Hamilton nodded. No, he didn't mind. And Ariadne didn't exactly seem like a damsel in distress, but it certainly wouldn't hurt to build up some goodwill with his new partner.

"Lead the way. We'll scare him if we have to, but hopefully there won't be an issue. Is the place close by?"

Ariadne grabbed his hand and veered left down a side street. One block over from the glitz of the Strip was the failure of lost mortgages, pensions, dignity. Approaching a sad looking motel with the moniker "Desert Rose", Ariadne points to a room four doors down from the office. There was a stairway leading upwards to two more floors, but hers was at parking lot level. Through the office window, a greasy, overweight man in a stained white t-shirt ate a pizza slice with one hand and held a romance novel in the other. Shuddering, Ariadne makes her way towards her room, key in hand.

Hamilton considers just paying the bill for a moment before quickly dismissing the thought. He'd done it in the restaurant to avoid chatter about a man and a woman going on a spree through the town... but this wasn't the kind of place that people talked. Or if they did, no one would give a shit. He follows behind Ariadne as she walks to her room, although he does notice the manager, if that's who it is, glance at them and pick up the phone to make a brief call before returning to his novel. Trouble? Hamilton feels for his gun in its shoulder holster and its presence reassures him, even if he isn't particularly skilled at using it. 

He mutters under his breath.

"Not that I'm too worried, but your buddy over there might have seen us and made a call. So I wouldn't lie down for a nap or- anything else. Just take what you need."

"Don't worry, I won't dally. For all I know, you could be totally inept at using your gun. Or that revolver," she says with an evil smile as she quickly unlocks the door. The room is clean, but completely outdated and run down. Ariadne grabs her toiletries from the bathroom and tosses hem haphazardly into her open travel bag, then gathers all the clothing out of the dresser drawers. As she heads to the hanging garments in the closet, there's a banging on the door. Shit. Flinging clothes into the bag, she lunges for the picture frame as a key rattles in the lock.

"Hey! For your information, I'll have you know I'm really good with one of these, and thoroughly mediocre with the other."

Hamilton paces as Ariadne heads for the clothes in the closet, but he freezes and moves toward the door as he hears someone coming in. Taking up a position between Ariadne and the door, Hamilton crosses his arms. Mr. Pizza Romance should be easily intimidated, at least. 

And perhaps he would have been, if the door wasn't slammed open by a large man that must have been called by the manager. Hamilton isn't short- but this man who enters is a few inches taller and substantially thicker. Hamilton attempts to pull his gun quickly, but it gets caught in his holster- and as he tries to free it, the brute grabs Hamilton by the shoulders and throws him into the wall to the side. Crashing into it with a thump, Hamilton looks up to see the big man advancing toward him as the manager, shouting, moves toward Ariadne.

The situation has unraveled too fast for her to comprehend. As Hamilton is slammed into the wall, Ariadne is backhanded across the face, hard. Her lip splits open instantly, and blood runs down her chin in a sheet as the manager continues to advance on her. "You owe me hundreds, bitch. Will that be cash, or...?" He slides a greasy hand up her thigh, and at that moment, all sense leaves her brain and she brings the picture frame down as hard as she can on the hotel manager's head. When he yelps like a kicked puppy and reaches towards the gout of blood that has sprung from his forehead, she takes the opportunity to grab him by the ears and drive his face into her rising knee. Something cracks, and he falls sideways at her feet.

Hamilton blinks as his back is slightly crunched into the cheap wall of the hotel. He barely gains his bearings when his assailant does the same move, laughing and picking up Hamilton again and tossing him towards the other end of the room. Hamilton catches a glimpse of the fat man hitting Ariadne before he focuses on his own problems- and bristles at the fact that his jacket is now missing a sleeve. God damn it. His only suit. 

The young man from New York is not a particularly excellent fighter, but he'd spent years in an orphanage in New York, where scrapping was a necessary skill. Hamilton's eyes narrow as the bigger man glares at him. Hamilton taunts him, winking, and receives the desired reaction as he is charged. Waiting until the last moment before shifting out of the way, he dodges and reaches out to help push the bigger man's face through the thin wall. Quickly picking up a metal lamp and slamming it down multiple times on the back of the head sticking out of the wall, he sees the brute's form go limp. He quickly looks up to see Ariadne wipe her mouth, bleeding.

