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Name: Killian T. Hopper
Age: 29
Overview: Growing up the youngest of five in a low income house just outside of Detroit, Killian Hopper was determined from a young age to make a name and a life for himself. Sick and tired of hand-me-downs and thrift stores, Killian was an ambitious and bright young boy with a charismatic smile and a determined twinkle in his eye. School treated him well, and while he never did outstanding in any of his classes, he was always a popular student among teachers and students alike. Known for toeing the line, he never explicitly broke the rules or did anything bad—never was a smoker, a drug user, an alcoholic—but he enjoyed trouble and got into plenty of it.
Mostly with the girls.
There is just something about Killian that drew people to him, and it certainly didn't hurt that he had always been a good looking man, but it was more than that. He never had to go out to deliberately make friends because people would always just come to him and by college, no one argued that Killian was destined for great things. Moving to Las Vegas on a scholarship, he attended the University of Nevada and pursued a degree in business, but dropped out after his second year. By twenty-seven and without a degree and hardly a dollar to his name, using his charismatic and handsome charms, Killian had all but begun to build a gambling empire.
What started as managing a single casino quickly turned into investing in the casino, which quickly turned into owning and building new casinos and hotels in the area. By the time he was twenty-nine, Killian was a multi-millionaire and nothing short of a modern day Great Gatsby. Killian ruled Las Vegas with his lavish, high-end parties and luxurious lifestyle. He was a passionate young man; his fervent determination and strength did not show itself bashfully in his casino floors.
Named one of America's most successful Entrepreneurs and given the title of Las Vegas' most eligible bachelor, Killian is living in the lap of luxury without a problem in sight, but the high-rolling life has costly consequences.
Good thing Mr. Hopper is as cunning and sly as a fox.
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Name: Lucy Nielsen
Age: 26
Overview: Lucy grew up in a family of people with very little self control. Boundaries for her parents were things people set in place to hold others back, and in their worldly, wild-child opinions, life was for exploring... for adventure and excitement and excess. In theory, their philosophies weren't explicitly wrong... but in execution, they made for a damaging childhood for a young girl desperate for some sense of normalcy.. some semblance of order.
It was this, perhaps, that was the catalyst to Lucy growing into something of a prudish stickler for self imposed rules. Afraid of losing control herself, Lucy clung too tightly and what was born from this was a woman with no real concept of how to have fun or let go. Her greatest fear became her greatest weakness - and this bred a jaded disposition and a general lack of trust
But it wasn't all bad... Lucy also became one of the most successful therapists in her line of work - helping addicts to overcome their stumbling blocks and gain a sense of control, themselves. And as far as she was concerned, this small bit of success was enough... But maybe not entirely enough. There were bigger fish to fry - bigger ways to win her war against addiction. And her latest and greatest conquest at present... was the cunning Mr. Hopper and his troublesome casino.
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Killian Hopper
Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer… that was how the saying went, right?
No one except his mother had thought Killian handsome as a baby. Peoples' gaze had halted when they got to his roman nose and their 'new baby smile' faltered for a fraction of a second. As a toddler, he hadn't been the cutest kid on the playground. He was skinny and his cheek bones had given him a frail, skeleton look. But by twelve, he had begun to fill out, and by twenty, it wasn't just the girls after him. He had grown into those features, his bone structure was fine and perfectly symmetrical. It was manly and as he aged, he became all the more striking, but it was his eyes that had won him his entire lifestyle.
They were deep and catastrophic, a vivid baby blue like a great body of water that softly melted into a milky green. Up close, flecks of silver performed a ballet across the transition of colours, and there was a certain devilish gleam there. He was a wolf in a tailored, high-end business suit, and despite the dangerous look painted all across his face, people seemed to orient themselves to him. Like a modern day Great Gatsby, he had come from nothing and now everyone knew who he was, all dying to get invited to his lavish and costly parties. That particular evening was not to be spent roaming the floors of his casinos, throwing parties, or enjoying the fruits of his labours. Instead, he had a very exciting evening planned. At least for him, for he wasn't so sure the target of his evening would enjoy the night as much as he would.
It had never bothered him that there were rows of competing casinos lining up and down the strip, expanding in every direction, for his true competition wasn't them. No, his true competition were little shacks like these: volunteer committees that spent their days trying to remove business from his doors. Occasionally, he'd venture into one of their public group meetings, much like this one. They were all called different things… Gambler's Anonymous, Gamblers' Hotline… the dull list droned on. It had been several months since his last visit, and he figured it was high time he clued himself into the happenings. After all, it was his job to keep people addicted to gambling just as much as it was these peoples' jobs to cut their addictions, and the saying always went keep thy enemies close. This was about as close as it got.
The small room was dark and a bit dingy for his tastes. The lighting wasn't so much as mood lighting as it was poor wattage flowing into the beam lights hanging overhead. One was out completely and another, in the far corner, was flickering, but seeing as he was already several minutes late to the start of the meeting, he didn't open his mouth to protest. Instead, Killian Hopper, the Killian Hopper, slipped into the meeting room in his polished, custom Italian leather business shoes and his Rolex watch, and took a seat in the audience.
The line of his shoulders was relaxed and a coy smile edged into his cheeks, which dotted with neatly trimmed scruff. His hair was a bit of a fashionable mess, the dark blonde locks swept off to one side across his Sienna tanned forehead as he inspected each and every member sitting in the meeting chairs. They were your typical gambling types: a bit haggard, greying out, eyes rimmed with dark circles from long hours in a smoky alcoholic-daze in a casino hall. Last, but certainly not least, his eyes fell on the young woman at the head of the room. He knew who she was; he had done his research, he had read about her: Lucy Nielsen.
She was a bright woman, from what he had gathered from the articles celebrating her humanitarianism and extensive work in the circuit. She was startlingly more beautiful than he was anticipating, but not in a glossy magazine sort of way—in an old Hollywood kind of overstated beauty.
A soft smile possessed him as he glanced down to his watch, fiddling with it for a second as his hands fell back down against his lap, one ankle crossed over the opposite knee in a posture that spoke to a casual over-confidence. He would have to speak to her, certainly, once this meeting had concluded, and not for her beauty. Truthfully, he wanted to get in her head and see how her brain work, to see if there was anything he could do to fight all the 'good' she was doing for these people.
Don't be mistaken, he didn't lust for the soul-destroying way of life an addicted gambler led—often sacrificing all their money, their loved ones, their family—for the sake of one more round of poker, or one more quarter into a slot, but business was business, and Killian was a businessman through and through. He hadn't been raised from the pits of some small town, the youngest and the poorest of everyone in his class to just be 'mediocre' or 'wealthy.'
He was going to be great and damn rich if it killed him, and it very well might.
Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer… that was how the saying went, right?
No one except his mother had thought Killian handsome as a baby. Peoples' gaze had halted when they got to his roman nose and their 'new baby smile' faltered for a fraction of a second. As a toddler, he hadn't been the cutest kid on the playground. He was skinny and his cheek bones had given him a frail, skeleton look. But by twelve, he had begun to fill out, and by twenty, it wasn't just the girls after him. He had grown into those features, his bone structure was fine and perfectly symmetrical. It was manly and as he aged, he became all the more striking, but it was his eyes that had won him his entire lifestyle.
