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Naming a casino the Thieves Den feels, in Goro’s frank opinion, gauche. It’s as if they want to wave it in your face exactly what will happen when you fall into their trap. Demons can be like that sometimes, always so pleased with the idea of allowing their prey to stumble all-knowing into the sword, believing until their last breath that it will not hurt them.
Pity it does not seem to serve as the warning it should.
At the very least, Goro has reasons to force his angelic presence into an ill-fitting suit, disguised in a scent that makes bile rise in his throat, and waltz into the nest of vipers. Whether or not those reasons are good is not for him to decide; he has a command, and it is one he will follow.
The smoke that envelopes him as the heavy wooden doors slam shut is so thick it might as well be another barrier. He does not hold back his glare at the cause: a gaggle of humans, by his estimate, crowded around a bar where a woman with dark hair and deft hands mixes out their drinks. Her smile is as practiced as his own usually is; though if he were to be honest, his is a far better deception.
(It is not boasting, when it is the truth.)
She is not of interest to him though, and he soon pushes his way past the wall of smoke in search of his target. The Thieves Den is a maze with many distractions littered about to pull you from the path, but Goro is determined. He ignores the chime of the slot machines, where a not-so-cleverly disguised demon with blonde hair and a rough demeanor goads a scrawny boy with nervous eyes to keep going. He passes the roulette wheel and the fluttering eyelashes and red lips of its croupier without sparing her a look, even after she goads him to take a spin.
His dedication is rewarded by the sight of him at the very heart of the glitz and glamor, placed center stage like a prized possession.
A demon in black, tall and slim with the air of a magician and a fanged smile that entreats the audience to watch his show until the curtain’s fall. Modesty finds no company on his body, draped in black silk that hugs his figure. When he turns to speak to a waiter, Goro catches swathes of bare skin—black bat-like wings sprouting from his exposed shoulder blades, a red and black ombre tail swishing leisurely in the air from a naked lower back. He watches that tail curl around the wrist of the interloper as their fingers rest against his hip, affectionate as the two of them whisper like co-conspirators, the heart-shaped tip dragging across delicate skin.
He shudders as cat-like eyes flicker back into the crowd, and Goro swears they widen with interest as they land upon him.
It is hardly a reach to claim this is the Thieves Den’s treasure. Joker, as infamous a croupier as the game he runs. When people speak in hushed tones of the Thieves Den, it is always with Joker’s name upon their lips.
“Have you heard”, they’d say, eyes burning bright with the fervor of the damned, “of the game of Heart’s Desire and its dealer?”
A game where one could bet their greatest ambition and find it granted if they win, no matter how absurd it seemed to be. Those who lost—of which it seemed almost all who’d gained access to the table numbered—would find themselves irrevocably changed, gone was that desire you had once been so desperate for. He’d heard the stories of the lustful teacher who’d dreamed of women and fame, who’d returned in tears to declare himself a monster before all he’d hurt. Or perhaps the story of the painter, lured in by the shining gold of the casino to bet his own greatest desire and find when the chips were down that he could do nothing but declare himself a sham, a fraud before an eager audience.
It is a peculiar game, and one he’d heard whispered about with an odd sort of reverence usually reserved for holy things. Were demons truly that bad when it seemed as if this one could do more to clean up the rot of the world, then God himself?
It is… sickening. Goro wants to burn the entire place to the ground. But it has its uses, and so intact it will remain for just a bit longer.
The crowd around Joker’s table is chaotic. Their voices are a cacophony, arguments breaking out over who is the most deserving of a seat. He pushes past bodies, deftly dodges a poorly aimed punch and finds himself face to face with the man of the hour.
A game has just ended, a sorrowful affair for most. There is a man sobbing his eyes out, another cursing under his breath. A crass man grins as he rakes in a mountain of chips, the obvious victor. Joker’s expression is a mask of practiced indifference as he seems to pull a red card from thin air. He holds it just barely between two fingers, extending it out as though it disgusts him to even think of touching the man before him.
It does not show upon his face though, nor in the silky way he announces, “Your game will be hosted soon, Mister Kaneshiro. Please do not miss it.”
The man snatches the card from Joker’s hands so hard it almost tears, self-satisfied as he stares down at the invitation. “I’ll be there… if it interests me.” Kaneshiro waves it around, soaking in the envious gazes of those around him.
Goro watches him with barely concealed contempt as Kaneshiro pushes himself up, instructing a man in dark uniform to gather his chips. He shoves the card into his pocket, and then adjusts his sleeves. The movement reveals for a fraction of a second a number of playing cards tucked up in the folds.
