Beer and smoking in Las Vegas

The city of lights was one that provided without end, in Yaksha's experience. There was always another new opportunity, always another new avenue, always another window being opened. He'd had countless doors shut in his face, to be sure; attempts of various sorts that fell flat the very moment the topic of race or identity came up. He'd been able to keep up a good front up to now, to keep the topic off people's lips, and he counted that as a victory in its own right. But the very moment he dispensed with the smoke and mirrors, he could almost feel the conversation slipping between his fingers. He could all but see the fingers going into people's ears, the defenses dropping into place.

No one wanted to discuss dinner plans with a cannibal, after all.

But that was fine, because beer was the great equalizer. All he needed was to wait it out, to let someone in this great, terribly big city find their guard let down. Preparation, plans, and control were all a great start to success, but Yaksha had come to love this city specifically because of the opportunities it presented, both to those great and small, to those weak and strong. This was a place where no amount of force, no amount of preparation, and no amount of skill could compensate for simple luck. And Yaksha was a very lucky man indeed. What else could you call a hollow like him?

And now his luck had once more availed him. He smelled it, sensed it, felt it on the rising of his hackles, the sudden sensation that all the hairs on his body were standing on end. There was a real force of nature in town, and they were all but thumbing their nose at the dangers that would doubtlessly surround a shinigami in this realm. He was either strong, incredibly reckless, or a combination of the two. And it wouldn't take long to turn those strengths into his, even in the foul mood he found himself in lately.

He sidled into a seat just beside the newcomer, adjusting his tie as he did so, and watching the table with absolute silence, snatching a drink off of a nearby carrying tray as it slipped by, and beginning to nurse it. He stifled a cough one or two times, simply drinking in the ambiance, the atmosphere, and letting himself feel the flow of conversation, the pace of battle, the sharpness of everyone's arsenal.

It was a full ten minutes before Yaksha spoke his first words, setting a stack of hundred dollar bills on the table, and then meeting the gaze of the man right next to him.

"Do you know the surefire way to win a game such as this? It really isn't hard."