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

[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.