Hamilton quickly walks over to her, his hair disheveled and a sleeve missing, as he grabs a towel and tosses it to her.

"A towel?" That's my prize? I don't think so," she says, grabbing Hamilton by the back of the neck and pulling his face down to hers. Pressing her mouth to his, she flinches as her split lip screams in protest. She can taste pennies, and they really need to get out of here, but she needs this. Just for a minute. Or five. Ten, tops.

"But you're blee-mmmff"

Ugh. This was... there were very conflicting emotions here. Hamilton pushes her back for a minute, wiping his mouth. She really wasn't bleeding much at all. They stood there, still panting slightly from their respective fights, frozen for a moment- until Ariadne practically leaps for him and he catches her, slamming her back against the wall. He feels her mouth on his neck and is grateful for the fact that that should clear up the blood while bemoaning the fact that now he'll need to buy a new shirt as well.

But with every heartbeat, he starts thinking less and less as his consciousness becomes more and more present in the moment. Holding her up against the wall, he practically growls as Ariadne wraps her legs around him and he grabs her thighs. They stay there for a moment until she begins ripping at his tie and the buttons of his shirt. Then he spins her and lowers her onto the bed- leaving her only for a moment, walking over to slam the door and rip off his jacket and cast it aside- before joining her again. 

Ariadne woke with a start. Someone was groaning and cursing. She recognized the seedy hotel room she'd been staying in, but she obviously wasn't alone. There was a warm body up against her back, an arm carelessly draped over her hip. She recognized the watch. Hamilton's. Ha, now she'd have to prove she wasn't going to fall in lo...the groaning sounded again, and it wasn't Hamilton. No, all the requisite deities had been summoned earlier, mostly by her, and Hamilton had even prayed to one or two himself. Rising up on an elbow, she peered over Alexander's sleeping form to see the hotel manager struggling to rise up off the floor. Ew, had they actually gone at it like a couple of animals with unconscious bodies in the room? She spared a glance towards the second man, still quite harmless with his head stuffed into the wall. Looking around for some sort of weapon, she finds nothing but a tangle of sheets. Quietly, she nudges Hamilton's leg with her foot, hoping he can think a way out of the situation at hand. His eyes open and he smiles at her, clearly under the impression she is interested in another round of pagan communications. The minute he hears the man on the floor, though, the smile disappears.

Hamilton awoke with a smile as he felt the woman next to him twist in the bed. @Ariadne. The name was like music to his his mind, still half dreaming from the sleep and the sex. Ariadne. Reflexively, he grabbed her hip and opened his eyes to tease her for wanting more before three thoughts hit his mind in quick succession.

1) She was beautiful. Time for... wait...

2) Where the hell was he? Oh, the hotel where...

3) The fight. Was that groaning noise... fuck.

Scrambling, he sat up in the bed and rolled off the other side away from Ariadne, diving for the pile of clothes and unintentionally taking the sheets with him. He grabbed his shoulder holster and managed to stand up at the same time as the presumed hotel manager. It was a strange situation: two men facing off across a bed, one looking confused and bleeding from his head while the other stood, stark naked, holding a revolver, and a naked woman sitting up in the bed between them.

You know, just another Vegas night.

Hamilton gestured with the revolver, hoping he wouldn't have to use it, and dropped his voice an octave.

"You know what this is, asshole? This is a .38 Special. Now I'll be honest with you: I bought this thing from a pawn shop on my way across the country and I've never had to use it. But the way I see it is that I'm so close to you it's not going to matter. So if I were you'd I'd march my ass into the bathroom. Now. And close the door."

The manager meekly retreated to the bathroom as Hamilton lowered the gun and began looking for his clothes, shooting a quick glance at Ariadne.

"Guess there's no time for round two, honey. Time to hit the road..."

A piece of drywall falls to the carpet as Alexander and Ariadne stare at each other. Both turn their heads simultaneously in time to see the first futile efforts of Sheetrock Guy attempting to extract his head from the wall. Glancing back at each other, they both scramble to redress themselves. Ariadne grabs a shirt, puts it on, realizes it's not hers, and trades with Alexander. She then hoists her travel bag over her shoulder and holds the door open as Alexander quietly backs out of the room, gun held in a two fisted grip. The minute they're both outside, they turn and sprint back down the side street. Not thinking about why she's doing it, she flags down a cab and they quickly get in it. She instructs the driver to take them to the side entrance of the comped hotel room from before. The driver didn't need to know they were staying there, and the staff didn't need to know they'd ever left. Flopping back against the seat and somewhat out of breath, she turns and studies Hamilton. "Even better than I'd imagined," she said. "How you handle your gun."

