Chapter Text
“Straight….flush.” Thin, nimble fingers fanned open a fan of cards with a crisp snap. Sly, glittering eyes looked up through long lashes, meeting the tight-lipped gaze of the dealer.
He nodded, with a motion both stunted and stiff. “Winner,” he called through pursed lips.
Nami smirked, tossing her cards to the table with a lazy flick of the wrist before raking in the mound of chips. They dragged across the green felt with a satisfying weight. The smooth grooves of the clay were cool to the touch as she slid them down her leg. Soft, rippling silk parted below her touch as she deftly tucked her winnings safely away within her thigh pouch.
“Night, fellas!” She winked, smoothly lifting herself up from her seat.
“A hit and run? You’re seriously leaving?” Some hulking, sweating ogre of a man spat.
His suit really doesn’t fit his shoulders. Seriously…and is that polyester?
A patronizing smile stretched across glossy lips. “Some of us prioritize beauty sleep.” She frowned, thoughtfully. “Maybe you should try it out sometime?”
She spun on her heels, shouted slurs and floundering retorts sliding off deaf ears as she slinked off towards the cashier stall. It was worth it, really, to see his bulging eyes, his contorting jowls, stretched out over that tacky fake tan.
Talk about amateurs .
“I’m done for the night. Cashing out.” The jewelry bag emptied itself with a muted clutter onto the marble countertop. Muscle memory kicked in as the pile narrowed into neat, color-coded columns. Her hands were a bit sweaty as she nudged them under the metal grate.
The cashier raised her eyebrow imperceptibly, the microexpression neatly tucking itself into cool professionalism as she counted and recounted the chips. She knelt for a moment, fumbling below the desk, each rustle and tap a staccato accent on the metronome running through Nami’s mind.
One and two and click and four and one and turn and three and click …
She registered the shift of weight on rubber-soled loafers moments before the cashier stood up, bundles in hand. The cash was pressed and bound in leafs of green, gorgeous bills of beri. Not a single piece shifted out of place as it delicately glided across the countertop into her palms. It never got old, the electric rush of cold hard cash heavy in her grasp. Scanning the periphery, she slipped the bands away.
“Pleasure doing business with you.” Nami casually smoothed her dress into place.
“Goodnight, madam.”
The exit was across the floor, lit with fluorescent golden light in some twisted parody of wealth--- at least, what some nouveau-riche gaudy schmuck would consider classy. The travertine floor echoed with an obnoxious tinny tone below each heel strike underfoot. Large amphora vases lined the walls, its bulging overgrown contents threatening to spill over the sides in thick, crowded sheathes of snake plant. She only took a few steps before she paused again. The sound of slow crooning and viscous, oozing jazz leaked through the door on her left. She could see the reflection of shifting shadows underneath the gap between the hard wood and the threshold.
Of course the bar was next to the cashier. The casino wasn’t all that eager to let its money slip away so easily.
Fuck it.
The doors gave in with a soft creak as she stepped into the sluggish warmth. She barely spared a glance at the live band as she scanned the bar. Her eyes settled, widened, then glittered with that addictive flush of greed as they dragged over the silhouette. Bonded black velvet draping over sharp shoulders, tonal double-faille satin perfectly smooth over creamy collarbones. Golden brass and enamel buttons pulling in a neat waist.
She dragged her gaze up to meet hazy blue eyes.
Schiaparelli. Custom.
She felt her mouth water, and unconsciously licked her lips. She felt the weight of the stranger’s attention in the pit of her stomach as her money pouch teased her inner thigh.
Jackpot .
Nami stalked to the bar, slowly stepping one foot in front of another, emphasizing the easy, slow swing of her hips. Feigning ignorance, she pulled out a bar stool three seats from the lanky blonde. She crossed her legs, the slit in her dress dancing within that fine liminal space between casually provocative and overkill as she leaned over the counter, smiling up at the bartender.
“Grand Old Fashioned with a tangerine twist on the rocks, please.”
He nodded, reaching for the liquor bottle.
It was a nice, even tempo of shake, stir, shave, adding a nice countermelody to the treacle-thick beat of the band. The silver-paned wall behind the bar mirrored his practiced movements in perfect sync-- the pouring liquor caught the soft light, which set the liquid in a honeywarm glow. In the corner of her eye, she saw the shifting posture of dark, decadent draping. Her cheeks flushed, moneydrunk.
She almost didn’t notice when the drink slid into place in front of her. Almost , she thought amusedly, if surveillance wasn’t reflexive at this point .
“Lady over there says it’s on her.”
Nami let her mouth part in innocent surprise. “Really?” She breathed, stretching her grasp around the crystal, feeling the condensation under her warm palm. She lazily swished its contents, watching the liquid swirl around the ice. Dregs of liquor slid down the walls as it settled in lazy, heady rivulets.
He didn’t respond, simply moving onto the next guest.
The orange fragrance of the drink wafted from the glass as she inspected the tangerine twist, counting its pores. She could see the oil of the fresh fruit glistening on the peel.
One, click, two, click, three, click, four, pull.
The click of the leather dress shoes halted as the chair next to her was filled. Nami slowly shifted in her seat to face the stranger, taking her time to rake her eyes from bottom to top. The blonde’s skin was tinged pink when, at last, Nami gazed up at her through slotted brown lashes. She swirled her glass again. Blue eyes locked as her soft lips parted and gently sipped.
The crystal had a glossy pink tinge to its edge when she set it down next to her. “Thanks for the drink,” she purred.
High, arching cheekbones dusted with pink. The woman moved to tuck a strand of wavy blond behind her delicate ear. “I’m glad you enjoyed it,” she murmured, her voice a smoky, raspy whisper.
Nami leaned in conspiratorially, reveling in the way the blonde’s throat pulsed over a hard swallow. “Enjoying yourself?”
“Now that I’m in your company, immensely.”
“And whose company am I in?” She watched as her hands jittered in her lap, nervously grasping around a phantom object. A smoker .
The hands stilled. Her chest slowed into a deep breath.
“Sanji.” Her hands crept towards Nami’s, as she searched her gaze for permission. A bit of the nervousness dissipated as Nami slowly smiled, and cool, slender fingers wrapped around her hand, reverent and gentle. Sanji cupped her hand, raising it to her lips. Her eyes shone with adoration as she pressed a soft kiss to the back of Nami’s hand.
Nami’s face warmed. Weird. It was only one drink.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Sanji.”
“The pleasure is all mine.” She delicately lowered her hand, resting it in her lap.
Nami’s pulse thrummed.
Oh. This was going to be fun.