It's a predictable path: every time Charlie hears the name 'Victor' there's a certain curl to his lip that refuses to settle, no matter how-- or where-- Chloe decides to set her fingertips against the slope of his spine. The two mix as well as oil and water, and she has absolutely no illusions that a friendly game of cards is going to do anyone any favors.
But whatever happens, the three of them need to learn to work as a team.
--or as close as they can get to it, anyway. At least when Talbot or Marlowe turning up out of nowhere is an ever present possibility. If they can sit down for one evening without shots being fired, she'll consider it a success.
"Easy, Charlie. I already picked up a bottle of wine from you-know-where. With any luck, if he doesn't bring his own this time, he sure as hell will the next."
Normally that would be an unkind thing to say, but in this case it's more than fair. He's almost grateful Cutter stonewalled him; the place those initiative fellas set him up is pretty swanky. A hellavalot nicer than he's used to on a regular basis and ludicrously better than this. Almost grateful. Mostly he's low-level irritated.
But hell, he's not a quitter and maybe some shit-booze and a few hands will grease the wheels. It better, since he's not keen on working with a guy he's going to have to consider pushing off a goddamn building. Shame, because Chloe seems worth the effort.
Heh.
He knocked on the door of the apartment (flat, damn Brits) and held out the bottle of piss colored whiskey like a shield, smile a sword. Time for business.
The knock at the door causes the line of his shoulders to go all taut. Charlie grimaces at her-- "That just means I've got to drink the stuff too." But hey, might as well round out the night's list of unfortunate events with 'acetone booze.' So he lurches off, shoulders leading, the eight steps from the window to the door.
When he opens it, Charlie takes the whiskey before anything else. "Welcome to our humble abode." He underscores it with a flourish, stepping sideways.
"Everything great starts somewhere, Victor." Chloe's at the living room table-- or what passes for one, anyway-- seated and settled and toying with an empty wine glass by tilting it with her fingertips to the point of nearly toppling it over. "Glad you could make it."
"I suits you," he says, with the same smile. He instantly regrets it, he's supposed to be making nice with the natives, not running his goddamn mouth. But it was too easy to pass up. Things often were.
He'd just have to hope it'd fly under the radar. Likely chance.
At least the inside of the place was cozier. It would be hard not to be. Still, he could't help but grin a little wider when he caught sight of Chloe; she did a damn sight to class up the joint.
"How could I refuse? You make a convincing argument..."
He takes another quick look around before asking, "So, cards?"
Charlie either doesn't catch the dig (unlikely), dismisses it (more unlikely), or tucks it away and adds it to the growing list of 'Petty Reasons to Mildly Hate Victor Sullivan.' Regardless, bottle in hand, he manages to not close the door on Sully.
"On the table," he says, brushing past unceremoniously to set the bottle of whiskey at the center of folding metal card table among the assortments of cards, chips and Chloe's godawful wine. He tips his head in her direction. "Fetch some glasses, won't you darling?"
She obliges without a word, slipping off to nab a few wine glasses and a pair of stout, low little cups just in case one of them has sense enough to keep the alcohol in its correct container. There's a pause in the clinking as she pops her head out, sparing the boys a quick glance; never know when they'll start slapping at one another.
"So is this a regular game or are you lads planning on stripping when you start losing hands?"
The aforementioned table is surprisingly familiar. Oh, sure, it looks like a bomb had gone off on it, but every card table did after about a year of ownership. He's surprised, with everything this place had presented to him, that it wasn't just a couple of barrels with some planks stacked on top. Folding chairs and all. It was practically home.
He pulls out the chair closest to the door, graciously takes the bonus of getting to watch Chloe walk out of the room with only the slightest tilt of his head.
He laughs at that, strip poker is exactly half tempting at the moment. Usually nobody loses, but, well- "Your house, your rules sweetheart."
"Yes, you're very funny." Hilarious even. Pulling out the chair directly left of Sully and sitting down heavily, Charlie pulls the deck to him and starts to shuffle. It's been a while and his hands are slower than they ought to be, but all said he doesn't do a poor job of it. Counting cards, cheap street cons -- they're either not his bag or haven't been in a long while.
"Are we playing five card or Hold 'Em? I don't think anyone said." And honestly he doesn't really care one way or the other so long as there's a bit of drinking involved. If he's lucky, they'll bankrupt Sully early and can wrap this crew bonding thing up in a few hours.
"Wasn't joking." The glasses are laid out in the center of the table. Never mind that they're right in the way, it just means the lads are more likely to pick them up and use them, which suits her just fine.
"But if you're so afraid of it, we'll stick to five card." In truth, she's impartial, but when a decision needs making, never let it be said that Chloe Frazer can't make up her mind.
He watches Charlie shuffle and pointedly does not wear a pained expression. It's difficult, but hell, they're about to play poker. Still, either Cutter has no eye for this sort of thing, or he has a really, really good eye and wants Sully to think he doesn't. He decides to err on the side of caution, even though he's pretty sure his first instinct is right.
