The Odds Are Against You

The Odds Are Against You
Date of Scene:	12 December 2012
Location:	Casino Gold
Synopsis:	Mercade wakes up in the Casino GOLD. Again. Mica Melchiott has some words for the detective, who... isn't exactly in a state to hear them.
Cast of Characters:	Mica Melchiott, Mercade Alexander

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Mercade Alexander has posed:
Darkness.

Everything around Mercade is darkness. There is a light clatter that echoes in his mind as he falls between worlds, between space and time.

Somehow, somewhen, he comes to rest, lying there with his mind reeling from the horrible experiences he had just experienced. The clicking, clattering noise continues to echo through his thoughts, shaking some piece of him out of somnolence.

And he stirs, moving there, grunting as he feels... uncomfortable. He mumbles aloud, his brain barely registering... He asks, not expecting an answer as he gropes blindly...

"Why... does the depths of the Abyss feel like felt..."

Mica Melchiott has posed:
There's a soft, gentle laughter, and a soft clicking sound as a small ball rolls across Mercade's 'bed', clattering over small ridges in his uncomfortable area of respite and knocking against his head. Then another. And another.

"Mercaaaade..." Came a feminine voice, attached to the Mistress of Games... At least, in the detective's head.

"Mercaaade, you really don't make a good roulette table." The voice continues, before a soft sigh. "Really, this is the thanks I get? Saving your heart from the darkness, and you up and pass out on my high stakes roulette wheel."

There's an idle drumming sound that reverberates along the table as Mica taps her fingers on the wheel, before hopping up to sit down on the wheel herself, trying to get comfortable. "Too late, hmm?"

Mercade Alexander has posed:
Mercade blinks, slowly, uncomprehending of what exactly is going on as he hears these words...

And then he jolts up. "YOU!"

The motion promptly unbalances him and causes him to fall off of the roulette table, crashing to the floor with a "WAAAAAAGH!"

He lies there for a moment, staring up, his pupils dialating and contracting as if trying to focus on the ceiling. "It's..." He says, quietly. "It's all gone." He pauses, and asks a simple question. "Why?"

Mica Melchiott has posed:
Mica shrugs, crossing and uncrossing and recrossing her legs on the roulette wheel before hopping off, peering down at the sprawled form of the Detective. "Yes, me, who would you expect to have both the means and the will, or even the means and the /motive/ to save you from your deark and dreary fate? I am..." She twirls her hand, a meaningless gesture to allow him to take all of this in. "Well, let's just say I'm interested in you. You saw how the Darkness took everything. It played out on my world, too. Except I still kept those things that are important. A livelihood. A legacy. A..." She hmms.

"Nevermind. I have saved you! And I even have a present for you." She lifts a dark oval over Mercade's head, before paffing down his trusty old hat, right over his face. "It's one of a kind, you know. I hear the world that made them is... Out of business. But I promised a prize. As far as I am aware, your friends all made it out. With their hearts. That's important to note, yes."

"But there is, of course, a price. Mica grins, crouching next to Mercade, waiting for him to respond.

Mercade Alexander has posed:
Mercade is silent for a moment. Mica drops the hat on his face and he twitches pulling it off and staring at it for a minute. A welter of emotions crosses his face. "How... why..."

Sorrow. Shock. Anger, Fear. With a surge of anger he stands, yelling as he throws down the hat. "Are you trying to mock me?" He says, incredulously. "Why should I even believe you? You tricked me! You kept me here until it was too late to do anything?" He points, accusingly. "You're one of /them/!"

He turns away. "I have no interest in selling my soul. It's all I've got left."

Mica Melchiott has posed:
"How? Same way I brought you here. Why? ... Are you a /fool/?"

Mica stands. "I saved your /life/. And one man, one foolish man who becomes friends with the architect of his doom by the way, would not have changed a damned thing." Mica growls, slowly standing and dusting off her shoulders. "Where would you have been, if not here? In Costa Del Sol. In a desert. Hours away from your home. Looking for me, or your /betrayer/. Sit /down/, Mercade."

Her last statement is a command as she raises her right hand, snapping her fingers as a plush chair comes up behind Mercade, the seat aimed to be hitting him behind the knees as Mica reaches down to grab the hat and pop it back out.

t"I have saved your life. And, if where you came from, that doesn't mean anything to you? In your stupid, foolish, backwards way of thinking where it's a grand old time to march off to your death because otherwise you'd have to deal with, oh, I don't know, comfort? Interesting company? A bit of fun instead of fighting for your life?"

"You're right. I am one of them. And so is Riku. You don't seem so keen to throw him to the wind! And, just a case in point? The Light doesn't always stand up to the darkness. So I'm hedging my bets on the one that's helped me more." She shakes her head, holding up two fingers.

"I want two favors, or so help me before you leave here - my world - I will make your life a living hell for the simple pleasure of watching your ungrateful self suffer in payment. The first, is I want you... To /thank me/. And /mean it/. The second... We'll figure out what the second is. Nothing totally against your character, I promise. And, considering I'll have to ask you to do it and it is not within my power to /force/ you to do anything besides suffer... Well, let's just say I'd rather we deal with this like CIVILIZED people."

She looks at Mercade harshly. "Civilized people who just got, once again, their lives saved."

Mercade Alexander has posed:
Mercade's hands clench, and he's about to respond.s Hotly. Rashly. Perhaps foolishly, when the chair comes and knocks him off of his feet. He yelps, sitting down, and perhaps shutting up just like Mica wishes. At least long enough for her to speak her peace.

