The Egyptian Speakeasy

November 21, 2015:

Its Speakeasy night at the Egyptian.. and the music was fine..

The Egyptian


NPCs: Randoms



Mood Music: [*\# None.]

Fade In…

It's a hot night on a chilled one when it comes to the Egyptian, the main foyer in the area dressed down in velvet drapes that bleed red down to the elaborate carpetting that lines the floor to perfection. Pulled to the middle of the grand room were tables and bars alike, each employee manning the helm, chips in abundance and people dressed in their 40's best with a girl on their lap or if they're so inclined, a nice man at their side with a hat tilted to the side and elaborate makeup that would put a mime or a dreamgirl to shame.

The cages hang from the ceiling with girls in their froo-froo bodaces and glitter, dancing and tossing said glitter to the floor of those who hang around and laugh, the glasses of champagne lifted in celebration with an arm around a fellow man to sway with the song that airs over the modern speaker system that was set for old times.

'T'aint no big thing
To wait for the bell to ring..' Ivy's voice blares along the speaker, the woman with the fiery red hair, wrapped and old fashioned dress to match sings along to the tune of old jazz with the microphone clutched with velvety grip and brought to ruby reds as she croons.

'T'aint no big thing
The toll of the bell.
Agrivated, spare for days
I troll downtown, the redlight place
Jump up bubble up, what's in store.. Love is the drug and I -need- the score..'

Suits guard the exit, wires hung from their ears, cameras red-lining focused on the crowd below. Server room was running hot but Keith on guard doesn't let up of his watching.

"Table five. Dude's countin' cards. Keep an eye on him. Let him win for a time and then get this cat out'a here."
One guard looks up towards the camera then gives a nod to acknowledge his orders as another sets out to filter through the smaller crowd. Waiting for trouble. But this wasn't something meant for a night of ill. This was a night meant for a speakeasy thrill.

+MEET: Fantomex has arrived via +meet.

VIP rooms belong to very important peope and, although he may not be on any official registries anymore (except for the list of the Most Criminally Insane Bachelors - he's in the top four, five years running, coming in at number two with a bullet this year. Fucking Joker), Two-Face certainly qualifies as important. There are parts of Gotham where his word is law and places that would cease to operate without his oversight and protection. Or, at the very least, they'd be burned to the ground and their residents riddled with bullets if they stopped paying him obeisance.

Important people tend to insist on getting their due.

He's hidden away a bit from immediate view, set up and off to the side, but the smoked glass only blocks one way, and he can see the goings on out on the floor proper with perfect ease. He takes his gin and tonic, taking a long drink, the measurements made precisely in front of him, fifty-fifty. His molls, Samantha and Delilah, lounge nearby, finally healed up after their personal failures lead to some time where they were left out of the limelight. Samantha, the albino, lounges back with a martini, while mahogany-skinned Delilah stands behind Harvey and massages his shoulders as he watches the gambling, the sound of Ivy's voice filtering in.

"Flower's feelin' sentimental t'night, sounds like," he says, casually rolling his trademark coin across his knuckles. "That or she just wants to tickle a bunch of these fuckers in the ear, tuggin' on the heartstrings. 'course, once you got the hooks set, makes it easier to rip those hearts right out," he says with a half-snort. The coin rolls to display the scarred face, catching his eye for a moment and drawing a snarl, "Harder, bitch, put some fuckin' muscle in it or I'll be be massagin' yer gut with my fist."

After ditching his security detail for the evening, Morien puts awayhis designer suites for some casual wear. He packs up his trumpet. and decides where to go for the night. He knows that security detail will found him in New York within a oouple of hours. Moried decides to make it a little bit more difficult for them by heading out of the city to Gotham.

He makes his way to Gotham via the train system, he has his hoodie over his way the entire way. Upon reaching the streets of Gotham, it only takes him a few conversations ,and the price of a hotdog to hear about the Egyptian. Morien makes his way to the club, finally pulling his hoodie from off his head as he approach the guards at the door.

