[ Arcade stumbles a step at that pat - or maybe it's the joking offer, which prompts a briefly flustered, sarcastic smile. ]
I'm sure I'll manage on my own. Somehow.
[ Ha. Ha.
He leads Jayce toward the elevator, presumably back toward it, for the long ride down to the eerily empty, dark casino floor. There's no one around, dust thick on the slot machines and card tables, and at the front entrance, they have to wait for the automatic locks to disengage.
Outside, though, the Strip is as lively as the 38 is not - drunken soldiers on leave staggering merrily down the street in weaving clots, well-dressed gamblers (whose suits and dresses only look a little too faded and too worn when closely examined) filter in and out of the other casinos, as smiling workers try their best to attract more with their loudly enthusiastic sales pitches. The whole street is lit up bright as the sun, though it's night overhead, and that harsh light casts it all in a weird falsity. As if it's all a stage play, rather than reality. Which it is, really. The walls bordering in the Strip are made from stacked-high sheet metal and old wire fencing, cobbled together and soldered crudely in place. Flashing lights and brightly colored signs distract from the desolate emptiness that yawns beyond them, only imagined, from here.
A securitron rolls past them on its singular treaded tire, stern-faced and silent, as they step out into the cooling night air, Rex on their heels. The trip is a swift blur, a route so familiar Arcade hardly bothers to imagine the details, but out here things swim back into sharper focus. ]
no subject
I'm sure I'll manage on my own. Somehow.
[ Ha. Ha.
He leads Jayce toward the elevator, presumably back toward it, for the long ride down to the eerily empty, dark casino floor. There's no one around, dust thick on the slot machines and card tables, and at the front entrance, they have to wait for the automatic locks to disengage.
Outside, though, the Strip is as lively as the 38 is not - drunken soldiers on leave staggering merrily down the street in weaving clots, well-dressed gamblers (whose suits and dresses only look a little too faded and too worn when closely examined) filter in and out of the other casinos, as smiling workers try their best to attract more with their loudly enthusiastic sales pitches. The whole street is lit up bright as the sun, though it's night overhead, and that harsh light casts it all in a weird falsity. As if it's all a stage play, rather than reality. Which it is, really. The walls bordering in the Strip are made from stacked-high sheet metal and old wire fencing, cobbled together and soldered crudely in place. Flashing lights and brightly colored signs distract from the desolate emptiness that yawns beyond them, only imagined, from here.
A securitron rolls past them on its singular treaded tire, stern-faced and silent, as they step out into the cooling night air, Rex on their heels. The trip is a swift blur, a route so familiar Arcade hardly bothers to imagine the details, but out here things swim back into sharper focus. ]