The First Age

Constantine watched the bar the way one watched television late at night, thumb half-resting on an imaginary button, attention drifting easily from one scene to the next. The platinum blonde woman and the hotel’s owner held his gaze longer than most. Not because anything flared between them, but because nothing did. They were both attractive in entirely different ways, yet the space between them remained clean and untouched. There was no pull. No spark. Nothing even trying to become something.

He tilted his head, mildly amused. For a moment he wondered if they were both gay, but that explanation dissolved almost at once. The owner, Adrian, did not seem interested in anyone. Not men. Not women. Not the room itself. He moved through it like a fixed point, self-contained and uninviting of attachment. Which left the other man at the bar.

Constantine’s attention sharpened there. Just for an instant, he thought he saw a thread pulse between them. A flicker, faint but undeniable. Then it vanished, as if it had never been. He blinked, half expecting the pattern to correct itself. It did not. The strangeness of it set his thoughts turning. A room full of beautiful people, softened by drink and circumstance, and yet nothing truly connected. No lingering cords. No quiet tangles. It felt wrong, like music missing a note.

Then, abruptly, another story unfolded.

A flash of threads burst into being across the room, bright and urgent. They pulsed, dimmed, twisted, snapped, and then reformed in a new shape altogether, as if the pattern itself were reconsidering its choices. Connie leaned forward slightly, interest fully claimed now. The pair were striking together. A handsome man with a reserved air, his thread steady but newly awakened, and the woman beside him...

Oh.

Recognition settled in with a soft click. She was the new American Privilege. Constantine had seen her face often enough in the feeds, polished and sharpened by careful editing. In person, she was still beautiful. That, somehow, made the connection between them even more compelling.

He leaned back in his chair, cosmopolitan forgotten, a slim smile tracing his lips. In all his watching, in all the places he had been, Constantine had never seen threads behave quite like theirs.

Adrian's attention was turning elsewhere. That didn't surprise Olivier in the slightest. The man owned the hotel. He likely had a lot to deal with. Olivier was already surprised Adrian had come over to speak with him. That left the lady. It was also her first time at the Radiance, and he had to agree with her assessment. She seemed relaxed here. Even if it was her first time he, she was used to the type of environment that Radiance provided.

"Not my first time to Moscow," he said in response to the woman's question. "I'm here once or twice a year."

Generally he just passed through, but Moscow seemed to be where things were happening. The center of civilization as it were. Perhaps relocating would be something worth considering. His mother might even approve. It's likely he could do a lot for the company here - not to mention seeing Elin working might convince them that she would be a better candidate to take over the company than he was.

Before he could continue, another man approached and ordered a water. That was strange. No one came to a bar alone to get water, but soon enough the riddle was solved when a woman approached the stranger. She was a well enough known face. The man was here to meet the newest Privilege of the CCD. At her insistence, the pair left to go to a table. Those two had a history. That was pretty apparent.

Olivier took this time to look around the room. Pairs of people drank together or small groups had conversations like their little group. One man stood out - for no other reason than he was alone. Interesting enough, his eyes seemed to be focused in their direction. That could mean a lot of things. The question was ultimately why. The man looked familiar, even if Olivier couldn't place him.

Damn...that's a sexy man... he thought, his eyes lingering for just a moment longer before he turned back to the young lady.

"And you, Ms..." he paused, a smile curling his lips in amusement. "I'm sorry, I don't believe I caught your name." He asked. She hadn't offered it before - perhaps on purpose - perhaps not. Rich people games made it hard to tell sometimes. Even if he hated the game, he knew how to play.