men who seemed to hold all of the invisible cards that truly dictated where the money and power flowed in this town, so much more real than the ones she could see and touch, somehow. Perhaps some things hadn’t changed around here. Was the man on the balcony an impostor, about to frame Nicolas for some heinous crime? Or the man himself, only he had lost his memories of who he was? What had they done to him?

She could fight these men off, and probably win, but if her new charge was mixed up with the Mob, there would be a near-infinite number of goons following close behind. She might not even reach him all the way up there. Anyway, it would be hard to fight them from this position without revealing all too clearly that she wasn’t exactly normal, and every damned person seemed to have a camera these days. It wouldn’t be easy to discreetly extract someone from Vegas once video footage of a small blonde woman with goats’ legs started making the rounds like wildfire. She swayed in indecision, before leaping from the table in a flowing arc of golden hair and green and purple silk, shimmering under the flickering lights above, and made a beeline for the largest, busiest, blackjack table in the place. It was a huge, heavy, semicircular affair made from solid wood, set close to the back wall, with every chair taken by zealous gamblers, just beginning a new game and focused squarely on the cards the dealer in front of them was solemnly handing out. Not one of them saw it coming as the short woman suddenly leapt over the table and ducked down in behind the dealer, tipping the table as if it was balsa, sending a spray of cards and chips out across the floor as she made a dash through the ‘personnel only’ door behind the horrified croupier before he had the presence of mind to make a grab for her.

By the time security had shoved their way past the melee of players scrabbling on the floor for the scattered chips, they were met with the sight of the fire door at the end of the corridor slamming shut. The men, laughing triumphantly, poured, one after another, out into the dead-end back yard that housed the refuse containers and permitted entrance and exit only through high-security locked gates, all confident of apprehending the troublesome woman within moments, and each wanting to be the one to claim a bonus by returning with her in hand. Later, the slowest of the guards would swear that the hand which held the fire door open to prevent its swinging shut to lock them outside was most rudely dislodged from its grip on the steel-cored wood by the handle of a mop, floating, all on its own, held by no-one. They would be freed, of course, in a while, the next time the money moved through to the back, ready for collection by the routine appearance of the armored van that spirited it away to somewhere more secure. But by then, of course, all sign of the woman would be gone, although nobody would remember seeing her escape. As the beleaguered croupier tentatively opened the door into the back in the meantime, however, once the chaos on the casino floor was managed, hoping for five minutes to catch his breath before facing those angry gamblers once again, he found that he seemed to have opened the door with a lot more force than intended, taking a sudden seat on the ground as it swung open wide, then slowly closed once more. Perhaps it was the stress? It must have been. There was no other logical explanation, after all.

Some time later, a certain bodyguard might begin to notice a distinct feeling that someone was staring at him. A sensitive sense of smell might associate that with a new aroma, too, that wouldn’t seem to fit the usual colognes used by any of the regulars up in this exclusive little enclave. It was a warm, woody, musky smell, reminiscent of incense and roses, and light, floral, Earl Grey tea, like someone had opened up a bustling oriental market in the middle of an English country garden. He would have to very much hope that his business proceeded as he had planned swiftly, as once it began, the sensation of being watched would not ease no matter what he did, with the singular and curious exception of any time he might have spent in the men's restroom. The feeling of a presence, and the odd perfume, would simply linger, for now, unseen, unheard, unfelt. Until, of course, the first moment he was foolish enough to stray anywhere alone.

It was only a few more minutes until the meeting.

He had to play it cool, play it safe, and yet he was making a beginner’s mistake and watching the clock. Anxious, nervous, worried, stress. All the emotions of someone staring at a clock, yet he couldn’t let his eyes drift from it. Someone would catch that anxiety, ask if he was alright, what was wrong or what was going on. In turn, he’d have to either dismiss it which would seem suspicious, so that was off the table, or he would have to spin a lie and then commit to it. Lies were easy, for the most part, but it was like building a house of cards. One wrong card in the wrong place and all that time and effort spent building it up…it would all come crashing down.

He knew this, he knew it would happen and yet he couldn’t bring his gaze anywhere else. What was worse, he couldn’t stop his foot from anxiously tapping. He couldn’t get that woman out of his head. What was bad was that she had called him by his name, his real name, and could’ve nearly broken his cover. What was even worse was the fact that he didn’t know her. The only people who knew his real name, at least for the most part, were people who he knew. Unless she was some government worker, which he doubted by her display on the table, he had no idea who this was. He’d certainly remember a woman like this, especially if they were crazy enough to jump up on a table in the middle of a mob-owned casino.