The Deective listens, his expression hurt, twisted with pain and anger... But he brings it under control as she speaks, his expression smoothing out into something closer to that poker face she remembers. Not quite there, but close enough.

"You tricked me. But you're not the one who destroyed my home. You're not the one I want." He says, his voice even. "You saved my life. Perhaps you did. Maybe if I was there I'd be dead or worse by now. So yes, maybe I do owe you something for that. No matter what the reason, you did do that much."

He crushes down the anger some more. The sorrow, the hatred, and pushes it into a corner for now. He smiles to Mica, then. "Thank you for saving my life." It looks like he does even mean it.

He then frowns, slightly. "As to your second demand..." He sighs. "... Fine." He sounds almost resigned to it. "One favor, nothing horrible. For you, I'll be civilized." His expression goes flat. "No guarantees on the rest of them."

Mica Melchiott has posed:
Mica beams. "Good. Good! Now, I would debate the semantics of how I 'tricked' you, but it's all water under the bridge. And let's be fair. It's because you're so fun! And because, well, I felt a little bad. You know, for you. I mean, let's just say you died. And where would that me? Nowhere! No fun, no bet, just bored bored bored. This way I have you, I have my favor, and I..." She spreads her hands, grinning fiercely.

"I have a connection. With you!" She exclaims, clapping. "So. With all that out of the way..." She leans back, into the roulette table, looking interested. "What's next for you?"

Mercade Alexander has posed:
Mercade scowls at that. "This is all still just a game to you, isn't it? People died out there, Mica. Millions of them, and you...." He cuts himself off with a frustrated noise. "Right... As far as what's next..." He looks up. "I'm going to get some new guns. And then I'm going to find each of those bastards that were responsible for killing my world... And I'm going to give them justice."

Mica Melchiott has posed:
"It's always a game, Mercade. Life is a game. Millions died before you, before them, and millions died after them. People /die/. That you and I are here, talking, well..." Mica shrugs. "The odds really aren't in our favor. But here we are!" She sighs.

"Look. I get it. It's tragic. I watched my whole /world/ burn. Billions dead. It's really just a number, to me. It's like... One person died. That's so sad. Two people? A tragedy. But..." She gives Mercade a helpless look. "You say to me millions, and I just can't sit around dreaming up all the miserable scenes. I just nod. I say that's terrible. And then I move on, with my statiscially unlikely life. Now!"

"Justice is great. But you'll need more then two peashooters to get your revenge. You... Will need me!"

She grins, reaching under her hat to pull a pearl-handled revolver, a show piece really, and twirling it once, before handing it grip-out to Mercade. "You can borrow mine! It's a show pistol, but it should fire."

Mercade Alexander has posed:
Mercade watches as Mica gives him her viewpoint on things. "I know that's how you operate, Mica. I can't accept that, though. But you know I'm not going to sit around. I'm going to go do something about it, if I can."

Mica offers him a gun. Mercade looks at it, and slowly reaches out to take it. He is uncertain for a moment. He looks down at the weapon, considering the heft, checking the chambers, before spinning it closed. He nods, hostering the gun in one of the empty spots in his coat. "Thank you, Mica." He said it again!

Mica Melchiott has posed:
Why this was just going swimmingly. "Now that's more like it. You know, minus the whole us not seeing eye to eye on things. But that's fine. We'll work on that, you and I!" She comments, turning to walk away. "Be right back. Finger snaps can only get a girl so far!" She giggles, before disappearing into the darkness surrounding the roulette wheel.

She returns in a few moments later with a small wallet, wrapped with a gold-chained pocketwatch.

"A bankroll, for whatever you need. I played mix-and-match with currency. The watch... This one is special. It's actually a compass. Just follow it 'north', and you should be able to find me. Think of it like a pager. Open it up and follow it, and if I can see you... I'll try to make time." She offers, handing the small package to Mercade.

"Stir things up! Have your revenge. Take Justice. I expect big things, Mercade Alexander. And, you know, if you /really/ need something, I can try to accomidate."

Mercade Alexander has posed:
Mercade takes the offered money and the pocketwatch. He loops the watch onto a hook in his coat for such things. He never had one like that before. The money goes into a pocket. He checks inside, counting it, and stashing it without comment.

He looks back to Mica, and frowns. "Don't take this the wrong way, but I think you've already done... plenty for me." He stands, then, and looks over at Mica. "If it's all right with you, I should get going. I have a lot of work to do and a lot of things to do now." He looks around the casino. "And few of them would be as fun as hanging around here."

Mica Melchiott has posed:
"I'm sure you'll think of something, Mercade." Mica offers whimsically, twirling her hand once. "You're a resourceful guy." She offers, grinning and spinning Mercade's chair around a bit. She produces a small key and drops it in his lap... Before the whole room goes dark.

The Mistress of Games' voice filters through the darkness. "Just remember what I told you!"

And then ther is light - a single spotlignt shining golden down upon a rather plain looking door set into the wall, keyhole appearing the right size for his key.

Mercade Alexander has posed:
And another key. This one, he hold up, staring at it.

A part of him just wonders how much this help is really going to cost him.

But his jaw sets. It's doesn't matter. Maybe she's just trying to do right by him. Do these people feel guilt? Can they? It seemed like it? They had emotions and consciences like everyone else, even if it seemed like some of them had just... terminated them.

The Detective moves to the door, putting in the key, and unlocking it. What lies beyond... well... He'll just have to find that out soon enough.