Difference between revisions of "The Prisoner's Game"

Latest revision as of 05:41, 12 December 2012

Mercade Alexander has posed:
The tide washes out, roaring in the distance. The cry of seagulls are heard in the air. People laugh and enjoy themselves, soaking in the sun and alcoholic beverages in equivalent amounts.

Mercade Alexander is not really attending to all of that, however, as he stalks the alleyways and back areas of the resort town. It's a little less clean there. A little less bright.

And there's a few more Heartless, Shadows and such, running around. They aren't too strong here, there's no one to direct them. Not like in other places. Mercade stalks them as best he can, trying to get close in as he tries to find a way to track them, find clues from them. Clues like the chips they're holding, stamped with the Casino GOLD logo.

Riku's trail led here. There aren't THAT many young white-haired emo kids... He hopes. Could it be that he's in the enigmatic Casino?

Mica Melchiott has posed:
As Mercade stalks the alleyways and back streets of Costa Del Sol, flashes and sparkles alight at the corners of his eyes. Ever at the periphery of his vision, gold coins and cards and heartless with top-hats.

And then as he heads down an alley and rounds a bend, darkness descenes around him. There is a single heartless, tall, like a man. It stands hunched and carries a long black cane, with a golden cap on the top. A long, tailed dress coat and a top hat complete his ensemble, with a white-rimmed monocle and a drawn on mustache twiggling left and right. Behind him stands a door of gold and jewels.

The heartless extends a hand, which clutches a letter, sealed with red-gold wax. Across the back reads 'Mercade Alexander', burned dark into the thick parchment.

The heartless literally extends an engraved invitation to exactly the place he sought, before standing aside and pressing open the door with its cane.

Mercade Alexander has posed:
A Heartless, a taller one.

Mercade's seen those before. His eyes narrow as he is given the invitation. He looks it over for a moment. He breaks the seal and looks over the contents before tucking it into his coat. An invitation. "So, you're the doorman." He says. He doesn't expect an answer. The Heartless don't talk.

The detective stares at the door for a moment. Is this too easy? Is he going to enter?

The hesitation only lasts for a moment. He has no other choice but to go back into that place. He steps forward, nodding to the Heartless as he enters.

Mica Melchiott has posed:
The doorman simply gestures inside and stands aside, pulling out a golden pocketwatch and regarding it as Mercade takes the invitation (You are cordially invited to a night of fine dining and entertainment at the Casino Gold, etc etc).

The path before him is short, as the lights and sounds of Costa Del Sol disappear behind him. After a very short walk, he finds himself in a dimly lit room. A long table is set up in the center of the room, with two plush, comfortable chairs. Various sets of dice and cards are arrayed around the table. In a corner is a very well stocked bar, and there appears to be a few covered food trays in a corner.

The path behind him dims, and then fades into the 'walls' of darkness.

And seated with her feet up on the table is the Mistress of Games herself. "Hello there! I was expecting you! You know, you could have just asked for me. It never should be hard to find your way here, if you truly want it. But tonight, it's just me and you! And, perhaps, a special guest."

She pulls back the long glove she wears on her left hand and peers at a rather large-faced watch. "We've got a good deal of time, though... Care for a drink? Something to eat?"

Mercade Alexander has posed:
Mercade walks into the room, and he arches an eye as he looks around. The ways of the Corridors of Darkness are unknown to Mercade. He's not a saint, but he doesn't have the depth of the Darkness required to be able to summon such things. He looks around, taking in the surroundings.

The room changes, and he looks behind himself, noticing the path out is gone. He looks back, his jaw setting for a moment. In the instant he looked away, the Mistress appeared. She always was one for tricks.

"I'd think you were playing a game of hide-and-seek with me yourself, Mistress." He folds his arms. "I guess you decided to switch things up." He arches an eyebrow. "Still, this is certainly a nice place."

Mercade sits down across from the Mistress. "You seem to be doing me a rare honor. What's the occasion?" He thinks for a moment. "I'm looking for a boy named Riku. Is he, perhaps, your special guest?"