At one of the craps tables is a charismatic, easygoing man (Kythe) in an immaculate rich black suit; no tie, silky maroon colored shirt showing under the suit, and quite a bit of expensive jewelry. He's well groomed - black long hair tied back, a drink in hand, currently playing craps, just recently arrived to the table, but he's been milling about and chatting amiably and enjoying the evening for quite some time. He's lost his bids a few rounds. He's waving his hand at the dice a woman is throwing each time as if to force them to roll the way he wants, but it doesn't appear to have any particular effect on the rolls.
"Damn," Kythe grumps at another minor bad bet, turning his attention to Ivy's song, watching her thoughtfully with almost unnaturally green eyes.
To those sensitive to magic, Kythe is loaded with magical illusion. He 'reeks' of magic, and makes no subtle attempt to do anything other than have a pretty massive magical ambiance. But most people will jsut see exactly what they are supposed to, which is the well dressed, pleasant human. Kythe is hardly any of those.

Out front cars pull to the curb, letting people out of their limosines and tinted rides alike, spotlights reach for the dark Gotham skies as they dump down snow that does not appear to be letting up. The sidewalks and stairs of the Egyptian are clean, the carpeting laid in a roll of red velvetten to carry the guests from the curb to the doors in relative 'dry' comfort that can be afforded. What they walk between are pillars of an old and ancient effigy, statues of the Goddess Bast flanking the doors in their distant stare, inset by emerald eyes and decorated in gold and lapiz jewelry, lined in topaz to add a stoke of the color Nile within.

This is what guides and welcomes you inside where the theme of the night is one of rolling back the era to the 20's, when things like this would negate spotlights and incite whispers and passwords to get in. All one needed to get in was to be clear by the large security guards at the door. The place well afforded itssecurity by the Calbrese's and those who have….Interest.

Through the bustle of heeled feet and oxfords it comes to the stage where the red head croons a sirens call to be joined by the tones of smoke andwhisky as the dark haired woman comes to her side.

"Showing out, showing out, hit and run
Boy meets girl where the beat goes on
Stitched up tight, can't shake free
Love is the drug, got a hook on me… "

While singing and coming up behind Pamela, Selina draws a fiamond encrusted clawed hand down over her shoulder to her torso and lower until profile rests side by side with the woman.

Morien's approach gets a studious gaze from the security detail at the door with a quick snap up-down of hardened gaze. "Don't ya know you were supposed to be dressed fer the night in Speakeasy? You here to play music, you gotta look tha part."

"You got me all wrong, man." Morien holds on to his trumpet case with his left while patting it with his right hand and speaks with a slight southern dialect "I am just here to take Dizzy out to listen to music. Dizzy is what I call my trumpet. I named it after Dizzy Gillepsie. My granny, which is my great-grandmother not grand-mother. You got to tell people that are they get really confuse. Well, granny used to play Dizzy's music when I was young, and she gave me my first trumpet, so I name my trumpet, Dizzy.

"Now if one ofyour musician needs to take a break, Dizzy and me will jump on stage, but really we are just here to listen to music, grab some drinks, and maybe pickup some of these fine Gotham women I heard so much about. You know what I am talkin about." Morien winks at the guard.

The rare visits to Gotham always bring Fantomex back to the Egyptian and it owner, and former partner-in-crime. A real shame Selina decided to become a crime lord, a terrible waste for the thievering world. If he is scarce in Gotham is in part because he doesn't want to know what Catwoman is up to lately.

But sometimes he visits. And this time was worth it just to hear Ivy singing. Mon Dieu. The redhead is full of surprises. A pity is completely nuts. Nevertheless, he sneaks close to the stage to see her better.

'Someone get this man a goddamned suit!'
'Man, we ain't got nothin' to fit big man here!'

"Then give him your suit." A mechanical voice comes over the comms, one that bears recognition only to those present and the lioness that croons upon stage. The eyes were watching that night. No matter where, no matter how, there was always an eye upon the Egyptian because that is how it was intended to be.

'Ooh..ohh, catch that buzz
Love is the drug I'm thinking of
Ooh.. Ooh can't you see..
Love is the drug for me..

With a sideways turn and the arch of her back allows her shapely, red-clad bottom to knock lightly into the woman in black, a grin crooning her lips as she looks towards the movement in the crowd to give a blowing kiss towards Fantomex; her laugh drawn out into the air as the women continue with their tune.. though her eyes manage to cast out into the crowd to catch that unnatural green gaze staring back at her.. and it gives her pause. Thankfully, it wasn't her turn.

