ask-nightvales-voice:

“Ring-a-ding-ding..~” The billionaire cooed, glancing at them for only a few moments before locking his gaze back on the intern before him. “I woulda thought you’d be wantin’ the low down on all of ‘em, not just me.”

ask-nightvales-voice:

Marcus nodded dismissively, ruffling Cecil’s hair. “I got it, I got it. Jus’ don’t tell no-one about the speakeasy and we’re cool, cat.”

“Oh, really? How big we talkin’ here?” He winked, swirling his champagne glass haphazardly in his hand. “Are y’completely blinded?”

“Lets just say your ice garden wouldn’t survive~”

Flashing a cheeky grin, Cecil waved at the bartender, accepting a flute of something akin to champagne. He held the slim stem delicately, ignoring the foam snapping and buzzing at the edges of the crystal as he leaned closer to Marcus, still grinning.

“So has this shindig appealed to your finer tastes, Mr. Vansten? I know you have a certain…. flair, that cannot be matched.”

“Aces, babe.” Marcus stretched, shrugging contently. “That’s th’nice thing about havin’ a lotta jack, you know? Ain’t no one gonna tell you what t’do if you wan’ a speakeasy in yer house. Booze an’ Cadillac. That’s what I got, an’ it’s up fer the takin’..”

“Careful,” He murmured, “I don’t want you taking any wooden nickels. Give an earful to the wrong listener and you could be taken for a ride.”

“Yeah, yeah. I doubt the coppers are gonna raid this joint anytime soon, kiddo.” He chuckled, shaking his head. “I mean, I’m gonna fight back if they try.” 

“Oh, really? How big we talkin’ here?” He winked, swirling his champagne glass haphazardly in his hand. “Are y’completely blinded?”

“Lets just say your ice garden wouldn’t survive~”

Flashing a cheeky grin, Cecil waved at the bartender, accepting a flute of something akin to champagne. He held the slim stem delicately, ignoring the foam snapping and buzzing at the edges of the crystal as he leaned closer to Marcus, still grinning.

“So has this shindig appealed to your finer tastes, Mr. Vansten? I know you have a certain…. flair, that cannot be matched.”

“Aces, babe.” Marcus stretched, shrugging contently. “That’s th’nice thing about havin’ a lotta jack, you know? Ain’t no one gonna tell you what t’do if you wan’ a speakeasy in yer house. Booze an’ Cadillac. That’s what I got, an’ it’s up fer the takin’..”

“Oh, really? How big we talkin’ here?” He winked, swirling his champagne glass haphazardly in his hand. “Are y’completely blinded?”

“I ain’t gonna snitch on ya!” Marcus watched him with wary eyes, locked on the twirling knife. “Why d’you wanna hurt me? Y’ain’t a bad guy.”

Marcus scoffed, rolling his eyes and tugging at his restraints. “I don’t got any hooch for ya, kid. Yer gonna have t’get fried somewhere else.”

“Aw doll, that’s not what’m looking to hear.” Climbing up Nate straddled the other man, holding a pair of heavy steel pliers. “Better come up with somethin’ swell or those’re coming out.”

He glanced at the offending instruments, turning his glaring gaze back to Nate. “Y’really think that’s gonna scare me? I can tell ya about a speakeasy in town, but that’s ‘bout it. Now I don’ need no rag-a-muffin jawcracker spittin’ in my face. Git off.”

“You’re chiselin’ me and I know it, Vansten. Y’got a stash, now hand it over. You’re gummin’ the works.” 

Deft fingers pried the other’s mouth open, pliers taking hold of a molar. “Y’wanna sing now?”

Marcus winced, cringing as he felt the metal tap against his teeth. He managed to garble out a “Lay off, mac”, mumbling around the pliers.

With a flick of the wrist, Nate yanked the tooth out, depositing it almost lovingly into a waiting bowl.

“No. Y’know what I want.”

He barely had time to scream. Instead, he kicked, driving his knee upwards in an effort to get Nate off of him, spitting blood into his face with a solemn growl.