You don’t really forget people like that.

“Hey, you alright, man?”

The man who addressed him couldn’t see his face, which was good because as soon as the question was asked, Nicolas visibly winced and clenched his eyes shut. When he turned on his feet to face the owner of the voice, however, he was smiling like his usual self. The man who addressed him was another bodyguard, Jeff, nice guy, but a little too nosey. He was also a big guy who most people wouldn’t say no to out of fear of potentially getting thrown across the room. Nicolas was strong and could take it, but he wouldn’t want to cause another scene.

With a halfhearted shrug and a shake of his head, “Yeah! Why? What’s going on?”

Jeff cocked his head a bit, “You sure? You seem…anxious. What’s wrong with you? Did that woman…” He seemed to trail off a bit at that, like…the image of what happened wasn’t fulling processing in his head. He shook his head, “No, seriously man. You’re asking me what’s going on? What’s going on with you?”

Someone else might’ve swallowed, gulped even, or paused for a moment to collect themselves, but Nicolas didn’t hesitate for a moment. “I went to Cho’s last night. I don’t think he cooked the duck all the way through. I just wanna get through this meeting, but don’t know if I will be able to without…interruption?”

Jeff seemed to catch exactly what Nicolas was putting down and rose a hand, “Right, don’t need to know anymore. Use the bathroom if you need to, but make it quick. I’ll cover for you, but the meeting is starting soon.”

Nicolas let out a relieved sounding sigh and nodded once, “Thanks you, really, you’re the best.”

He gave Jeff a pat on the back and then did his best awkward shuffle over to the bathroom, trying to look as though he was uncomfortable. As soon as he was through the door the shuffle stopped and brought a hand over his face. He cussed under his breath and then, slowly, made his way to the sink where he began to wash his hands, trying his best to collect himself.

There were so many people! All milling around and bouncing off each other like a bag of rabbits. Whilst this had the advantage that people barely noticed the bumps and jostles as she shoved herself determinedly through them, she most certainly noticed every elbow in the neck and each clumsy foot that kicked her ankle or stood on her hoof. She found herself feeling a rising urge to throw one of these oafs across the room and watch the rest of them scatter like pins at a bowling alley, but she chastised herself inwardly for the thought. They couldn’t see her, and couldn’t be expected to know, but damn it this was one test of her patience too far tonight. He was going to get away, and who knew when the next time she might find him would be! She made her way, all the same, by the force of stubborn determination, inserting and elbow here, and a shoulder there. Knocked back twice, and shoving forwards three times in return.

She was relieved to be invisible by the time she got to the top of the stairs, as she would never have been allowed inside a VIP area as dishevelled as she was now. Her hair was a mess, her dress knocked off her shoulder, and she feared a seam had torn at the back, when someone had stood on her hem. She had seen him, up there, through a gap between an arguing couple, before she had been shoved back again. He had been speaking with that huge, burly man, and the interaction between them seemed tense. She cursed her luck, however, because as she finally slipped beneath the barrier into the VIP area, she could see that same huge man disappear, with so many others, into a crowded room and shut the door behind them. Nicolas was nowhere to be seen, and she could only assume he had preceded his acquaintance there.

Frustrated, she looked around her for a place to wait however long it took for him to re-emerge. It would be a while, no doubt, perhaps she even had time to investigate the state of her dress, if she could do so without being seen. She didn’t want to alarm Nicolas by springing out of some alley at him later half-dressed. The ladies’ was no use. She didn’t dare be seen. There were always women in there, queuing for one of the too-few stalls, which were always occupied, or merely standing at the mirror fixing their hair, often merely as an excuse to escape a conversation to check their phone, or spend five quiet minutes away from some man who was being a little too friendly at the bar and not taking a hint. The mens’ though? With the number of suits she had seen through that doorway, she reckoned a good percentage of the male population of this area was safely out of the way, and the chance of grabbing two minutes in an empty stall to check out the back of her dress was high.

Pushing her way through the door cautiously, she couldn’t believe her eyes. It was him. Alone. Standing at the sink. With a rush of a perhaps misplaced pride in a man she had had nothing to do with so far in his life, she was gratified to notice he was washing his hands. Good boy, she thought to herself, and began to approach. But what could she do? This was no private space. They could be interrupted at any time if she showed herself, and the poor man might think he was going mad if a disembodied voice began speaking to him at the sink. No. There was only one thing for it.