Goro glances at Joker, who tilts his head to the side and smiles , as if the two of them share some special little secret. Goro tears his eyes away, determined to prove him wrong.
The sound of clapping and the sudden sharp silence of the crowd draws his attention back. Like the beginning of a show, Joker spreads his arm wide, gesturing at the now empty table. “I have enough time for just one more game, and then I must bid adieu, my darling patrons.” His tail flicks back and forth, back and forth with an odd sort of rhythm. His eyes are wide, like a cat moments from pouncing upon a hapless bird’s throat. “And I’d ask for you to indulge me in a bit of whimsy.”
He rests his hands upon the deck, plucks from the top a single card. As though kissing a lover, he presses it to his lips, leaving a stain of burgundy upon the white cardstock. When he spins it to face the crowd, a joker card smiles back at them.
“Won't you let this joker pick his own guest, just for tonight?” With a flick of his wrist, the card disappears into thin air. “Let’s see what fate has in store for us, shall we?”
Around him, the crowd descends into chaos. He hears the shuffling of fabric as people empty out their pockets, turn their coats inside out, desperately in search of the card.
Goro alone does not move. Instead, he waits, watches. Sees the way Joker’s attention is drawn to him, sees it build up until finally it cannot bear containment.
Joker leans across the card table, placing a palm flat against the baize. His knee braces against the side. For a split second, Goro wonders if he might crawl across it.
“Are you not going to search?” His voice curls through the air, as intimate as a whisper into the shell of Goro’s ear despite the distance between them.
“And ruin your fun?” Goro’s voice is neutral, refusing to indulge Joker’s desperation for a reaction. Let him die starved for attention, damn him. “You seem to be enjoying yourself.”
A fluttering of lashes, lips pursed into a pout. “The buildup can be rather fun, darling. But you can’t leave me without the release.”
Goro scoffs. “Are you always so… crass?”
“Only when you want me to be. We demons do so love to satisfy our patron’s desires.” Joker winks. “Say, what do I look like to you?”
Goro has many words for what Joker looks like, but none fit for an angel’s mouth. “I… don’t see how that’s relevant.”
Joker’s smile comes with far too many teeth, baring his fangs like he wants to sink them into tender flesh. He pushes his chest forward, emphasizes the bare patch of his skin that peeks through the heart-shaped cutout of his uniform. His tail curls around his body, waving like a beckoning finger daring Goro’s tightened fist to reach forward and touch. “I thought you’d be familiar with this casino’s… oddities. Aren’t you aware? As the host of Heart’s Desire, I take the form of whatever my players want to see. But I just can’t seem to get a read on you, Akechi-kun… So, what do I look like?”
Joker’s words feel like a blow to the chest. Something hot courses through Goro’s veins. His brain barely has the wherewithal to function, let alone register fully the way Joker’s voice curled around his real name. “I- That’s-”
“Just kidding.” In one instant, Joker snaps back into place, once more the professional, distant and cool. “Oh? You actually believed me? Darling, demons always lie. It’s something you need to learn if you’re going to play at this table." Joker’s eyes narrow. “Speaking of, if you don’t make a move soon. I’m afraid you might find yourself leaving the Thieves Den tonight empty handed.”
Goro’s mind is still reeling, still struggling to regain steady ground when it feels like ice beneath his feet. It’s the only reason he does not resist the obvious threat and pulls from his coat pocket that familiar kiss-marked joker.
As if Joker did not know exactly where he’d placed that damn card, he smiles and begins to applaud. “Congratulations to our dear patron! This lucky man will have the chance to prove himself worthy of an invitation to our exclusive game in a one-on-one match against the house. Won’t you cheer for him?”
Goro can hardly call what he hears surrounding him cheering. Whispers and disgruntled curses, declaring him unworthy of a sole seat at the table. Some even go so far as to hiss, disdain in their voice, that he has no right to the sole attention of their beloved Joker.
Disgusting. It makes Goro want to rage. At the very least, he thinks, it’s as good a motivator as any to hold as he goes into this… strange game.
It’s clear to even an imbecile that Joker has something planned. Knows far more than Goro would prefer he knew. He’s unsure if the sum of his knowledge includes Goro’s orders, or if perhaps it is just that he is a holy oddity surrounded by the debauched and debased. He suspects it is the latter, but fears it is the former.
There is only one way forward. It is only fair that in a place like this, Goro makes a bet.