'Pay attention buddy!' The woman calls out towards Kythe as she throws the dice, leaning forward.. her crisp white shirt only buttoned so far, the half corset lining her waist to create a delicious hour-glass figure. 'I know you put great time into making all that money but if you're going to blow it all then you need to go to the holdems table..'

The security guard moves towards the poker table to pick up the card counter by a lean forward and a whisper in his ear. The way he grasps the man arms show that he was not kidding when he told him to move, beat it and get lost. A slight gesture towards the glass that Two Face lurks behind is given a brief point, where the man goes ghostly white and immediately collects his winnings to leave.

One thousand. Nothing but candy money to the Lionness.

One of the guards stare down Morien, his brows furrowed as his arms reach up to tug off his jacket to toss towards Morien, not caring if he catches it or not. "You and Dizzy can get up there on stage, they missin' a trumpet.. person.. whatever. But you put that coat on, Little Boss Lady says we gotta give it do you and we do what Little Boss Lady says."

LOGNOTE: 'give it to you.. not give it do you'

Two-Face lights a cigar, drawing deep on his Dos Muertos - a special blend he has imported from a Costa Rican farm in which he holds an interest. He blows twin plumes of smoke out through his nostrils as Delilah works, digging her elbows into his shoulder muscles, feeling how tense he is. He's always tense - congenital insanity has a way of doing a number on a guy's sciatica.

He flips his coin up in the air and the moll watches it with a mingling of anticipation and fear. Working for Two-Face means living constantly on the edge, absorbing the knowledge that any day, at any time, the coin might not go your way and you'll have to die, for no reason other than pure, dumb chance. Harvey could explain that it teaches you to embrace life, to put in your best effort, to get the blood pumping in your veins, but it mostly just meant his employees were either fatalistic, egomaniacal or adrenaline junkies, the kind of people who played Russian Roulette for fun. Two-Face's kind of people, in other words.

He catches the coin and glances at the clean face. Then he rises up, straightening his jacket and jutting out his arms, "C'mon, girls, let's show our faces. See how the folks can handle some class in their midst. Anyway, we oughtta go put two hands together for Cats and Ivy, let 'em know they're appreciated."

Some people do what they have to do in a city that will eat you alive if you don't take the first bite to make a point. Selina learned that the hard way over and over, so now the Lioness, the Calbrese, the namesake and the title all belong to her - as well as this Casino that makes quite the lovely front…

"Late that night I park my car
Stake my place in the singles bar
Face to face, toe to toe
Heart to heart as we hit the floor.."

The bump from the buxom redhead only had Selina moving from back to front where her hand had rested, withdrawing with the indent and reminder of pinkened lines along the womans shoulder, but even in parting lower lip painted a deep and burning /carmine/ drug along Pamela's jawline in parting.

The dress she wears is made of nothing but netting and sparkling beadwork, leaving partings transulcent but the density of beads in the perfect placement along the womans athletic figure, keeping even secrecy to shadows and contours beneath by distraction alone. Every step of stiletto heels sends the tassles of beads into a clicking herald, swishing around thighs and begging for the dance only hips dared to offer and yet did not in their trained poise.

Stepping off the stage she grabs two flutes of champagne, pausing just enough to hold it in offer to Fantomex, that single digit tapping familiar clawed ring tips upon the edge "Long time no see… /fantome/." A flicker of those eyes to him and then gone, just like that grace and path that cut her away from him towards Kythe, hooking the arm of one of her girls in passing.

"Congratulations on your recent stakes and winnings. On the house." The girl on her arm, a brunette with darker streaks through her hair and deep blue eyes slides from Selina's side to Kythe's, her smile one of promise… "Be good to him, Roxy." A wink of heavily noired lashes and a glance between the two and she is muttering into the comm.

"Did I catch that right? Gotham /gitls/ he wants? Yes, do as the Little Boss says and make him earn it." Already the men at the door with Morien are on the move to listen to one and then both.

As Two-Face emerges though, Selina pauses at his side, sipping her champagne and looking out over the spanse. "And…?"