Nicolas would feel a tight grip around his wrist, although the source was invisible for now, and without enough time to complete a gasp, he would be yanked roughly into a stall, and the door swung swiftly closed behind him and locked itself. An unseen hand fastened firmly over his lips, and then, gradually, a distinctive figure shimmered into view. “A’right noo, gie me nae havering. G’wan tae tell a quine straight, aye? Whit ye be callin’ yerself? Yer ain true name, ye ken? Dinnae tak me fae a doolally aul’ numpty an tell me nae lies, or I’ll skelp ye all th’way back tae where yer ancestors came fae. An’ dinnae think I cannae!”

He had to clear his head. This was fine. Everything was still in order and everything would go accordingly. This was a prank or something set up by Maggie to ruin the job so she could stay at the top of the Club's rankings. It could be anything, but he was sure that it would be alright and that he would never...ever...have to deal with that woman again. She would be taken out of casino, thrown out to the curb and never seen again and he would be good to continue with his work here.

Yep. He just had to keep telling himself that.

He splashed some water in face, looking up to the mirror for a moment and then...felt himself get yanked backward. For a moment, just a split moment, he figured it must've been some of the boss's goons, here to confront him about that slip of identity. To his credit, he didn't yelp out or make a sudden sound of surprise. Instead, he kept himself calm and quiet as he was yanked and then suddenly turned to face the woman who had confronted him before. The accuser, here in the men's bathroom with him. Now that he had a closer look of her she did look...different...a fact that made his eyes narrow a bit.

He was broken from that glance as she started speaking, instead a look of surprise overtaking him, breaking that cool, perceptive visage he usually carried so well. When she finished he just kind of...stood there for a few moments, looking dumbfounded at the woman and trying to work his way through this. She was talking fast, in an accent he couldn't understand, and cornered him in the men's bathroom, all while just moments before revealing who he was to nearly everyone in this casino.

Yep, that was a bit much to process in the span of a few minutes.

Abruptly, he rose his hands, trying to stop her from talking or interrupting. "Listen, first of all, that accent honestly would be cute and even charming if you just pulled back a tiny bit on it, just slightly. There we go, lead with the something nice. Now then...who...what are you doing here? You're looking for me, obviously, but why? Something about my...true name? Listen, I am..." His voice became hushed as his eyes darted to the door, "I am fine, I am good, I am...in a place where I need to go by this name and it is important that no one here knows my true name, so please...just call me Vincent while we're here." It was good to take precautions, but he also didn't think he'd have to deal with her that long. "So, going back, why are you here? What do you want?"  

“Cute?” the woman replied, incredulously, before her voice raised alarmingly. “CUTE?” A trembling finger raised itself up beneath his nose as though she was about to poke him up the nostril, and her brows knitted together. “Tha bare-faced brass neck’a ye! Ah’ll have ye know ah’m yer… yer…” she furrowed her brow a little, as it dawned upon her that her script would have to change a little, now that the object of her attentions was no longer a great-great-great-many-times-over niece or nephew. “That is tae say, ah’m auld enough tae be yer, well, ne’er be mindin’ that fer now, but ye’ve a que’r cheek callin’ me cute, an’ ye’ll nae dae so agin ony time soon lest ye’re wantin’ cursed. Dinnae ye ken whit I…”

She sighed, looking at the confused expression on his face from her accent alone and suddenly realised the magnitude of explaining to an adult exactly who and what she was and what was going on here. And then making him understand and believe it. She could understand this modern way of speaking, although she hated it. It didn’t sing to her of the old hills and valleys of home, lilting this way and that, slipping softly from one syllable to the next. It crashed through her ears like a bull in a china shop. She had always made her family learn to speak the old way. The proper way, so far as she was concerned. But the land of her beginnings was not the land of his blood. For once, she would have to try.

