[He takes the arm at his shoulder without argument, letting Armando steer him towards the outside world. Sure, let's pretend to be fake buddies for a few minutes longer, why the fuck not? Maybe it'll soften the blow of whatever's to come, because right now Ray's not liking his chances too much with this all just being happy fun times at some guy's mansion.
And it is a fucking mansion. The second they're out in the open Ray's smacked in the face with a million different things to look at, and every bit of it like a slice of pure perfection. The plants were full of life, the pool spotless, the architecture amazing, everything was clean and in it's place, and every inch of the home and the garden and the furniture and whatever else was made from the finest materials. Ray's no expert in interior design, but even from this distance he knows good leather when he sees it, he even knows real marble and real gold. The pool table alone is probably worth more than he pays for a years rent at his apartment. It's probably more than he earns in a year.
Armando isn't wrong about it sucking, even gets a vague nod of agreement. A guy like Ray couldn't save this sort of money in a hundred lifetimes, not on his salary. No wonder there's so many cops bitter about being in 'the wrong business' when they see what the other side are getting. Live a life of justice and servitude and all you get is shit pay and long hours. Live a life of crime and you get mansions, whores and spare time to play pool. Fuckers.
He doesn't even hide the slack jawed stare at it all. This was so out of his league that he's not even sure he should be allowed to step inside. He might make the place dirty just by being near it, but then Armando's moving away, heading off inside and Ray decides it's best to follow. Where would he go if he didn't? Maybe he'd get off the property before they picked him off, but that's really a best case scenario, more than likely he'd be shot the second he started bolting for it, or at the very least caught by a few thugs and dragged back to face harsher consequences or risk his partner getting injured.
And so Ray steps inside, standing like he's not quite sure what to do with himself as he watches the other shut the doors behind them and then man handle his gun. His gun in the hands of a mobster. Never a good sign.
When he first gets the order he can't help but exhale a sharp noise of amusement, although almost immediately realising that maybe it wasn't a joke.]
It's uh, it's alright. Yeah.
[His chewing quickens, jittering just slightly on the spot as he thinks, staring from Armando to the gun and then the rest of the room. He doesn't want blood on his suit. He doesn't want blood anywhere, not unless it's the mobster's blood. Hey, maybe they can just brawl, he's cool with that, and he can do that in his suit just fine. He does, however, shift to remove his jacket, sliding it off his shoulders and then holding it by his side because it's getting a little too warm with his heart beating a million times a minute.]
Y'know, I think I'll keep the suit on. It's a little cold in here. I wouldn't wanna catch a chill.
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And it is a fucking mansion. The second they're out in the open Ray's smacked in the face with a million different things to look at, and every bit of it like a slice of pure perfection. The plants were full of life, the pool spotless, the architecture amazing, everything was clean and in it's place, and every inch of the home and the garden and the furniture and whatever else was made from the finest materials. Ray's no expert in interior design, but even from this distance he knows good leather when he sees it, he even knows real marble and real gold. The pool table alone is probably worth more than he pays for a years rent at his apartment. It's probably more than he earns in a year.
Armando isn't wrong about it sucking, even gets a vague nod of agreement. A guy like Ray couldn't save this sort of money in a hundred lifetimes, not on his salary. No wonder there's so many cops bitter about being in 'the wrong business' when they see what the other side are getting. Live a life of justice and servitude and all you get is shit pay and long hours. Live a life of crime and you get mansions, whores and spare time to play pool. Fuckers.
He doesn't even hide the slack jawed stare at it all. This was so out of his league that he's not even sure he should be allowed to step inside. He might make the place dirty just by being near it, but then Armando's moving away, heading off inside and Ray decides it's best to follow. Where would he go if he didn't? Maybe he'd get off the property before they picked him off, but that's really a best case scenario, more than likely he'd be shot the second he started bolting for it, or at the very least caught by a few thugs and dragged back to face harsher consequences or risk his partner getting injured.
And so Ray steps inside, standing like he's not quite sure what to do with himself as he watches the other shut the doors behind them and then man handle his gun. His gun in the hands of a mobster. Never a good sign.
When he first gets the order he can't help but exhale a sharp noise of amusement, although almost immediately realising that maybe it wasn't a joke.]
It's uh, it's alright. Yeah.
[His chewing quickens, jittering just slightly on the spot as he thinks, staring from Armando to the gun and then the rest of the room. He doesn't want blood on his suit. He doesn't want blood anywhere, not unless it's the mobster's blood. Hey, maybe they can just brawl, he's cool with that, and he can do that in his suit just fine. He does, however, shift to remove his jacket, sliding it off his shoulders and then holding it by his side because it's getting a little too warm with his heart beating a million times a minute.]
Y'know, I think I'll keep the suit on. It's a little cold in here. I wouldn't wanna catch a chill.