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

[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.