@wolfwoocl was in an odd spot.
There was glitz... but nothing on this planet was provably glamorous. Like having rhinestones, but faux leather to plaster it on. The roads were still dusty, covered in advertisements from the budding business of gambling, attracting high rollers, the painted faces and well dressed.
Even with the popularity and novelty, those on the rocky outskirts were uninterested in delving into downtown to see rare, richer people. Celebrities were for posters, whether criminal or actors, they weren't usually the staple of well-regarded conversation. Murmuring, common people who still had to work for their bread viewed both with a measure of disdain.
Vash had meant to steer clear of a hotbed like that. Wherever people got their money involved in large quantities, violence usually followed. The problem was, in that fun, uncanny way of God's sense of humor, he had to be there. There was just the tiniest problem of the casino owner getting hold of a property more than 300 iles away, that was far from being vacant and ready to be dozed for a completely new building.
No one else could afford the trip.
So, among the others that are glittering in gold, a man in black near a roulette table cuts a stark shape, like part of a painting that was blotted out with black tape, a perfect shadow out of place among pearls and rings.
A stack of red chips cozies up to a stack of black, a careful hand that lingers, before its owner locks eyes with the fellow across the table. Icy, thin in his gaze, like a shard of glass.
And in an instant, their intensity melts, and the curl of a courteous, curious smile folds in.
"Five happens to be my lucky number, preacher. Why aren't you on Seven, though?"
