[fanfic] KHR - Cut (or Deal?)
Title: Cut (or Deal?)
Characters/Pairing: Daemon Spade
Rating: G/PG for dead bodies
Summary: "Because the house always wins. Play long enough, never change the stakes, the house takes you. Unless, when that perfect hand comes along, you bet and you bet big, then you take the house." -- Daniel Ocean, Ocean's Eleven
Word count: ~1100
Prompt: Round 5, V-48 Spade - casino; "you're playing my game now"
"You...are...a WINNER!"
The synthesised recording on the slot machine played a victorious tune before dispensing its precious load of tokens. The fake coins clattered off polished metal before bouncing and rolling upon the carpeted floor - an event worthy of note that did not go ignored in this place where the ordinary citizen could win their fortune and lose it all with one careless bet. Over a smattering of applause, the lucky winner swaggered to the exchange counter where he traded his lot for stacks of bills and hard cash.
The last time anyone would see him, would be when he was strutting from the casino with his arms around two girls.
On another day, at another place, a woman with heavy jewellery glittering from head to toe bet her last chips on the black thirteen for roulette. Her hands clasped tightly as she willed the small ball rattling around the edge of the inversely spinning wheel to fall into the slot she feverishly kept her eyes on. She came away weighed down by the amount of her winnings and beaming widely.
That woman never made it home.
"Unsuitable," the phantom concluded as he withdrew his wide, curved blade from her body. She fell noiselessly. Wiping the steel on her fine clothes, his frosty eyes loftily regarded the bodies which were hidden further back. They were beginning to smell quite badly now; a new killing ground would have to be found.
"Nufufufu..." With that laugh, the phantom's form scattered as sand grains blown by the wind, reforming in the curve of the 'O' that formed part of the name of the casino upon whose roof he stood, watching human civilisation with a critical eye.
"Look at this world," he sneered, "filled with such weaklings." Would that he could find one worthy of dirtying his pristine, custom-made boots. Much to his dismay, none suitable had turned up in his travels. He was fast running out of time.
"Perhaps Las Vegas was not an ideal choice." He bespoke his thoughts to the dancing gale, as if it could understand and help him. "Too many...weak-willed insects, gambling for coin." The phantom nodded, as if agreeing with some unspoken counsel. "Yes, I shall take my search elsewhere." The sand began scattering again, boots first then his fluttering coat. His wide, curving smirk was the last to go, and its last words failed to carry over the sleepless desert city.
"Perhaps Japan, then, where his worthless descendants now live. Nufufufufu..."
"Mm~ My, aren't you a pretty lady." The man tipped his hat back so it lay at a jaunty angle on his head and grinned lecherously at the giggling woman who was currently attached like a limpet to his arm. With his dark hair, thick-rimmed glasses, tiny goatee and decades-old fashion statement, Julie Katou fancied himself something of a stud. His plaid pants and cocktail jacket turned away as many girls as his charming manner drew them in. Which, he considered, not a bad thing at all as long as he had plenty of full breasts and round asses to grope. And there certainly was no shortage of that in this seedy, underground club.
An image of his ice queen flashed in his mind's eye before being dismissed with a figurative wave of his hand. "What do you ladies say to spending the night with me at my place, hmm?" The proposal was met with a chorus of agreement.
If the phantom had been a gambler, it would have lost his beloved coat, hand-stitched with spades, betting against itself. It descended upon its prey, scattering the girls around him with a frightful leer and locked the startled youth in a tight embrace before whisking them away to the blustery top of one of Tokyo's tallest skyscrapers. The man would have fallen off in shock had the phantom not held him in its grip tightly. Its burning eyes caught and held the man.
"Julie Katou of the Shimon Family," the ghostly entity purred, "I have need of your body."
The poor fools on the island, Vongola and Shimon alike, are blithely unaware of the puppet master who is pulling the strings of this little inter-Family war. While he sits on his metaphorical throne and directs his host, he watches the battles of pride take place from the lofty balcony of his given room at the castle. The little girl he has managed to snare, that little violet-eyed minx, wakens from her slumber as the last vision of the forgotten past fades. She cowers at his approach and he delights in her fear.