They were deep and catastrophic, a vivid baby blue like a great body of water that softly melted into a milky green. Up close, flecks of silver performed a ballet across the transition of colours, and there was a certain devilish gleam there. He was a wolf in a tailored, high-end business suit, and despite the dangerous look painted all across his face, people seemed to orient themselves to him. Like a modern day Great Gatsby, he had come from nothing and now everyone knew who he was, all dying to get invited to his lavish and costly parties. That particular evening was not to be spent roaming the floors of his casinos, throwing parties, or enjoying the fruits of his labours. Instead, he had a very exciting evening planned. At least for him, for he wasn't so sure the target of his evening would enjoy the night as much as he would.
It had never bothered him that there were rows of competing casinos lining up and down the strip, expanding in every direction, for his true competition wasn't them. No, his true competition were little shacks like these: volunteer committees that spent their days trying to remove business from his doors. Occasionally, he'd venture into one of their public group meetings, much like this one. They were all called different things… Gambler's Anonymous, Gamblers' Hotline… the dull list droned on. It had been several months since his last visit, and he figured it was high time he clued himself into the happenings. After all, it was his job to keep people addicted to gambling just as much as it was these peoples' jobs to cut their addictions, and the saying always went keep thy enemies close. This was about as close as it got.
The small room was dark and a bit dingy for his tastes. The lighting wasn't so much as mood lighting as it was poor wattage flowing into the beam lights hanging overhead. One was out completely and another, in the far corner, was flickering, but seeing as he was already several minutes late to the start of the meeting, he didn't open his mouth to protest. Instead, Killian Hopper, the Killian Hopper, slipped into the meeting room in his polished, custom Italian leather business shoes and his Rolex watch, and took a seat in the audience.
The line of his shoulders was relaxed and a coy smile edged into his cheeks, which dotted with neatly trimmed scruff. His hair was a bit of a fashionable mess, the dark blonde locks swept off to one side across his Sienna tanned forehead as he inspected each and every member sitting in the meeting chairs. They were your typical gambling types: a bit haggard, greying out, eyes rimmed with dark circles from long hours in a smoky alcoholic-daze in a casino hall. Last, but certainly not least, his eyes fell on the young woman at the head of the room. He knew who she was; he had done his research, he had read about her: Lucy Nielsen.
She was a bright woman, from what he had gathered from the articles celebrating her humanitarianism and extensive work in the circuit. She was startlingly more beautiful than he was anticipating, but not in a glossy magazine sort of way—in an old Hollywood kind of overstated beauty.
A soft smile possessed him as he glanced down to his watch, fiddling with it for a second as his hands fell back down against his lap, one ankle crossed over the opposite knee in a posture that spoke to a casual over-confidence. He would have to speak to her, certainly, once this meeting had concluded, and not for her beauty. Truthfully, he wanted to get in her head and see how her brain work, to see if there was anything he could do to fight all the 'good' she was doing for these people.
Don't be mistaken, he didn't lust for the soul-destroying way of life an addicted gambler led—often sacrificing all their money, their loved ones, their family—for the sake of one more round of poker, or one more quarter into a slot, but business was business, and Killian was a businessman through and through. He hadn't been raised from the pits of some small town, the youngest and the poorest of everyone in his class to just be 'mediocre' or 'wealthy.'
He was going to be great and damn rich if it killed him, and it very well might.
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LUCY NIELSEN
"These numbers are staggering... Just look at this study done in Australia. One in five gamblers... committing suicide. And here, seventy-three percent of people who are incarcerated are identified as problem gamblers. And the annual cost associated with gambling? Seventeen billion dollars. These statistics are just the beginning... I know it's a lot to read, but really, I need you guys to be aware of the problems here. I need you to understand just what's happening... What you're being roped into. What your kids and your spouses and your friends are gonna go through. Because gambling isn't just a small problem... it's--"
With a crack the door to the room snapped shut again and Lucy glanced up from her clipboard. There was a shuffling sound as those in their seats turned to face the newcomer, and while their expressions were ones of curiosity... of uncertainty, Lucy's was neither. The look Lucy wore bore a slight air of amusement, but one that didn't quite reach the steel blue of her eyes. Her lipped twitched up and she gestured to one of the few empty chairs in the small circle.
"Mr. Hopper. Glad you could join us. Please, have a seat." Her eyes shifted from him to the others and her smile warmed, more genuine.
"Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Killian Hopper. Mr. Hopper is a pioneer entrepreneur, here in the city. Our very own Gatsby, if you would. Would anyone like to wager a guess as to what it is he's an entrepreneur of?"
"Runs all those fancy casinos, downtown." One of the men seated nearest Lucy remarked, his eyes narrowing, "Seen the interview in Forbes."
"Vegas's most eligible bachelor, too..." A woman in a bright red, skin tight dress chimed in, shooting Killian a toothy smirk, "No surprise there."
"Ah, good..." Nodding, Lucy steepled her fingers beneath her chin, eyes flickering to Killian, "You're familiar, then. But of course, Mr. Hopper doesn't know you, does he? Forgive me," Bowing her head to him, she gestured to the chair closest to him, "This is Nina. Nina was on her way to becoming a national roller derby champion. Unfortunately, she was fired from her team when her bookie made a big deal about her owing him money during their final preliminary run. She was betting against her team and was gonna throw the competition to try and earn back what she owed. And this..." Moving to the next seat, she nodded, "This is Matt. Matt finalized his divorce this week. He gambled away their family's savings and lost the house. Matt has four kids under eight. Next week starts the custody hearing, where he'll find out if he gets weekend visitation or not. That's Ben... Ben is nineteen and one of the most brilliant kids I've ever met. He had a scholarship to MIT... was gonna be a mechanical engineer. Unfortunately, he was running an illegal gambling circuit in the basement of his dorm housing and was expelled. Marge here gambled away a pearl necklace... It was a family heirloom that's been passed down since the 1800's."
A small sigh escaped the woman, who lowered her gaze, "...My mom won't speak to me. I don't even blame her..."
Gesturing to the man who had identified Killian, Lucy frowned, "This is Nick. Nick is facing jail time for assault and battery. He threw a brick at a man's car because the man beat him in a game of Blackjack. The man's still comatose in the hospital. In critical condition. It's our hope that he pulls through... but doctors aren't exactly optimistic."
Next came the woman in the red dress, who continued to smile, with near inappropriate fixation on the man, "And this is Kim. Kim was on her way to her wedding when she stopped at a casino to try the slots. She missed her own wedding and lost her fiance. Kim works as an exotic dancer, now... to afford a one bedroom apartment overlooking the strip. Last week, she was assaulted by one of her clients, but she won't go to the police because he's a public figurehead who can get her fired if she does." The smile snapped away from the woman's face, and her lip faltered, rippled as she turned her eyes down to her lap.
"We usually have more visitors, but I'm told three of our usual members have had some set backs. It's been six months for the rest of them. Six months since gambling destroyed everything they loved... Six months since they last placed a bet. Now," Looking to Killian again, the steel in her eyes became a sword, "Tell us... What brings you here, Mr. Hopper?"
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Killian Hopper
Killian hooked his ankle further over his knee and watched, neither responding nor looking keen to. His facial expression shifted slightly. His eyebrows raised, but relaxed again as he laced together his fingers over his knees and watched, but more importantly, he listened. It was true that people either loved him or hated him in their glossy city, but a bit of dislike slid off of him with ease. How could it not? Going home to five-hundred dollar whiskey soothed any misgivings he ever felt. At the end of the day, he merely provided a service. People either chose to use that service, or not, and even if he threw in the towel to say enough was enough, there would always be someone else waiting in line behind him.