Mercade glances at his own watch but he sees nothing untoward. Plenty of time at the moment.

Mica Melchiott has posed:
"Please, please! My name is Mica! The greatest magician to have ever lived. And that is... Not a literal fireballs magician, please. The magic of lights, and stage, and sleight of hand. A touch of luck, as well. But that is not really what you want to hear." Mica asks, lifting her feet off the table before bringing them under her to sit cross-legged on her chair a bit akwardly, picking up and pouring some water in a short tumbler glass and sipping at it with a twinkle in her eyes. "Your friend, right? We talked, I think. I have to manage quite a few things at a time. All those little mes, all running around managing things. I have to come, sit, and relax or I'll just wear myself out! So..."

Taking a long sip, she flicks her off hand, a small baton popping out of thin air for her to push forward the decanter of water. "Help yourself! You are my special guest, after all. And this is the VIP room! I'll get back to you on if your friend Riku is around. He might be!"

Mica laughs. "But you didn't just come for him, did you?" She wonders, steepling her fingers. "I had a request, you see. To entertain you! And you still have a little important thing in my care. So... What do you say to wasting some time with me?"

Mercade Alexander has posed:
Mercade's expression stays on the suspicious side as Mica gives her explanation, but eventually he sighs, relaxing slightly. "Mica, then. Nice name."

Mercade pours himself some water as well, taking a drink to refresh himself after SO MUCH FREAKING DESERT. He hates deserts. "If you could let me know, I'd appreciate it. He's a friend of mine, and I need his help for some things." Like saving Manhattan from the rising flux of Heartless. That would be awesome. "So you're a stage magician? I've seen a few of them. You're rather accomplished to have created something like this. It's more impressive than anything I've seen in Vegas." Of course, he's never been to Vegas, but he's seen pictures!

He does arch an eyebrow. "I certainly wouldn't mind repossessing my... collateral, as it were, but you had a request? From who?" He blinks. "Why would someone ask for me to be entertained here?"

Mica Melchiott has posed:
"Why thank you!" Mica replies, beaming at Mercade. She peers intently as he drinks the water, her smile growing. The water is totally poison. Tooooootally. (It's just water, in fact)

"A stage magician /extrordinaire/. I come from a very storied bloodline, the greatest artists ever to grace the field. There is a secret, known only to us, that allows my family to create magic beyond belief!" She exclaims, spreading her hands wide as she leans in, before placing her elbows on the long table and sighing. "Or so all that hullabaloo goes. I'm the sole heir now. It's a loooong and boooring story of backstabbing and really it's all very passe. Now!" She claps her hands, splashing water all over.

"You are here because someone made a request of me. A customer, and a valued one, part of an organization I belong to for my own amusement... Asked me a favor. A favor for you! How nice of them, I say. So tonight, the festivities are bought and paid for. Shall we play a game? Any game you like. If you win, I'll even give you a prize."

"I'm sure you can win the priveledge of knowing your benefactor. Or your hat! Hats are nice too." She giggles, tipping her own hat at Mercade.

Mercade Alexander has posed:
Mercade waited for her to drink first for a reason. Sure, she could be immune to it with her talents, but it gives him a small amount of solace. He's in her place of power right now, he can't really do much if she wanted to go on the offensive. All he has is his knowledge of her psychological makeup. And even that might be just a facade.

"Really. You've certainly been very impressive so far." He says carefully, and then winces at the latter part and the splash of water. Backstabbing, of course. Nice people don't control Heartless. "You must have had quite the training. Normal people certainly can't do the things you do."

Mica explains the nature of the event, of the deal. He furrows his brow, thinking what she could be getting at with that. "A game, of course. Well, with tonight's hospitality..." He shrugs. "Well, how can I refuse?" There isn't nearly enough information for him to operate on yet. "So what if I lose?" Mercade asks. "Do I lose something, or are you going to be assigning that to my... benefactor?"

