Post by Deleted on Jul 5, 2013 16:22:32 GMT -5
The Stacked Deck was a measly little joint. It's neon illuminated signs barely managed to penetrate through the darkness that enveloped them. The humming and buzzing of faulty electrical wiring could be heard from feet away on approach to the bar that stood at the end of the road. It's exterior wasn't exactly appealing either. Dirty brick walls littered with graffiti and indecent images of cheap sex lines where desperate criminals could get a thrill for the low price of $1.50 adorned the outside like they belonged. Of what little of the windows that had once stood in the frames remained, were distributed evenly in nice piles of shards that had been idly swept into collections to avoid damage to the patrons. A disgusting, mouldy and badly painted grey wooden door hung limply from its hinges, unable to amass the strength it took to hang on, splatter with stains of blood, beer and urine. It was a dismal place indeed, but this was East Gotham. The one place a cop dared not to tread in the night. This was THEIR turf and tonight would be an evening to remember.
For inside the bar, the lounge of The Stacked Deck looked comparable to the exterior, a stale stench of body odour and spilled beer infused with vomit and dried blood filled the air. The almost constantly intoxicated lay comatose over chairs and tables like corpses after a carpet bombing. The pool table that sat in the centre was ripped and stained with one leg being supported by a combination of sticky tape and bodily fluids that had gathered over the years.
A mismanaged array of old chairs and bar stools littered the floor after so many had been broken over bodies in the past. Tables with chips and cracks lay either up aright or on there side as they were rarely used so the effort to pick one up and replace it would be pointless. Flynn, the owner and proprietary of the fine establishment stood with his palms down on his bar and shoulders locked up around his ears. His enormous beard drooped onto his tattooed chest, his red headband stained with sweat and blood and his long ginger hair matted itself beneath the band of an eyepatch which covered his missing left eye.
However, if you were one of the specially invited guests, heading down to The Stacked Deck in a limousine for tonight's festivities, you would see none of this. Instead, your stretch would pull inside a damp and dark alleyway, littered with puddles that are filled with more than just rainwater. The stretch would pull up to a painted electric blue door at the back of The Stacked Deck. A burly security guard dressed in a black suit and shades would open your door and ask for your invitation. Upon being ushered inside, you would be greeted with a purple leather laced room with chrome furnishings. Scantily clad and petite waitress wander around with silver platters taking drinks orders and distributing them between the guests. In the middle of the room, sits a large mahogany table with a blue velvet playing top. The room is filled with a wispy cigar, cigarette and pipe smoke air and sat at the enormous table is The Joker himself. Shuffling the cards in the most eccentric manner, a cigar perched between his teeth and his foul mouth spluttering his patter.
"Now Gentleman and Ladies, I want a nice clean game. At The Clown's Casino, the game is Blackjack, the bets are big and as always, The Joker is wild!"
For inside the bar, the lounge of The Stacked Deck looked comparable to the exterior, a stale stench of body odour and spilled beer infused with vomit and dried blood filled the air. The almost constantly intoxicated lay comatose over chairs and tables like corpses after a carpet bombing. The pool table that sat in the centre was ripped and stained with one leg being supported by a combination of sticky tape and bodily fluids that had gathered over the years.
A mismanaged array of old chairs and bar stools littered the floor after so many had been broken over bodies in the past. Tables with chips and cracks lay either up aright or on there side as they were rarely used so the effort to pick one up and replace it would be pointless. Flynn, the owner and proprietary of the fine establishment stood with his palms down on his bar and shoulders locked up around his ears. His enormous beard drooped onto his tattooed chest, his red headband stained with sweat and blood and his long ginger hair matted itself beneath the band of an eyepatch which covered his missing left eye.
However, if you were one of the specially invited guests, heading down to The Stacked Deck in a limousine for tonight's festivities, you would see none of this. Instead, your stretch would pull inside a damp and dark alleyway, littered with puddles that are filled with more than just rainwater. The stretch would pull up to a painted electric blue door at the back of The Stacked Deck. A burly security guard dressed in a black suit and shades would open your door and ask for your invitation. Upon being ushered inside, you would be greeted with a purple leather laced room with chrome furnishings. Scantily clad and petite waitress wander around with silver platters taking drinks orders and distributing them between the guests. In the middle of the room, sits a large mahogany table with a blue velvet playing top. The room is filled with a wispy cigar, cigarette and pipe smoke air and sat at the enormous table is The Joker himself. Shuffling the cards in the most eccentric manner, a cigar perched between his teeth and his foul mouth spluttering his patter.
"Now Gentleman and Ladies, I want a nice clean game. At The Clown's Casino, the game is Blackjack, the bets are big and as always, The Joker is wild!"