He could appreciate the blonde's enthusiasm, her gumption… but it was all for naught. Killian could only see the animalistic nature of people: addicts, all of them, and all to their own whims. Some chose gambling, others alcohol, nicotine… hell, some even chose the internet. Everyone had their vice. As Lucy continued to make a spectacle of him, he merely smiled politely, watching her and allowing her to continue without interruption.
Killian might have even argued with her had he felt particularly ambitious or passionate about the subject. Alas, he did not. Instead, he sat back deeper in his seat with a blasé bravado. Lucy was certainly more entertaining than other counselors he'd gone to see, that was for certain, but she was still like all the rest. Trying to roll the metaphorical rock up the hill, only to have it come crashing down once more when she was nearly at the top. Sisyphus, all of them.
When a question was turned back to him, his polite smile returned. "Interest," he replied, but offered no further commentary or remarks. He wasn't here to indulge the woman, or even himself, really. He was there to educate himself, to learn the counselor's marketing tricks, for everyone had one.
He rolled his hand casually, as if to let her know she was welcome to continue. Killian didn't want to interfere with the needs of the folks present, after all.
Killian hooked his ankle further over his knee and watched, neither responding nor looking keen to. His facial expression shifted slightly. His eyebrows raised, but relaxed again as he laced together his fingers over his knees and watched, but more importantly, he listened. It was true that people either loved him or hated him in their glossy city, but a bit of dislike slid off of him with ease. How could it not? Going home to five-hundred dollar whiskey soothed any misgivings he ever felt. At the end of the day, he merely provided a service. People either chose to use that service, or not, and even if he threw in the towel to say enough was enough, there would always be someone else waiting in line behind him.
He could appreciate the blonde's enthusiasm, her gumption… but it was all for naught. Killian could only see the animalistic nature of people: addicts, all of them, and all to their own whims. Some chose gambling, others alcohol, nicotine… hell, some even chose the internet. Everyone had their vice. As Lucy continued to make a spectacle of him, he merely smiled politely, watching her and allowing her to continue without interruption.
Killian might have even argued with her had he felt particularly ambitious or passionate about the subject. Alas, he did not. Instead, he sat back deeper in his seat with a blasé bravado. Lucy was certainly more entertaining than other counselors he'd gone to see, that was for certain, but she was still like all the rest. Trying to roll the metaphorical rock up the hill, only to have it come crashing down once more when she was nearly at the top. Sisyphus, all of them.
When a question was turned back to him, his polite smile returned. "Interest," he replied, but offered no further commentary or remarks. He wasn't here to indulge the woman, or even himself, really. He was there to educate himself, to learn the counselor's marketing tricks, for everyone had one.
He rolled his hand casually, as if to let her know she was welcome to continue. Killian didn't want to interfere with the needs of the folks present, after all.
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LUCY NIELSEN
"Hm..." If it surprised her at all, his indifferent nature to the revelations of her circle, it didn't show in her expression, and in truth, it wasn't all that unexpected. Men rarely admitted fault, especially when it could be brushed off on others. And in truth, she never made a habit of blame shifting. Each person in her therapy group knew their own responsibilities and owned them. But she was also all too aware that there would be no need for groups like hers if people like Killian Hopper didn't set out to exploit the weakness in humanity for their own gain.
Adjusting her posture, straightening, she continued to smile, pleasantly, but coldly at the man, "Well, unfortunately, Mr. Hopper, this is a group for addicts... and while I understand your curiosity, I can't really permit you to remain in our session without good cause. Now... if you're willing to join us, that's fine. We'll just need you to be open and up front about your own vice addictions. It's a simple rule I have... which I'm sure you can understand."
Her gaze shifted to the others, and she folded her hands neatly in her lap, before fixing her gaze on the man before her, "If it helps, I'll start. My name is Lucy, and I am an addict. I have a psychologically oppressive need to control the world around me, to a somewhat detrimental level. This is an issue that has affected my life in a negative fashion, and I hope to some day overcome the urge. Now... what about you?"
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Killian Hopper
Killian remained in his chair, his polite smile shifting to something of amusement as he witnessed the woman's focus hone in on him. The entire meeting shifted away from the addicts and to Killian Hopper and, truthfully, Killian couldn't have been more pleased about it. It truly was his intention to come to learn something, but he couldn't help his amusement getting tickled by the fact that he threw Ms. Lucy Nielsen off balance, whether she acknowledged it or not. Attention amused him; he enjoyed it. Though he didn't run out into the streets looking to bask in it, he couldn't deny the overwhelming sense of pleasure when people, especially pretty women, glanced his direction and let their eyes linger a beat too long. He relished the respect it came with, the jealousy from others, the affection.
"You can deign not to permit me into your group at all, Ms. Nielsen," he replied, glancing down to his fingernails and picking a spot of dirt from underneath his thumbnail. "However, you rent this space, do you not? Do you know who owns it? A small investment company called J.J.C. America, which bought it two weeks ago. Do you know what umbrella company owns J.J.C. America? Hopper Unlimited. I believe you can see where I'm going with this, but I'll play by your rules."
The house always dealt, right? Truthfully, Killian didn't really mind playing share-time, not at all, but he did make a point that her threats were hollow. She could move her little group elsewhere, he supposed… a coffee shop, a McDonalds, though that wouldn't be very anonymous. Another rental, perhaps, but he'd made his bit about not having an interest in being threatened on a property he owned, and he resumed his lackadaisical posture.
Once Lucy motioned towards him to follow her simple rule, Killian collected his feet underneath himself and stood. "My name is Killian," he began, "and I am addicted to wealth and it has impacted my life negatively, in some ways. Was that sufficient to meet the expectations of your law?"
Such admissions didn't bother him. Greed was a vice he'd built an empire upon, and to deny possessing it himself was a moot point. He didn't have any intentions to overcome it, or any of his vices, truly. There wasn't anyone close enough for him to care enough about to fix himself for. He liked his life, why change it?
Sitting back down, Killian rested his legs out in front of him and hooked his ankles. His hands returned to his waist, laced together, as he went silent to resume watching once more.
Killian remained in his chair, his polite smile shifting to something of amusement as he witnessed the woman's focus hone in on him. The entire meeting shifted away from the addicts and to Killian Hopper and, truthfully, Killian couldn't have been more pleased about it. It truly was his intention to come to learn something, but he couldn't help his amusement getting tickled by the fact that he threw Ms. Lucy Nielsen off balance, whether she acknowledged it or not. Attention amused him; he enjoyed it. Though he didn't run out into the streets looking to bask in it, he couldn't deny the overwhelming sense of pleasure when people, especially pretty women, glanced his direction and let their eyes linger a beat too long. He relished the respect it came with, the jealousy from others, the affection.
"You can deign not to permit me into your group at all, Ms. Nielsen," he replied, glancing down to his fingernails and picking a spot of dirt from underneath his thumbnail. "However, you rent this space, do you not? Do you know who owns it? A small investment company called J.J.C. America, which bought it two weeks ago. Do you know what umbrella company owns J.J.C. America? Hopper Unlimited. I believe you can see where I'm going with this, but I'll play by your rules."
The house always dealt, right? Truthfully, Killian didn't really mind playing share-time, not at all, but he did make a point that her threats were hollow. She could move her little group elsewhere, he supposed… a coffee shop, a McDonalds, though that wouldn't be very anonymous. Another rental, perhaps, but he'd made his bit about not having an interest in being threatened on a property he owned, and he resumed his lackadaisical posture.