Mica Melchiott has posed:
"You can consider yourself paid for, yes. Because, really..." Mica gestures at the table. "In the end, the house always wins. It's the first thing you learn about running a casino. Unlike my older brother, and sister." She scoffs. "I have been trained, from /birth/ to be the greatest stage performer and magician my world has ever seen. And I am the last, as well. Unless I have kids." She grins.

"Tell me, how would you like to quit..." She pauses, before twirling her wrist at Mercade. "Whatever it is you do, and become my manager? All the wealth, power, and influence you want, penthouses in every town in the universe, a free pass for all my adorable little minions, it's a good deal." She seems fairly uninterested, putting down her mostly empty water and pulling out a deck of standard playing cards. "Or not. I don't feel really manage-able at the time. But hey! If you ever want to trade up, you know where to look!" she titters.

She starts shuffling the cards. "Name your game, and we can decide the prize after. Food? Drink? We've got it all. The customer's pleasure is our garuntee." Mica drolls, showing off with a few shuffling tricks. "You win the game, you name your prize. You are /quite/ covered."

She checks her watch again, idly dealing a few cards out as if she was preparing for a poker game, before catching herself and placing the cards down.

"So. What will it be, Mercade? We're made of time here."

Mercade Alexander has posed:
"Kids, you?" Mercade thinks for a moment. "You seem a little young to be worried about a family yet." He shrugs, rolling his shoulders. "I'm a detective. People hire me to take care of problems that the police can't or won't solve. I help people get peace of mind, or find out things that need to be brought to light. Sure, it's not a high-paying job, but there's nothing like it. I don't think I could give it up any more than you could give up being a magician." He chuckles.

He tilts his head slightly as she catches herself. "Ore you all right, Mica? You seem a little out of sorts. Do you have to do this often?" He glances at his watch again, but shrugs. Everything seems fine to him. "While I wouldn't mind spending a few evenings challenging you, let's settle for a few quick games. If Riku isn't here, I probably don't really have a whole lot of time to spare. I need to find him soon." He smiles. "Let's start with a round or two of poker."

Mica Melchiott has posed:
"Well, a professional has to think of her legacy. Especially when that legacy is quite important!" Mica huffs, though he was right. Oh well. She would just have to survive long enough that kids would become a thing! Yes, let us file that under things we're not ever going to think of.

There's a soft smile as Mica redeals the cards, gently flicking over a card each before pausing... And offering the deck over. "You can deal. Since it is a friendly game. I don't really have any stake in winning or losing tonight." There is a small, knowing smile. "It is a unique experience, I will say."

"Your friend... I think I know him, by the way. He was around earlier."

Mercade Alexander has posed:
"Of course it's important. Maybe one day I'll work on that myself, but hah... I think I'm a little too early for a family myself. People in my line of work don't always get the chance. Not the best environment." Mercade picks up the cards and shuffles. Mica's keen senses can easily tell Mercade is not without talent in handling cards himself. "I would say to relax and have fun, but you seem to be pretty accomplished in that." He chuckles.

Mercade deals the cards (a fair deal, mind), and pulls over some chips, setting out a thousand dollars' worth to each side. He antes up, looking over his cards and talking as they play. "You know my friend, huh? So what did he do here?" He asks.

Mica Melchiott has posed:
"Played games. Made requests. Headed off somewhere." Mica replies generically, before picking up her cards, and almost lazily regarding them, before tossing a few chips inot the center of the table and placing her hand down.

"If you can't have any fun, what's the point of /life/? Amusing yourself and keeping things is the most interesting thing you can do. The only thing you can do. Being bored is something I never want to experience. Anxiety, adrenaline... That's all part and parcel of amusement. On a larger scale..."

Mica smiles, putting her cards down and sitting back, sipping at her water.

"If there's no stakes to something, then it's not worth doing."

Mercade Alexander has posed:
"I don't know. I kind of enjoy doing some things without having to worry without losing things. But I guess we're different kinds of people at that." Mercade flicks through his cards, and they continue playing. "There's a lot of satisfaction to be found in other things. Working with your hands, shaping something solid and useful out of wood or metal. Maybe a quiet evening of fishing and reading. Making artwork."

