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!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"You wanted me to enjoy the party, yes?"

And this is, apparently, how he's choosing to enjoy the party. Questions of the large stash of drugs in the back room aside -- heroin hadn't been the only thing back there, although he didn't exactly think Al had taken the time to go through everything -- he's relatively certain that he and Al can come to some kind of understanding on this.

He waves the bag at Al. "You want some?"

Meyer makes his point. If the discussion is to be for another day, he's not opposed to at least hearing it out. Profit is profit and business rarely deals in the manner of morality or feelings. That's a lesson he has to be reminded of constantly, that he's come to get a hold on and handle on his own.

Besides, it's a party. There's no use going home to stew all night.

"I ain't gonna buy it off you if that's what you're getting at."

A joke; still begrudging but much less spiteful.

"After you two went to all this trouble and expense to throw a party for me, you think I'd charge you for it?"

He'd be offended by that assumption, if it weren't obvious that it was a joke. He looks amused, too, though he's not usually seen with such a smile on his face. Maybe this party idea wasn't so bad, after all. If he can smooth over this whole drug thing with Al, the night can continue unhindered by any resentments or suspicions. That's why he keeps holding the bag out to Al, letting him know it's free for the taking, if he wants it.

The smile is unusual but it's not unsettling. It's genuine relaxation on Meyer's part which is exactly what the night needs. The first hour or so of stuffiness is fine, but after that...it's just sad. Al finally takes the bag and turns it over in the palm of his hand as if inspecting it with some kind of expertise. There's definitely a feeling of entitlement and good faith from the pass-off.

"You really need this to mellow out and enjoy a party?" he says after turning the bag over a few times.

Meyer doesn't have to answer that. They both already know how it is.

"Well, I'm glad you've got hobbies."

"I don't need it, but once and awhile..."

He trails off and shrugs. He's not the kind of guy to use it all the time, and Al's probably -- no, definitely -- never seen him doped up before, but there's a first time for everything, right? This party was supposed to be about gaudiness and excess, as far as he can tell, and he feels obligated to live up to that however he can.

"I wouldn't call it a hobby. You ever done it before?"

"I ain't no fuckin' dope fiend."

That would be a no but not a refusal if one considers that he is still holding onto the bag. It's easy for him to think in extremes. Being of an adaptive mindset, a lack of experience in any matter puts him on the defensive.

"Some of the girls use it back home. Never had a good opportunity."

He couldn't swing it at work and that's not the kind of thing he'd bring home.

"Yeah, well, there's your opportunity."

He's all about seizing the opportunity to do things, after all. He'd spent some time being discomfited and unamused about their surprise party, but hey, it's happening, whether he likes it or not, and he might as well try to enjoy himself.

"You gonna try it, or you want to let me have some while you're thinking about it?"

If Al's just going to hang onto the bag and not make good use of it, he's inclined to take it back. Just for a second. Long enough to get some of his own.

Al allows the bag to be taken momentarily. It feels appropriate, both as a gesture of good faith and an opporunity for observation of a potentially rare situation. Here, a man so normally in control finally making an effort to let loose at his own party. It could prove interesting, all under-the-table business aside.

As soon as the opportunity arises, he takes the bag back and samples a pinch, enough that he thinks he can judge with his good sense and encouraged by just a hint of haste to take the challenge.

As soon as he has the bag back in his possession, he takes a healthy pinch of the drugs himself -- probably more than Al, but then, he's had more practice at knowing what he can tolerate -- enough to put a little smile on his face as he hands the bag back to Al. Sure, maybe it's not a great idea to be doing this so obviously in public, but this is his casino, and Al's his bouncer, so he's not exactly worried about anyone kicking him out.

"It'll hit you in about... ten seconds."

He might be exaggerating about that, but it usually doesn't take long. That completely relaxed look on his face is probably much more understandable now.

Discretion is the furthest concern from his mind. There's no one here to limit him and there are enough healthy distractions to go around. After dabbing at his nose with a kerchief, he noticably counts the ten seconds as they pass with a few muted taps of his fingers on the counter.

"I don't feel nothin'," he announces with a comfortable aura of pride.

"At least no better than usual."

Edited 2013-07-07 05:10 (UTC)

"Just give it a second, okay?"

He hadn't meant Al to take the ten seconds thing so literally. Had he really just counted? He'd laugh, if he didn't think Al would probably take offense to that.

He's also pretty sure that Al won't be asserting that he feels nothing within the next couple minutes. Sure, there's always the possibility that Al's immune to the stuff, but thus far, he's never met anyone who is.

"Sure."

