five words in orange neon, [open]

[Sofia Vega]

Las Vegas, on a typical day, one would picture the dark of night biting at flashing lights, shining billboards that portray a half naked woman sipping a martini, or the overly-clean windows of the Luxor, as the lights turn off and on down the angles of the pyramidal shape. Yes, they pictured booze, strip clubs, money, and overall, memories to be had. Usually, this would be accepted with open arms, Vegas is the place to have fun! they reason, with good intentions. But when they call their wives, and confess that their money is gone, it isn’t a happy ending. Not many comprehend the sheer loss of value at the common dollar while sitting at that blackjack table, a red chip worth ten thousand dollars shifting away from your form.

Gambling was not the sport for Sofia Vega. She liked to know that her assets were in line, keeping her guard around it, a tight hold on her checkbook at all times. It was a shame, her poker face was to die for, and her ability to keep calm would insure her victory over a few of the greats, but it wasn’t for her. She was never particularly controlling or domineering over most issues, though she was never the type to ever place all of her eggs in one basket. Sofia knew where her priorities lie, and no one would easily shake that.

Reaching a slender hand into her Jean Paul Gaultier coat, she briefly marveled at the tartan theme, the dark red highlighting her every movement. Luckily for her, she could wear such a chic thing without getting excessively warm – Vegas Winters got chilled enough to where the occasional coat was necessary. Feeling around in her pocket, she felt the angular box that she was looking for. Lifting up the pack of cigarettes from their confinement, she brought them up to the fluorescent light that illuminated the area, eyeing the brand that she had bought. Gauloises, no doubt. Reaching in for one of the lengths, she paused, her shining watch catching her attention. It was getting late, around ten thirty, and she was anxious. Her mind wanted to be occupied.

Sticking the cigarette between her lips, she lit up the lighter that she always operated with her left hand, then disposed of both the lighter and the case into one of the deep pockets.

Deep brown eyes spidered around the area, never settling on one spot for a long amount of time. Her slightly heart shaped face reflected the orange and green, the people around her watched the light show that happened every night around this time. Choking back a sigh, she wondered when her next job would be offered to her, at this rate, Vegas was horrifically mundane. Expelling grey smoke, her head moved to where she caught onto a conversation pertaining to the Sinclair family, saying how the youngest adult son was recently in a brawl, and put behind bars. The entire concept was hilarious, as Sofia knew very well that the said Sinclair was so alienated, in terms of personality, from the rest of the family, that he would never intentionally get into a fist fight. If they had said that it was Katherine, Sofia would then agree that it was true. Confrontation was a daily occurrence with that one, often causing her father splitting headaches, much to her unknown chagrin.

The craned necks of the people surrounding her impelled her to look up and gaze at the lights, following the crowd. She did, only the entire pattern was not evident to her, only the individual lights. If she were to blink, she would see the entire pattern, but knowing what it was, after seeing it an uncountable amount of times, allowed her to pay attention to the finer details.

[Cavan Aldaine]

And then there was Cavan Aldaine, Sofie's polar opposite who more the less lived at the tables when he wasn't too drunk to sit up. Sofie was calm, kept her cool, and pinched her pennies tightly. Cavan liked to spend money like it was going out of style. Which had pretty much gone out of style the day his parents cut his trust fund off. But if Sofie had a great poker face, Cavan had a superb one. After all, he did lie like it was his job, and sometimes it really was. Being a compulsive liar had its' perks. Who could not believe you when you believed yourself? But it also got him into a fair amount of trouble. Cav knew it was probably only a matter of time before some big guy drug him into the back room and beat his ass with a baseball bat. Or cut off his fingers one by one. You saw that shit on CSI but you didn't think it really happened. Cav knew it happened. He just tried to avoid it. He didn't cheat, typically. He just lied. Which was natural. And just as wrong in the eyes of corrupt casino bosses.

But Cavan tried real hard to keep his nose clean. He needed his fingers to measure out drugs. And he wasn't all about sexual intercourse. How was he going to enjoy the foreplay without his fingers? Good question. He pondered this as he made his way along the strip. Not today, defiantly not today. He didn't have the money to play today. He hadn't sold much today. He did, after all, have a small amount of cocaine in the pocket of his tailored jeans and was half tempted to go and snort it if he didn't run into one of the scum bags that typically bought it. What was today? Cocaineless Wednesday for chrissakes? Maybe he should get a real job. Yeah, right.