Once Lucy motioned towards him to follow her simple rule, Killian collected his feet underneath himself and stood. "My name is Killian," he began, "and I am addicted to wealth and it has impacted my life negatively, in some ways. Was that sufficient to meet the expectations of your law?"
Such admissions didn't bother him. Greed was a vice he'd built an empire upon, and to deny possessing it himself was a moot point. He didn't have any intentions to overcome it, or any of his vices, truly. There wasn't anyone close enough for him to care enough about to fix himself for. He liked his life, why change it?
Sitting back down, Killian rested his legs out in front of him and hooked his ankles. His hands returned to his waist, laced together, as he went silent to resume watching once more.
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LUCY NIELSEN
"As a matter of fact, Mr. Hopper, I'm all too aware of who owns this building. I heavily researched in ahead of time, in fact. And it was no accident that I chose it, in particular. Not the best space, but... well, we're not here for comfort, are we?"
Sitting back, she watched as he acquiesced and her smile did not fade, even at what was obviously a lame attempt to slide through protocol with a barely passable answer. The world was already more than privy to his avarice, and he made no attempts at anonymity regarding his wealth or his addiction to all things gold and glittering. But he had played along, at least by his standards, and she could expect no more...
"Very well, then. Welcome aboard, Mr. Hopper. Thank you for being honest with us, and with yourself." He eyes shifted then, to the others, and she resumed her attention to the clipboard on her lap, "Now then, you all have the pamphlets I handed out. I'm hoping you'll read them. Even you, Ben. I know you've already done the research, but a refresher is never a bad idea." The boy chuckled and shrugged, but nodded and setting the clipboard aside, Lucy crossed her legs, resting her hands on her knees.
"Next week marks six months exactly since you all joined us here. And you know what that means."
"Matching tattoos?" Matt remarked, and a small rumble of laughter rolled through the group.
Shaking her head, Lucy chuckled as well, "As fun as that would be... no. On Tuesday, we'll have our outing. I realize this is the hardest part,
and I understand that you're all probably pretty nervous, but part of recovery is learning not just to adjust and adapt to everyday life...
but to the most extreme situations. Walking through a casino might never come up. But let's say you go on vacation and the hotel you have doesn't advertise that there's a casino right there on the ground floor. Or what if you're invited to a wedding or a work party and it's hosted in a hotel here in the city? Well... You can't run forever, right? That's not how we grow. I don't expect it to be easy, or very fun and it will definitely spark some temptations... But at the end of our outing, I hope that you all realize that you can get past this. That it doesn't own you or control you. This is just one more hurdle and once you're over it, you can start living life again. A real life."
Her gaze flickered to Killian and her lip twitched up in a smirk, "I'm actually glad you came, Mr. Hopper. See... I've been struggling to figure out just where to have our outing, but seeing as you've already been such an accommodating host... I can't imagine you'd mind us using one of your casinos. We would be as non-disruptive as possible, of course... Like church mice. What do you say? Will you help your friends here get well, again?"
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Killian Hopper
Killian came and did exactly what he had intended to, he listened. He barely moved at all, and didn't make so much as a single sound, except once to clear his throat. Though even that had no implications on the on-goings of the meeting at all. He was glad for it, for as amusing as it was to be yanked into something he cared little for, he learned more when no one paid him mind. And, after a while, no one did pay him mind. He merely faded into the background of what the individuals had come to the meeting for. Most forget he was there at all, as silent as he was.
The meeting nearly reached its end, and the time for his departure, before he was yanked back into the loop of conversation. Eyes readily flashed back and sat on him, curious expressions waiting for an answer. A tour, of a casino? He nearly chuckled, but kept a straight face all the same. It was not the time for jest, though he'd laugh on it later, he was certain.
"Of course," he answered with hardly a beat of a pause between his response and her question. "My doors are open to all. If interested, I can give you a tour of the whole facility. I'd give you my card, but I have a sneaking suspicion you'll be able to get ahold of me if you wished it, with or without one, Ms. Neilsen." With that, he rose to stand, dusting off the front of his jacket as he did to collect himself, as he had other matters that needed attending. As much as he would have loved to stay and have after-meeting punch with the folks, he decided it best for him to be on his way. All that he could learn there had been learned.
"Honesty's an attribute of the truly brave, and thus the privilege of the very few. I wish you all the best of luck." Killian smiled, bowed his head, and turned to leave the building.
The outside night air rang with the overarching stench of cheap booze and car smog. He turned left and ambled up towards the strip, whose lights glowered through the darkness and turned even moonless nights into blinding daylight. At ten o'clock, the city was just beginning to rouse. Clubs oozed music, taxis sputtered up and down the strip, and those already too drunk to function stumbled up and down the sidewalks, staggering around poles and across crosswalks.
The city had a certain beat of life to it, but there was a reason Killian leaved nearly an hour away from the heart of downtown.
Killian came and did exactly what he had intended to, he listened. He barely moved at all, and didn't make so much as a single sound, except once to clear his throat. Though even that had no implications on the on-goings of the meeting at all. He was glad for it, for as amusing as it was to be yanked into something he cared little for, he learned more when no one paid him mind. And, after a while, no one did pay him mind. He merely faded into the background of what the individuals had come to the meeting for. Most forget he was there at all, as silent as he was.
The meeting nearly reached its end, and the time for his departure, before he was yanked back into the loop of conversation. Eyes readily flashed back and sat on him, curious expressions waiting for an answer. A tour, of a casino? He nearly chuckled, but kept a straight face all the same. It was not the time for jest, though he'd laugh on it later, he was certain.
"Of course," he answered with hardly a beat of a pause between his response and her question. "My doors are open to all. If interested, I can give you a tour of the whole facility. I'd give you my card, but I have a sneaking suspicion you'll be able to get ahold of me if you wished it, with or without one, Ms. Neilsen." With that, he rose to stand, dusting off the front of his jacket as he did to collect himself, as he had other matters that needed attending. As much as he would have loved to stay and have after-meeting punch with the folks, he decided it best for him to be on his way. All that he could learn there had been learned.
"Honesty's an attribute of the truly brave, and thus the privilege of the very few. I wish you all the best of luck." Killian smiled, bowed his head, and turned to leave the building.
The outside night air rang with the overarching stench of cheap booze and car smog. He turned left and ambled up towards the strip, whose lights glowered through the darkness and turned even moonless nights into blinding daylight. At ten o'clock, the city was just beginning to rouse. Clubs oozed music, taxis sputtered up and down the strip, and those already too drunk to function stumbled up and down the sidewalks, staggering around poles and across crosswalks.
The city had a certain beat of life to it, but there was a reason Killian leaved nearly an hour away from the heart of downtown.
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LUCY NIELSEN
Oddly enough, Lucy never stayed for the after-meeting. It was a personal rule of hers, one of many, that while she could sit and chat with her group and be open with them, even having given a few her cellphone number, she never made friends with the people she helped. It was too easy... friendship. Too blinding, and she needed to be objective as humanly possible, in order to hit them with the cold, hard truth they sometimes needed to hear. The keys had been entrusted to the night janitor, who locked up afterwards, but Lucy generally retired for home well before the punch was served.
