[Yeah, prisoners probably didn't get out much. Echo Six had a jail, but that wasn't the same. That was mostly for people who were drunk or making a fuss. Miriam had heard about prison ships, though, and knew she definitely didn't want to get stuck on one.] Whoa. A whole casino? Not just a gambling house?
[He puffs up, very obviously proud of his place. It, admittedly, isn't all too special. But it is to him.]
You bet. We've got everything there--card tables, roulette, slots. It's busy every day.
[If she doesn't seem too wary of her surroundings, he'll move on to the kitchen and start rummaging around. Between Bianca and Jack, maybe someone has marshmallows and all that other stuff around here.]
[Barnaby starts nosing around, standing up on his hind legs to examine the counter-tops. Miriam follows Firo, eyes almost as wide as her smile. She feels better now that they're inside. Much safer that way.] Nothing that fancy on Echo Six. I mean, they play cards an' roulette at Booker Street, but that's mostly for other stuff.
[She puffs up.] They let me play. And then I did so good they let me room with Gilly even though he's a top earner.
[Gilly was probably her best friend. Miriam hoped he wasn't dead.]
[A bag of marshmallows isn't hard to find. He tries to push them back out of Barnaby's reach, if that's possible.
"Top-earner" sounds an awful lot like mob lingo, and Firo files that away to ask her about sometime. Maybe they still have the Mafia and Camorra where she's from--it'd be good to know.]
Wow. They must've been real impressed, in that case. So do you and Gilly work for the house?
[Barnaby whines, bouncing up to grab playfully at the bag. He manages to snag one of his claws on the edge and snatches it up with a triumphant bark. Then dances away with his prize held securely in his jaws.]
No, buddy, give it back. C'mere, buddy.
[Miriam giggles, holding her hands out. Barnaby whines, but drops the bag in her hands. Aside from some drool, it's survived unscathed.] Gilly does, but not me. I run errands for people. Sometimes I meet 'em in the house, but folks don't come for that.
[She pauses.] It's a brothel. In case you were wondering.
[Miriam giggles at his reaction, clapping her hands together. Is that scandalous? It's probably scandalous.] You're funny. And they do run the games. They run other stuff too.
[Miriam just shrugs.] Nah, they're nice. They let me sleep on the floor a lot. Even before I got good at cards.
[And it's not like they made her do anything. The Barker Street folks are strict about that age limit thing, if nothing else. Nothing and nobody under eighteen, which she's not. Not for a few more years, anyway.
She nudges Barnaby with her foot. He whines.]
Small stuff. They get you work papers and passes, that sorta thing. And they know everybody. So you need something, maybe you ask and maybe they give you a name if you tip really nice.
[That is a big point in their favor, he supposes--not many people would do that for a kid. His suspicion remains, but he shelves it; she says they're nice, so maybe they are.]
Sounds like they've got their fingers in everything.
[Also like the mob. Interesting.
He hands her an oven mitt and a fork for marshmallow toasting. Like everything here, they're just a bit off. The mitt is bulky and shaped like no hand he's seen, while the fork is oddly long. The oven, too, has symbols he doesn't understand, but he manages to open it up and turn it on. At least, he thinks so.]
[Miriam comes in closer to watch, Barnaby hanging close. Everything in this place is a little weird looking, but it seems to do the right stuff. For the most part, anyway.] Pretty much, yeah.
[She blinks.] My mom? Nah, she's with the Betrayed. They used to be in the army, back when there was still an army.
Yeah! Can I show you? [She holds her hand out for the oven mitt and the fork.] Well, she's not my real mom. Or not my first mom, anyway. 'sides, people are people. They mostly want the same stuff.
[Miriam claps her hands excitedly. S'mores! She loves s'mores, they're messy and so very sweet. Basically the best thing ever.] 'kay, first you stick the marshmallows like this? And then you start burning up. Just a little!
[It's easy to cook marshmallows over a stove. Miriam nods to herself, turning the fork over so everything browns evenly. But she likes it a little blackened, so it'll crunch when she bites it.] Yeah, people do that a lot. Act like they're above it all or something. But when you get down to it, everybody wants stuff. You just gotta figure out what it is, then you're fine.
[He watches attentively, eventually picking up his own toasting apparatus and joining her at the stove.
Though he doesn't find her wrong--not even close, but he doesn't often bother to find out what people want--he laughs to hear that philosophy so clearly laid out.]
What, do those guys have you in charge of bribery too?
We've got crackers here somewhere--check that one.
[He points to a cabinet on the far side of the room. Meanwhile, he searches in another until he comes up with a bag of chocolate chips. It's something, right?
Moving around with a semi-toasted marshmallow probably wasn't a good idea, though--it slides right off the fork and onto the floor.]
[Miriam sets her fork down to go hunting for cracks. And there they are! The right kind, too. She shakes the box triumphantly.] Got 'em! Aww, that's okay, Firo, you can make more. They're really easy.