Incidentally, Kythe isn't cheating at this time, although it wouldn't be unusual for him to get watched, since he has a sort of arrogant play style. He's enjoying the chance of it, and has done nothing to muck with anything at the craps table. He tilts his head just a hair as Ivy met his gaze, curious about why her eyes might have lingered on him — after all, he'd made an attempt to not stand out at all. But perhaps he's still not being subtle enough— well. Kythe smiles privately, and slants his gaze sideways to the woman in the crisp white shirt when she speaks. "Maybe; But I think I'll just shake all the bad luck out here first," Kythe remarks in a flippant way that suggests he doesn't believe that one bit, his eyes skimming down her corset figure but then back onto the dice. Kythe's voice has a lower register vibration that can sometimes give him away, an unnatural discomfort to some that they can't always place that is magically based. And subtle.
Kythe is exceptionally interested in watching the cheater get removed from the place, and has a keen interest in not just that, but the one-way glass that caused such an interesting reaction. But Kythe is still quite able to place a few (minimal) bets — and do well, this time, in a roll.
"Beautiful performance," Kythe answers Selina simply, and greets Roxy with an appreciative grin. "Roxy, hmm? Ken. I could always use a bit more luck, come join me," 'Ken'/Kythe invites Roxy.

Fantomex bows to Selina, smiling behind the mask only a few can see. Dressed in a white tux, and making it work in part due to the illusion screening him, he replies with the usual thick French accent. "All too long, chere. I have been drawn away from Gotham by baubles and trinkets that needed new and more appreciative owners. But I will make up for it, je l'ai promis."

Morien allows the coat to hit him in the face. Morien removes his leather jacket, but keeps his hoodie on, he spends five minutes doing his best impression of a child trying to figure out how to put on a jacket on the right way after they manage to put in one upside down. After correctly putting on the jacket the right way, he lets out an overly exaggerated nervous laugh.

In the back of his mind, Morien is trying to figure out who the little Boss Lady is and how does she know him, but he decides to unravel that mystery at a latter date. He puts the hood of his hoodie inside the jacket and then gathers his trumpet. "Come on, Dizzy."

As he walks into the club, he counts the number of steps from the door to the stage. He counts the number of people in the club, and looks around for other exits. After reaching the stage, he opens slowly his trumpet case and pulls out his trumpet. He wipes it down a few times, and prepares to join in the music.

A few of the guards laugh at Morien's attempt with the jacket, some even taking a step aside to let the bumbling man pass with a slight shake of their heads and a few muttered words.

'Dude looks familiar.'
'Like everyone else in this goddamned town.'
'You know what I'm talking about.'
'So what you saying they all look alike?'

"Stop." Keith snaps over the comms. "You don't want to make Calbrese mad."

Ivy allows a hand to reach out and cross down the spine of Selina as she slowly leaves the stage, the microphone gripped and sung into as the song slowly comes to a closer. Her eyes still upon Kythe, yet trusting Roxy to show the light spender a damn good time. Not like this was her place, she just didn't want to bring all the men to ruin.


The holdem tables were abuzz with life as a few of the men laugh, the woman dealing the cards making a really good show at flipping and tossing the deck of cards with her fingers, shuffling each and every bit like a hustler born to take money and a smile meant to steal hearts. Though, each skill could be flipped and switched.. especially in the Egyptian.

'Jooohn..' One drunken lady staggers, heels in her hand as she leans in to one of the players with a lazy gait, pressing her lips to her ear as the man, annoyed, shrugs her off. 'Stop it Rebecca, you're drunk. Take your ass home.'
'But you are my home! I love you!'
'You love the spirits more than me, get away!'

A guard moves in but another reaches out to grasp his shoulder, wanting to watch the soap opera display before their eyes. Ivy finishes the song with a flourish of voice, taking a slight step aside as Morien joins the stage with a lift of her brow and a turn towards the band, waiting for him to gather as she snaps her fingers to start the next tune, with or without him.

Two-Face settles in closer to the stage, throwing a wink towards Ivy and the Cat as he settles in, his girls draped on either side of him. The waiter looks visibly nervous to attend him, a slight tremble in his hand as he sets down water glasses for Two-Face and his girls. Of course, that isn't the entire party. Two-Face has at least six other flunkies in two, their bifurcated suits marking them as his personal bodyguards. They're arrayed at different points around the room, always keeping the boss in sight. By special dispensation with the management, they're also allowed to keep their weapons as a favor to Harvey. It lets the crime boss feel at ease out in the open and it's an easy reminder to anybody who feels jumpy to think twice before they try to shake him down.

He blows smoke from his cigar and glances curiously as Morien makes his way onto the stage - nobody he knows, but he doesn't mind a bit of jazz, played right. The other he hasn't noticed yet, but, then, many people are beneath Harvey Dent's notice.