And she had every intention, really, of maintaining this flow, which in a perfect world would never have been an issue. But it wasn't a perfect world. It was a world with men like Killian Hopper. Billionaires who tauted their riches in fancy suits and expensive escorts, who came to gambling anonymous meetings, for some sick sense of curiosity, and offered personal tours to people whose lives he would have no qualms about destroying in a matter of seconds. People like Killian Hopper, who were impossibly handsome and wealthy and charming, yet beneath their shining veneer were snakes...
Exiting the building, she caught him out of the corner of her eye, and she should have let it go. Should have watched him walk away, called for her cab and gone back to her apartment. It was the plan, and Lucy never, ever detoured from her plans. But while he had been pleasant to her group and even seemed genuinely interested in their recovery... albeit not at his own expense, she was sure... he was an unclear factor - a danger to their healing - and she needed to be sure that he had slaked whatever sense of nosy voyeurism he was entertaining that night.
"I take it this is the last time you plan to interject yourself into one of my meetings, Mr. Hopper? While I appreciate human curiosity, my patients are not science experiments to be gawked at. Unless you genuinely need my services, though I doubt you'd admit that you did... Apart from allowing my group to tour your casino next week, I would prefer if our interactions were nailed solely down to me paying my monthly deposit on this building. I'm sure you can understand..."
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Killian Hopper
"If," Killian said, slowing his step to match her shorter stride a bit more easily. "If you wanted our interactions to be solely under the sake of exchanging money, you would not have come up to me just now." He slid his hands into the pockets of his trousers and angled his head just far enough to the side so that he could see her from the corner of his eyes. Her voice was distinguishable enough, her tone even more so, but he glanced her way all the same. "So, what is it you truly want then, because I believe you to be telling me a mistruth just now, whether or not you were aware of it."
He continued, still walking in his own general direction, wondering just how long she planned to stick around. "Furthermore, this is not the last time, no, and not necessarily by choice, either. Do recall it was you who injected your meetings into my territory by deciding to come to one of my casinos? You have dozens of casinos at your disposal that do not fall anywhere under my name. This one, for example," he said, jutting his thumb over to the glossy row of glass doors swung open into a casino floor opposite them on the sidewalk. The wild noises of roulette wheels clicking and slots singing as coins were slid in rolling through them. People flowed in and out of the door like bugs.
"That particularly casino is run by an older woman who hasn't visited this city in years. She lives in the Big Apple these days. You want to have your meeting uninterrupted, that would be a good choice. No pesky casino scientist to bother you there, I assure you."
He paused his step, coming to a stop and turning to face her more entirely, though his hands remained in his pockets. "Unless, naturally, you are curious yourself. Perhaps you are just as curious to how the other half lives as I am? People like to invent monsters and monstrosities. Then they seem less monstrous themselves. When they get blind-drunk, cheat, steal, beat their wives, starve an old man…gamble… when they kill a trapped fox with an ax or riddle an endangered species with arrows, they like to think that another is more monstrous than they are. It makes their life easier. I welcome you to make me your monster to your meeting group, Lucy. I do, for it matters to me little…" Killian turned his head to look up the street.
"But aren't you the slightest bit curious how the monster lives? If what you believe about the monster is true? Mm, I certainly do. It's why I've gone to observe."
"If," Killian said, slowing his step to match her shorter stride a bit more easily. "If you wanted our interactions to be solely under the sake of exchanging money, you would not have come up to me just now." He slid his hands into the pockets of his trousers and angled his head just far enough to the side so that he could see her from the corner of his eyes. Her voice was distinguishable enough, her tone even more so, but he glanced her way all the same. "So, what is it you truly want then, because I believe you to be telling me a mistruth just now, whether or not you were aware of it."
He continued, still walking in his own general direction, wondering just how long she planned to stick around. "Furthermore, this is not the last time, no, and not necessarily by choice, either. Do recall it was you who injected your meetings into my territory by deciding to come to one of my casinos? You have dozens of casinos at your disposal that do not fall anywhere under my name. This one, for example," he said, jutting his thumb over to the glossy row of glass doors swung open into a casino floor opposite them on the sidewalk. The wild noises of roulette wheels clicking and slots singing as coins were slid in rolling through them. People flowed in and out of the door like bugs.
"That particularly casino is run by an older woman who hasn't visited this city in years. She lives in the Big Apple these days. You want to have your meeting uninterrupted, that would be a good choice. No pesky casino scientist to bother you there, I assure you."
He paused his step, coming to a stop and turning to face her more entirely, though his hands remained in his pockets. "Unless, naturally, you are curious yourself. Perhaps you are just as curious to how the other half lives as I am? People like to invent monsters and monstrosities. Then they seem less monstrous themselves. When they get blind-drunk, cheat, steal, beat their wives, starve an old man…gamble… when they kill a trapped fox with an ax or riddle an endangered species with arrows, they like to think that another is more monstrous than they are. It makes their life easier. I welcome you to make me your monster to your meeting group, Lucy. I do, for it matters to me little…" Killian turned his head to look up the street.
"But aren't you the slightest bit curious how the monster lives? If what you believe about the monster is true? Mm, I certainly do. It's why I've gone to observe."
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LUCY NIELSEN
"Hm. You are immeasurably sure of yourself, aren't you?" Shaking her head, Lucy smiled, pointing down the street, "I live eighteen blocks from here, Mr. Hopper. As you can see there are no cabs that run down this street, so I have little choice but to walk to the intersection. If you happen to be going that direction, I can hardly fault that. And while, yes, I did intend to approach you and have, about the matters we've discussed, I have no further motives, as you called them, apart from ensuring that our next meeting is our last. Believe what you will, but that's the truth."
As he came around in front of her, she stopped, her eyes drifting up to meet his with a brow lifting ever so slightly. Brushing off the sleeve of her jacket, she smirked, shaking her head, "I chose your casino for the same reason I chose to rent under you. I wholeheartedly believe in the saying 'know your enemy'. And the best way for me to do that is to keep you close. I know every casino in this city. Who owns them and who they are... Some quite personally. And I also know you. Which is why I chose you. You're not a monster. You're a narcissistic playboy with too much time on his hands, and far too much assurance in your own self worth. You came from nothing and you raised an empire, but while that is admirable in it's own right, you also have no respect for it. You lord your wealth over people, in ways both fully intended and subconscious, and all that makes you, Mr. Hopper, is a deficient little boy who just happens to have a bigger toy than the rest of the kids on the playground."
"No... see. Calling you a monster implies you somehow frighten me. And you don't, Mr. Hopper. You don't scare me, and you never will. That insinuates that you somehow have power over me... and I can assure you, that's not true in the slightest. I know why you came to our meeting, and if you need a reminder to understand exactly what I am telling you, I'm happy to provide one... This is not a game. Not to these people. They have lost everything, and I intend to help them salvage their lives to best of my abilities. If that isn't something you can grasp, then I implore you... pick up a book on psychology or watch an episode of Doctor Phil. But do not show up here again unless you intended to use this opportunity to better yourself. Now, if you would excuse me... I should really get home. I'll see you next Tuesday." And with a small gesture, she passed around her.
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Killian Hopper
"Hmm," Killian smiled and continued walking, humming to himself as he went. "You know only the surface of the story, and of the industry, but I bid you all the luck in the world on your pursuit. Good night, Ms. Nielsen."
