( wickened )
A layer of tarnish smothered what was once a lively (as well as lucrative) establishment, the life in its lights stripped by what Roman would assume was an unpaid electric bill. And yet, the reality amounted to far more than that– for the assumption might easily be made that the venomous and venerable overseer of the Casino Versailles was regrettably away from home at present.
Yet, it appeared that no amount of pessimism would deter the redhead’s advance upon her stoop. Shoulders rolled back in an attempt to shrug off the weight of aching bones pending the sweeping assessment of lights eyes. As if casing the joint for the purpose of his own profits, Roman was eager to take in every displaced coating of dust, perceiving the pad of recent footsteps across the threshold he now occupied. And, distantly, a dim and flickering light availed him through the grime of a far-off pane of glass, the likes of which managed to likewise alight terse features with a discerning smirk.
A gloved hand arose absent of intent to sound an insistent rap upon a door otherwise barred to him. Instead, it was with the faintest pressure that the barricade who’s lock had long-since been removed gave way. What lay within would stir not the least bit of surprise to Roman’s features as he surveyed the overwhelming attestation to the looters who had thrashed what finery remained.
Careless steps across broken glass took the man further into the casino’s confines, familiar paces carrying him along a path tread what felt like a lifetime ago. Yet even given its underwhelming and shabby interior, the casino bore a sliver of familiarity which set the criminal at ease in these uncertain times. So towards the former traces of occupancy were his steps geared, until across the threshold spilled out the glow of a flickering fire which inevitably betrayed the illusion of an abandoned home.
“Well, would you look what the cat dragged in.” This observation was accompanied by a telltale note of condescension as Roman took up residence in the doorframe. One shoulder bore his weight as he scrutinized the scene beyond, seemingly basking in the faint warmth of the open fire which exposed his addressee.
“I must say, this hellhole is well overdue for a dusting. Don’t tell me you’ve been so stripped of pride to embrace such neglect.”
@deceptionair
♠ THOUGH A QUEEN in title she was not fond of living in the ignorance of an ivory tower. One could say her physical tower had quite literal collapsed leaving the ruins of something once great, something with so much unrealized potential. Yet in the ashes embers remained lying in wait to rekindle and with a single breath from rouged lips they would and the flame would burn far hotter than before.
Crimson eyes reflected the modest blaze as the fire had already torn through whatever debris remained when the initial match was thrown into the hearth. Pale digits ran across the dust lined mantle. The marble was cool to the touch, exceptionally so, compared to the heat of flames below. As the gambler paced glass shards cracked and fractured under heeled feet the sound of which became melodic as the motions continued. There much work to be done but just this once Celestia allowed herself a moment of respite. This was not an acceptance of defeat rather it was a grace period. Borrowed time, for there, was no greater defeat than death and no coffin would be enough to hold her not then and certainly not now.
The liar queen was no stranger to solitude. Her many faces made perfectly adequate company as more often than not there was an internal squabble occurring between the contrasting personas that were, Celestia Ludenberg. She was not one but all and those who believed otherwise would soon pay dearly for such a dire misjudgment. There were few who truly understood her and even less that wished to fathom the reasons behind her ever-changing facade. If she was an honest woman she might admit to not fully understanding it herself but she was anything but.
Guests had been the least of her worries as she assumed most of her associates had up and left. As a veteran to Hive City’s charming wiles, she knew how fickle the scientist choices could be. Though they tried to convince their citizens that their stay would be permanent they could not be more wrong. The Hive was a revolving door rather than a prison and if people believed it to be the latter then what a pretty cage they had found themselves in. The footsteps came first, a confident swagger one she had committed to memory quite some time ago. While her pacing ceased the raven-haired woman never turned away from the dying blaze. ❝Roman.❞ Name was simply stated with mild intrigue.
❝If I knew I was going to be entertaining tonight I would have spruced up the place.❞ The quip is quick and light and if the mobster’s jab was meant to sting there was no indication of such. Finally turning away from the fireplace she meets his gaze and there is a sharp smile pulling at the corners her lips. ❝Was Rome built in a night, my dear? You insult me by thinking I would rush such a delicate task.❞ Normally she would approach following her initiation of banter but there was no need. He had come this far he may as well finish what he began.
With only a small amount of flourish is a sheet removed from the couch in the center of the room which she wastes no time lounging upon. ❝And offering me your pity instead of your services is simply salt in the wound, hm.❞ There is some venom there, a reminder that her ambition still holds true despite the circumstances at hand.