Marcus scoffed, rolling his eyes and tugging at his restraints. “I don’t got any hooch for ya, kid. Yer gonna have t’get fried somewhere else.”

“Aw doll, that’s not what’m looking to hear.” Climbing up Nate straddled the other man, holding a pair of heavy steel pliers. “Better come up with somethin’ swell or those’re coming out.”

He glanced at the offending instruments, turning his glaring gaze back to Nate. “Y’really think that’s gonna scare me? I can tell ya about a speakeasy in town, but that’s ‘bout it. Now I don’ need no rag-a-muffin jawcracker spittin’ in my face. Git off.”

“You’re chiselin’ me and I know it, Vansten. Y’got a stash, now hand it over. You’re gummin’ the works.” 

Deft fingers pried the other’s mouth open, pliers taking hold of a molar. “Y’wanna sing now?”

Marcus winced, cringing as he felt the metal tap against his teeth. He managed to garble out a “Lay off, mac”, mumbling around the pliers.

Marcus scoffed, rolling his eyes and tugging at his restraints. “I don’t got any hooch for ya, kid. Yer gonna have t’get fried somewhere else.”

“Aw doll, that’s not what’m looking to hear.” Climbing up Nate straddled the other man, holding a pair of heavy steel pliers. “Better come up with somethin’ swell or those’re coming out.”

He glanced at the offending instruments, turning his glaring gaze back to Nate. “Y’really think that’s gonna scare me? I can tell ya about a speakeasy in town, but that’s ‘bout it. Now I don’ need no rag-a-muffin jawcracker spittin’ in my face. Git off.”

Marcus scoffed, rolling his eyes and tugging at his restraints. “I don’t got any hooch for ya, kid. Yer gonna have t’get fried somewhere else.”

Calling All WtNV Blogs!!

Ok, since I’ve responded to multiple people wanting WtNV blogs recs (and subsequently only answered a handful of them), I’m making a WtNV blog masterlist.

What I need you to do is reblog this post and put in the tags how much you actually post WtNV-related stuff. And yes, there is a fun little system! Ready for it? Here we go:

Keep reading

“Mr. Vansten? Hello?” Cecil called out, rapping on the gold-plated door for what felt like the millionth time. “Ummm…did I read this invite correctly? I mean, there’s not another ‘Cecil G. Palmer’ in town. At least, not that I know of. Then again, this was sent to the station sooooooo…were you looking for Leonard instead? Hello?”

( ishkabillionaire )

The door finally opened to a cacophony of music, a few puffs of golden confetti blowing past the billionaire as he stood framed in light. Marcus blinked at him, smirking. “Yer here. Aces, Palmer. Git on in here an’ party, if yer keen to.”

There he was: Marcus Vansten, cast in the ethereal golden lights of the party. He was frozen, simply staring at the man before him. Oh masters, this was the first time he’d actually met the billionaire without a mic between them. Suddenly, he really wanted that mic.

“K-Kippy,” he managed to squeak out, immediately attempting to hide his face after the voice crack. That hadn’t happened in a while. Ugh, how embarrassing…

“Heh, ummmmmm…was I supposed to be togged to the bricks for this?”

Marcus eyed him up and down, finally shrugging. “Should’ve, but hey. Yer here, an’ t’be honest whatcha wear means squat to me. Y’look smooth all th’ time, doll.” He jabbed his thumb backwards into the light. “C’mon, git in here.”

“Mr. Vansten? Hello?” Cecil called out, rapping on the gold-plated door for what felt like the millionth time. “Ummm…did I read this invite correctly? I mean, there’s not another ‘Cecil G. Palmer’ in town. At least, not that I know of. Then again, this was sent to the station sooooooo…were you looking for Leonard instead? Hello?”

( ishkabillionaire )

The door finally opened to a cacophony of music, a few puffs of golden confetti blowing past the billionaire as he stood framed in light. Marcus blinked at him, smirking. “Yer here. Aces, Palmer. Git on in here an’ party, if yer keen to.”

1931 Cadillac 452A V16 Pininfarina Roadster.