metem_logs | (no subject)

Characters: Seth and Kali
Date/Time: Wednesday, October 20th
Location: Las Vegas
Rating: R
Warnings: Language, violence, perhaps other R-related activities
Summary: Seth makes good on his promise to come to Vegas to see his favorite boxer.

Things were relatively quiet in New York right now, which allowed Seth to take his much-anticipated vacation to Vegas. It had been some time since he'd last been here, but he was looking forward to it. In particular he was looking forward to the night's festivities. He entered the stadium, ticket's in hand as Tyler brought up the rear. He had purchased seats to the upcoming boxing match. He enjoyed boxing in and of itself, but this time he had an ulterior motive. Tonight his favorite female boxer was competing. Ciera "The Black Destroyer" Talbot. Who apparently was something more than she seemed. She herself didn't know, but frankly that wasn't why he was here. When he had first seen her years ago he felt drawn to her, but had remained in his funk regarding Nephythys. But that was then, he wouldn't make the same mistake twice.

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"I don't get down to Vegas as often as I'd like, but when I do, I make it a point to drop by here when I can."

"Sin City definitely has its charms," she agreed. "How often do you like coming down here?"

"Not as often as I'd like. My business in New York keeps me pretty busy."

"Yeah, I'll bet, shug. Nothing like a job to fuck up all the plans you want to make," she said as they were seated.

He looks a little wistful, ancient memories filtered through a human context. What had he wanted? Power clearly, but was there more to it? It's something he sometimes contemplated, but never for too long.

"So you said you were originally from Mississippi?"

"Yeah. Biloxi, born and raised. Not exactly the sticks, but might as well be. Ain't no one takes Mississippi seriously," she said, "You?"

"Grew up in Harlem. My grandparents immigrated from Calabria, Italy during World War II. My mom was the youngest of six kids."

"Let me guess... Catholic?" she teased.

He laughed out loud for a moment. "However did you guess?" He asked playfully.

"Six kids and from Italy? Shit, babycakes, what else would she be? Me, I was raised Baptist. Kinda. Ma wasn't real big on dragging us girls to church, but she worked at a funeral parlor, and so we got to see some of that shit secondhand," Ciara explained.

He mulled that after the waiter brought them their drinks before seeing to their orders. "That's a hell of a way to be introduced to death." There's no pity in his voice, he knows she wouldn't accept it. It was a simple acknowledgement of her situation as a kid.

Ciara shrugged.
"I grew up with it. Used to sneak off to watch the embalmings and creation. Hell of a lot more fun than playing quietly next to a fucking desk. And, shit... those were the good old days, before shit went down."

He didn't ask what she meant. While he could, and did, kill people with no remorse whatsoever, he could be sensitive to something that appeared to be a serious life issue. As a result, he didn't pry. "I think that's our food coming."

"Good, I'm hungry."

When the food was placed in front of her, Ciara dug in with gusto, devouring it with little regard for decorum, as if it were her personal mission to reduce the contents of her plate to oblivion.

"Damn. Good stuff," she said with a smile.

"Impressive..I could have sworn there was food on that plate," he joked lightly.

"One of the first rules of juvee, sugar. Eat fast, or someone else will," she laughed.

Okay, that time she had given too clear an opening for him not to ask. "You were in juvenile hall?"

"Yeah. Spent most of my teen years in and out of it. Vandalism, arson, drug possession, got busted turnin' tricks a couple times... Stupid kid shit like that. Started getting cleaned up when I was 19. That's when the docs told me I was schizo, that all the freaky time shit was just a hallucination, got me on the good meds, starting channeling all that destruction into something positive, and... here I am today," she explained.

"I see." He was half-tempted to ask about the degree of her schizo condition. He had a feeling it tied into who she once was, but judging by her firm belief this was all crazy..it was probably not a good idea right now. "It's to your credit that you moved past all of that. I spent a few years in juvie myself."

"Yeah? What for?" she asked, genuinely curious.

Aldo laughs ruefully. "It was stupid. We were poor and I had no desire to participate in some backbreaking job with little pay. I went to the streets, too. However Harlem was no longer the homestead of disparate Italians as it once was or our gangs. It wasn't long before I got into a fight with the local Bloods." He pulls the collar of his shirt down a little to reveal a thin scar. "Got me good with a knife. I was just lucky they were punks and not the more seasoned members."

There was a curious gleam in Ciara's eyes.
"Nice. Standing up to the big boys. We didn't have any real gangs where I was. There were my group of hoodlums and a couple others. Nothin' real organized, but we caused our share of headaches for the police. Had to learn me how to fight somehow. Even then, not too many people were dumb enough to fuck with Ciara Talbot," she said.

"It was a pure pissing contest and I got cocky. Ended up in the hospital a bit, but I took a couple with me." Not bragging, just a fact. "Surviving a gang's tough no matter where you're from. It's something to be respected."

Ciara nodded.
"You got mine, babycakes," she said. "Just made us both stronger."

He smiled, appreciating the compliment. He didn't reply verbally. A connection had been formed between them. To him, talking just seemed unnecessary as they finished their meals.

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