imogens_fire: (001 Black shirt)
[personal profile] imogens_fire
It was past 1AM by the time Imogen walked to her car in the employee parking lot outside Bally's and she stifled a yawn. The last show ended at midnight, but there was still the business of getting out of costume, taking off the makeup and getting showered after that. Her red rabbit wasn't the newest or most stylish of rides, but it was paid for and had served her well since she'd gotten it as a hand me down from her parents back in high school.

Her stomach grumbled and Imogen glanced downwards. "All right, all right." She grumbled, stomping on the clutch and starting the car, "I'll get something to eat." The more practical side of her wanted to wait until she got home, but she wasn't having it. If she waited then she'd have to cook and clean up afterwards, and that would get her to bed even later than if she just stopped at the Hash Brown for some eggs and toast.

This late there wasn't much traffic even on the strip, and it didn't take long to make it to the restaurant. Sure it was a bit strange that most of the employees were men that liked to wear women's clothes, but it also meant she wasn't going to be hit on and she might even trade fashion tips. Imogen walked into the building and took a seat at the counter, giving the 'waitress' a tired smile when he handed her a menu.

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wolfs_daughter: (Stoic)
[personal profile] wolfs_daughter
Echo didn't get angry very often, but when she did, her creativity spiked. She'd always felt that art was based on emotion, that the more you felt, the more you could create.

She'd gotten up before the dawn, skipped both breakfast and her tai chi routine, then made the drive to Las Vegas in the gloom before the sun came up. She had an idea for a new series of sketches, urban settings in Vegas, and she wanted to catch the Strip while it was deserted. She wondered if it would look uglier in the daylight, without the neon drenching everything to make it glamorous. If it was ugly, that would make it better, more stark.

She parked herself on a bench at the bus stop, set out her pencils and the new sketch pad she'd bought. It was so early that even the street sweeper hadn't come by yet, and there were random pages of a newspaper floating down the sidewalk like tumbleweeds. The sun was just starting to come up. Natural light was the best to draw by.
tiny_dancer81: (Default)
[personal profile] tiny_dancer81
Old habits died hard.

As much as Theresa was thinking about giving up the life, backsliding had probably been inevitable. She'd left The Dive the night before, having missed Maddy backstage, and she'd slept most of the day, waking up just before sundown. Having no job meant she had nothing to do but fart around her apartment, and she flipped channels for two hours while it got later, then clicked off the set because she was restless and bored.

It wasn't that she'd intended to go on the stroll, but she found herself having a margarita in a lounge on the Strip, and a man in an Armani suit and too much product in his hair sat down on the stool next to her. The man had an accent, something kinda-sorta European. Theresa, being from California, realized he didn't speak English very well. She did, however, understand it when he offered her five hundred dollars to join him in his suite at the Skylark.

Yeah, old habits died really hard.

Afterwards, he said she could stay in the suite while he went downstairs to meet someone. He'd been on the phone beforehand, talking rapid-fire in his native language, switching to English every now and then. Theresa was too busy envying the fact that the bathroom was nearly the size of her tiny apartment to pay attention. When he left, she called room service and ordered a pitcher of margaritas, then settled into an overstuffed chair to watch cable.
noah_restic: (1)
[personal profile] noah_restic
The frenzy in the crowd died down to a manageable level in the space between fights. It was in that fissure that Noah moved. Despite his human status, he blended in well, his unoffensive appearance a boon here. He sidled up to the bar and ordered a drink. Noah was officially, as of ten minutes ago, off the clock, having settled a debt for his boss. It had involved one incinerated vampire, but that was an easy mess to clean up.

He turned, back to the bar as he drank, scanning the room. People, to use that term very loosely, were already jockeying up around the ring for the next fight. Noah didn't mind the lack of a clear view; he had more room to breathe back here.

A sharp laugh from stage right caught his attention, then a flash of vibrant red. The dark-haired man straightened, interested. He had seen her wandering this place before, but this was the first time she had come anywhere near him.
cian_oneill: (Cian)
[personal profile] cian_oneill
Cian opened up the bike's throttle, the rubber biting into the black tarmac faster and faster as he sped along the deserted highway. The road up to Vegas was almost empty on nights like this, and it was one of the reasons he'd chosen to make Wednesdays his Saturday, making Thursday his day off. One of the casinos had an arrangement with the owner of the marina and sometimes Cian would stay up there overnight, usually not having to pay as he would do jobs for the casino owner from time to time on days he would stay in Vegas.

When he reached the parking basement he slipped the stand down and leaned the bike over, stepping off and removing helmet and gloves, and locking them in the pannier. Loosing the zip on his leather jacket he headed up the stairs and out onto the lane that soon emptied him onto the glitter strip. He looked left and right, then just went with his gut and turned right, walking along the pavement. At that time it was mainly tourists making their way back to their hotels, if they'd even ventured out from them in the first place. He glanced up at one of the glittering billboards, the promotional blurbs not even really registering as he read it.

Just another show, another enticement for people to spend their money to be entertained, and walk on through life as if they'd lived it.

His shoulders rolled a little as he felt an itch between his shoulder blades, and he turned to look across the road.



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