“A’right. Ye can look at it like this fer now, lad. Think a’ me as a kind’a fairy godmother, aye? Only the kind ‘a fairy that dis’nae just leave ye a dollar when ye lose a tooth, but goes an’ pulls it oot herself, calls ye a daft wee bastard, an’ curses ye tae walk like a duck wi’ a sore arse fer the rest a’ the whole lang day if ye’ve been a rascal and gone and gotten yerself intae trouble. Noo, ye’ve nae been gettin’ yer’self intae trouble, have ye? Dinnae be tellin’ me nae lies, man, I’ve heard more lies than ye’ve had hot drinks, and I know a wee fib when I’m hearin’ one! This ain’t my first spell in Vegas, ken? An’ I ain’t daft. I ken that when a man’s oot hob-nobbin’ wi’ a pile a’ other feckers in pretty-boy clothes like yours, they ain’t up tae no good. As fer whit I’m wanting? You, short an’ sweet. Lang time ago, yer grandfather went an’ saved th’life of my, well, a member a’ my family, anyways, an’ that’s a debt that needs payin’. Yer the only one ‘a his line left ta pay it tae, and I’m th’only one as can pay it. So, ‘till it’s been paid, an’ I’ve seen his line secured, yer stuck wi’ me. An’ dependin’ how ye behave, ye’ll see that as a blessin’ or a curse, but I’m here tae keep ye safe, lad, like it or nae. Safe, an’ healthy, an’ wholesome, an’ out a’ th’ slammer, at least until ye’ve got a gaggle ‘a bairns tae take yer place under me eye. So there. One fairy godmother at yer service, or ridin’ yer arse… nae, nae, lad, not like that, dinnae give me that look, I’m meaning keepin’ ye on the straight an’ narrow by any means necessary, right? And dinnae be askin’ me fae nae pumpkins made in’tae carriages, because they smell, nor glass slippers, though I heard fae the horse’s mouth that was actually squirrel fur and lost in translation, an’ nae fancy ballgowns, neither, ‘cause I never was much of a tailor, knittin’ ye one ain’t rightly the same, and a magic one that ends up wi’ ye in the nip at midnight’s nae bloody use tae man nor beast. But if ye’re in a tight spot ye’ll find I can kick arse like a good many men, an’ I’ve got a few tricks up me sleeve, and all. One way or another, yer stuck with me. Now, ye’ll nae be tellin’ me yer doin’ amateur dramatics here, and yer callin’ yerself Vincent fer some play yer puttin’ on, so dinnae expect me tae believe that yer a’right an’ all’s well an’ legal out here! They’re a bunch a’ shady bastards the lot a’ them, if ever I’ve seen any!”

The woman rolled up her sleeves determinedly and began making for the door, looking back over her shoulder at him. “So, who’m I beatin’ seven shades a’ shite out of tae get ye out a’ here in one piece, then, eh? Or do I just come out swingin’?”

Nick raised his hands defensively as she suddenly flung a finger into his face. He made a face at her sudden outburst, rolling his eyes and huffing a bit as she went on. To say he was annoyed would be an understatement, yet he wouldn't interrupt her...not yet at least. He had some decorum, some manners, at the very least. When she finished, he let out another breath and gave her a long, hard look, and then offered an sarcastic grin to her. "Well first, I said you would be cute if you pulled back on it...just a tinge. I didn't call you cute just yet, but maybe we'll get there. Maybe."

He took another moment, rubbing his chin and looking at her. It was if he was trying to appraise something, gleam some fact off of her. Honestly, he could only gather very little from the initial glance. He had some vague ideas of what she was really after, her real intents, and...well, he at least managed to get a good read off her personality. She spoke her mind, which was for better or worse, honestly. It made her easier to deal with, talk to, get a handle on, but it also meant that he had to be careful with what he went telling her. If she didn't like anything...anything more he had to say, then well...he wasn't sure what exactly would get put out into the world.

"Listen...I didn't catch your name, but uh...I will be honest with you. I only understood bits of pieces of what you said, but you're here to...look after to me? What? I am an adult, I don't really need you to do...any of that at all. I am working right now, this is a very important case and I really don't want you...as you say, beating the seven shades of shit out of anyone." He thought for a moment, giving her a long hard look, then gave her a slight grin. "Actually, there is something that maybe I do need protection from."


He straightened a bit, trying to meet her gaze, then looked down as he reached into his pocket. He took an old receipt and then began to jot something down. When he held the note out to her there would be an address scrawled on it.

"There is a man here who has been out to get me for a bit. He's made a threat on my life and well...if you could do something about him, maybe just convince him to stop or anything...that would be..." He reached to clasp her hands in his, "I've honestly been terrified of what he might do to me." He gave her a weak smile, hoping more than anything...that she would buy this lie.

If she took the paper and followed the address she would just find a fountain labeled "The Fool's Fountain". He actually quite liked the place, but found himself liking it even more right now as it was several miles away and would at least buy him an hour or two before she made it back, which...hopefully...hopefully would buy him enough time to finish this job and get out of here.