Regardless of whether or not the stuff kicks in (really it's more of a question of whether he acknowledges it or not), it's nice to appreciate a moment of peace amidst everything going on. He's not fond of time alone in his own mind, but this...this is alright.

"You though? Something's definitely lightening you up, and I don't think it's just this."

"Don't underestimate the power of this stuff."

It's powerful enough to lighten him up, at the very least. Maybe he can say that because it's not the first of it he's done tonight, and it probably won't be the last, either. He studies Al thoughtfully for a second, frowning, though not with irritation, just with concentration. "Am I not supposed to be lightened up once in awhile?"

"No, no."

Al shakes his head, holding up a finger to signify putting the brakes on that train of thought.

"You should be. That's what this is all about. You act like an old man all the time? You'll die like one. All I'm saying is I think you're cutting a little loose tonight. It's good."

"I feel like an old man all the time."

That's probably not as deep of a revelation as it feels like, at the moment -- that's got to be the drugs talking, making everything seem more significant than it is -- but it's still divulging something about himself. He's not the type to talk about himself much; everything's usually all business, and if it's not, it's a waste of time.

"Y'know, I've cut loose before. It's not like this is an isolated event."

Maybe.

There could be a poignant discussion here about the revelation, about circumstances and what they've achieved as young men branching out from under the shadows of their mentors...

Instead Al listens quietly until the last statement proceeds to cause him to laugh openly and quite loudly.

They were never destined to have that kind of conversation -- it just isn't in either of their natures, and besides, it's pretty much Al's job to make fun of him. It's one of those unwritten laws of the casino.

"What, you don't believe it?"

The question would be indignant if he weren't so damn relaxed. He just can't get up the energy to make it sound that way.

The laughter subsides slowly but surely.

"Just hard to imagine is all. Even if you were lying, I don't think I could tell."

That poker face: a serious skill and also problematic.

"Well, now you don't have to imagine it. You've seen it."

Although by most people's standards, this probably isn't really 'letting loose' so much as sitting in the corner at the bar with a bag of drugs and a coworker -- it certainly doesn't involve any wild dancing or raucous yelling, which is probably for the best. He reaches for the half-empty drink sitting next to him on the bar and takes a sip; he's not actually sure if it's his, but it tastes like alcohol, anyway, so he might as well drink it.

He will get no criticism from this particular party on your drinking habits, sir. He's not even going to notice in fact.

"Yeah. While this is here is a real blast and a half, without your little bag of tricks there we might be in trouble."

Not that he really matters-- to Meyer's credit, he hasn't taken off running yet and has generally been a good sport. He furrows his brow suddenly, thoughtful.

"How old are you anyway?"

A minor detail that may have gotten lost in all the planning.

"Twenty two today."

Younger than Al, he's pretty sure. Younger than most people he knows or works with, and yet, he often feels older. It's strange to think about -- he'd arrived in the City initially as an eighteen year old, gone home for three years, and come back to the City only two City days later but suddenly twenty one. Age gets a little confusing around here. All he knows for sure is that today is, theoretically, his twenty second birthday.

"Why?"

Lansky is his junior by a couple of years, but that old man attitude makes their difference in age seem like decades anyway. His own birthday has passed in this calendar once only a few months after it did back home. This stuff can get complicated, he's aware.

"Just askin'. People do that when they're making conversation."

The sarcasm is noticeably absent from his tone, instead casual and intent on informing the other man of an important fact.

"Really? I wasn't aware."

There's not sarcasm in his tone so much as a relaxed amusement, which is uncharacteristic but not necessarily unpleasant. He takes a moment to study Al curiously, mostly trying to determine whether the drugs are having any noticeable effect on him. It's hard to tell, maybe because his own perceptions are decidedly altered by this point.

"How do you feel?"

In other words, are you incredibly high yet? If not, that should probably be resolved quickly.

"I told you, I don't feel nothin'. Sorry."

Momentarily he checks out of the conversation to wave the waiter down and order a drink. The waiter scurries off soon after the order is complete knowing his priorities and the drink is better to come sooner than later. Then, without any preface or permission, Al helps himself to another small sample from the bag.

"Alright," he replies after a satisfied sniff, not really to any question in particular but by the sound of his inflection they might as well have been shooting the breeze for hours about something.

"You sure about that?"

He's certainly feeling something himself, but then, he's had both more drugs and more time to let them hit him. Maybe Al just has an incredibly high tolerance. He finishes the drink that had been sitting there on the bar, vaguely wondering what was in it.

"Alright. How old're you?"

It's going back to the previous part of the conversation, but that's how his brain's working right now, and he's genuinely curious. He'd guess that Al's somewhere around Charlie's age, but it's hard to tell.

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