As the argument derailed to person insults from her behalf, he felt not a single ounce of compellation to continue. It lost its intrigue, as she did, when resorting to such crude manners in the sport of argument and conflict. He was disappointed, truly, that she wasn't nearly as wise, engaging, or insightful as he had hoped and anticipated, so his time with her was complete. Smart, perhaps, probably even smarter than him as he was aware, but too naïve, too justified, too glossy-eyed in the pursuit of heroism.
There was a point to be made in showing up to her next group meeting, but the argument hadn't been for fun. She could believe all she wanted of him, for as he set off towards his car, parked further down the strip, he'd forgotten about her. He had another audience in mind for his next trip to the city. Another counselor. A gentleman by the name of Ronald Harrison. An older man, perhaps more wizened to the enjoyment of conflict than Lucy.
Even Ronald didn't hold his thoughts for long. Instead, his thoughts turned to his stomach, and to dinner.
Later that evening, Killian arrived home.
The Spanish-style villae crouched low into a grassy embankment, as though it were trying to hide, but the red shingle roof too bright to go unnoticed. Lights illuminated the drive up. Coarse, unevenly sized grey and tan stones made up the walls and, as his headlights beamed down on them, the occasional flash of color—some blue, other green or brown—emerged from the grey stones looking like eyes trying to steal a glimpse of the world. The villa was exquisite. On the smaller side, as rich homes went, but charming as it bent into the surrounding landscape.
"Killi," a voice called when he stepped from the underground garage up to the landing. "That you?"
"Yea," he answered, setting his keys on the rack and following the voice up the staircase to the main floor. "Where ya at, Lil?"
"Dining room!" the woman called back, poking her head from around the door. "You're late."
"Had some business to see to," he answered, following his girlfriend into dining room, where he found, pleasantly, dinner already prepared. "That is the most terrible looking taco I've ever seen."
"Hey!" Lil laughed. "Be nice. I don't have to cook often."
"Hmm," Killian smiled and continued walking, humming to himself as he went. "You know only the surface of the story, and of the industry, but I bid you all the luck in the world on your pursuit. Good night, Ms. Nielsen."
As the argument derailed to person insults from her behalf, he felt not a single ounce of compellation to continue. It lost its intrigue, as she did, when resorting to such crude manners in the sport of argument and conflict. He was disappointed, truly, that she wasn't nearly as wise, engaging, or insightful as he had hoped and anticipated, so his time with her was complete. Smart, perhaps, probably even smarter than him as he was aware, but too naïve, too justified, too glossy-eyed in the pursuit of heroism.
There was a point to be made in showing up to her next group meeting, but the argument hadn't been for fun. She could believe all she wanted of him, for as he set off towards his car, parked further down the strip, he'd forgotten about her. He had another audience in mind for his next trip to the city. Another counselor. A gentleman by the name of Ronald Harrison. An older man, perhaps more wizened to the enjoyment of conflict than Lucy.
Even Ronald didn't hold his thoughts for long. Instead, his thoughts turned to his stomach, and to dinner.
Later that evening, Killian arrived home.
The Spanish-style villae crouched low into a grassy embankment, as though it were trying to hide, but the red shingle roof too bright to go unnoticed. Lights illuminated the drive up. Coarse, unevenly sized grey and tan stones made up the walls and, as his headlights beamed down on them, the occasional flash of color—some blue, other green or brown—emerged from the grey stones looking like eyes trying to steal a glimpse of the world. The villa was exquisite. On the smaller side, as rich homes went, but charming as it bent into the surrounding landscape.
"Killi," a voice called when he stepped from the underground garage up to the landing. "That you?"
"Yea," he answered, setting his keys on the rack and following the voice up the staircase to the main floor. "Where ya at, Lil?"
"Dining room!" the woman called back, poking her head from around the door. "You're late."
"Had some business to see to," he answered, following his girlfriend into dining room, where he found, pleasantly, dinner already prepared. "That is the most terrible looking taco I've ever seen."
"Hey!" Lil laughed. "Be nice. I don't have to cook often."
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LUCY NIELSEN
And while she might have, at one time, allowed herself to be burdened by what Killian Hopper thought of her, in truth, Lucy put him out of her mind the moment his hundreds-of-dollars shoes resolved to a distant tapping on the pavement, and he disappeared from her view. She returned to her apartment and for the remainder of the evening, enjoyed a hot bath, a glass of $10 chardonnay and the episode of Grey's Anatomy that she had recorded from the previous evening.
The following few days, she thought nothing of Killian as well. It was reluctantly on Tuesday afternoon that she allowed the man to enter into her thoughts once again, as she dressed for the group outing, and mentally, prepared herself for what was to be, without a doubt, a particularly trying evening. The group members would arrive by bus, a shuttle she had hired to ensure they all remained together before and after the event, but Lucy took a cab to arrive there early, to scope out the surroundings and decide the best course of action.
Notebook in hand, she patrolled the floor of the casino, which so early in the evening was occupied by blue-haired grannies and those most desperate souls, too engrossed in their gambling habits for even her help. Scribbling across the page, she sketched out a map, a game plan and detailed schedule, pausing only once to wave off the complimentary champagne from a tasteful, yet still somehow scantily clad waitress and again, a few minutes later to the same with a tray of hour'devour.
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Killian Hopper
"You have messages, Mr Hopper."
The man behind the desk was young, boyishly so, with a clean-shaven face, wide eyes, and a pressed, cheap suit. He smiled politely, as crisp as an ironed seam.
"Walk with me, Johnathon, will you?" Killian wore an expression on his face that seemed like he was on a mission of sorts. He walked briskly, but controllably, through the back halls of the crown jewel of his empire, the Elysian Casino. It had been his first casino, and was still the favorite. It was a landmark on the strip, almost as famous for the bronze lion statues out front as it was for its Black Jack tables. Tourists, even those who didn't gamble, all took pictures standing next to those damn lions. It was also the casino where Killian made his office, of sorts.
Johnathon sprung out from behind the desk, walking alongside his boss and rattling through the scraps of papers in his hands. "Jennifer called about the races for next week. Wanted to know if you were still interested in attending her Derby party with Lilian. Ah, the bank called about a promotional deal…"
"Ignore the bank, continue, please." Killian rolled his hand, to coax his young assistant along.
"Uhm, yes, of course. Uhh," the man stammered, fumbling through his papers and nearly dropping a small pile of them in the process. His hands gleamed with sweat. As they walked, he had to raise his voice to be heard over the sounds of slots and the general white noise of casino chatter. "Uhh, well, Lilian called this morning. Wanted to remind you to be home by nine tonight, because you have guests."
Killian gritted his teeth and snorted. Glad for the reminder, annoyed he'd nearly forgotten the neighbors would be coming over for a late night wine and foretaste get together."
"Uh, Dr Regis called…"
"Next."
"That's all."
"Very good, thanks Johnathon. Can you make sure you get those receipts to the accounting offices? Thanks, I need to see to this bartending fiasco." Hurrying off, his long stride left Johnathon behind as he stepped on to the casino floor, squinting as he turned his eyes towards the main bar. Sometimes, he wondered why he paid to have managers at the casinos for, whenever they had the slightest problem, they came calling him to solve it.
Admit his slightly flustered internal thoughts, he bumped into a small person who was below his view of sight. "Oh, excuse me, pardon me. My apologies," he said, moving to step around whoever he nearly trampled when a flash of blonde hair caught his attention. Was it Tuesday?
