03-22-2023, 10:02 PM
He caught the bartender’s eye, but only just long enough for the attention to slide right past Jaxen. A very not covert trade later, and some young guy next to him snatched a telling little tablet. Jaxen watched him disappear into the crowd. So did Denis, who then met the bartender over by the garnish station. Both kept their backs turned for a few moments, and when Denis returned, it was to finish stuffing money into his pocket.
Jaxen snatched his elbow, yanking him closer. “You’re dealing now, Denis? This is serious shit. You fuck this up and your ass is dead. You get that right?” he didn’t have to lean so close as on the dance floor, but he was close enough to see the cut of Jaxen’s gaze flash warning.
Denis flenched away from Jaxen's grip and shook his head. “Like you give a shit, Jaxen.”
“I do give a shit,” he replied and crossed his arms, thinking about the kid’s future. It was one thing to steal shit. You get caught and you get processed by real lawyers. End up in a real jail. Unless you steal from the wrong person and you end up at the bottom of the river. But Denis knew who to avoid. Mafia, for one. Or so Jaxen thought. He didn’t know where P originated, but it was the hottest new illegal in Moscow. Not even Jaxen knew a dealer. Heard where to go - like Devil’s Lair and some rumored breakout rooms in the undercity - but didn’t have an actual name. Not until now.
But P? He had to assume some upper-level cunts were running it. While he decided what to do, he managed to procure two vodkas, one for him and Zephyr, topped on crushed (not cubed, but whatever) ice and a hefty squeeze of lime.
He immediately put it to his lips and drank the whole thing in a few long gulps. It’d take ten of those to start to even show that he was drunk. After downing a whole fifth, maybe he’d start to stumble or slur words. Most good Russian kids started their drinking around twelve years old. Jaxen? He’d been drinking vodka since he was eight. Scion practically laced baby bottles with it, knowing him. Jax probably had the liver to prove it too.
He rounded up another order. Meantime, he snatched Denis before he could wander off.
“Alright you owe me for the cufflink,” he said. Then he held out his hand. Denis would have to eat the cost. After a frown screwed up his baby face, he deposited a pill into Jaxen’s open palm.
Jaxen just stared. Hard. Waiting.
With a groan, he forked over a second pill.
Jaxen rubbed the guy’s hair then turned back to his date with the offering.
But Denis interrupted before either could swallow.
“You’re going to fall asleep. Or be as good as. Go downstairs if you want to do it here. Better yet, save it for later,” he told them both.
“You’re giving advice? hah!” Jaxen laughed.
He downed the second vodka before they went off in search of someplace more suitable to take a "nap".
Jaxen snatched his elbow, yanking him closer. “You’re dealing now, Denis? This is serious shit. You fuck this up and your ass is dead. You get that right?” he didn’t have to lean so close as on the dance floor, but he was close enough to see the cut of Jaxen’s gaze flash warning.
Denis flenched away from Jaxen's grip and shook his head. “Like you give a shit, Jaxen.”
“I do give a shit,” he replied and crossed his arms, thinking about the kid’s future. It was one thing to steal shit. You get caught and you get processed by real lawyers. End up in a real jail. Unless you steal from the wrong person and you end up at the bottom of the river. But Denis knew who to avoid. Mafia, for one. Or so Jaxen thought. He didn’t know where P originated, but it was the hottest new illegal in Moscow. Not even Jaxen knew a dealer. Heard where to go - like Devil’s Lair and some rumored breakout rooms in the undercity - but didn’t have an actual name. Not until now.
But P? He had to assume some upper-level cunts were running it. While he decided what to do, he managed to procure two vodkas, one for him and Zephyr, topped on crushed (not cubed, but whatever) ice and a hefty squeeze of lime.
He immediately put it to his lips and drank the whole thing in a few long gulps. It’d take ten of those to start to even show that he was drunk. After downing a whole fifth, maybe he’d start to stumble or slur words. Most good Russian kids started their drinking around twelve years old. Jaxen? He’d been drinking vodka since he was eight. Scion practically laced baby bottles with it, knowing him. Jax probably had the liver to prove it too.
He rounded up another order. Meantime, he snatched Denis before he could wander off.
“Alright you owe me for the cufflink,” he said. Then he held out his hand. Denis would have to eat the cost. After a frown screwed up his baby face, he deposited a pill into Jaxen’s open palm.
Jaxen just stared. Hard. Waiting.
With a groan, he forked over a second pill.
Jaxen rubbed the guy’s hair then turned back to his date with the offering.
But Denis interrupted before either could swallow.
“You’re going to fall asleep. Or be as good as. Go downstairs if you want to do it here. Better yet, save it for later,” he told them both.
“You’re giving advice? hah!” Jaxen laughed.
He downed the second vodka before they went off in search of someplace more suitable to take a "nap".