Her arms crossed fiercely, and she shot him a glare that would have felt like it had a strange weight to it, as though she had fired her anger at him from a gun, and it had struck him between the eyes with a sharp impact that would have made many recoil. She would have, no doubt, described it along the lines of ‘yer common or garden eldritch fae feckery’, but perhaps ‘unnerving discomfort’ might have been a more civilised way to phrase it. She said nothing, for now, but merely frowned, feeling her anger boil and bounce around her mind, unsure whether it was more focused on the sarcasm in that grin, the presumptuousness of calling someone over 900 years your senior ‘cute’, or, then, in a way she didn’t entirely understand herself, the intimation that perhaps she might not be. What she did know was that whenever she decided what had provoked her most, he was most assuredly going to be in a great deal of trouble.

Of course, his next act, whilst she was still mulling this decision over, was to add yet another item to the list of reasons to be annoyed, by telling her he was an adult, when he was clearly just a child in comparison to herself, and that he didn’t need her protection, which, as a man with a criminal record who was hanging around some very suspicious people in a place like Vegas, was either perilously naïve or, possibly more perilously, given his audience, an egregious lie. The woman’s pale, almost greyish complexion darkened, becoming redder, and her brow more deeply contracted, as her lips thinned, and she began a long, slow breath in that was destined to escape in a furious explosion of her ire, when suddenly, she felt a piece of paper pressed into her hand, and then an unexpected warmth wrapped around her fingers.

She gasped, looking up at him in shock as the redness drained from her face, leaving her more pallid than she had before, if that was even possible. No-one had dared to TOUCH her in… was it… five hundred? Six hundred years? Didn’t he know who, what she was? No. No, of course he didn’t. Her anger began to ebb. He followed it, too, with such a heartfelt plea, that she was moved to forgive his unknowing breaches of etiquette and respect, and resolved not to curse him after all. Instead, she would fulfil this mission of his, and prove to him beyond shadow of a doubt how worthwhile her favour could be. She nodded, solemnly, and squeezed his hands, in a reassuring, if perhaps painful, grip.

“Ye’ve nae tae be feart no more, lad.” she replied, gently, in a tone much you would expect to hear from your grandmother when, as a child, you had skinned your knee running from an imaginary monster in the closet, despite the apparent youth of her face and voice. “As fer who I am, that’s a bigger question than ye know, lad, but me name’s easy enough. At least, the one me parents gave to me. Niver mind a’ the others I’ve been given since fer now. Ye’ll call me Ailsa. An’ in time, ye’ll ken e’ery word. But, fer now, rest easy, an’ wait. Yer mannie who’s been threat’nin ye’ll no be troublin’ ye no more. Once ye’ve seen that I mean what I say, the rest’o th’explanation can come in its ain time.” She let go of his hands, and walked to the door, giving him a nod and a smile, as she disappeared through the aperture, trailed by a swish of green skirt, and impossibly long, blonde hair. When he opened the door again, be it only a second later, there would be no sign of her at all.

Fifteen minutes later, a short figure stood by the side of a fountain, peering at a small slip of paper, then bending down to read the plaque on the marble wall that surrounded it. For half a minute, as she checked her directions over another three times, there was perfect peace in that quiet garden, not a sound to be heard over the gentle bubbling of the water, and the chirping of a small cricket in a nearby bush. But then, the gentle ripples of the surface of the pond became violent waves, and the water seemed to desert the fountain in terror of being associated with an item that had provoked such a fury, as an ungodly, piercing scream echoed through the parkland, followed by thundering hoofbeats, picking up speed as the wailing of the voice grew fainter and fainter. Nicolas had approximately another ten minutes before the door would explode inwards in a shower of thin slivers of wood, revealing a short, humanoid shape, in green, and purple, and gold, and the air would fill with a shrieking, echoing, inhuman yell full of such rage it would have brought a shiver to the spine of a seasoned Roman gladiator. “YE GLAIKIT WEE BAWBAG!”

Nicolas did love when someone so readily fell for such an obvious lie. Honestly, he thought for sure she wasn’t gonna bite, but…well…at least she was genuine in wanting to help him. The fact alone made his chest feel weird. He wasn’t attached to her in anyway, he didn’t feel the need to do anything for her or allow her to help him out at all, but…to go from that strange array of anger to actually following through on that…need? Want? Whatever it was. She had gone off at a single word to help him, and that alone was to give him the smallest bit of guilt.

Guilt wasn’t something he usually felt or that came by easily to him, yet there it was.

