09-10-2018, 09:52 PM
Ivan couldn't help the smirk that had formed as he saw the various looks and dismissals. He opened himself up to it, refusing to look away as an older hard looking man in a suit that- well, he didn't know materials, other than the basics. This was anything but- refused to look away as he narrowed his eyes, the question of his belonging more than clear.
If anything Ivan's smirk became a smile, though definitely one with curl to his lip. They had one kind of power. He was not so blind as that. But Ivan was drunk on the simmering resentment and anger that had been on a slow boil since that night in the red light district when Pol had opened his eyes to the world. Not enough to be impaired. But enough.
And none of these people had a clue as to what he could do. Oh, he might see the Commissioner here, maybe Chief of Police. Others who knew of Domovoi and so perhaps him. And at the Ball. But knowing of and experiencing were two very different things.
The sad part was Drayson might even be in on all this too. Bah! He had to be. The man had to know how the world worked. He'd found his path. His position was nearly one of autonomy. There was a road there, if Ivan knew how to navigate it it. Something he'd heard before came to him. A line. Sometimes you gotta have a little dirt on you for anybody to trust you. At the time it had seemed a cop out.
But now....
This was not Ivan's world. But he would have to become part of it. If he wanted to do what he needed to do. You wait. I might be crashing your party now. But there will come a time when I will have a place here. If Ascendancy wasn't gonna take care of things, Ivan would.
A wave of a hand caught his eye. Ryker, lounging at the bar, lazily watching everyone. And for some reason Ivan felt a thrill of excitement flow through him. The violence was there, filling the air. The violence of the fights. The violence of greed. The violence of arrogance. Potential.
He walked up to the bar and sat down, relaxed. He'd sat in the worst dives, among men who'd as soon kill you as ignore you. Mean with massive fists and the enjoyment of suffering. Men who probed for weakness.
The bartender came and looked at him, eyebrow raised. Yeah, Ivan wasn't ordering a $1000 bottle of scotch. "Amber ale, two limes." He looked at Ryker. It wasn't loud like a club where you had to shout to be heard. "Heard of this place. Glad for the invite."
Beer cold and frosty in the glass, Ivan raised it in toast before taking a drink.
If anything Ivan's smirk became a smile, though definitely one with curl to his lip. They had one kind of power. He was not so blind as that. But Ivan was drunk on the simmering resentment and anger that had been on a slow boil since that night in the red light district when Pol had opened his eyes to the world. Not enough to be impaired. But enough.
And none of these people had a clue as to what he could do. Oh, he might see the Commissioner here, maybe Chief of Police. Others who knew of Domovoi and so perhaps him. And at the Ball. But knowing of and experiencing were two very different things.
The sad part was Drayson might even be in on all this too. Bah! He had to be. The man had to know how the world worked. He'd found his path. His position was nearly one of autonomy. There was a road there, if Ivan knew how to navigate it it. Something he'd heard before came to him. A line. Sometimes you gotta have a little dirt on you for anybody to trust you. At the time it had seemed a cop out.
But now....
This was not Ivan's world. But he would have to become part of it. If he wanted to do what he needed to do. You wait. I might be crashing your party now. But there will come a time when I will have a place here. If Ascendancy wasn't gonna take care of things, Ivan would.
A wave of a hand caught his eye. Ryker, lounging at the bar, lazily watching everyone. And for some reason Ivan felt a thrill of excitement flow through him. The violence was there, filling the air. The violence of the fights. The violence of greed. The violence of arrogance. Potential.
He walked up to the bar and sat down, relaxed. He'd sat in the worst dives, among men who'd as soon kill you as ignore you. Mean with massive fists and the enjoyment of suffering. Men who probed for weakness.
The bartender came and looked at him, eyebrow raised. Yeah, Ivan wasn't ordering a $1000 bottle of scotch. "Amber ale, two limes." He looked at Ryker. It wasn't loud like a club where you had to shout to be heard. "Heard of this place. Glad for the invite."
Beer cold and frosty in the glass, Ivan raised it in toast before taking a drink.