Morien did not have to sell his soul to the devil like Robert Johnson supposedly did to become a musical genius, but he has been curse with immortality, and one of the skills he has mastered is how to play the trumpet. There is a relaxation that comes over his face as he begins to play the horn, his mind always goes back to times of the Harlem Renaissance. As the song goes on, he forgets the clumsy act he was trying to maintain and truly starts to jam with the group.

Fantomex keeps an eye on Selina as the dark-haired woman makes her round over the Egyptian, but when Ivy abandons the stage, he slides to intercept her, "you are a full of surprises, mademoiselle. If I had known you sing here, I would come more often."

Well. Maybe not the exact truth, but watching the redheaded woman unpredictable reactions to his presence is always fun. He likes to understand people reading their body language, and Ivy is a challenge. "I'll see you later, oui? I feel Miss Calabrese is demanding my attention. Bonsoir, Ivy."

Kythe will chat openly with Roxy about … nothing very interesting. He'll find out what her lucky numbers are. Things like that. Very vapid conversation about her outfit choice. Kythe doesn't obviously keep an eye on the very interesting crime boss in the room, though he's only hiding the fact that he is. He does decide to see what Roxy knows about it, but is gentlemanly: just an arm around the waist, nothing major. He can get small bits of information by touch, when he's interested to look.
"All right, let's get some big bets out here." Which may or may not have a little bit of Kythe's influence, just to see if anyone can pick up on his illusion or not. A new game, that.

The music was full underway with Morien joining the band, that old harlem blues mixed with jazz has her tapping her heel, her head bobbing as she gestures another Johnny girl upon stage to belt out notes and words improvised on the spot as they did on the days of old. She was accompanied by a few scat daddies, as a few other lingering couples take the time to dance upon the floor, zoot suits in full spotlight, dancing and twirling their women as the focus remains upon Morien and the way he blows.

Ivy exits the stage with a quick hop down, the flow of her hair nearly majestic and the land easily so as she draws a gloved hand up to brush a bit of red from away from her face. "Harvey.. so glad for you to join the living.." She coos out, that sway of her hips telling and yet her path doesn't veer towards him just yet. But she can see, those eyes lined with silvery flecks note the way that Kythe plays and hides so well in plain sight. Thank the benefactor for that. Souls and that jazz.

Fingers were dipped into her bosom, a card produced and with a lean upon the back of Kythe, she presses it within his coat pocket with a smile and a few quiet words given.

Roxy was non plussed, though she does lean away from Kythe's embrace to not touch to Green Goddess, for she's heard the rumors and did not want to see if they were true.

A little pat is given to Kythe by Ivy as she slowly mingles with the crowd, first to the couple, a little kiss blown towards the drunken woman who seems to be a little starry eyed after the fact, the John she leaned upon relieved from that minor incursion so he could slip into the crowd unnoticed.

Then.. it was back to Harvey yet again, the girls upon his arms eyed, and then smiled towards as she settles into the table specially made for .. well, many.

Two-Face watches Ivy as she plays hostess, waiting until the boy arrives with his fresh drink, a black and tan. He takes a long sip of it and sets it down. His girls shoot daggers out of their eyes at Ivy, jealous of both her beauty and the obvious respect that Harvey pays her. They worship and serve him hand and foot, but he never look at them that way. Of course, Harvey would explain the reason for that is simple.

Ivy is just better than them. Just like he is.

He takes note of the gambler who seemsto have attracted Ivy's attention, distracted away from Morien and the stage until the redhead returns to join him.

"There isn't so much difference between the living and the dead, Ivy. Throw of a knife, pull of a trigger, beat of a heart. Flip of a coin. Death is always on the other side of life, just waiting to be revealed."

Kythe doesn't turn to look at Ivy, but does smile over his shoulder — and moves his illusion-cloaked serpentine tail to curl against her lower leg briefly with a twist of warm, lithe muscle. It isn't flirtatious, more an expression of 'I see that you see'. If she can see or tell something about him, he figures she'll probably know it's his response; or, well, if she can't, then it's unlikely she'd know what it was anyway. Either thing works for him.
At the table, Kythe is cheating. In the sense that he's forcing /losses/. And ends up down a good amount. It's just bomb after bomb, and the shooter will change to someone else. "Seems no luck can save me tonight," Kythe says sadly to Roxy, with a cheeky expression, finishing all of his wine in one go and handing the glass off distractedly onto a nearby waiter, and scans over to Two-Face. Who is looking his way. How interesting! Kythe has a mild smile, fearless, but not disrespectful, he dips his head and averts his gaze. No need to be anything but polite in someone's house. (Unless Reasons.)

