tampered | [OPEN LOG] A LITTLE PARTY NEVER KILLED NOBODY

Entry tags:

boardwalk empire - al capone

[OPEN LOG] A LITTLE PARTY NEVER KILLED NOBODY

When; July 4th after this
Rating; Links are NSFW due to language and sexy hooker flashmobs. Other than language, situations shouldn't get above PG-13.
Characters; It's a party-- come one, come all!
Summary; Surprise birthday party for Meyer Lansky. Everyone is welcome!
Log;

Lucky's casino is busy as usual on Thursday, but those inside will notice that the stage normally reserved for entertainment is shrouded in a large curtain. The owner is seated, prepared to listen to the audition of a buxom blond who seems shy and has no real command over the stage. After a deep breath, she begins to sing in a voice barely above a whisper:

"Happy birthday to you~"

Before she can really get into the meat of the song, the curtain rises to reveal an unusual spectacle. Women of all sizes and shapes dressed comfortably in next to nothing. Those inside the casino can see them make a musical entrance. They seem to dote especially on the owner, who appears to be hoisted in his seat by two beefy men in shiny speedos. They carry him closer to what appears to be a cake.

It's not.

The exterior slips away revealing a mounted pole and another woman who has no problem steadying her stilettos on the arms of the chair the owner is being held captive in from time to time.

Looks like it's SOMEONE'S BIRTHDAY

All varieties of business continue as usual after the reveal. The women and men will flirt with anyone who has the means to earn their attention. There's even a new racehorse to the circuit being promoted out back! Come evening, patriotic Americans launch fireworks into the night sky. So come! There's good company, gambling, drinks and dancing-- eat, drink and be merry in honor of the holiday and Meyer Lansky's birthday!

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"You wouldn't be wrong about that. They've been looking for an excuse to do this kind of thing, I think. My birthday made a good one. Y'know, their thought process was something along the lines of, Happy twenty-second birthday, boss -- here're a bunch of naked women."

Not that he necessarily opposes the women (and he's exaggerating when he calls them 'naked,' although most of them aren't wearing much,) but he's well aware that Al and Theo had set this up either for their own purposes or for the sake of seeing his reaction. Or both.

"I've been here nearly seven months. My coworker Al's been here about the same."

"You're twenty-two? I feel so old," he murmurs with a shake of his head. "Twenty-six over here. If my friends threw me a party like this, I'd be up there with the girls right now."

There's something pure and immortally amusing when he imagines Spock hiring exotic dancers. The laughter dies down when he hears seven months.

"That's a hell of a record. If you ever find out who's holding us prisoner, let me know and I'll help you end them."

After the diplomacy went south, anyway, because like fuck is he going to let anyone hold him and his people captive for that long. Every inch of him bridles against the thought, though the reaction translates as an exasperated sigh.

"If it helps, I feel a hell of a lot older."

He's never felt his age. Even as a kid, he'd been too serious, too contemplative, too analytical. At twenty-two, he figures he might as well be forty; he certainly doesn't enjoy the things the average guy his age does.

He shrugs, taking another swig of his drink. "Seven months isn't long compared to some people. I know some people who've been here a couple years."

It isn't intended, necessarily, to make Jim feel worse about the whole thing, but it's true -- he still feels very new here, at times.

"A girl I met said she's been here four years, that's just ... wrong."

It's not that he's idealistic, only that he can't really see himself settling anywhere that isn't his ship. It staggers him that he might still be here in a few days, let alone a week. Months? Forget it.

Shaking his head, Jim gestures across the bar with a flopping hand.

"So, I know where you're from, I'm guessing the next step is to ask 'when'. Or should I guess?"

"I'd prefer not to be here four years from now, yeah."

Seven months has been bad enough. It's not that the City doesn't have opportunities -- anywhere has opportunities, if you know where to look for them -- but he misses New York, and his business partner, and his apartment, and any number of things.

"You can guess, if you want."

People have been pretty good at guessing in the past. There must be something about him that ties him to his own time period. For his own part, he just generally guesses that other people are from the 'future.' It seems like a safe bet.

Having had little to no interest in history is going to make things really difficult here, but he's determined to do his best. Looking Lansky over, he bites his lip as he inwardly reels through time-periods; the smoking dates things fairly reasonably, fortunately.

"Late twenty-first century?"

Kind of.

He laughs, shaking his head. He'd say it was a close guess, but it's not, really. That leads him to believe Jim is probably from some time far ahead of him.

"No, the last time I checked, it was 1923. You must really be from the future."

It's an odd thought, but then, everyone around here is from the future, it seems.

"Jesus." He doesn't own eyebrows anymore, they've gone to live in his hair-line. "I guess that explains why you've got great taste in scotch. I'm from 2259 so, yeah, just a little further along."

"I don't know about that -- where I come from, alcohol isn't exactly legal."

Not that it stops him from drinking it. Or selling it. Luckily, around here, there don't seem to be any restrictions on that kind of thing. His own eyebrows go up slightly, although he's met some other people around here who're from that far ahead, so he's not quite as surprised.

"2259. I can't even imagine it."

"How can it not be legal? That's ... I don't even want to think about it, I'll hurt myself."

As for the future, Jim picks out the two most prevalent factors.

"In a nutshell, the twenty-third century's full of aliens and starships."