[Barnaby, ever the opportunist, has already scarfed up the unfortunate marshmallow.]
[At least there's easy clean-up--Barnaby is a gem of a dog.
Firo nods, already spearing another marshmallow. He glances over his shoulder.]
Yeah. Show me how the rest is done, huh?
[This probably means she's won, but maaaaybe he just won't mention it and see if she forgets. It isn't even that the loser's 'prize' is bad; he just likes to try his luck.]
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You bet. We've got everything there--card tables, roulette, slots. It's busy every day.
[If she doesn't seem too wary of her surroundings, he'll move on to the kitchen and start rummaging around. Between Bianca and Jack, maybe someone has marshmallows and all that other stuff around here.]
You got anything like that where you're from?
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[She puffs up.] They let me play. And then I did so good they let me room with Gilly even though he's a top earner.
[Gilly was probably her best friend. Miriam hoped he wasn't dead.]
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"Top-earner" sounds an awful lot like mob lingo, and Firo files that away to ask her about sometime. Maybe they still have the Mafia and Camorra where she's from--it'd be good to know.]
Wow. They must've been real impressed, in that case. So do you and Gilly work for the house?
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No, buddy, give it back. C'mere, buddy.
[Miriam giggles, holding her hands out. Barnaby whines, but drops the bag in her hands. Aside from some drool, it's survived unscathed.] Gilly does, but not me. I run errands for people. Sometimes I meet 'em in the house, but folks don't come for that.
[She pauses.] It's a brothel. In case you were wondering.
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With a clatter, he drops a can back into the cupboard when she clarifies. No, no he hadn't really been wondering.]
What?!
I-I just meant the 'house' as in whoever runs the game. Not... that.
[For all his involvement in other shady business, he wouldn't touch that. And prefers to pretend it doesn't exist.]
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Am not. Those people should be ashamed, lettin' a kid be around stuff like that.
[Cardplaying? Totally fine. Hell, he's been involved in all sorts of crime since he was a kid. There's a line, though, and this is far over it.
He sighs, trying to will himself to relax. Maybe it's better just to try to move past that.]
What else do they run?
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[And it's not like they made her do anything. The Barker Street folks are strict about that age limit thing, if nothing else. Nothing and nobody under eighteen, which she's not. Not for a few more years, anyway.
She nudges Barnaby with her foot. He whines.]
Small stuff. They get you work papers and passes, that sorta thing. And they know everybody. So you need something, maybe you ask and maybe they give you a name if you tip really nice.
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Sounds like they've got their fingers in everything.
[Also like the mob. Interesting.
He hands her an oven mitt and a fork for marshmallow toasting. Like everything here, they're just a bit off. The mitt is bulky and shaped like no hand he's seen, while the fork is oddly long. The oven, too, has symbols he doesn't understand, but he manages to open it up and turn it on. At least, he thinks so.]
Your mom--does she work with these people too?
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[She blinks.] My mom? Nah, she's with the Betrayed. They used to be in the army, back when there was still an army.
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[She's the expert, after all.]
That sounds like a funny combination. A soldier's kid hangin' out with people like that.
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[He hands them over and prepares to watch and learn.]
Can't really argue with that. Even if they wanna get all high and mighty and pretend they're different.
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[It's easy to cook marshmallows over a stove. Miriam nods to herself, turning the fork over so everything browns evenly. But she likes it a little blackened, so it'll crunch when she bites it.] Yeah, people do that a lot. Act like they're above it all or something. But when you get down to it, everybody wants stuff. You just gotta figure out what it is, then you're fine.
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Though he doesn't find her wrong--not even close, but he doesn't often bother to find out what people want--he laughs to hear that philosophy so clearly laid out.]
What, do those guys have you in charge of bribery too?
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[Firo nods, obligingly appreciative of her title.]
Sounds real fancy. I don't think I've ever met anybody with a personal assistant.
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[Her marshmallow is nice and blackened around the edges. She pulls it back before it can catch on fire.] And now we get chocolate! And crackers.
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[He points to a cabinet on the far side of the room. Meanwhile, he searches in another until he comes up with a bag of chocolate chips. It's something, right?
Moving around with a semi-toasted marshmallow probably wasn't a good idea, though--it slides right off the fork and onto the floor.]
You didn't tell me this'd be hard
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[Barnaby, ever the opportunist, has already scarfed up the unfortunate marshmallow.]
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Firo nods, already spearing another marshmallow. He glances over his shoulder.]
Yeah. Show me how the rest is done, huh?
[This probably means she's won, but maaaaybe he just won't mention it and see if she forgets. It isn't even that the loser's 'prize' is bad; he just likes to try his luck.]
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[He smiles and returns to the burner, browning the marshmallow and rotating it in imitation of her. He can learn when it's important.]
Just how many are you plannin' on eatin'?
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[That's part of the game, too.]
You can give Barnaby a marshmallow, if you want. No chocolate, though.
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