Exile strolled down the boardwalk, took in the sights and sounds of what Atlantic city had to offer and decided to rest her bones on a railing that looked out on the sea. She leaned into the wind and took a deep breath of salt air. The breeze slithered over her small nose, around her ear and into her tousled blond hair. Exile placed the glass bottle she carried with her onto the rail and broke the perfect romantic setting by turning to the bum to her left and swiftly pulling her knife on him. This wasn't the beginning of a romance.

Trying to pick my drink from me?

She hissed to him as she leaned in close enough to get a good whiff of his stank, but not close enough to let the fleas on the man jump off of him and onto her. For how much money the casinos made in this place she figured the city could tax them enough to keep these streets cleaned up a little bit. No luck today Exile was figuring out quickly as she pressed the blade into the man's stomach. Not exactly a clean cut that would make and she didn't want any sort of mess to take care of in the public eye, plus she had someone to meet.

Have at it you fool.

Exile stepped quickly away from the man, slipping her knife close to her slender body at the same time. She slammed her fist on the rail, making the bottle wobble towards the lapping waves. The homeless man jumped after it as quickly as a tiny kitty cat would pounce a rabies infested squirrel, to catch an empty bottle. Exile laughed as she left the scene of the tragedy.

The destination she was due at was close by. Just off the strip, which was nothing like that desert city of sin, but just as much of a trip. Exile found the directions she had scribbled on her palm in black ink early this morning to be unreadable and she became lost a few times before she knocked twice on a door that was battered and bruised. It reminded her of the reason she was here. Reminded her of a past she didn't particularly like to visit.

The door swung open, but only after she started to kick it. Exile had a problem with patience, but worked very well with being impatient. Just one of her many good traits. She stepped into the dimly lit office which soon turned out to be obviously abandoned. But the basement, well that was another story. If you knew anyone who knew the back alleys of this city you'd know that one of the best speakeasy's in town had an alternative entrance and that was through this basement. She took the steps down two at a time while plucking a cigarette out of the pack and placing it between her lips. Exile lit the stick when she reached the bottom and walked towards the light.

Exile made her way through the underground speakeasy and towards a booth that sat next to the back wall. A man occupied it, but she didn't care. She slid in, kicked her feet up next to her and pulled out another smoke.

So Shedao, when do we get to kill the bastard?

Shedao was a long way from the youth he had started life on the streets as, but one never forgot his roots. rising swiftly through the ranks, Shedao found himself managing a number of speakeasies for his boss. He had a head for figures that belied his humble beginnings and it was the need to go over the books that found him seated at a booth in one of the establishments he was responsible for. He was certain that one of his bartenders was skimming, but he or she was good, and he was having trouble spotting the discrepancies. Too bad, really. Anyone who showed this much skill could have been put to much better uses. Oh well...

Just as he thought he was beginning to see a pattern in the numbers, somebody or something thumped down into the seat across from him. Without bothering to look up from his ledger, he spoke.

You're late.

Shedao didn't bother to listen to any protests she might have made, he was well used to her inability to follow directions or stick to a schedule; it was probably one reason she was still alive. he made a notation in the side column of the ledger, before closing it; he'd found the thief, so today was already a good day. Giving his booth-mate his full attention, he brought his thoughts to the matter at hand.

Never mind. He's in town for the tournament. I managed to get his name added to the invite list, so we'll have to keep it quiet and low-key as he'll be around the other players. The tournament is going to be held over the next few days in several stages. I have you following his table schedule under another name and as I'm in charge of the watchdogs, we don't have anything to worry about during play. I figure, if you can clean him out, then no one will look to closely at the death of someone who just lost everything. You can still count cards, yes?

Standing by waiting for a taxi he called in he cant help but over hear the conversation going on around him. Sinfest not being one to really get involved in other people's business he causally listens while not taking his eyes off his paper. Hoping he isnt noticed he hopes these people can work their problems out and arent making a mistake. Just to make sure they think hes engrossed in the paper he laughs a little like he just read something funny and continues to listen. When he heard the word kill he tried his hardest not to make a twitch or anything and was relieved to see his taxi pulling up. Sinfest puts his paper away and gets in the cab thinking that the night is still young and plenty of things to do