New in town

[dorian_red]

Who: Dorian Red, Rhade, and other Interested Parties
What: Taking the lay of the land.
When: Soon.
Where: City strolling- mostly in the higher rent parts of town
Warnings: None, update as necessary

[Note: despite icons, Prohibition-era Dorian actually has his hair cut to a societally acceptable length and is dressed more like a young toff than a romantic poet. Now portraying Dorian is the uncannily put-together Arrow Collar Man.]

Comments

Daylife - Open

[dorian_red]

It was a chipper-looking young Briton who'd strolled off the boat and into town; trim tailored gray suit, tie a natty paisley, shoes gleaming bright. He strolled through the streets with the look of a tourist, taking in the buildings and shops with little asides to no-one.

He looked a little dim, a lot friendly, and extremely rich.

Nightlife - Rhade

[dorian_red]

Dorian took in his fill of the neon lights and nightlife, eyes agog, apparently dazzled enough to pay more than he owed for rounds of ostensibly non-alcoholic drinks in several establishments, drifting along from one to the next.

You'd have to be a sharper eye than his companions to notice that he was scanning the crowd with a keen eye, and tended to wind up near interesting conversations apparently not by his own volition.

[truth_is_cold]

Rhade had found himself hip deep in a quagmire of a situation. He was now the temporary boss of one of West End's larger gangs, and as far as gangs went was usually led by a kind and benevolent ruler but a gang nontheless. And he had no idea why, because he was actually a cop.

Things had gone very awry and the better part of this assignment was that despite laws to the contrary he could drink. Drinking was very much what he needed that night. He should have turned Dylan in when he was shot. He should have done more than tell his superiors about the rival supplier going down.

The worst part was now he had two goons following him to keep him safe. But it meant he could barely catch a moment alone and he couldn't quite shake that annoyed look as he walked into one of the bars that Dylan supplied. He was led into the back where the good drinks were with his entourage.

[dorian_red]

Well, what a strapping piece of trouble that was. How lovely. The two pieces of meat guarding him looked like awful news, though.

But despite his grudging acceptance of social mores-- cutting the beloved hair of his youth, abandoning most of his poet airs-- Dorian had a taste for trouble. And a perishing thirst for actual drink. It was uncivilized, this country. So he simply plastered on a dimwitted smile and strolled along with the entourage as if he knew no better.

[truth_is_cold]

The fact Dorian had money is why the mild-mannered shopkeep said nothing. She just watched him go into the back with his company, and the back was far more bustling than the outside was. The walls were thick, the door strong and matched the paneling behind it, and it was pretty much an open secret. Most places were.

The goons glanced over at Dorian, but seemed to decide that he wasn't a threat. Rhade looked over as he started to pull a cigarette out of his cigarette case and then just... changed his mind, putting it back in his pocket as he raised a brow. Something seemed to be on his mind.

GLORIOUS PERIOD APPROPRIATE ICONS

[dorian_red]

"Golly, spare a chap a gasper?" Dorian said, sauntering over to beg a cigarette off of the apparent head of the bunch, since he seemed so disinterested in his pack. "Just in the metrop this morning and I haven't had a chance to replenish, what?"

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a half-familiar profile; not anyone he knew well but he did have an eye for a face. One of the goons on lookout was giving him the eye.

"Heeeey," the rough man drawled. "Ain't you that sticky-fingered Earl-?"

I keep forgetting my own character's made up name.

[truth_is_cold]

Gary glanced over towards Dorian as the underling spoke and... indeed, it was. Familiarity struck and he was awkwardly looking around the club. He'd seen the files, he knew who this was, and there was a kneejerk reaction to attempt to turn him in.

But instead he held up his hand in a way to hush his underling.

"It's rude to make assumptions, Ron. Gentleman's just here for a drink. And we wouldn't be very good at our jobs if we denied him." Because from the man's record, he also guessed it wouldn't really do him much good to follow up on a kneejerk reaction and break his cover.