Morien continues playing with the band. He even does a few tricks by throwing up his trumpet and catching it to continue to play, "Yankee Doodle Never Went to Town."

"Ever the poet, Harvey." And so glum! But that was alright, for the eyes of the women upon his arm gets a little sneer in response, so much that she draws herself upright to crawl and prostrate over the table, hips moving in reminiscint of the serpent curl left upon her leg by Kythe. Oh. She could see. And she knows.

A push aside of the glasses have her resting her belly upon the wood, turning with a quick twist of her hips to place her back to it, her head lingering nearly to look towards the man called Two-Face upside down.. and a ratty view of a chin and nostril that was ruined. "Flip a coin, would you be happy? Or would you be sad this night?" A gloved hand lifts to give a slight lift of chin from Harvey, attempting to give him a 'stiff upper lip'.

Roxy just shakes her head. "Just keep playing. The music is right, eventually everything will go your way, yes?" She leans in, Roxy does.. in attempts to press a kiss against Kythe's cheek, as if her kisses were to bring gold and luck, and more gold to boot. "Just a little bit more, I'll make it so worth your while, Ken.."

Two-Face laughs at Ivy's display, as much for the jealousy and disgust it raises in his would-be girlfriends as for the gesture itself. He draws on his cigar for a moment, frankly admiring Ivy's figure as he leans back with a proprietorial air that comes to him all too naturally. He rolls his coin over his fingers and cocks his head, "Well, that's just the problem, Ivy. It isn't up to what I want. If I always did what I wanted, well…who knows what might be. That's why I never leave it up to something as random as my mood," he says. He flips the coin casually, watching it spiral up into the air in a lazy arc.

"This is the only thing that's fair. Everything else is just cheating," he says, catching it and looking for a long moment.

"Looks ilket he good mood's here to stay for the night," he says with a wink.

Kythe accepts the kiss, with a tilt of his head. He's very warm, but not too weirdly so. "All right. Maybe with a kiss or two, things will turn around. And another drink, naturally; for us both," Kythe adds. No doubt Roxy is eager to pull a waiter over to them to add more liquor to Kythe's tab. "How will you make it worth my while?" 'Ken' asks, eyes in Roxy's cleavage for a time, then steady on her face, and eyes. He can be hard to stare down, the neon in his eyes tends to simmer. He'll continue to play with Roxy, but it's a bit catlike: while she's wiggling, she's interesting, but hard to tell about once she stops being engaging.

Morien continues to play on his trumpet to the music until he hears Aileana the head of his security over his com unit. "Mister Washington, I know I work for you, but really fucking Gotham! Get out here now, so we can take you back home! Do you realize when you slipped your security detail, I have to fire people. I hate firing people around the holidays, even when they are incompetent. So bring your young ass outside, so we can take your home

ATwo blocks away from the club, Aileana and members of the Umoja security are waiting for to pick up Morien. Aileana hangs up the phone and rolls her eyes in disgust for a moment, "Seriously, I am missing my Sooners playing because he wants to go clubbing. Another security officer asks, "Do you want me to check the score? Aileana snaps back at him, "No, I am dvring it, and anyone tells me the score is going to get fire along with the idiot that let the CEO walk out of our company walked out of the building without gathering up his detail.

Morien grins and gathers his stuff. He takes a quick bow and heads towards the door to meet his security detail.

"Is it ever…" Ivy remarks boredly, a roll of her eyes given along with the lilt of her head as she watches the display of Kythe and Roxy, and then to Morien as he plays as if he really did just sell his soul to the Devil.. the man was good. Fingers snap until the song was over, watching the man leave as she looks just in time to see the flip of the coin…

"Good. Because I have something in mind that'll make sure your mood will never go sour.."

Seems like Harvey and Kythe both will get the special treatment tonight from their girls. Dinner, wined and dined, and whatever else was on the menu at the Egyptian.. with.. lack of blood of course!

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