James' is weird. (Shocker. But like, really fucking weird.) He's a gentleman, but then the next second he just doesn't give a fuck about anything after. He cares about something small, but is indifferent to something big.
But y'know what? He likes that. And maybe people around him don't, but you can't exactly just complain to some guy who could kill you in an instant.
That's what he is. A menace. An egotistical sociopath, you name it, he's probably that. He's got a whole slew of crimes under his golden black leather belt, and who knows how many more he's got unnoticed.
But one day, something happened. Something that would change him forever.
...
James Flouglemire lied onto his bed and stretched out, the bed groaning as his weight reached the mattress. He dimmed the kerosene lamp on his nightstand and reached for one of his magazines.
Oh look, it's one of his favorites! A story about a little dog named "Lucky" mauling a family of four to death who didn't know they owned a Mutant.
He laughed at the absurdity of the headline. Family of Four Pooched Up. "Hoho! How absurd," he said.
What a way to put it.
Knock!
He had immediately sprung out of bed and he rushed towards the door and swung it open, dropping the newspaper on the floor as he folded his arms behind his back to greet the person.
"Caaaan't believe they made me fuckin' go do this..", a certain bandaged man grumbled underneath his breath.
Of course, it'd be his close "friend", Stretcher.
"Hello, dearest STRETCHER! I don't usually expect visits from you, this is a very strange change of pace-,"
"Yyyyyeah, yeah, shut the fuck up. I'm here 'cause ya fuckin' forgot to check the mail and nobody else wanted to bring it ta you," he had rudely interrupted. "Haaaaad to fuckin' pull straws.."
James scoffs, not taking the interruption well, but still letting him go on. "The mail? Why would I check the mail at.." he glanced at the clock. "This ungodly hour?"
"Thissss fuckin' rich person is comin' in town and they're visitin' the Casino tomorrow. I thought ya read the news 24/7."
"..How rich?"
Stretcher shrugged. He didn't really care. All he did was check the header and the first few words. "It'sssss yer problem now. Read the letta', I'm too fuckin' buzzed outta my mind to read right now."
He threw the letter at James and he swiftly caught it.
"You mustn't drink all the time, STRETCHER! It isn't very good for your liver! But I thank you for bringing this to my attention."
Stretcher grumbled a, "Sssssure. Whateva'." before lazily sulking back to the bar upstairs.
Rich people coming to the Casino! Sounds like an easy way to get money. He could rig the games to make sure they lose, or bump up the prices on drinks..
It was all too easy for him.
Usually, he gains their trust. Chats them up, offers drinks, shows them around. Loosens them up enough to rob them blind before they know it.
But the person that came would make it out to be a challenge, to say the least.
