Champagne-glasses clinked together, the large hall of the Magario manor alive with the buzz of conviviality. Wall to wall, the room was packed with the rich and clueless, merrily chattering away as waiters nimbly manoeuvred themselves through the crowd.
Lifting a glass from a passing tray, Neveah Brooklyn Poppette suppressed a slight sneer at the gathering before her. The vaporous and vapid elite of Las Vegas, all gathered before her, ready to have the skin pulled over their eyes once more. Ready to celebrate the newest exciting announcement her step-father, Richard Magario, owner of the MGM, had to make. Off course, for Neveah, the announcement would be no surprise. It had been in the works for many months, and the smug casino-owner had been boasting about his grand plans every evening since. He was, perhaps one of the most self-absorbed people she had ever had the displeasure of meeting. He was vain, cocky and arrogant. Self-absorbed and self-obsessed. He cared for nothing but himself- and the money and status he could acquire.
Of course, tonight's celebration was in his honor. He loved to throw lavish parties for the masses, to have them worship his generosity. Of course, his “generosity” was nothing more than marketing, sneaky underhanded tactics to ensure people would keep coming back to him. And of course, the “underground” betting at those events were a nice little earner, too. There was nothing the man ever did that would not actually benefit him in the long run.
Suddenly, the elegant classical music playing in the background dimmed to a silence, a hush falling through the crowds as the lights turned low. Upon the staircase, Davis called for attention, announcing the arrival of “the man of the hour, Richard Magario!”, to the cheering of many.
“Friends, friends, call me Richie.” Richard bellowed upon his entry, with that loud, obnoxious laugh of his, that self-congratulating sound so grating to her ears. He was the world's best comedian. At least in his own eyes.
“Dick's more suited.” Neveah muttered under her breath,an unimpressed expression upon her features. Somehow, that odd shortening of Richard was much more apt for the man that called himself her father. She refused to do so herself, much to his and her mother's chagrin. She still refused to use the man's name as her own.
Once again, she lifted the champagne-glass to her lips, surprised to find she had already finished it. Her eyes flicked to the side, scouting out the nearest waiter for another refill of the expensive beverage.
Lifting a glass from a passing tray, Neveah Brooklyn Poppette suppressed a slight sneer at the gathering before her. The vaporous and vapid elite of Las Vegas, all gathered before her, ready to have the skin pulled over their eyes once more. Ready to celebrate the newest exciting announcement her step-father, Richard Magario, owner of the MGM, had to make. Off course, for Neveah, the announcement would be no surprise. It had been in the works for many months, and the smug casino-owner had been boasting about his grand plans every evening since. He was, perhaps one of the most self-absorbed people she had ever had the displeasure of meeting. He was vain, cocky and arrogant. Self-absorbed and self-obsessed. He cared for nothing but himself- and the money and status he could acquire.
Of course, tonight's celebration was in his honor. He loved to throw lavish parties for the masses, to have them worship his generosity. Of course, his “generosity” was nothing more than marketing, sneaky underhanded tactics to ensure people would keep coming back to him. And of course, the “underground” betting at those events were a nice little earner, too. There was nothing the man ever did that would not actually benefit him in the long run.
Suddenly, the elegant classical music playing in the background dimmed to a silence, a hush falling through the crowds as the lights turned low. Upon the staircase, Davis called for attention, announcing the arrival of “the man of the hour, Richard Magario!”, to the cheering of many.
“Friends, friends, call me Richie.” Richard bellowed upon his entry, with that loud, obnoxious laugh of his, that self-congratulating sound so grating to her ears. He was the world's best comedian. At least in his own eyes.
“Dick's more suited.” Neveah muttered under her breath,an unimpressed expression upon her features. Somehow, that odd shortening of Richard was much more apt for the man that called himself her father. She refused to do so herself, much to his and her mother's chagrin. She still refused to use the man's name as her own.
Once again, she lifted the champagne-glass to her lips, surprised to find she had already finished it. Her eyes flicked to the side, scouting out the nearest waiter for another refill of the expensive beverage.