Rounds are played. Chips are exchanged. Food and drink are consumed. Time passes. Mercade wins several hands, racking up the chips. "I suppose it's all a matter of viewpoint." Soon he's won several games. At Mica's look, the silent question of what he wants for his winnings, Mercade gestures, leaning back in his chair. "Right now, I'm most interested in some information. Tell me what I want to know, and we'll call it even. First off, who made the arrangements for this deal? Second, where did Riku do? And third..." He pauses, gesturing to the large timepiece that Mica has.

"Why do you keep looking at your watch?"

Mica Melchiott has posed:
Mica smiles as fortune seems to sway against her, losing the majority of the hands the two played before the winner was silently decided by the stacks of chips and a gracious nod. "Very well." She offers, snapping her fingers. A heartless wheels forward a large television on a cart. There is no ornamentation or anything special about the setup, contrary to most motifs Mica herself has. She shoos away the minion back to the darkness, before taking a long drag of water, placing her empty glass down and placing her cards carefully on the table.

"I promise I will answer your first question, before this night is over. But now is not the time. You won't believe me, yet." She offers, and her eyes look distant, detached. "It is always hard, the first time."

She sighs. "Ah well." She snaps her fingers. "Riku went to Manhattan. Which... brings us to your third question."

At her fingers snapping, the television set springs to life, showing fires. Darkness. Heartless. Then... Landmarks.

Manhattan is burning. Manhattan is dying. Manhattan falls before Mercade's very eyes. Mica doesn't spare a glance to the television, simply staring at the detective. "I was told to keep you here. I guess I just wanted to at least keep you somewhat comfortable. I pride myself on hospitality, you know."

Mercade Alexander has posed:
Mica answers his questions, and answers them in a way he feared would never happen. The television shows his greatest fear: Manhattan, being consumed. His home, dying before his eyes. His poker face cracks, and shatters completely as he grimaces, his hands trembling as he watches the swarming Darkness consuming the buildings, the tiny figures of people trying to fight for their lives. Many of them vanish before his eyes.

"No..." He whispers, "Then the one who asked you to do the favor for me is..." He speaks quietly, numbly.

Mica Melchiott has posed:
Mica, seeming pleasantly surprised. "Whether out of friendship or malice, yes. Riku, as an associate to my organization, requested that you be removed from the picture. I was simply in the best position to keep your attention." The Mistress of Games explains, shrugging. From a pocket, she draws a small golden and gem encrusted key, and places it on the table. "One last hand, Mercade? There's no joy without something on the line."

She gives a soft smile. "If you win, the door's right behind you. If you lose... Well, you get to stay here with me for a while."

She gestures at the cards, shuffling them lightly before once more handing Mercade the deck.

Mercade Alexander has posed:
Mercade is quiet for a long minute. "I... I can't believe it. Riku would never..." He trails off. "It can't...." He stops, looking to one side and thinking.

At the suggestion of another game, Mercade turns his gaze upon Mica. The expression is dark, eyes burning... But an iron will prevents him from lashing out. "One more game. And then I'm leaving."

Mercade moves swiftly, shuffling the cards. His hands work quickly, bridging and shuffling, bridging and shuffling. He deals the cards, flicking his hand and swapping two cards. the cards are laid down: A spade flush. He holds out his hand. "The key." Gone is the pleasantness. His voice is level, businesslike. He is not threatening, but he is also not going to delay any longer.

Mica Melchiott has posed:
Mica smiles as the cards are laid down. She places down a a trio of queens, giving Mercade one clap before handing him the key. "The door will take you to Manhattan. Though I do not honestly know if you want to be there."

Clasping her hands, she kicks her feet up on the table, closing her eyes and tipping down her hat as Mercade gives her that stern look.

"Just remember what I told you, Mercade." She offers with a dismissive wave.

Mercade Alexander has posed:
Mercade immediately takes the key. He has no pithy comment, no amused observation to make. He turns, uses the key on the door, and leaves, rushing his way towards Manhattan.