We made it back to the casino safely, not that much could have honestly stopped us. But after enjoying a day in the sun, Modred had worked up quite the appetite, and while she had devoured about every bit of ice cream half a mile around our spot, it wasn't enough.
Though before we left the beach, Mordred did take the chance to get some revenge on all the guys trying to hit on us.
Given that we would be leaving, and wouldn't really need any of the stuff we bought and rented again, and that food was waiting. Mordred didn't feel like spending the time to carefully go around and return stuff or throw out the trash.
And I wasn't about to allow her to leave it all there in the sand.
Which was when Mordred, much to my surprise, got a clever idea.
She ticked a few of them into taking care of all that, with the promise of us joining them for a drink. And as tempted as I was to force her to honor that promise, I wasn't about to let her suffer, or more accurately, let those guys die.
They might be annoying, but they didn't deserve death, and no way Mordred would be able to resist ending them should they really start flirting with her.
So, while they eagerly worked on maintaining the beach, Mordred and I found a hidden spot and opened a portal back to our room.
Where I was greeted with the sad sight of my suit, on the floor.
I couldn't just stuff things into my soul; it wasn't really an inventory, only my special things, outfits, weapons, and things belonging to my many spirit origins could enter. So while I could instantly equip my ruler swimsuit, I couldn't place the suit in there.
So when I changed, that outfit just kind of fell to the floor. "Mordred, we will be eating in our rooms, and get our clothes washed, so anything you need cleaned, including that swimsuit, pile it up for room service." I called out as I went to grab the phone.
Mordred emerged from the bathroom a moment later, still damp from a rinse, dragging a towel behind her like a fallen banner.
"Why would it need to be washed? It was in water all day?" She asked, holding up the red swimsuit by their straps.
"Salt water," I sighed. "It was in salt water all day, trust me, it needs to be washed, not to mention getting the sand out of it." I heard her curse as she threw it into the pile, which was when I also realized that it was pointless.
I didn't think we would ever get to use the outfit again, so it would just be thrown out soon anyway. But given that I had already said it needed to be washed, I could hardly take that back now.
So I just shook my head as the room phone connected. A pleasant voice answered, and within minutes, arrangements were made. Laundry collected. Food ordered—enough for fifty people, because of Mordred.
Yes, Mordred, sure, she didn't ever manage to eat more than me, but she was at fault for sure. I was elegant, not a glutton at all.
While waiting, I settled into one of the plush chairs by the suite's window, sipping a chilled glass of wine from the minibar. The city below was just starting to light up again. Neon came alive. Music drifted faintly up from the street.
Mordred joined me, now wearing the other fluffy white robe the hotel had provided. It looked hilariously oversized on her, with sleeves trailing behind as if she were trying to cosplay a sorcerer.
She collapsed onto the couch with a dramatic groan. "This is the life. Gambling, food, and beach days… the only thing we need is some violence, and it would be perfect."
I gave her a tired look. "We are not adding violence to our vacation itinerary."
Mordred snorted and reached for one of the hotel's complimentary chocolates on the coffee table. "Come on, just a little. A bar brawl. A sword fight at sunset. Nothing major."
"No."
She popped the chocolate into her mouth, dramatically chewing as if sulking. "You're no fun."
"I'm the only reason you're not currently explaining to the authorities why you roundhouse kicked a man into a mojito stand."
"That guy deserved it!" she shot back.
I raised an eyebrow. "He complimented your hair."
"He said I have great hair for a girl!"
"…Fair."
A knock at the door interrupted our back-and-forth. Room service.
I shouted at them to let themselves in, and a moment later, the attendants pushed in silver carts piled high with food.
The three poor young women paused for a moment as they saw Mordred and me, just sitting back and relaxing. Not that, that in itself was enough to shock them, but the fact that I, someone as beautiful as a goddess, was sitting there, in a very underdressed state.
The fluffy robe I was wearing didn't fully close comfortably around my front, so I didn't bother trying; as a result, even those three people, no doubt used to seeing a bit of everything, were shocked and frozen.
Thankfully, it didn't get weird before they woke up and quickly got back to work while trying not to look my way.
Mordred's eyes lit up like she had just been crowned king as she watched Steaming platters of steak and seafood, towers of dessert, trays of fresh fruit, cheese, and bread. All getting placed on the table.
We thanked them, tipped in oversized casino chips—because Mordred had no concept of currency value anymore—and they left us alone.
She didn't even wait for the trays to be fully uncovered before she pounced.
"I feel like I earned this," she mumbled through a bite of some kind of golden, butter-soaked pastry.
"You feel like you earned it?" I echoed, more amused than critical as I picked up a glass of chilled champagne. "Do tell. Was it the part where you kicked your own surfboard in frustration? Or the part where you tried to fight the tide?"
"Hey, that wave came at me first."
I gave her a long look and took a sip.
Still, I let her talk. She ranted, raved, praised the garlic prawns like they were holy relics. She tried to convince me to try the pudding directly off her spoon—an attempt I evaded with all the dignity I had left—and gave a thirty-minute breakdown of which beach boys deserved to be hit and which deserved to be hit twice.
It was, in its own chaotic way, peaceful.
And I realized, watching her stretch out on the couch like a lioness full of steak and sugar, that if this was what a break from duty looked like…
…I could live with that.
-----
With our clothes washed and cleaned we found ourselves back down on the floor, just playing cards, or I was while Mordred did whatever she wanted. Nothing could stop her, all hyped up on sugar like that.