"Ah, Lucy." Damnit, damnit, damnit. He'd forgotten that, too, hadn't he? There was too much. "Glad to see you made it. If you'll excuse me…" he smiled, and turned back to head to the bar. He didn't have time for a little tour group. Not that day.
"You have messages, Mr Hopper."
The man behind the desk was young, boyishly so, with a clean-shaven face, wide eyes, and a pressed, cheap suit. He smiled politely, as crisp as an ironed seam.
"Walk with me, Johnathon, will you?" Killian wore an expression on his face that seemed like he was on a mission of sorts. He walked briskly, but controllably, through the back halls of the crown jewel of his empire, the Elysian Casino. It had been his first casino, and was still the favorite. It was a landmark on the strip, almost as famous for the bronze lion statues out front as it was for its Black Jack tables. Tourists, even those who didn't gamble, all took pictures standing next to those damn lions. It was also the casino where Killian made his office, of sorts.
Johnathon sprung out from behind the desk, walking alongside his boss and rattling through the scraps of papers in his hands. "Jennifer called about the races for next week. Wanted to know if you were still interested in attending her Derby party with Lilian. Ah, the bank called about a promotional deal…"
"Ignore the bank, continue, please." Killian rolled his hand, to coax his young assistant along.
"Uhm, yes, of course. Uhh," the man stammered, fumbling through his papers and nearly dropping a small pile of them in the process. His hands gleamed with sweat. As they walked, he had to raise his voice to be heard over the sounds of slots and the general white noise of casino chatter. "Uhh, well, Lilian called this morning. Wanted to remind you to be home by nine tonight, because you have guests."
Killian gritted his teeth and snorted. Glad for the reminder, annoyed he'd nearly forgotten the neighbors would be coming over for a late night wine and foretaste get together."
"Uh, Dr Regis called…"
"Next."
"That's all."
"Very good, thanks Johnathon. Can you make sure you get those receipts to the accounting offices? Thanks, I need to see to this bartending fiasco." Hurrying off, his long stride left Johnathon behind as he stepped on to the casino floor, squinting as he turned his eyes towards the main bar. Sometimes, he wondered why he paid to have managers at the casinos for, whenever they had the slightest problem, they came calling him to solve it.
Admit his slightly flustered internal thoughts, he bumped into a small person who was below his view of sight. "Oh, excuse me, pardon me. My apologies," he said, moving to step around whoever he nearly trampled when a flash of blonde hair caught his attention. Was it Tuesday?
"Ah, Lucy." Damnit, damnit, damnit. He'd forgotten that, too, hadn't he? There was too much. "Glad to see you made it. If you'll excuse me…" he smiled, and turned back to head to the bar. He didn't have time for a little tour group. Not that day.
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LUCY NIELSEN
Stepping back, Lucy watched the man and frowned at his dismissive tone. They weren't friends. They would never be friends. In truth, she would be glad to part ways with the man permanently, and had, in fact, begun seeking out other venues for her group that were less... invasive, so to speak. It was just the first step - and one she loathed, as familiarity was good for addicts to feel comfortable. But it was also necessary. Killian had chosen, for some reason, to ingratiate himself in her business and with his injured pride she wouldn't have been at all surprised if he decided to make it difficult on her, on purpose.
But despite her dislike of the man, his brush off came as a surprise and not solely because it appeared he had forgotten entirely about her being there that... about why she had come at all. Hugging her notebook to her chest, she called after him, her voice pitched ever so slightly into a territory that suggested irritation. She tweaked it the next moment and the note was gone, but her eyes still remained so cold, "Mr. Hopper! I... I hope you haven't forgotten?"
She was sure he had... and more certain he was hoping she wouldn't remind him. He'd already started off, which indicated he was in a hurry, but she wasn't one to put off till tomorrow what could be done today, and he had, after all, made it a point to personally make the offer, himself for the tour, "My group?" She continued, with a lilt of her brow, "You offered a tour?" Looking down at the watch on her arm, she returned her gaze to him, "They'll be here in eight minutes."
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Killian Hopper
"Yes, Ms Nielsen, I forgot," he admitted, coming to rest his elbows on the bar top, his eyes not dropping from level with the line of bottles across from him. He tapped his fingers against the bar, though not in a rapid, anxious fashion, but in a deliberate one, like a rhythm, as if he was playing the piano. A habit engrained into him and the moment he realized it, he brought his fingers to stillness. "I do tend to put out of my mind people who feel justified to refer to me… what were the words you used? Deficient little boy?" He smirked in amusement. "It almost felt like I returned to elementary school. Do you believe me to possess cooties, as well?"
He turned his head towards her and smiled stiffly. "I am rather disappointed with you. Do you believe that is the type of attitude that would serve your group members well? Ah, alas, a word once given. I did agree to a tour, which I will uphold and oblige."
His stiff smile softened, and he nodded his head before turning his head back around. "Jenna," he called to the barkeep who, while present, seemed only so in flesh. Her skin was pale and dark circles lined the bottom of her eyes. She sniffed, and looked to Killian, fumbling her way over.
"I've been told you're unwell?"
"Yea," she remarked. "Rob told me I had to come in 'cause we're short staffed."
"Go home. Get well," Killian remarked. "Rob!" his voice rising to a bark, long since forgetting about the tour in eight… six minutes.
The greasy little man in a manager's burghundy coat hesitantly ventured near.
"Call in," he paused, rolling his hand as he rooted for the name he was looking for. "Call in Roy, if he's willing to work."
"See, I did… he says he'll only work for five-hundred bucks. Says his days off are worth that much."
There were gears turning behind Killian's eyes, though what they meant never reached his face. Under any other circumstance… "Fine," he said and pushed off the bar. "Call Roy and see if he can be here within the hour." Five-hundred dollars was worth fixing a problem he didn't have the energy or time to deal with for the time being.
"Now," he continued, snapping back to Lucy and glancing down to his watch. "I have three minutes, so if you'll excuse me." He stepped past her. All he needed to do was get away for a second. Stepping into the bathroom, he exhaled and rinsed off his face with cold water. Two minutes. Dinner party at nine, write a check to Roy whats-his-last-name-again, and tour… one minute. Collecting himself, he brushed exhaustion from his mind and stepped back to the floor.
"Thirty seconds."
"Yes, Ms Nielsen, I forgot," he admitted, coming to rest his elbows on the bar top, his eyes not dropping from level with the line of bottles across from him. He tapped his fingers against the bar, though not in a rapid, anxious fashion, but in a deliberate one, like a rhythm, as if he was playing the piano. A habit engrained into him and the moment he realized it, he brought his fingers to stillness. "I do tend to put out of my mind people who feel justified to refer to me… what were the words you used? Deficient little boy?" He smirked in amusement. "It almost felt like I returned to elementary school. Do you believe me to possess cooties, as well?"
He turned his head towards her and smiled stiffly. "I am rather disappointed with you. Do you believe that is the type of attitude that would serve your group members well? Ah, alas, a word once given. I did agree to a tour, which I will uphold and oblige."
His stiff smile softened, and he nodded his head before turning his head back around. "Jenna," he called to the barkeep who, while present, seemed only so in flesh. Her skin was pale and dark circles lined the bottom of her eyes. She sniffed, and looked to Killian, fumbling her way over.
"I've been told you're unwell?"
"Yea," she remarked. "Rob told me I had to come in 'cause we're short staffed."
"Go home. Get well," Killian remarked. "Rob!" his voice rising to a bark, long since forgetting about the tour in eight… six minutes.
