The Bondsman (a King Dice x Reader story)

Chapter Three: Scarlet Lipstick

Song: Putting on the Ritz by Mel Torme

     For as long as you had been in the Devil's service, you had spent a surprisingly small amount of time within the casino itself. You tended to avoid the place when you could, always slipping in through the side door; a desperate attempt to distance yourself from the operation entirely.

     You reminded yourself that you were here as a necessity, nothing more.

     Still, you took a moment to admire the scenery. The warm lighting sent shadows flickering along the polished floor in an odd dance, and the starry ceiling was dazzling, even if it wasn't a reflection of the real sky. The room itself was nearly symmetrical: mirrored windows, mirrored doors, mirrored plants. To break the repetitive uniform, there was a circular bar set in the exact middle of the floor, adorned with dozens of glittering glasses, bottles, and shakers. A dark stage stood a few yards away, set into the back wall with its red asbestos curtains drawn tightly closed.

     This place was like a palace.

     You wouldn't have expected anything less.

     You let your gaze wander to the patrons. If you were going to figure out where to start your hunt for these cups, you were going to need a lead. What better place than a casino full of blabbering fools? You caught a few glances as you made your way from the hall and across the game-floor, coming to a stop next to the main entrance as you propped yourself against the wall. A few eyes remained on you, but they soon lost interest as you slunk further against the wall, leaning your briefcase against your leg.

     You began listening in on any surrounding conversations, focusing on the key words before a short whiskey bottle meandered past, accompanied by a tray of drinks. You stealthily plucked a snifter of rum from the assortment, running your finger around the rim for a moment before tipping it back to take a swig.

     "I saw that, doll," a voice interrupted, breaking you from the brown spirits in your grasp. You fought the urge to grumble as you slightly turned to face the voice's owner, a skeptical expression gracing your features for a moment before disappearing. Dice...quite the surprise, if not half-expected. It made sense for him to have followed you out here. After all, it was usual for a man such as himself to keep track of anybody who came in or out of the place.

     You brought the glass back to your lips and took a long sip, ending your show of obstinance with a smirk as you admired the scarlet stain your lipstick had left behind.

     "And what about it, highness?" You asked, not bothering to look up at him.

     You knew his type. You had dealt with plenty of debtors just like him. If you snapped back with the same amount of sass, chances were he'd shut up and move on.

     "I'm afraid it's customary for patrons to pay for the drinks they consume," he stated curtly, "but I suppose I can make an exception just this once."

     You met his eyes with a fake smile.

     "You're too kind, six-sides."

     You weren't in the mood to socialize with him right now, if ever. Word travels fast in a place like Inkwell, especially in your particular line of work, and King Dice was rather renowned for being a janus-faced cheat.

     Nothing but trouble, that one was.

     You became even more annoyed as he seemingly disregarded your nicknames, settling in a bit closer to you as he continued. There was a slight hint of clove in the air that surrounded him, swirling in your senses like water.