Sliding his hand into his jacket pocket, he produced the gold pocket watch his father had given to him, flipped it open, and scanned the time with crystalline blue eyes. Time. He had too much of it. It was funny how time didn't function the way it should when you didn't have a real life to program it and you could manipulate it at will. Cavan liked to manipulate things. And time just fell into suit with other outer worldly concepts Cav bent to his liking.

A familiar face was coming towards him without noticing it. Her slender, feminine hands were wrapped up in the complicated task that was lighting a cigarette and he watched orange light reflect off her shiny finger nails. It'd been a while since he'd seen Sofia Vega and the mere sight of her brought a grin to his face. How long since they'd worked together? He didn't remember, but Cavan liked Sofie. She wasn't like the girls he typically really liked, but she had her own genuine features that made her a valuable asset and he enjoyed her company.

Seeing her reminded him of a pair of topaz earrings he'd seen in a shop window. They'd look brilliant with her eyes. Perhaps he'd buy them the next time he went that way for the next time they met up. Topaz was his birthstone, but he'd never wear it in anything. It would look shitty. Plus he was a guy. And wearing anything that wasn't a watch was kind of queer. So he didn't. He even carried his watch in his pocket to stress that he wasn't gay.

Miss Vega," He said with a nod, stopping in front of her, careful not to stand too close to the smoke stream her cigarette was now emitting. His silver-blue eyes glittered with the city lights as he looked her over, studying her clothing more than her actual face. She was dressed well, always was. Sofie had impeccable fashion sense. Hopefully other girls would someday catch on. He didn't focus on her because he rarely focussed on anyone when he spoke. It really was a terrible habit.

[Sofia Vega]

It wasn’t long until Sofia felt a familiar presence around her person, slightly ominous, but recognizable. A plum of smoke arose from her lips as they parted to allow the cancerous expulsion out. Her heeled boot moved slightly as she reaffirmed her stance, her bare legs not being concealed by her coat, and being shown by the skirt that she wore underneath that beloved tartan print trench coat. Every once and a while, she would feel the heat of a man’s gaze rake over her frame, but perhaps it was the tilt of her head, the sway in her stance, or the cigarette in her hand, no one had hit on her that night.

Her attention seemed firmly fixated on the orange lights, shifting hue, until she closed her eyes to relax the strained muscles. That mysterious presence has not left, and she almost opened her eyes to give the man an annoyed look, until she heard a very familiar voice.

“Miss Vega.”

Popping her chocolate eyes open, a smirk graced her lips before she brought her lips up for a drag, again. With her head still slightly raised, she looked toward Cavan, not speaking until she noticed that his gaze was firmly locked onto her clothing, of which she was not surprised. Opening her shaped lips, she started speaking in that strange mix of Spanish and French that laced her words, “Monsieur Aldaine. It has surely been too long.” Finally bringing her head down to match his height, the movement made her hair scratch the nape of her neck, creating an irritating sensation that made Sofia dearly wish for long hair again.

Eyeing the profile of the man who now held her attention, she briefly wondered how their relationship was ever formed. Perhaps it was at one of those meetings that Johnny would throw at times, inviting all of his cronies, and otherwise, for a large soiree. Unfortunately, it lacked the class that Sofia wanted, and in all reality, she would usually not speak to anyone there, giving the seedy perverted workers a look they would never forget, as they would eye her cleavage, and hope she was easier then she looked. But Cavan Aldaine was different, he had struck a conversation with her, about something or other, she could not even remember that.

It had been a few years since then, maybe two at most, even so, they had grown to become business partners, whenever one was in a slight bind. Cavan’s determination and addictive nature kept Sofia greatly interested, admiring the drive he had, while inwardly wondering what it was about his personality that kept her gnat-mind occupied. It was a mystery that she was going to allow to slide. One of her best memories was when they spoke of their exes, and while the serious notion that he took to mention his, her mistaken trysts with stupid and vapid Frenchmen kept him thoroughly entertained.

“You look dreadful, as if you haven’t been dealt a hand of cards in ages.” She noted the crazed look he held, the orange lights catching his cheekbones and highlighting their depth. It also made his eyes look illuminous, eerie in the compromising colors that met in those pale pools. Yes, he did look absolutely dreadful, and could tell without meeting his gaze. One would wonder if it bothered her that he could not meet her eyes, but she was guilty of the same habit on the odd day, at any rate her tone was somewhat sympathetic, light, and eased.