ghargreaves: (Hat - glasses)
[personal profile] ghargreaves
The sound of the slot machines was becoming a white noise as Gerald sat in the lounge at the the Golden Nugget. After checking in, and placing a call to Julianna at the university, leaving a message with her secretary when informed she was in class, he had spent a good while studying the large chunk of gold that was on display. His research into the nugget had revealed no known indicators to cause him to be interested in it other than as a purely aesthetic pleasure.

He sipped at his gin and tonic, flicked a glance at his watch, and returned to reading the book that sat on his crossed knee. Just as he settled into the next paragraph he heard a small cough and looked up to see a young man, smartly dressed, approaching. From the description he had been given it could only be the driver who'd been arranged to take him to the location, the Ragnarok bar, where he was to meet the person, Livia, regarding something she had come across. There were various points on the globe he still wanted to study, and the deserts of Nevada was one, but the lack of archeological discover made it difficult to justify the time and attention to the area.

As the car eased out onto the Strip, Gerald adjusted his sunglasses and hat, his brief case resting on his lap. It was a relatively short journey, in the air-conditioned comfort, and soon the older Watcher was following the young driver into a 'haunted house'. He found it somewhat amusing the mock features, and wondered what the clientele of the establishment thought of the accoutrement. Descending the stairs he removed his sunglasses, slipping them into the inside pocket of his jacket as they crossed the sparsely populated floor. Clearly the demon world was not into 'afternoons' in this part of the world.
stand_and_delivia: (Default)
[personal profile] stand_and_delivia
Above ground? A haunted house attraction - and one which had done brisk business during the recent Hallowe'en season. Below? Ragnarok... A supernatural-friendly bar, for which the former provided the ideal disguise for whoever wished to attend.

Sometimes, there was an act booked. An act who would have to be introduced. Other times, like now, not so much. Which left the venue's four-armed entertainment manageress able to retire to a small booth off to one side. In one hand, a glass. In another, a chocolate biscuit. The lower pair idly shuffling cards, flipping them from one palm to the other.

It was the looming shadow which caused their owner to glance up.

"Hello, lovey," she greeted. British accent; not like most of those in Nevada. A little lower-class than one might expect of her, too. "What'll it be? Business or pleasure...?"

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