[Okay, so he got the threat well enough about the name. The shut the fuck up before I really do hurt you threat that actually gets Stanley falling quietly, chewing silently on his gum as he follows, peering around to take note of what goons were still paying attention. There were plenty eyeing him wearily, but none that seemed too overly concerned now that he'd been de-clawed, so to speak. It seemed like Armando's confidence was enough to keep the rest of the team feeling similar, and ain't that a sign of good leadership? Stay calm and they will follow. Clever.
The limo doesn't surprise him. Of course some higher up mobster is going to have a limo, of course. These guys have money to throw away at anything, they earn more in a few hours than he makes in a year and-- damn, he never got to cash in those chips. Oh well. Maybe another day.
It's not fear that has him hesitating, but e does his best to get a good assessment of the car's interior while he can. Tinted windows. No witnesses. Mafia car. They could easily blow his brains out in the back seat and just replace the car. No one would know and the repercussions would likely be non existent beyond an ineffective search by his own department with a possible but reluctant involvement with the Vegas PD. Even if shooting was the likely outcome, he couldn't prevent it. They'd just as likely get him for bolting, or even just for refusing to enter.
Easiest route was still to play along and bide his time. He could still get the information he needed and get out of here. Just keep with the program and maybe turn the cockiness down a little before he gets an actual fist to the nose.
And so he moved when ushered in, sitting opposite and sparing a glance around the cushy interior because this is fancier than anything he's used to. He's just a poor Chicago boy, he's not used to riches of Vegas.
When the handcuffs land next to him, he reaches for them, his eyes drifting from them up to Armando and then staying there, as if watching the suit will somehow prevent him from drawing a weapon. Ray does exactly as he's told, slapping a cuff over his left wrist and then leaving the other dangling uselessly as he smiles proudly, and maybe he's being a smart ass or maybe he's just being a dumb ass, it's often hard to tell with him. It's only after that he notices there was a question hanging in the air. An odd question about buttermilk that has him squinting just slightly in confusion.]
Uh.
[Regret it later? Cocaine? Never done it before. Cute.]
Nah thanks, man, I'm not a user. Legalities, y'know?
no subject
[Okay, so he got the threat well enough about the name. The shut the fuck up before I really do hurt you threat that actually gets Stanley falling quietly, chewing silently on his gum as he follows, peering around to take note of what goons were still paying attention. There were plenty eyeing him wearily, but none that seemed too overly concerned now that he'd been de-clawed, so to speak. It seemed like Armando's confidence was enough to keep the rest of the team feeling similar, and ain't that a sign of good leadership? Stay calm and they will follow. Clever.
The limo doesn't surprise him. Of course some higher up mobster is going to have a limo, of course. These guys have money to throw away at anything, they earn more in a few hours than he makes in a year and-- damn, he never got to cash in those chips. Oh well. Maybe another day.
It's not fear that has him hesitating, but e does his best to get a good assessment of the car's interior while he can. Tinted windows. No witnesses. Mafia car. They could easily blow his brains out in the back seat and just replace the car. No one would know and the repercussions would likely be non existent beyond an ineffective search by his own department with a possible but reluctant involvement with the Vegas PD. Even if shooting was the likely outcome, he couldn't prevent it. They'd just as likely get him for bolting, or even just for refusing to enter.
Easiest route was still to play along and bide his time. He could still get the information he needed and get out of here. Just keep with the program and maybe turn the cockiness down a little before he gets an actual fist to the nose.
And so he moved when ushered in, sitting opposite and sparing a glance around the cushy interior because this is fancier than anything he's used to. He's just a poor Chicago boy, he's not used to riches of Vegas.
When the handcuffs land next to him, he reaches for them, his eyes drifting from them up to Armando and then staying there, as if watching the suit will somehow prevent him from drawing a weapon. Ray does exactly as he's told, slapping a cuff over his left wrist and then leaving the other dangling uselessly as he smiles proudly, and maybe he's being a smart ass or maybe he's just being a dumb ass, it's often hard to tell with him. It's only after that he notices there was a question hanging in the air. An odd question about buttermilk that has him squinting just slightly in confusion.]
Uh.
[Regret it later? Cocaine? Never done it before. Cute.]
Nah thanks, man, I'm not a user. Legalities, y'know?