Ahh, control...
A tug and the body is close - much too close - to the trembling girl. The one he wants has no way of reaching his little pet now; his strings have been cut away from this doll. How long has it been since he has had to weave on such a grand scale? It is a refreshing change from being the shadow in hiding to the main player in the spotlight.
"Chrome-chan," he sings with the man's vocal chords. "Looks like you're awake!"
The length of string for this puppet will be short. As he reveals himself in a whirlwind of sand and tendrils of mist, his gaze has already enchanted the girl. Fiery spades, the type seen on playing cards, lights her one brilliant eye and it turns dull and vacant. Such a pretty eye. Such an intelligent eye--
No longer.
"Stay close to me, Chrome-chan," he beckons to his new doll, as if the invisible tie connecting her will to his stretches from that finger to her person. He wraps his arm protectively around her thin frame - his new possession.
Mine.
This web of deceit extends further than their tiny minds can understand. It is a web spun over four hundred years, a work of art intricate, resilient. The threads may be fragile so long as its entirety remains whole. Snip off the weak and retain the strong. That is the way it has always been. Why can they not understand this?
Is he the spider pulling the strings or the puppet master in the wings? The flies are his dolls and the strings wrap them tight. Mukuro Rokudou was a fool to think his defeat such a simple task. Like the mirage in the desert, like the figment you see out of the corner of your eye: it was all pretence.
The phantom rose from the ashes of his defeat. Turn. Their unguarded eyes and the unprepared soul behind them locked with his and he had them.
Except it wasn't enough.
No, those foolish boys with their foolish games of friendship and kindness simply had to survive the trap he had set up, didn't they? Whoever heard of a force stronger than the pull of a black hole? Pfeh. What ridiculousness.
But it was all right because he always had another plan. If one string is cut then you simply weave another to take its place. He is the one pulling the strings of this game and it is he who will surely emerge the victor. Why, you ask?
Because the house always wins.
Characters/Pairing: Daemon Spade
Rating: G/PG for dead bodies
Summary: "Because the house always wins. Play long enough, never change the stakes, the house takes you. Unless, when that perfect hand comes along, you bet and you bet big, then you take the house." -- Daniel Ocean, Ocean's Eleven
Word count: ~1100
Prompt: Round 5, V-48 Spade - casino; "you're playing my game now"
"You...are...a WINNER!"
The synthesised recording on the slot machine played a victorious tune before dispensing its precious load of tokens. The fake coins clattered off polished metal before bouncing and rolling upon the carpeted floor - an event worthy of note that did not go ignored in this place where the ordinary citizen could win their fortune and lose it all with one careless bet. Over a smattering of applause, the lucky winner swaggered to the exchange counter where he traded his lot for stacks of bills and hard cash.
The last time anyone would see him, would be when he was strutting from the casino with his arms around two girls.
On another day, at another place, a woman with heavy jewellery glittering from head to toe bet her last chips on the black thirteen for roulette. Her hands clasped tightly as she willed the small ball rattling around the edge of the inversely spinning wheel to fall into the slot she feverishly kept her eyes on. She came away weighed down by the amount of her winnings and beaming widely.
That woman never made it home.
"Unsuitable," the phantom concluded as he withdrew his wide, curved blade from her body. She fell noiselessly. Wiping the steel on her fine clothes, his frosty eyes loftily regarded the bodies which were hidden further back. They were beginning to smell quite badly now; a new killing ground would have to be found.
"Nufufufu..." With that laugh, the phantom's form scattered as sand grains blown by the wind, reforming in the curve of the 'O' that formed part of the name of the casino upon whose roof he stood, watching human civilisation with a critical eye.
"Look at this world," he sneered, "filled with such weaklings." Would that he could find one worthy of dirtying his pristine, custom-made boots. Much to his dismay, none suitable had turned up in his travels. He was fast running out of time.
