Arcade realised he hadn’t worn anything but his frumpy clothes and his lab coat for so long a time he couldn’t remember when last it had happened. Leaving his room in his old, but well-kept brown suit he told himself not to make such a bloody fuss about it all, but truth be told, the underlying issue of him having to feign an affair was enough to steal his sleep for a long, long time. He might as well put the time to some good use and have a nice chat with a handsome guy instead of tossing around in his bed.

Dylan was waiting for him outside the gates. “Hey Doc! Ready for some entertainment?”
Arcade wished he was more of a smart-mouth. “I guess so. Where do you want to go?”
“The Wrangler is dirty and the booze is watered, the Luxe too uppity.” Dylan lit himself a smoke as they headed for the gate towards the Strip. “Tops is boring.”
“That doesn’t leave much choice then”, Arcade gave back.
Dylan grinned at him. “Been told they have a few great acts on their stages”, he said with a wink.
“Been told?”
“Never been in there myself.” Dylan tapped the ash of his cigarette. And in a lowered voice, he continued: “Just so you won’t have to worry, expenses are covered courtesy of Mr V.”
“Well that’s something”, Arcade said, patting his pockets and realising that he had forgotten his own cigarettes. And while he wasn’t a nicotine junkie, he very much liked to have the occasional smoke to relax.
Dylan offered Arcade his pack. “Smoke, Doc?”
“Thanks. Although…” Arcade paused as he leaned over the offered lighter. “Although I’d prefer if you’d use my name.”
“Arcade, huh?” Dylan flashed him a good-natured smile and Arcade shook his head.
“You know, for a powder ganger you’re actually quite likeable”, he said.

The smile on Dylan’s face died.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to...” Great, Arcade thought to himself. The evening hadn’t even started and he had already ruined Dylan’s mood.
“It’s all right.” Dylan sighed and shrugged. “I mean... it’s not as if I hadn’t had a choice.”
Arcade was silent and tried to think of something conciliatory to say. He finally settled for: “Yes.” And when Dylan looked up sharply, he continued. “And then you made the choice to leave that behind and I’ve got no right to rub those mistakes of your past further in. My sincere apologies. I’ll not be using that word again.”
A hesitating smile crept onto the dark man’s face and he shrugged. “Shouldn’t be so sensitive about it, but maybe you’re right.”

The situation thus saved, Arcade allowed himself to relax a little and they entered the Gomorrah in a much lighter mood. They found themselves a table in the Brimstone Bar, made themselves comfortable with a few drinks and watched the show: dancers, strippers, singers. They chatted amicably through the evening, although Arcade took great care of avoiding Dylan’s past, and thus he talked a lot about himself since his own past was less dangerous territory.

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