The greasy little man in a manager's burghundy coat hesitantly ventured near.
"Call in," he paused, rolling his hand as he rooted for the name he was looking for. "Call in Roy, if he's willing to work."
"See, I did… he says he'll only work for five-hundred bucks. Says his days off are worth that much."
There were gears turning behind Killian's eyes, though what they meant never reached his face. Under any other circumstance… "Fine," he said and pushed off the bar. "Call Roy and see if he can be here within the hour." Five-hundred dollars was worth fixing a problem he didn't have the energy or time to deal with for the time being.
"Now," he continued, snapping back to Lucy and glancing down to his watch. "I have three minutes, so if you'll excuse me." He stepped past her. All he needed to do was get away for a second. Stepping into the bathroom, he exhaled and rinsed off his face with cold water. Two minutes. Dinner party at nine, write a check to Roy whats-his-last-name-again, and tour… one minute. Collecting himself, he brushed exhaustion from his mind and stepped back to the floor.
"Thirty seconds."
- Posting Speed
- Multiple posts per day
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- 8:00 AM - 4:00 PM
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- Male
- Primarily Prefer Female
- Genres
- Political intrigue, fantasy, futuristic, sci fi lite, superheroes, historical fiction, alternate universes. Smittings of romance, but only as side plot.
LUCY NIELSEN
If she was offended at his words, at all, Lucy didn't show it, and in fact, she continued to smile faintly, even as he tore into her. It didn't bother her - not in the slightest. In truth, most people only harped on things that offended or insulted them when there was truth to the words. She owed him no apologies - all she had done was point out his psychological profile, and whether that bothered him, or disappointed him, or whatever, she couldn't have cared less. And she most certainly wouldn't stoop to defending herself - least of all about her group members, whom she treated with the uttermost respect and regard.
His mood shifted as he called to the girl behind the bar and silently, Lucy watched the exchange, watching with mild curiosity. It wasn't as though she expected anyone to harbor only one side, one personality trait, and she supposed his staff were important to him - even if it was only in a selfish manner of protecting his hotels and casinos revenue... But the way he carelessly threw five-hundred dollars at the man, just to get him in for the night? It was a small miracle he'd made any money in his life, at all.
He brushed past her and Lucy paid it little mind as she returned to her notebook, studying it again. It wouldn't be a long tour, she imagined, particularly since like she was him, Killian seemed eager to be rid of her, but she would be prepared for it, nevertheless. The shuttle arrived, pleasantly on schedule and with a smile, she moved to meet them at the door.
"Where's Nick?" She asked, when the were all inside.
It was Marge who spoke first, frowning deeply, "...He got a call from his lawyer at the shuttle bay. I guess something went wrong with his case."
For a moment, just a moment, the composed mask fell away and Lucy's expression softened into something unmistakably heartbroken. Looking away, she cleared her throat, nodding, "Right then. Best we get started. Is everyone prepared? Anyone need a moment to compose themselves?"
There was a murmuring among them, and a moment later, like a mother hen leading chicks, she led the group over to Killian, "Everyone, you remember Mr. Hopper."
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- One post per week
- Slow As Molasses
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- Prestige
- Preferred Character Gender
- Male
- Female
Killian Hopper
Casinos, especially the floor of casinos, were a small percent of the building behind. It was a massive enterprise and the part most clients saw, was but a smidgen of its true size. He'd hardly show the little tour group any part of it at all. Most of it, like the camera room, would be off limits, but he'd offered it, and he'd do what he could to entertain the folks. For whatever reason he extended the offer, even he wasn't entirely sure. An off-the-cuff suggestion he hadn't been anticipated being taken up on. It wasn't so bad, he supposed. There were worst things he could be doing… and there were plenty of those worse things on his to-do list, lingering like bad ghosts.
"Good evening. Knowing your backgrounds, at least in part, I imagine you are no strangers to this portion of a casino. The floor. Yet it is only one very small part in a much longer organization." He waved them along, strolling away from the casino floor. The back rooms were Bingo halls and bars, mostly socializing areas away from the noise of the slots, but he didn't pause there, either. "Instead, I thought it may be interesting to see what goes on behind the casino floor."
He wasn't sure the tour would do the folks any good at all. If the desire to gamble was strong enough within them, they'd gamble again. If they had willpower, they wouldn't. Ultimately, the loss of one, two, even a thousand gamblers would put only the smallest mark in profits. Truth be told, he just wanted to survive the tour long enough to make it home to Lil in one piece… then go on to survive her dinner party thereafter.
Leading them towards the back, he welcomed them into an area of the casino that seemed more like an office building than a place of leisure. Offices lined the long hall with bright blue carpet and a water bubbler next to a coffee pot on a small table at the end of the hall. A few decorative ferns perched along the path.
"We make less money on gamblers than we do on investing that money earned," he explained, shoving his hands towards the offices. "Most of our business is built on investments. For example, one of our subsidiaries owns apartment complexes throughout the city."
Without wasting too much time, he continued on. He showed them the warehouse, where both new and old equipment came to rest before or after its life on the floor. He opened the door to one warehouse room that revealed pallets and pallets of new playing cards.
"Each game is played with a new deck of cards," he explained. "To prevent fraud. The old decks are punched and given away. Most of our retired decks go to the military for soldier entertainment."
"Anywhere else anyone cares to see?"
Casinos, especially the floor of casinos, were a small percent of the building behind. It was a massive enterprise and the part most clients saw, was but a smidgen of its true size. He'd hardly show the little tour group any part of it at all. Most of it, like the camera room, would be off limits, but he'd offered it, and he'd do what he could to entertain the folks. For whatever reason he extended the offer, even he wasn't entirely sure. An off-the-cuff suggestion he hadn't been anticipated being taken up on. It wasn't so bad, he supposed. There were worst things he could be doing… and there were plenty of those worse things on his to-do list, lingering like bad ghosts.
"Good evening. Knowing your backgrounds, at least in part, I imagine you are no strangers to this portion of a casino. The floor. Yet it is only one very small part in a much longer organization." He waved them along, strolling away from the casino floor. The back rooms were Bingo halls and bars, mostly socializing areas away from the noise of the slots, but he didn't pause there, either. "Instead, I thought it may be interesting to see what goes on behind the casino floor."
He wasn't sure the tour would do the folks any good at all. If the desire to gamble was strong enough within them, they'd gamble again. If they had willpower, they wouldn't. Ultimately, the loss of one, two, even a thousand gamblers would put only the smallest mark in profits. Truth be told, he just wanted to survive the tour long enough to make it home to Lil in one piece… then go on to survive her dinner party thereafter.
Leading them towards the back, he welcomed them into an area of the casino that seemed more like an office building than a place of leisure. Offices lined the long hall with bright blue carpet and a water bubbler next to a coffee pot on a small table at the end of the hall. A few decorative ferns perched along the path.
"We make less money on gamblers than we do on investing that money earned," he explained, shoving his hands towards the offices. "Most of our business is built on investments. For example, one of our subsidiaries owns apartment complexes throughout the city."
Without wasting too much time, he continued on. He showed them the warehouse, where both new and old equipment came to rest before or after its life on the floor. He opened the door to one warehouse room that revealed pallets and pallets of new playing cards.
"Each game is played with a new deck of cards," he explained. "To prevent fraud. The old decks are punched and given away. Most of our retired decks go to the military for soldier entertainment."
"Anywhere else anyone cares to see?"