He pushed that aside as he watched her go, unabashedly letting his gaze hang a bit lower. Not so much checking her out in the formal sense, but more so trying to catch a glimpse of those strange legs he had spotted before. She was some kind of Meta or magical being, that was for sure. There was something ironic about that, maybe there were higher things in play here. He was hoping, at the very least, this would be the last interaction with her for a bit. If she came by again-well, if she came by again when he wasn’t busy, he may be inclined to ask a bit more on that.

For now, though, he washed his hand and nodded to himself in the mirror. It was time to get the show started.

As he walked to meeting hall he could a weird chill at the back of his neck, like someone far away had just cursed him. Probably just the AC and nothing to actually worry about. There was work to be done anyways, he couldn’t concern himself with the ill tidings of others.

Five minutes went on and the meeting had begun. Nicolas took his place towards the side, standing a few feet behind the man he had been tasked with guarding. There was some light chatter in the next five minutes, jokes, catching up, that was the norm, which is how meetings usually went, and…while there was nothing related to his job in those minutes of discussion information was still divulged. Plans for weekends, future trips, recent jobs, old jobs. Nuggets of useful information that Nicolas would store away for later, little things that might be useful or that could lead to other jobs or even more leads.

And then the next five minutes rolled on. The talks were starting, actual plans discussed, and future jobs. At the end of those five minutes, finally, the talks of finances were just getting started. Nicolas shifted slightly as the conversation turned to their financial situation. Their collected “off the books” funds had been recently withdrawn from a local bank in an attempt to avoid a recent investigation where it would’ve all be confiscated. The problem was where would they keep it while they set up a new banking location. Ideas of where they’d put it started, what measures they’d use to keep it safe…though still nothing set in stone, no one could settle on a single place.

Then, at the peak of those fifteen minutes, a vote started. Nicolas held back from leaning forward, watching the first begin to cast their vote, but before the man could even raise a hand…

“YE GLAIKIT WEE BAWBAG!”... The banshee-like scream echoed off the walls, and the inside of skulls alike as the apparition exploded through the door. It would be hard, no doubt, for the group to later agree on exactly what it was they could see, now, standing in the doorway. That inhuman shriek had a way of messing with the mind, of twisting perceptions into something worthy of the terror it incited. Some might remember a ghostly figure in rags of grey, her face worn out by centuries into a hollowed corpse-like visage. Stronger minds might put more padding beneath the creped skin, and see a more solid creature, still stooped and wasted, yet full of an unaccountable sense of power. It would take some supernatural immunity to the powers of the fae to view what was really there; an irate, short blonde woman who scanned the shocked faces in the room until she honed in on the one who had sent her off on a wild goose chase not long ago.

Before anyone would have time to process what they were seeing and react, he was in her sights, and she made her way across the room to him, barrelling through the others like they were balsa-wood skittles, and was grasping for his ear as though she was an old-fashioned schoolma'am and he was nothing but a naughty schoolboy caught misbehaving amongst a group of playground scallywags. What happened next depended on Nicolas, and his strength of both body and mind. Her plan was simple, to drag him by the ear, out of that room, and to exit the casino via the fire escape, and to disappear with him into the thronged nightlife of Vegas. Where, though, would he stop her, if he even could? In that same room where they began? Some side-alley in-between? Or would they come, finally, to a stop where her ire burned itself out, up on the flat-topped rock, high on a hill in Red Rock canyon, looking down upon the lights of that unrighteous city beneath. Only there would she let him go, that grey-white skin gleaming in the moonlight, and her long hair blowing out behind her in streaming strands of silver, and the metallic threads of her dress sparkling here and there, like some wraith that glowed with its own, internal light.

There would be no gentleness to her, up there, as there had been when she had so earnestly taken his hands in hers and assured him she would take care of his fears and worries. Her face was set as hard as the rock she stood on, and temper seemed no more malleable. She had lifted a long, twisted, wooden staff from a bundle of belongings that sat hidden in the bushes by this little spot, and held it in her hands, where it trembled from the agitation of her anger, until, finally, slamming it down in frustration, the top layer of sandstone fractured around the impact, and she spoke. “An’ who, pray, d’ye think ye are? Did ye nae sit as a bairn, on th’knee ‘a nae seanmhair, an’ listen tae th’tales o’ th’auld country, that ye ken better than tae spit in the face a’ the favour o’ the fae?” A strange word, that, that she used, that sounded like “shen-a-ver”, and no doubt held little meaning for him, but which seemed to mean something to her, at least. Her staff raised again, and pointed at him, suddenly. “Well. Ye’ll nae dae it nae mair.”

Whelp, there went the plan.