[dorian_red]

Oh to hell and damnation with all bad-mannered Americans-!

"Sticky fingered?" Dorian asked, his face a mask of refined upper-class ignorance of the vulgar parlance. "Do you mean like some kind of potter or something? Never was one for the clay and wheel, though I've studied the odd Greek flower vase now and then! Funny thing, is art. But a drink would be topping, come to think."

Reaching for his pocket in this situation was immensely gauche, but it was, he thought, the fastest way to redirect the conversation.

[truth_is_cold]

The thug started to protest, but Gary shook his head. "Let the man be. We all need a little time to ourselves. You were mentioning needing a drink, sir? It's the least I can do." Mostly because he didn't want Dorian looking into the rudeness too deeply- he didn't want to have to explain to Dylan why something valuable of his was stolen.

Not that Dylan had that much valuable.

[dorian_red]

"Just the thing, old bean," Dorian said brightly, his grin only a bare fraction of an inch too wide and toothy. Rude, these local thugs. Shockingly rude. He wouldn't forget that one, but at least having a tactful ringleader had eased his annoyance a bit. "One works up such a thirst toddling around a new city. A bit of pick me up would be just topping. And what are you gentlemen about tonight?"

[truth_is_cold]

"This is one of the fine establishments that my employer finances. I'll be representing him tonight. He's... detained."

With a bullet wound. An injury that was still driving Gary half out of his mind and making him wonder if he should even report in to his contact.

[dorian_red]

"Why, gosh, that's white of you," Dorian said, giving the man an appraising look disguised under a veil of general good-natured tipsiness. This one had such bearing, such poise and command; he'd never have taken the other man for a second-in-command.

"Held up, is he? Or laid up, flu about, awful thing. It's all that work, you know, terrifically stressful. I've heard dreadful things about the whole establishment."

[truth_is_cold]

Oh the smug little smile that crossed Mr. Knight's face. He liked to think of himself as a dominant presence whenever he could. Mr. Red certainly knew how to give a compliment.

"I'm Gary Knight. If you have any other problems this evening, I'll ask the establishment to compensate you. My escorts here aren't really employed for their politeness...." He worked his jaw for a moment, then glanced down at his hands as he rubbed them together. "Quite the contrary actually.

"As for their regular responsibility, he... has a stomach ache." Caused by a bullet wound. Though he feared word would be getting around, and when word got around far enough his real employers would have questions. The reminder he made him scrub his fingers through his hair.

Whatever command he had over his presence obviously was prone to slipping currently. Too much on his mind. He had idiotically painted a target on his own back.

[dorian_red]

"Interesting," Dorian murmured, following that up with a slightly forced, "Flu going around, is it?"

He was confident enough that they understood each other now, even if the other man didn't know him exactly, the thug would explain to him tonight. That was all right. Knight was behaving well, being a civilized criminal-- and really, Dorian was hard pressed to tolerate the society of thieves when there wasn't civility.

Also, wasn't this Knight fellow just a dream when he was preening. This wasn't the sort of bar where Dorian could openly ogle or offer a bit of comfort, but he could certainly look his fill.

"Just so different. My staff at home are all politeness. Why, if my butler Bonham ever so much as used the word 'ain't' in front of company I think he'd be overtaken with shame. Still, when in Rome, what?" He sipped his provided alcohol with some satisfaction-- he knew they'd been holding out, should have flashed a bit of the easy or barged in on them in charge an hour ago.

"I'm here to take in the art, you know. Big do at the museum? I'm not modern enough for the modernists, I shouldn't hang up anything in my house that I couldn't tell from a dirty rug, but haven't the surrealists got hold of something!" He still adored the romantic style, the dutch masters making love with their paintbrushes to flowers so sweet and real and fragile it could make your heart ache, but he couldn't deny he was a fickle creature. What he saw in the strange shapes that tugged at the corner of your eye... he just had to know more.

And perhaps he was being unfair to the modernists but oh, well, he did form opinions quickly.