Asylums had always been a tricky business. They were unpredictable, powerful and had the potential to be incredibly dangerous if they had been trained in their art well. It was considered a dark art after all, utilising the many powers of alchemy, betraying the very laws of reality to bring new forces into being. By all rights, alchemy simply shouldn’t exist. Clearly someone, or some[I]thing[/I], desperately wanted such magical power to plague the mortal plane for as long as it could. Whether that was to help or hinder none could be sure. Alistair often wondered how that being must’ve felt about how the world treated this gift that it had granted him. This curse that followed him everywhere he went. The only thing that he could be sure of was that whatever its motives, Alistair’s act of dropping a marble down his sleeve only for it to fly straight out of the other was not going to impress it. That was not enough to convince him to stop, however.

‘I really [b]hate[/b] this dress!’ yelled a voice.

Alistair had almost forgotten about his lovely companion, caught up in the childish whimsy of his own speculation. He sat on an arm chair, thick brown leather that creaked slightly as he leaned back into it, with one leg crossed over the other and a cane firmly gripped by his right hand. He faced a door, raising an eyebrow as he took note of the sounds of movement that came from the other side. Whether “movement” was an adequate description or not was another query for Alistair as it sounded more like an angry bull in a china shop. Curses flew out from the other room and every other second Alistair could hear something fall to the floor with a great thud. Yes, movement was far too subtle.

‘And why does it have to be black?’ the voice complained again. ‘Black is such a dull colour.’

‘Your hair is black, love.’

‘Don’t you dare bring up my hair or I’ll tear out all of yours.’

‘But black looks so fetching on you, miss Hyson,’ replied Alistair. ‘It also happens to be the only dress you own that hasn’t been torn to pieces so we haven’t much choice as far as colour is concerned.’

Vail Hyson cussed again. ‘I’m not even sure this thing fits properly. Are you sure my leg is supposed to go in this bit? I don’t think I’ve ever worn one of these things befo-” there was a quiet yelp of pain before the grunts of irritation continued. ‘I think it bit me.’

As he had done many times before when talking to Vail, Alistair rolled his eyes. She was a pleasant enough girl to be around, surprisingly intelligent when she put her mind to it, but as was often the case her childish heart got the better of her. Vail was not comfortable when she did not get her own way but thankfully she had grown to respect Alistair enough to put up with his suggestions and gentle persuasions. She was raw potential, needing only a gentle nudge in the right direction to bring out the best in her. Alistair was happy knowing that that he was that nudge.

Gripping the head of his umbrella for support he pushed himself upwards and stood. Spending but a moment to brush his blond fringe out of his eyes, Alistair made his way towards the door with his usual, slightly exaggerated walk. He knocked twice, although getting no response from his fellow asylum he tried again. He knocked a third time and then attempted a fourth, although the door was pulled open by Vail before he had the opportunity. As per usual she was a sight to behold. Unusually though, this time he could say that as a compliment. Her hair was messy as Alistair had expected, streaks of hot pink and jet black sticking out at all angles, and her eyes were wild like a mad woman. Much to his surprise though she had in fact managed to slip on the dress, a little black number clearly designed to show off her every attractive feature. Vail was not the most delicate of human beings but it still suited her surprisingly well. She looked a completely different woman.

‘You look splendid,’ said Alistair, a wine grin across his face. ‘A million dollars, as they say.’

‘Are you sure I can’t just wear a decent looking jacket? I look like one of those cheap girls who spends all night on some old man’s arm in the vain hope that he’ll buy them something worth four times what they make in a year.’

‘Then, my dear pet, you fit the part perfectly for that is the impression we are trying to make!’

‘Har har’.

If anyone else had tried to get her to wear this ridiculously tight dress then Vail would’ve been fighting the urge to force them into it regardless of how many of their limbs she would have to break. Unfortunately, as fun as that seemed, Alistair was her closest friend and the man that she respected most. Alistair had, through thick and thin, proven himself to be right each and every time they had gotten into an argument. They were in Las Vegas after all; it was the epicentre of gambling and partying in the US, likely filled to the brim with people who were quite genuinely like the roles they would be trying to fill. With some luck (and a cocktail if she could down one without Alistair noticing) the Broken Pendulum would be like a shadow through the streets of Vegas.

‘If we’re acting out roles then why haven’t you put on your costume then, huh?’

Alistair scoffed, mocking a bow and his grin growing a few inches wider. ‘My dear, I thought you would have realised this by now. I’m always dressed for the occasion!’

As much as she tried, Vail could simply not find a fault in his sentence. With a dapper pink suit, matching umbrella and well combed hair he certainly looked the part of an eccentric millionaire prepared for a night out on the town. He always looked like that, a complete contrast to the rugged and practical Vail. Now, for once, Vail would have the opportunity to add to the façade. An interesting proposal indeed.

‘Just help me think up a way to hide Henry and Eddie. They don’t fit in this bloody handbag,’ replied Vail, giving in. She led him into her room, part of their hotel suite, which now looked like a bomb had exploded in it. Pictures had smashed, furniture was cracked and clothes had been tossed about, one shirt now hanging out of the window.

Alistair sighed.

The pairing would later be sighting walking down the streets of Las Vegas with wide smiles and funny walks, taking in the sights and the sounds of the big city like a pair of love-struck tourists. Their arms were linked, like a couple might do, and while they both acted excitable and a little tipsy neither of them had drunk a single drop of alcohol that evening. Alistair walked along with great presence and Vail clung to his arm as she was supposed to, both with eyes peeled and a great focus on each individual they passed. Tonight would be a fun evening, Vail thought, whether their lead would prove fruitful or not.

As they passed a club, loud music blaring from the inside, Vail spun on her stiletto heels and dragged Alistair along with her. He struggled, confused as he was engulfed in bright lights and surrounded by other party goers.

‘I don’t care how important this is supposed to be. I get at least one drink and I’m making sure you get one too,’ cheered Vail as they headed further inside the building.

Alistair thought it best, for both his sanity and his health, not to protest.