A man strolled confidently along a crowded street. The pavement under his feet shone wet from the heat in the dark of the night. All around him revelers drank to health, to luck, and to the city itself: Las Vegas. What was in style had changed in the many years he had been away. As a child, the slim figures of the 1930's had dominated. A decade later, he was surprised to see flowing skirts and trousers on the women. However, what hadn't changed was the city's thirst for money and those who came to make it big.
The casinos seemed bigger around Fremont Street, but the man was only interested in one. A dark building stretched skyward with a neon sign proclaiming its name: the Crow Club. Through the glass doors, the man could see the cocktail waitresses circling slot machines and tables bedecked in red and black. It was tempting to step inside and see what lay within, but he refrained. This was meant to be a reconnaissance mission. It wouldn't do to tip his hand just yet.
Closer to the lights and hubbub of downtown lay another casino of interest. The Emerald Palace shone like a beacon in startling green and gold. This one the man felt free to enter. He wanted to get a lay of the land, so to speak. The casino had been updated in his absence and learning the nooks and crannies would be vital to his job. It had a more expensive feel to it than some of the newer constructions. In a place where novelty was king and anything old was immediately demolished, there was an opulence that suggested a secure establishment here. The man allowed himself a loop around the casino floor and eyed the patrons that sat at the tables. He wondered how many of them were gambling away Junior's college fund or their retirement plan. If any of them knew the true feel of want, they would pick themselves up immediately and head home to their secure lives. Telling them all of this would be useless and the man had no intention of shouting at brick walls that evening. They would go home to the missus, let her kiss them on the cheek, and lie how just how terrible they had done at the tables. There would be no mention of the girl who had dazzled their pocket watch away. Their life of bland potatoes and children underfoot would continue on, as if Las Vegas had been nothing more than a dream.
In some aspects, the city was a fantasy to some. It offered refuge to those struggling to survive. There was always a job that needed to be done and coin to be made beneath the glamour. The man thought about the hidden Grisha in the city. Certainly, many feats of engineering and beautification were accomplished by their hands. While they did not practice openly in the world, many had found it a profitable career to work in secret. Many of the dancers within the shows were far too symmetrical and perfect to be just the result of good breeding. Yes, the Emerald Palace had used Grisha power to construct a monstrosity of steel and glass. The man bit back a sneer at how well Pekka Rollins had done for himself and exited before he could do something that would gain him a lecture.
Back on the street, his companion joined him silently. It was her way: appear within the space of a second and disappear just as quick. She said nothing as they made their way to their lodging for the evening. The Plaza's glimmering lights invited them inside and the pair approached the front desk. The man smiled as the attendant passed him a room key.
"Enjoy your stay, Mr. Rietveld."
Yes, it was good to be home.