"Prohibition. The US government has some kind of idea that alcohol makes all of us do immoral things."

Which is funny, really, because it's making alcohol illegal that's made so many people do even more illegal things, as near as Meyer can tell. Still, he's never claimed to understand the decisions the government makes -- he simply conducts his own business.

"Aliens and starships. Now that sounds like a party."

"I should bone up on my history, never had much time for it."

Not in between classes on survival strategies and tactical analysis, let alone serving his terms on the Farragut. And then Nero had happened, and. Yeah, not much free time at all.

"You see those talented ladies over there? The pretty blonde and her brunette friend." Nodding a-ways through the crowd, Jim dons a visible pensiveness as he watches the girls perform aerobic feats around some damnably lucky poles. "She would look nice if she had green skin and the dark-haired one couldn't hurt to have a tail to whip around."

His smile turns on Lansky.

"It's the best party there is."

"Yeah, I don't think you're gonna find too many green-skinned people or people with tails here, although you never know. Still, those two aren't bad as they are."

He might not be the partying type, but he can appreciate good looks when he sees them. In fact, just about everyone here is pretty attractive. His employees had done a good job. Even the guests are attractive.

"You want another drink?"

His own glass is empty again. Amazing how that keeps happening.

"They're perfect, I'm just missing some old girlfriends."

Jim shies a hand over his mostly-finished drink. Weirdly, he doesn't feel like he's had any alcohol at all. Khan's blood could be soaking it up. Shit, if he can't get drunk as easily anymore, he'll be sending the Augmented asshole the bill for all his extra shots in the future.

"I really can't, I was ill until recently. Throwing up on your birthday would be a crappy gift, but don't let me stop you indulging. Go for it, it's your night."

"You have an old girlfriend with a tail?"

Now that's interesting. The twenty third century really must be something. He knows he'll never see it -- not unless he gets stuck in another bizarre city that happens to be in a different century -- but he's curious about it anyway.

He shrugs and pours himself more. He doesn't feel at all intoxicated, but that might just be because he's still trying to process this birthday party thing. "You might not want another drink, but if there's anything else you need, you just let me know, yes?"

Ever the conscientious casino owner; even when the party's for him, he's trying to play host.

"Well, she wasn't exactly a girlfriend, or her sister. But both of them were fun."

Not leering, nope. Maybe a little, the twins were always up for a romp under the sheets. Telling who owned which pair of claws in the dark was one sure-fire way to keep his attention from wandering.

"If I need anything, I'll let my gracious host know. No fear." Toasting him with the last of his drink, Jim downs it. "You got a girl or guy of your own?"

Now that's interesting phrasing. A girl or guy. He's started to realize that people in the future might not be as uptight about that kind of thing as people from his own time, but it still takes him by surprise when they say it so casually, like it's an option at all. Still, he shakes his head in response to the question.

"No, which is why the guys that set this up thought it'd be a great idea, probably."

They're always giving him trouble about not getting out enough, about not dating, about not making the most of his time in the City. Hell, Al had even strongly implied that he assumed Meyer was a virgin. It's vaguely amusing, somehow, but baffling, nevertheless.

Ninety percent of Jim's experience in the bedroom has been with women, but on the occasions he's been propositioned by a pretty face he isn't inclined to be turned off by something as silly as gender when people in the same class have had tentacles hanging off their nose. But those are stories for another day.

"You should be glad they didn't set you up on a full-blown blind date. Would've given you a reason to string them up, though. Pity they're smarter than that, huh."

Jim levels him with a probing look, one without judgment but ample curiosity.

"Just not into that kind of thing?"

"Not into what kind of thing? Dating?"

He gives a little shrug. "I work a lot. I don't exactly have time for it."

He could make time for it, if he wanted to. And it's not that he opposes the current view -- Al and Theo had picked pretty damn good looking people. Whenever he tries to explain his disinterest in dating, though, it comes out as though he has some kind of disinterest about fun in general, so he mostly sticks to the I work a lot excuse.

"I know what you mean," he agrees, although he doesn't offer up a job description and instead looks out over the casino. He's had one drink, immersed himself in smoke and women; it's probably time for him to head back before Bones starts his own mini search party. That, and he wants to be around his people instead of scantily-clad dancers all of a sudden. Work isn't exactly work for Jim, it's more a life calling.

"And on that sobering note, I should call it a night. You make sure you enjoy yourself, alright?"

The way Jim looks at Lansky is less guarded than it was the first time around when they shook hands. He does hope he has a good time, however he manages it.

He nods and offers Jim a small but genuine smile. "Have a nice evening yourself, and it was good meet you. Come back and play cards sometime."

When it's not quite this crazy is, of course, the unspoken message there. The casino is usually low-key, and while nights like tonight might draw a big crowd, he doesn't intend to make a habit of it. He'll try to have a good time, if he can manage, and he does hope Jim comes back. Sure, he doesn't really know the guy yet, but he seems pleasant enough -- a good potential customer.

"I'll see you around."

Nodding by way of agreement to do just that and oblige him, he taps his empty glass.

"Don't think I've forgotten that I owe you a drink."

Flashing a smile, he slides to his feet and heads out without gawking at the women like a younger Jim Kirk would have done. The only company he gravitates toward now feels like home, and that's more than enough.

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[OPEN LOG] A LITTLE PARTY NEVER KILLED NOBODY

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