He slams the card down against the table and takes his rightful seat. Around him, the crowd fades away as his eyes meet with Joker’s. Perhaps it is a trick of the light, but for a moment Goro swears he sees those dark eyes flash golden.
“Can I assume you accept my offer?” Joker’s voice is a purr, low and enchanting with just the faintest hint of a sharpness hidden beneath. Nimble hands reach for the deck, shuffling with an air suited to the theater.
“Of course. How rude would I be to reject, when you so kindly chose to grant a newcomer such a grand offer?” Goro says. His words are sugary sweet, enough to hide the poison lurking within. He hopes Joker likes the taste. “I’m flattered. Do go easy on me; this is only my first game.”
“Is that really what you want?”
Never.
Without another word, Joker deals the first card, and the game begins.
By the time the final chips are in play, Goro knows he is headed for disaster. In the beginning, he had been certain of his win. Joker had fumbled through every move, unable to hide a grimace at the hand he had been dealt. Goro had gotten cocky.
But then as if a switch had been flipped, just moments before he could taste that sweet victory—he lost. And then lost again and again and again. He watches, his simmering rage turning to an inferno, as he is bled dry.
It becomes clear to him then that he had been a fool. Joker was merely playing with his food.
The cheering of the crowd around him is grating to his ears. He wants to pluck out their eyes, deny them the joy of seeing his failure.
“A rookie like that deserves to be humbled. How could he think he’s worthy of Joker? ” A voice declares, too cocksure and too close.
Perhaps he will burn this place to the ground, after all. His mission has already failed, the least he could do is take out a few sinners with it.
The final card is revealed; Goro is finished.
His shoulders tremble as he watches Joker, almost bored , rake in the last of his chips and begin to clear up the table without sparing him even a glance.
“Ha,” Goro’s voice sounds strained even to his ears, “it seems I wasn’t worthy of your offer. I guess I’ll have to practice more before I try these tables again. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
He does not wait to be dismissed before he pushes himself up and turns away. The crowd is generous enough to part for him; even the stupidest of prey animals know when to flee from a predator.
His palms hurt from where he digs his fingers into them. As Goro storms through the Thieves Den, his mind is a whirlwind of plans. His own pride will not allow him to play again, at least not soon. Whatever it was that Joker knew, he had successfully cut off one avenue of information. But Goro would not fail again.
He is only moments from leaving before a hand wraps around his wrist and jerks him backwards into a hard chest. Goro whips his head around, poison on the tip of his tongue.
Joker smiles at him. Up this close, Goro can see glitter and smoke on his lids. “Leaving so soon? You forgot something.”
“I was quite certain you took everything I had.” He pulls back up onto his feet, but Joker does not let go. His hands are bare, no longer adorned with the dark red gloves he’d worn at the table. It reveals claw-like black nails. Goro shivers as they drag down the pulse in his wrist. “Don’t tell me you pity me so much you’ll offer me an invitation anyway?”
Joker’s laugh is light; it creases his eyes. He takes a step forward and pulls Goro into him. “No, of course not. Not like you’d accept anyway.”
Goro shivers as he feels Joker’s tail curl around his thigh. It keeps him from escaping as Joker’s other hand slips his way around his waist, as he feels sharp claws caress the curve of his back and find their resting place between his hidden wings. “You know, pride isn’t suited for that face. Are you sure you’re not one of us, pretty angel?”
“You’re rather observant.”
“Your disguise leaves much to be desired.” The tail around Goro’s thigh squeezes. “You wear it like a child playing dress up in his daddy’s suits.”
When Joker tilts his head to the side, Goro feels the urge to rip his throat out. “So, what? You’ve come to dispose of the angel in your midst? Either let me go or get on with it. I’ve lost patience in playing games with you.”
“Lying is a sin too, dear. You’re really racking them up tonight.” Joker leans in, and once more Goro swears he sees gold in those dark eyes. His whispered words fall from his lips like honey. “Let’s go for another, why don’t we?”
Goro says nothing.
“You can find me on the third floor.” A hand slides into Goro’s back pocket, he feels a weight where before there had been none. Joker’s palm lingers a moment longer than needed, before it and its owner slip away like shadow. “Don’t keep me waiting long.”
Goro stands frozen on uneasy legs long after Joker has left him cold. Despite himself, despite knowing he should turn around and leave, lest he fall further into a demon’s trap, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a sleek, black room key. It seems to burn in his hands.
He should toss it.
He doesn’t.
As he heads towards the elevator, Goro tells himself it is all for the plan.