Poison Hemlocks

Ch. 04 - Masquerade

String had imagined a masquerade to be like in the movies; ivory-tailed coats, bowties, tophats with extravagant and unnecessary decor, dresses with one too many layers he'd think a bomb could be hidden under them skirts, and gloved hands holding champagne glasses, all topped with bejeweled masks made of real gold.

Which wasn't String's style. At all. Sounded like a nightmare to be in.

This is more his style.

Upbeat and uneven jazz heard from all sides of the hall. Roulette tables occupied by fine rich bachelors and the Chō-han dealer evidently rigging the game for the player with the most money. Poker cards sprawled across a round table, and a dainty woman with a loose dress shirt sprawled onto another. The bartender pretending to not listen to the murmurs of the guests perked by his counter.

And Hemlock's business is absolutely booming, betting their supplies on winners and losers, offering them to juvenile teenagers who had no right to be here, claiming the line of powder was just a pinch of sugar the bartender accidentally spilled like he'd ever make that mistake.

Paper will be happy about this. String couldn't help but grin like a madman at the thought of it either, now as he sits by a booth, a hostess on each side - one snuggling and the other playing coy, the table kicked down after a man cheated him in a game of poker and tried to run off.

String had even put an effort into dressing up for this. Uncomfortable layers upon layers of a gold-brimmed tux, a few buttons and his tie now undone after he realized this wasn't the streaming site depiction party he first thought it'd be.

He downs another bottle, tipping his head back. This was his third and he isn't even close to stumbling (or so he thought).

"Hey!" The rose-masked gal on his right nudges him playfully in the rib. "Don't you think you've had enough?"

"It ain't ever enough, doll." String shrugs, the bottle passed midway.

"Your liver would say otherwise." The other girl in purple then said. "What say you try putting those lips on something else?"

She brings her legs up to rest them on String's thigh, the hem of her five-inch heels tapping impatiently, asking, or more so of demanding.

"Oh, you wanna play cat and mouse, eh?" String smirks, snaking his arm around the purple-masked lady's waist and pulling her closer. She giggles lowly as he did so, didn't fight back, brings her hand up to String's jaw even.

"Oi, don't get greedy, you!" The rose-masked woman barks at the purple-masked woman, as she takes String's arm and drapes it over her shoulders, bringing his attention to her now. "Mr. String, you aren't choosing her over me, are you?"

String quirks his lip. "I don't know. Maybe. It's what you get for tellin' me to stop earlier."

The purple-masked woman smiles as though in victory, and she wraps her arms around String's neck, nuzzling her cheek on his. "You here that? Seems like my pockets aren't the only thing he'd be filling tonight."

The other woman gasps, hand over her chest. "You nasty!"

A wild laugh escapes String.

"You should know your place next time," The purple-masked girl remarks as she remains clinged onto String, but the other girl didn't let go of his arm despite those remarks, as if holding onto the tiniest bit of chance that perhaps String would make up his mind and only go for one of them.

But where's the fun in that?

"Need I repeat myself?" The woman twirls the ribbon of her purple mask, before bringing her hand to cup String's chin and bring his gaze back to her.