"Perhaps Las Vegas was not an ideal choice." He bespoke his thoughts to the dancing gale, as if it could understand and help him. "Too many...weak-willed insects, gambling for coin." The phantom nodded, as if agreeing with some unspoken counsel. "Yes, I shall take my search elsewhere." The sand began scattering again, boots first then his fluttering coat. His wide, curving smirk was the last to go, and its last words failed to carry over the sleepless desert city.
"Perhaps Japan, then, where his worthless descendants now live. Nufufufufu..."
"Mm~ My, aren't you a pretty lady." The man tipped his hat back so it lay at a jaunty angle on his head and grinned lecherously at the giggling woman who was currently attached like a limpet to his arm. With his dark hair, thick-rimmed glasses, tiny goatee and decades-old fashion statement, Julie Katou fancied himself something of a stud. His plaid pants and cocktail jacket turned away as many girls as his charming manner drew them in. Which, he considered, not a bad thing at all as long as he had plenty of full breasts and round asses to grope. And there certainly was no shortage of that in this seedy, underground club.
An image of his ice queen flashed in his mind's eye before being dismissed with a figurative wave of his hand. "What do you ladies say to spending the night with me at my place, hmm?" The proposal was met with a chorus of agreement.
If the phantom had been a gambler, it would have lost his beloved coat, hand-stitched with spades, betting against itself. It descended upon its prey, scattering the girls around him with a frightful leer and locked the startled youth in a tight embrace before whisking them away to the blustery top of one of Tokyo's tallest skyscrapers. The man would have fallen off in shock had the phantom not held him in its grip tightly. Its burning eyes caught and held the man.
"Julie Katou of the Shimon Family," the ghostly entity purred, "I have need of your body."
The poor fools on the island, Vongola and Shimon alike, are blithely unaware of the puppet master who is pulling the strings of this little inter-Family war. While he sits on his metaphorical throne and directs his host, he watches the battles of pride take place from the lofty balcony of his given room at the castle. The little girl he has managed to snare, that little violet-eyed minx, wakens from her slumber as the last vision of the forgotten past fades. She cowers at his approach and he delights in her fear.
Ahh, control...
A tug and the body is close - much too close - to the trembling girl. The one he wants has no way of reaching his little pet now; his strings have been cut away from this doll. How long has it been since he has had to weave on such a grand scale? It is a refreshing change from being the shadow in hiding to the main player in the spotlight.
"Chrome-chan," he sings with the man's vocal chords. "Looks like you're awake!"
The length of string for this puppet will be short. As he reveals himself in a whirlwind of sand and tendrils of mist, his gaze has already enchanted the girl. Fiery spades, the type seen on playing cards, lights her one brilliant eye and it turns dull and vacant. Such a pretty eye. Such an intelligent eye--
No longer.
"Stay close to me, Chrome-chan," he beckons to his new doll, as if the invisible tie connecting her will to his stretches from that finger to her person. He wraps his arm protectively around her thin frame - his new possession.
Mine.
This web of deceit extends further than their tiny minds can understand. It is a web spun over four hundred years, a work of art intricate, resilient. The threads may be fragile so long as its entirety remains whole. Snip off the weak and retain the strong. That is the way it has always been. Why can they not understand this?
Is he the spider pulling the strings or the puppet master in the wings? The flies are his dolls and the strings wrap them tight. Mukuro Rokudou was a fool to think his defeat such a simple task. Like the mirage in the desert, like the figment you see out of the corner of your eye: it was all pretence.
The phantom rose from the ashes of his defeat. Turn. Their unguarded eyes and the unprepared soul behind them locked with his and he had them.
Except it wasn't enough.
No, those foolish boys with their foolish games of friendship and kindness simply had to survive the trap he had set up, didn't they? Whoever heard of a force stronger than the pull of a black hole? Pfeh. What ridiculousness.
But it was all right because he always had another plan. If one string is cut then you simply weave another to take its place. He is the one pulling the strings of this game and it is he who will surely emerge the victor. Why, you ask?
Because the house always wins.