 Slipping on his slightly bloodstained shirt, Alexander steps into his pants and practically hops out of the room before they have another situation on their hands. He's wearing his shoes like slippers, heels exposed, as he run-shuffles after Ariadne. Normally, he'd worry about looking so graceless but... well, he'd already made a good impression earlier. Falling into the car almost on top of Ariadne, he chuckles as he rests his leg against hers.

"Well. You're not so bad yourself, Ariadne."

He conceals the gun in his lap beneath his untucked dress shirt as he winks roguishly.

"Thinks I've got a couple more shots left, at least."

They quietly look at each other for a few moments, both on the verge of a grin, when the cab slows to a stop. Tossing some of the last of his start up money at the cabbie, Hamilton untangles from Ariadne and exits the cab. Entering the hotel quietly, they move stealthily up to their room. Hamilton only relaxes again when he hears the lock click safely behind him.

Ariadne places her bag on a side chair and moves towards Alexander. Reaching up and unbuttoning his shirt, the lopsided smile returns. "A soak in cold water...might be able to save it," she says as she removes it and heads toward the basin in the bathroom. Over the sound of running water, Hamilton can hear her speaking. "I appreciate everything you've done for me today, can I return the favor? Or are you already, umm, settled in somewhere? And I don't mean to rush things but if you're ready to move on any of these con jobs, the sooner the better as far as I'm concerned. Living day to day like this is, well, it's..." she appears around the corner, spares a moment to appreciate the sight of Hamilton's unclothed back as he's staring out the window, hands in pockets. "Exhilarating, but I'd like a life less..harrowing, I think. Something I can count on. Trust and believe in. Something more stable, that I can be proud to be involved with." Was she talking about a lifestyle, or a person?

Hamilton turns from where he is looking out at the city, wiry forearms crossed in front of his chest.

"I'm a big believer in returning the favor, particularly when beautiful women are involved."

He drops his hands to his side as he walks past Ariadne, unbuckling his pants as he goes. She hears his belt hit the floor as he enters the bathroom and the sound of water running increases. She hears a small amount of splashing before the water quiets and his voice continues.

"So yes to returning the favor and a thousand yesses to running some jobs together as soon as possible. Tomorrow, if you're up for it. I need to start building a bankroll. Once I get some replacement clothes I'll be close to busted, although I suppose I can always go rummaging around luggage here before we leave."

Listening to Hamilton, Ariadne turns the corner. He's sitting in the large bathtub at the end of the room with his legs crossed and sticking out the other end. His long arms rest along the edge of the tub and his head is tilted back, perfectly relaxed with closed eyes. 

"As for your other comments... well, I somewhat agree with you. I've had to fight for everything I've ever had; it'd be a nice change to sit back and make money without having to hustle for it on the streets every day. Something steady, that you can depend on, that you can be proud of- like you said. Real estate, restaurants... takes a hell of a lot of work, I know that."

His blue eyes open and lock onto her from across the room.

"But some work is enjoyable. Who knows what the future will hold? In the meantime a little... exhilaration, did you call it? That just keeps life exciting."

He sits up more in the bathtub, water streaming in rivulets down his torso as he grins and leans forward to switch off the water before reclining back and sighing contentedly.

"Please consider this your formal invitation to join me. It's nearly big enough for two and it's the second best I've felt all night. Although, to be fair, the night isn't over yet."

Ariadne opens her mouth to say something, but words fail her. She'd gotten the gist of the physicality of him earlier, but only now can she appreciate the visual delight of him. He was quite possibly the most attractive man she'd ever seen (not that she could ever tell him that). After each article of clothing has hit the tiled floor, she pulls her long, dark hair back and up, into a makeshift hair knot. His eyes on her have been a constant. "Tomorrow, absolutely. I think we'll have worn out our welcome here by then. Possibly due to noise complaint," she adds, under her breath.

Alexander smirks as he stretches out a hand to help her in.

"Tomorrow sounds just right to me."