He resigned himself quickly as eyes turned to him at the sudden entrance of the strange…deer lady? Faun girl? Satyr? Irish…or Scottish Deer Girl? Was that racist? Maybe it was just wrong. Or rude. He would’ve preferred everyone’s attention to be on her, but since her outcry had been directed towards him it was about a fifty-fifty split of people’s attentions. Some people had already drawn their weapons, trained it at the strange new visitor, yet…they didn’t shoot or even look close to pulling the trigger. Perhaps it was her appearance that had made them pause. Or perhaps it was solely how she entered and the rage that filled her tone and all of it was directed towards someone expendable. Even more probable was that they wanted to see what she would do. It wasn’t every day that a normal, non-Meta person saw a sight as strange as this. Even as she moved towards Nicolas no one seemed inclined to stop her. Perhaps she was his angry girlfriend and they wanted to see him get chewed out for some misdemeanor. Or maybe this was some kind of…strange performance for the bosses.

They continued to wonder all throughout the sudden ear pull and as he was dragged out. It was…well, yes, a bit painful, but not as bad as it could’ve been. That job was officially over. There would be too many questions, too many suspicions, too much baggage to finish that job in any efficient way. Nope, this woman had just lost him six months of time, a whole lot of money that was now going to be funneled into criminal activity, and a sore ear. That was something to be angry about. At least he was being dragged away to somewhere a good distance away. It would give him some time to get his bearings and go from there.

But first…

Down one of the back hallways of the casino he finally pulled himself free from her scornful grasp. As he did, he smoothed out his outfit and let out a small huff. He would stand a few feet from her, trying to keep a good, safe distance away from her. With a small shake of his head, he would finally try and cut off her long winded rant, “While I am so utterly happy to see you again so soon, I should let you know that you just ruined six months of my life and may have now actually put my life in danger.” He was speaking in a low, quiet tone, actually trying not to be heard. Unlike before, he actually did seem…genuine. There was something about that look in his eyes. Something in them that was unmistakably true. It could’ve been worry, doubt, fear, caution. It was hard to pin down exactly it was, but it was there.

“Honestly, you’re lucky we didn’t just get shot at. That was a room full of some of Vegas’ finest criminals, who now know I was lying to them. That in turn has also ruined plans to rob them of that money that was going to be put back into their operations. So, as a protector of my family and…gonna guess the innocent, I am think this is going to get a pretty low rating from me.” He set his hands in his pocket and straightened a bit, letting out another sigh, “And again, if you just lessened a tad bit on the accent, just went a little lighter, it would sound really cute, but well…” He shook his head, “Can’t even give me a small win, can you?”

"Sorry, that was rude, you meant well, but...anyways...I should go before I actually get shot." And started to turn away.

Ailsa looked him up and down in shock at his disobedience as he wrenched himself free from her grip, neatened his attire and stood back to address her with sarcasm, and quiet, earnest anger. She hadn't expected gratitude for getting him out of that situation. Not yet, at any rate. But she had thought, at least, he would still be so cowed by the after-effects of the sick fear that everyone in the room ought to have been disoriented by to at least come quietly and be biddable enough for some time yet. She frowned at him and looked him up and down, curiously. He didn't look like the type to be so into alternative medicine that he had saturated his body with tinctures, or to have conducted the kind of rituals, or earned the right blessings, to make him immune. Silver jewellery? Perhaps. Lucky bastard. For a moment she felt a twinge of self-doubt, until outrage at his impertinence eclipsed the uncertainty, and she stamped a hoof on the pavement and crossed her arms

"Me?" she asked, incredulously. "ME?" it came again, louder, before she dropped back to an irritated hiss. "Naw, yer nae pinning this on tae me, laddie! It wisnae me that lured ye in tae that company and telt ye ye could play wi' them big feckers wi'out getting yer self a face full of bruises for yer pains, or worse! Naw, ye got yer self in'tae that pickle. All I did wis tae haul yer arse oot o there. A'right, a'right, maybe I wisnae as subtle and discreet as I could hae been, but dinnae say ye were'nae auld enough tae ken better than tae run wi' a crowd like that, lad. That dis'nae end well fer most. Even worse fer them at ain't raised tae it. I've seen this shite before. Aye they pull ye in wi' courtesy an' th'illusion o respect, an' mair dollars than ye can shake a stick at, but if yer eyein' up th'top o' that pile, lad, know this. It ain't no meritocracy. Them top jobs were ear marked fae some auld bastard's son, you mark my words. Maybe they'll let ye warm th'chair up wi' yer bum 'till their spawn's grown, but then? Aye, ye'll nae be happy wi the lit'ral severance in the severance package ye'll be receivin'. Money goes one way wi' these divils, Nicolas. Up tae the top. The day ye start livin' the life yer dreamin' of is the day ye're nae longer good value fer money tae fatten up nae longer an' it's off tae the great retirement home in th'sky fae ye. Every day ye were wi' them was one day closer tae th'grave fer ye, and that I I wasnae chancing."