When Chloe sets down the glasses he smiles, all charm, and fills them to to brim, forgoes the wine entirely because it's poker, goddamn it. He pushes the first glass to Cutter, with the back of his hand, all diplomacy as it leaves a slightly damp streak on the cool aluminum. Mostly. Some sabotage, maybe. It is poker.
"Sounds just fine to me. Well, dealer? Sound like a plan?"
"Fair enough." Charlie accepts the poured glass magnanimously enough. He takes a swig before bothering to deal - competently enough, all things considered. "Haven't been fond of Hold 'Em since they used it in that new Bond movie. Gross oversimplification of the game it should've been."
Not that he doesn't get the motive - hard to take an entire chapter on the logistics of a card game and make into something interesting on screen, but still. Though he'll admit that the Daniel Craig version is vastly superior to the original movie adaptation, though that's just common sense really--
"Pass." To her turn and where this conversation is headed, actually. Chin in hand, palm to cheek, cards held upright before being shoved face-first into the worn down wood. Don't get her wrong, she loves Bond-- it's just for a different set of assets than what Charlie's aiming to discuss.
The drink goes back easy enough, it's not great but it's far from the worst thing he's ever had. And it'll do it's job. Seems to have loosened Cutter up a bit already. He gets the feeling this isn't the first time Chloe's heard this line, judging by her expression. But hell, he's supposed to be making nice. Besides, Bond.
"Which one was that? I can't say I like that Dalton fella much. He's just not my Bond."
When his little stack of cards is complete he keeps them pinned to the table, just folds up the edges and take a quick look before wincing. Well all-right then.
"Bet," he says, pushes a chip in the center to join the small ante. He's not to worried about it yet, first hand is just testing the water, anyhow.
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no subject
But whatever happens, the three of them need to learn to work as a team.
--or as close as they can get to it, anyway. At least when Talbot or Marlowe turning up out of nowhere is an ever present possibility. If they can sit down for one evening without shots being fired, she'll consider it a success.
"Easy, Charlie. I already picked up a bottle of wine from you-know-where. With any luck, if he doesn't bring his own this time, he sure as hell will the next."
no subject
Normally that would be an unkind thing to say, but in this case it's more than fair. He's almost grateful Cutter stonewalled him; the place those initiative fellas set him up is pretty swanky. A hellavalot nicer than he's used to on a regular basis and ludicrously better than this. Almost grateful. Mostly he's low-level irritated.
But hell, he's not a quitter and maybe some shit-booze and a few hands will grease the wheels. It better, since he's not keen on working with a guy he's going to have to consider pushing off a goddamn building. Shame, because Chloe seems worth the effort.
Heh.
He knocked on the door of the apartment (flat, damn Brits) and held out the bottle of piss colored whiskey like a shield, smile a sword. Time for business.
no subject
When he opens it, Charlie takes the whiskey before anything else. "Welcome to our humble abode." He underscores it with a flourish, stepping sideways.
no subject
no subject
He'd just have to hope it'd fly under the radar. Likely chance.
At least the inside of the place was cozier. It would be hard not to be. Still, he could't help but grin a little wider when he caught sight of Chloe; she did a damn sight to class up the joint.
"How could I refuse? You make a convincing argument..."
He takes another quick look around before asking, "So, cards?"
no subject
"On the table," he says, brushing past unceremoniously to set the bottle of whiskey at the center of folding metal card table among the assortments of cards, chips and Chloe's godawful wine. He tips his head in her direction. "Fetch some glasses, won't you darling?"
no subject
"So is this a regular game or are you lads planning on stripping when you start losing hands?"
no subject
He pulls out the chair closest to the door, graciously takes the bonus of getting to watch Chloe walk out of the room with only the slightest tilt of his head.
He laughs at that, strip poker is exactly half tempting at the moment. Usually nobody loses, but, well- "Your house, your rules sweetheart."
no subject
"Are we playing five card or Hold 'Em? I don't think anyone said." And honestly he doesn't really care one way or the other so long as there's a bit of drinking involved. If he's lucky, they'll bankrupt Sully early and can wrap this crew bonding thing up in a few hours.
no subject
"But if you're so afraid of it, we'll stick to five card." In truth, she's impartial, but when a decision needs making, never let it be said that Chloe Frazer can't make up her mind.
no subject
When Chloe sets down the glasses he smiles, all charm, and fills them to to brim, forgoes the wine entirely because it's poker, goddamn it. He pushes the first glass to Cutter, with the back of his hand, all diplomacy as it leaves a slightly damp streak on the cool aluminum. Mostly. Some sabotage, maybe. It is poker.
"Sounds just fine to me. Well, dealer? Sound like a plan?"
no subject
Not that he doesn't get the motive - hard to take an entire chapter on the logistics of a card game and make into something interesting on screen, but still. Though he'll admit that the Daniel Craig version is vastly superior to the original movie adaptation, though that's just common sense really--
no subject
Assets. Get it.
no subject
"Which one was that? I can't say I like that Dalton fella much. He's just not my Bond."
When his little stack of cards is complete he keeps them pinned to the table, just folds up the edges and take a quick look before wincing. Well all-right then.
"Bet," he says, pushes a chip in the center to join the small ante. He's not to worried about it yet, first hand is just testing the water, anyhow.