Once his bags are in hand, Stark slams the back door and ducks back through the front, to grab the black knife from the ignition. Then he closes that door, not bothering to lock it. Probably he won't drive the car again.
There's a little bit of a smirk for the question; it appears he's finally waking up completely. "Of course not. I'm just gonna break into a suite." This is said in that tone Stark has that could be serious, but could just as easily be sarcastic; even the few people he's close to usually have trouble making out the difference.
But it is apparently sarcasm, because when they take the elevator up to the ground floor of the hotel - with the main casino floor flashing and ringing and making those falling-coin noises all around - Stark approaches the front desk. The concierge eyes him up, and Dean behind him, obviously coming to his conclusions and offering a faked, polite, but still condescending smile. The tuxedo'd idiot might as well have a cash register for a brain, and he's clearly not expecting much from these two.
Stark's mother always did say he constantly exceeded expectations.
Leaning offensively on the fancy marble counter, Stark nods towards the concierge shortly. "Reservations."
"Of course," the concierge says, nearly as dismissive. "Name...sir?"
The 'sir' comes very reluctantly. Stark just smiles, vulpine. "Beherit."
The penguin clicks at his keyboard, checks the monitor. Then his eyes seem to grow three sizes bigger, just like the Grinch's heart, and flick rapidly between the monitor and the proposed guests a few times. "Ahh...welcome to the Orleans hotel and casino, sir." 'Sir' is a lot more emphatic this time, and the voice is pure smarm. "Let me call you a valet. Do you have other luggage we can fetch? We'd be happy--"
"Don't," Stark cuts him off. "Just give me the keys."
The concierge falls all over himself to follow this order, passing over a pair of cards, along with a glossy brochure about the hotel's current entertainments. "Here you are, Mr. Beherit. And please, if there is anything I can do, don't hesitate to call."
Stark takes the keys, and leaves the desk without another word, heading past the casino for the bank of elevators. Only when he's about ten yards away from the front desk does he allow himself a small, but more genuine grin.
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Date: 2013-04-13 05:41 am (UTC)There's a little bit of a smirk for the question; it appears he's finally waking up completely. "Of course not. I'm just gonna break into a suite." This is said in that tone Stark has that could be serious, but could just as easily be sarcastic; even the few people he's close to usually have trouble making out the difference.
But it is apparently sarcasm, because when they take the elevator up to the ground floor of the hotel - with the main casino floor flashing and ringing and making those falling-coin noises all around - Stark approaches the front desk. The concierge eyes him up, and Dean behind him, obviously coming to his conclusions and offering a faked, polite, but still condescending smile. The tuxedo'd idiot might as well have a cash register for a brain, and he's clearly not expecting much from these two.
Stark's mother always did say he constantly exceeded expectations.
Leaning offensively on the fancy marble counter, Stark nods towards the concierge shortly. "Reservations."
"Of course," the concierge says, nearly as dismissive. "Name...sir?"
The 'sir' comes very reluctantly. Stark just smiles, vulpine. "Beherit."
The penguin clicks at his keyboard, checks the monitor. Then his eyes seem to grow three sizes bigger, just like the Grinch's heart, and flick rapidly between the monitor and the proposed guests a few times. "Ahh...welcome to the Orleans hotel and casino, sir." 'Sir' is a lot more emphatic this time, and the voice is pure smarm. "Let me call you a valet. Do you have other luggage we can fetch? We'd be happy--"
"Don't," Stark cuts him off. "Just give me the keys."
The concierge falls all over himself to follow this order, passing over a pair of cards, along with a glossy brochure about the hotel's current entertainments. "Here you are, Mr. Beherit. And please, if there is anything I can do, don't hesitate to call."
Stark takes the keys, and leaves the desk without another word, heading past the casino for the bank of elevators. Only when he's about ten yards away from the front desk does he allow himself a small, but more genuine grin.