Lonely at the Top (Open)

A life without its highs was nothing but lows. Obvious, but not many people got that hint. A few did, and this was exactly the man to understand that key concept. Most of his time was spent wandering the dark, but certainly not dreary, halls of the Gomorrah. Now, however, on one of his many odd trips, he found himself at the Tops. You couldn't ask him just why that was, because he was just that fucking high. The concept of response had left him long ago. I feel that is very necessary now that I mention; this is not the topic of idle conversation. This is something I like to call harmonious filler. Keeping our system in an even keel.

The junkie managed to reach the other end of the hall and his fingers somehow found the elevator call button. After fumbling for a good while, he pressed it. After a few seconds, which felt like-- well, time wasn't exactly relevant at this point for whoever this was, the man stepped into the elevator. He looked is fellow occupant up and down. A sheepish wave and a telltale half-lidded grin would hopefully inform Charles that this man here was under the influence of some heavy chems. Whether or not he knew that, was beyond fathoming. The man turned back to the door and stared for a good few seconds before falling forward into the door with an almost inaudible gargle of backed up saliva and alchohol.

In another room of The Tops Casino, on the other end of the intoxication spectrum, sat a completely different type of man. This man was much different in the sense that he was not at all intoxicated and that he wouldn't be caught dead at The Gomorrah. He brought the small glass of wine to his lips for the first time that night and bent the cards to meet his gaze. A thin smile spread across the wine marred lips as Costigan held the glass to them. He dropped the glass to the table and spoke up "Double it." A card slid across the table, face up, and rested by his hand. Costigan sighed at the result. The card stared up at him with its two club shaped eyes in a look of silent mocking. Costigan turned his cards over as his smile wavered, revealing the unassuming three and six of hearts. A loss to add to the record book. "It's a shame... I thought my luck would have turned sour sooner. Sorry, ol' chap."

Costigan stood and patted the dealer on the shoulder as another card was slid across the table, Costigan mimicking the way the dealer had done it to him seconds before. The card was a King of Diamonds, surprisingly fresh looking, as though it'd been printed post-war. The man stepped around the table and whispered, close to the dealer's ear, "If they give you the sack for the bad turnout, you know where to go and who to ask for." The dealer turned the card over to reveal the laminate back, black lined with an intricate silver inlay. "Haifisch" was written in fancy calligraphic letters in black to stand out against the silver. "He's always hiring." And with that Costigan was off, his five thousand or so chips he'd won in bagged tow. His other hand was kept occupied with his glass as he made his way to the elevators. It wasn't that he couldn't return home, just that he didn't want to at this late hour. Slim eyes wandered to the light glowing above the elevator doors a few steps away from him.

The drunken junkie turned to Charles from his spot on the ground. "Righ'... er, uhm... yeh got any capsh?" His drunken slur was humbling, to say the least. A bit of drool slipped from the corner of his mouth but he didn't seem to mind. "I could ush shome capsh fer uh... taxesh and the like... shpare a fewuh fanshypantsh...?" How droll. The doors to the elevator slid open and the man fell forward into a suddenly present, and growing, puddle of vomit. Costigan stepped back, his eyebrows dropping and his mouth turning downward into a sickly grimace. His eyes flashed from the junkie to the man in the suit, then back to the junkie. He straightened his tie and stepped aside the junkie. "Ahem... quite."

And Costigan would silently await that apology. His arm sat, pressed firmly against the elevator door, the sleeve of his suit pressing in, uncomfortably, where the ridges of the elevator's profile met it up with it. An expression of mild disdain etched on the man's face as he stared down at the poor sap at Cos' feet. He offered the junkie a little kick to see if he'd respond but to no particular avail. Seemed he was out cold for the time being.

This was never exactly an unexpected turn of events in such a public place, like the Tops, but the man had to take note of the... lack of response that seemed to be taking place here. He stood for a few minutes as the head honcho chatted it up a bit with the dealer Costigan had spoken to before. A thin smile broke across his lips as he thought the word 'perfect' in the most sinister of head voices. Now the word was out. This was almost like advertising and striking the bigwigs at the same time. Actually, that's exactly what this was like. If everything went according to plan, Charles would take the card and the name on the back would stay fixed in his mind until he could figure out just what this place was.

The assumption here, of course, was that The Haifisch Hotel was not a very big success. Well, that couldn't be further from the truth, depending on the relative and subjective definition of the word. Success to Costigan was rescuing the Wastelanders from their Wastes. He aimed to make his hotel a permanent sanctuary in the Wasteland. One that upheld a dress code, not a cap check. Having the caps was not wealth to Costigan. No, wealth to him was wealth of persona. He made himself out to be a human effigy of such and it was so easy when nobody knew him. Nobody had access because in a lot of ways, Jay Costigan did not exist. He was a figment of human domination and the actual man, Jay Costigan, in the flesh was just the sculptor. Always surveying his project from afar and, having finished it long ago, hiding it so that the populace could make rumors and assumptions on the man of marble that nobody had ever seen.

There were a few who were bold enough to say they had had a drink with the man, but every time two of those men met up, they had different stories to tell. An even fewer men, those who'd sunken deeper than all into the mysterious land of gall, would say that they were the man in the shadows. Costigan did not mind those men for their claims never held much ground. At this point in time, even Costigan could say he was the man and more than three fourths the world's population wouldn't believe him. As a matter of fact, they probably wouldn't care. Enigma holds allure and nobody would want that shattered unless they intended to crush it. And that's a win-win scenario there.

Costigan eyed Charles as he began to make his was back to the elevators. Probably to offer some half-hearted apology and a bottle of liquor to ease the sentiment. The suited man arrived and Costigan spared him the trouble, raising his off hand to offer the head honcho a break. "No need to say anything. I understand that things like this happen, friend." A convincing smile crossed his lips for just the right amount of time. "You're a kind man and this is a wonderful casino. I'll be returning again, regardless of our little pal here." Costigan sent Charles a joking wink and adjusted his arm against the elevator, replacing the spot that the door was touching with another to spare himself the grief. His eyes remained on Charles, awaiting a response-- probably something about how good of him to say that and that he'd be happy to see Cos' in his casino again. How he's always welcome. Blah, blah. The usual business.