His reaction, though, was unsettling. He wasn't awed or frightened by her. He simply seemed sad, and disappointed. Disappointed in her. All of a sudden, she felt like she was no longer a creature touched by the far and granted a portion of their immortality and power. She was much more, now, the cold, scared little girl, cowering in stables through the long nights, hiding away from the warmth of family and fireplace alike, and the threat of fearful aggression from the hounds and worse, rejection by the only people she had ever known. As he turned from her to walk away without permission she felt her anger, and her pride, rise again but something within her felt as though it had been shaken loose deep inside. Something she couldn't put a finger on, exactly, but it was enough to let strange unfamiliar emotions through the cracks, to seep into that fresh hollowness inside. "Wait!" she called, in a voice somewhere between fury and pleading. "Look, I, well, I'm still nae taking all the blame, right? 'Cause ye were'nae honest wi' me. But still, all the same, I'm… I'm s…" she frowned, petulantly, and shook her head. That word was a step too far. "Well, I'd appreciate th'chance tae make amends. Come, then. I'll aid ye. There's mair then one way tae skin a cat, aye? There's got tae be another way. Where's this money now, and what's goin' tae happen tae it next?" Her eyes narrowed, and she looked at him searchingly. It seemed that some other token was required. Some… Ah. Some 'small win'. Her teeth ground together audibly for a moment, before she stretched out her hand. "I'll nae let you down, Nicolas. An' as fae the talkin'? Well. It's nae so easy, changin' yer ways after nine hundert years. I cannae say I'll nae feck up and forget, because I will. But this I'll give ye. I will try."

There many words he could use to describe this woman. Of that well of descriptors, at the moment he could maybe only come up with a handful of good ones. One that kept coming up was persistent. He wasn’t sure if that fell in with the handful of goods, but…there it was. She really didn’t know how to let things go and let them be. He was honestly content to let things be, but here she was…asking to go in…and help him? She didn’t seem like a capable criminal and it was clear she didn’t understand the situation at all, but…there was the offer.

The real question was whether or not he actually wanted her help. Or even just wanted help in general. Jobs went wrong all the time and sometimes it was better to just caught your losses and get out while you could. He was sure there was a saying about that and opportunity but he never really listened to sayings like that.

He turned to face her, though he didn’t stop walking, instead just stepping backward and down the hall. They still at least had to make some distance from that room. Regardless of what they were going to do there was still a chance they’d come after them. He didn’t want to be close to them when they decided to send some goons after them. He liked to think of himself as capable, but the idea of having to fight his way out of here was far from appealing.

With a small shake of his head and another hard sigh, he started again. “It’s not really in my line of work to be honest with folk, doe. I am sure you figured that much out by now. Though, to break that now, I’ll let ya in on a few things. This job is probably over and not worth the effort. I have no idea where it is now and they’re probably gonna postpone that meeting in there until yours truly is confronted. It’ll probably be moved to…heaven knows where.” He gave a small shrug, “And ya didn’t let me down and ya don’t need to make amends.” He trailed off for a moment, trying not to the be the bastard that he was. This poor girl was just trying to do good? Or something like that. Duty or some bull like that. He could at least understand and…semi-respect it. It annoyed him, no doubt, but he could semi-respect it too. “…ya just…chose a bad moment to come in. If you had come to visit next week when I would probably be on vacation that would’ve been just great. Hell, could’ve got drunk and gone over all the details. Worked something good out, but-” He opened his mouth to say something else, but his eyes drifted to something further beyond her.

In the blink of an eye, he was charging her now. He didn’t look like he was attacking, and by the way he tried to wrap his hands around her waist and pull her side…if she didn’t stop him it would feel more like a caring gesture than anything else. The motion would be followed by a sound. The shots were loud, deep echoes that reverberated off the walls as the guards who had just turned the corner opened fired on the pair. Their aim, just having come from the corner, wasn’t the best, though Nicolas felt a new, burning pain in his left shoulder and scratched along one of his arms. Nothing fatal, but…