"I was confused as to why I hadn't been thrown out yet, but I guess you can answer that question for me?" I asked the man sitting next to me as I won another round.
The man turned toward me with a casual smile. "I'm just here for the cards."
I raised an eyebrow. "Is that so?"
"Las Vegas attracts all kinds of people. Some play to win, some to watch." He set down his untouched drink and gave a little shrug. "I'm more the latter."
I looked at him fully now, tilting my head just slightly. "And yet you've barely looked at anything else around here."
He gave a light chuckle, the kind people use when they think charm can distract from their intent. "Maybe I'm just distracted."
"You're not here to flirt," I said coolly.
He didn't flinch, but he stopped smiling.
The next hand came. Another win. I let the chips slide into my pile.
"Tell me, Tony, do you know how much I have won so far?" I asked the dealer.
Tony hesitated, glancing at the mountain of chips beside me, then back to his count. "Hard to say, ma'am. Quite a bit."
I looked to the man beside me. He hadn't touched his cards in four rounds.
"What about you?" I asked, calm and pleasant. "You've been watching all evening. Surely you've kept track?"
The man gave a disarming little shrug. "I don't really count chips. I'm more of a… vibe guy."
I tilted my head at him. "A vibe guy. How charmingly vague."
The next hand came. I barely looked at my cards. Another win. I let the chips clink into place without reaction.
"You know the number," I said, eyes still on the table. "Three days. Same seat. Same table. No losses. By now, I'm sitting on—what would you say?"
I turned back toward him, gaze sharp now.
He sighed like a defeated man. "You are up around three point one million, not counting what your companion has lost or spent."
"And yet, dear Tony here keeps giving me a new hand, round after round. Which is strange… such losses should surely make those in charge feel the pinch, so question is, what is stopping them?"
My companion didn't answer right away.
He adjusted his jacket. Not out of nervousness, but like a man who knew the rhythm of conversations, and how long silence could speak before it needed to be broken.
"There are certain players," he said finally, "that casinos decide it's better to observe than confront."
I hummed. "So I've been upgraded to 'observation status.' How flattering."
"Don't take it personally. You've just… caught our attention."
"Our?" I echoed, though I already knew.
Coulson didn't blink. "I'm Agent Coulson. Strategic Homeland Intervention Enforcement and Logistics Division."
I couldn't help but marvel at the fact that he said the entire name so easily, I mean, it was crazy long, why not just call it SHIELD? That name was surely made with the anagram in mind.
"Sounds far more serious than someone checking for possible cheating should be called." I decided that since I had their attention, I might as well humor them for a bit, before disappearing entirely.
Coulson gave a soft, noncommittal smile. "We keep an eye on a lot of things. Cheating's just one of them."
"And yet, you know I'm not cheating," I said, setting down my cards without looking. Another win. Of course.
"Your hands are clean," he admitted. "No marked cards. No sleight of hand. No devices."
"So what is it then? My posture? My hair?" I tilted my head with a wry smile. "Or perhaps I breathe too efficiently."
"It's more the consistency," Coulson said. "You win with statistical perfection, and that's not how probability works. Not here."
I reached for my glass, swirling the golden liquid. "You'd be surprised how far one can get with practice, focus… and a bit of charm."
"I believe you," he said. Then he paused. "But we don't bet on charm alone."
I leaned in, just enough to meet his gaze fully. "And what do you think I am?"
He studied me, eyes unreadable. "We're still figuring that out."
"Well," I said, sitting back again with lazy grace. "Do hurry. I'd hate for you to waste your time chasing a tourist."
Coulson gave a tight smile. "Tourists usually have some kind of paper trail, not to mention even citizens do, and yet neither of you seems to have anything like that."
"You got me, I'm Mystique, earning money for the Brotherhood."
Coulson didn't even blink. "A good attempt, but we do know her current location. I could have an agent take a picture of her within a minute."
Now that surprised me. After all, from what I knew, she was staying in Albion, and mostly dealing with setting up the mutant settlement, which meant that if he was speaking the truth, which he was, they had someone so close to her.
That was impressive, but I doubted she didn't know she had a tail; likely, she just couldn't get rid of them due to my laws not being soft on murder.
"Hmm, you are a good agent, very good indeed. But I'm just lucky, very lucky." I said and got up from my seat.
Coulson's eyes tracked my movement, but he didn't reach for a weapon. Just sat there, calm and composed, like a man who knew better than to provoke something he couldn't contain.
"Luck," he echoed, tone neutral.
I smiled, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. "Yes. That's all it is, really. A few million in luck. Nothing worth sending an entire agency for."
He stood as well, adjusting his sleeves like this was just another polite end to another polite meeting. "We're not here because of the money. We're here because things don't add up."
"Then keep counting," I said, brushing past him.
"But be careful," I added over my shoulder. "If you stare at something long enough, it might notice. And not everything likes being watched."
He didn't follow. Didn't call after me. He just stood there, probably already filing a report in his mind.
I sure hoped Mordred had her fill of fun, because we couldn't stay here any longer. Because if we did, we would have to answer questions, and that wouldn't be easy without giving away things I didn't want to.
(End of chapter)
So, on one hand, I feel like I let Mordred be too nice over the last few chapters, and the relationship between Mordred and Arthuria be too good.
They are very close to one another here, which might be hard to accept. But honestly, I have always felt that they could get along well. Mordred clearly doesn't truly hate Arthuria, and Arthuria has no hate at all.
So I really do feel that after months of working over their problems, they should be pretty close, and Mordred a bit more chill.