Paradise Hotel 51

Where Gaming Dies

Epoch: Chapter 11

The apparent suite was somewhat of an unexpected comfort; it felt more like a personal room – a den – than an office, Dan thought. Emir lead him into the modest sized Executive Office of the Fields, and said nothing for a moment. Dan guessed the man was letting him digest the current raging events. Dan didn’t know how he felt about any minute aspect at the moment…but he did know he felt, at least, the slightest bit…good. Nearly…excited. It was probably denial. Or perhaps…it was the lack of Harman. That’s what it was. The lack of the Great And Powerful Cause.

Art by Dcat

Dan didn’t care to ask when it was that the old tyrant would return…and when all of them would be returned to him, despite what this man told them. Harman wouldn’t simply just…let them all go. Not if he was still alive and breathing. But then…no. Life wasn’t that rewarding. And especially not for Dan.

“Do you feel comfortable enough to sit?,” Emir asked his willing guest, as Dan glanced at the shade drawn bay windows in the office. Dan shrugged.

“I guess so. Why not, right?”

“Do you need that drink we spoke of now, or-?”

“Fuck, yes,” Dan interrupted. Emir smiled, nearly chuckling. Dan paid him no mind, in reaction. Men of urgency don’t squirm…and men of urgency do not feign innocence of any kind. Dan watched Emir closely, sitting in a chair before his desk, which was modestly decorated.

“Will scotch suffice?,” Emir went so far as to ask, already approaching the polite side bar he had beside the torch he had displayed.

“It’ll do more than ‘suffice’,” Dan snorted. He rubbed his temples. “I was starting to get a headache, anyway. I don’t think it’s withdrawal. Not at this point.”

“Withdrawal is the least of our problems, Dan,” Emir answered honestly, setting the full tumbler, neat, before his guest. Dan smirked.

“Thanks. I’m not usually picky about the rocks – or rocks, in general – but th-“

Dan stopped so shortly, it made Emir pause. Dan was looking at something upon his wall; it wasn’t a casual glance, and not one of malice, either. It was a look of honest, meek…surprise. Shock, even; it dawned on Emir within seconds of Dan’s silence…what he was staring upon, and…Emir reprimanded himself for even dismissing the thought Dan…would be affected.

Dan had lived in New York City for over two decades. And he was staring at the memorial plaque for the Twin Towers. He remained silent, and looked at the commemorative piece. Dan’s eyes didn’t move from the thing; Emir let the man have his moment. There would be little else to discuss presently. Dan drank, taking this moment, knowing Emir was giving it to him in earnest…and he gazed with dire purpose upon the past. This ‘past’ was beginning to scald. To scar; it was a natural process, the processing stage. However….it had just become more than that, somehow. Emir would spend careful time…advising in this stage. But, for now…there was little to do, save offer silence. And there was only…silence. The tambour, the volume…was distancing. Damning.

Emir let himself be distracted by the stoic pall; soon, all would be explained. All would be more apparent. And soon…Dan…would be on his third tumbler. Emir didn’t blame him one bit. He simply provided the appropriate stage.

Players played. And Dan’s play…was the thing, for certain.