most nights, Dom could be found somewhere between the hotel’s candlelit restaurant lounge, and a seat at one of its many poker tables, whatever he’d made in tips that evening rarely surviving trip home. after all, it wasn’t as though they’d cover his rent on their own. shit compensation, aside, three hours spent playing the same, monotonous trash, night after night, was enough to leave anyone in a perpetual state of irritation, wasn’t it? Dom, simply, expressed his more... colorfully than most. it was no surprise, then, that after losing the last of his chips to some uppity schmuck, whose watch, alone, likely cost more than his bank account had ever seen, Dom could hardly control his tongue, not that it had ever been a particular strength of his, to begin with. albeit, argument lasted all of thirty seconds, before a floor manager decided he’d heard enough, and began to pull him from stool. like clockwork. “yeah, yeah, alright... get your fuckin’ hands off me, genius,” Dom jeered, shrugging man’s hand from shoulder, only to pivot straight into person stood behind him, drink spilling across only suit he owned outright. one he’d, now, have to find some way to get dry-cleaned, before tomorrow. “now, you’ve gotta' be fuckin' kidding me!” he snapped, well motivated, in his current state, to curse out whoever's bright idea it was, to place themselves anywhere within his general vicinity. that is, until he looked up.
