05-10-2020, 11:56 PM
Ephraim made no attempt to disguise the hint of a triumphant smile, even tipping his glass in a not-so-subtle salute, and though she narrowed her eyes at him it was only in tease. She was always polite when she listened to his pitches for augmentations, but he’d discovered a long time ago that her demurity was not to be mistaken for softness. Of course, the brashness of Paragon’s Build a Better You slogan did not deny her acceptance of the fact they also manufactured the very height of landwarrior tech, among other resources Pervaya made ample use of -- their business relationship in that regard was good. But Ephraim had always pushed for more, and she more than suspected the reason why. The world did change, and though peace prospered within the Custody’s borders, so too did the hints of its divisions.
Paragon had technology, but what Ephraim wanted was access to soldiers. And Pervaya Liniya was the best private security firm in DI; ex-military exclusively.
You protect people, he had told her only moments before; and it was true, Pervaya had never dabbled in property or possessions. For her father that had simply made business sense, a strong and undeniable brand upon which to raise an empire, but for Zhenya it was a deeper ethos. She imagined it was why Ephraim had primed her with talk of natural disasters and the burden for future generations, understanding it to be the cause upon which she would lay her sword. Honestly, she commended the shrewdness. For this time he did not present her with the cold face of technology, so that she might smile and suggest he forward the proposal to her office for consideration. He presented her with the face of a man, which was infinitely more tempting.
Ephraim stood languidly, clearly a little perturbed at having to rise. “Ephraim is preferable,” he said. “And this is Zhenya Disir, of Pervaya Liniya Security.”
Curiosity marked Zhenya’s own inspection. The importance she poured into her own aesthetic habitually bled into her judgement of others, and her gaze catalogued all the little nuances of him effortlessly as she watched him shake Ephraim’s hand. Tall, and well-dressed, and very easy on the eye. He seemed familiar in a way she could not quite place, and she was usually good with faces, yet she certainly did not know the name -- though absence of a surname did not help. A naturally warm smile marked her own greeting as she took his hand, and her other rested briefly on his arm when she leaned in to accept the kiss. He was smooth and flawlessly confident in manner, but she did not think he had been expecting her presence at all. She refrained from the urge to plant an accusing eye on their host, whom she suspected was feeling rather smug with himself.
“Like the number,” Ephraim chimed in, amused, as he sat back into the comfortable cushions. He stretched his glass up above his head, clinking the ice to claim the attention of the bar, and impatiently indicated the addition to their party. “Sit, be welcome, make merry. It’s not the office, and thank god for that. In Russia it’s ill conceived to do business with a man you don’t know, and you can’t know a man until you’ve been gloriously drunk with him.” He offered a sinful grin, not even a little contrite.
Zhenya wondered if he had actually warned the man beforehand of what he might expect tonight. Ephraim could be discourteous with the truth, which might mean he’d led his new “associate” in blind, but might equally mean Seven was not as fresh to Moscow’s proclivities as suggested -- in which case Ephraim was simply trying to nudge her into taking him underwing, in the hope it would sway her towards whatever ends were tonight’s intentions.
“It’s true,” she said. “It’s the best way to know the truth of a man’s soul, or so they say anyway.” A brow rose playfully, and she laughed like maybe she could offer another opinion on that. Her gaze lingered, still forming her first impression of him. “Your accent, Seven, it’s Swedish?”
Paragon had technology, but what Ephraim wanted was access to soldiers. And Pervaya Liniya was the best private security firm in DI; ex-military exclusively.
You protect people, he had told her only moments before; and it was true, Pervaya had never dabbled in property or possessions. For her father that had simply made business sense, a strong and undeniable brand upon which to raise an empire, but for Zhenya it was a deeper ethos. She imagined it was why Ephraim had primed her with talk of natural disasters and the burden for future generations, understanding it to be the cause upon which she would lay her sword. Honestly, she commended the shrewdness. For this time he did not present her with the cold face of technology, so that she might smile and suggest he forward the proposal to her office for consideration. He presented her with the face of a man, which was infinitely more tempting.
Ephraim stood languidly, clearly a little perturbed at having to rise. “Ephraim is preferable,” he said. “And this is Zhenya Disir, of Pervaya Liniya Security.”
Curiosity marked Zhenya’s own inspection. The importance she poured into her own aesthetic habitually bled into her judgement of others, and her gaze catalogued all the little nuances of him effortlessly as she watched him shake Ephraim’s hand. Tall, and well-dressed, and very easy on the eye. He seemed familiar in a way she could not quite place, and she was usually good with faces, yet she certainly did not know the name -- though absence of a surname did not help. A naturally warm smile marked her own greeting as she took his hand, and her other rested briefly on his arm when she leaned in to accept the kiss. He was smooth and flawlessly confident in manner, but she did not think he had been expecting her presence at all. She refrained from the urge to plant an accusing eye on their host, whom she suspected was feeling rather smug with himself.
“Like the number,” Ephraim chimed in, amused, as he sat back into the comfortable cushions. He stretched his glass up above his head, clinking the ice to claim the attention of the bar, and impatiently indicated the addition to their party. “Sit, be welcome, make merry. It’s not the office, and thank god for that. In Russia it’s ill conceived to do business with a man you don’t know, and you can’t know a man until you’ve been gloriously drunk with him.” He offered a sinful grin, not even a little contrite.
Zhenya wondered if he had actually warned the man beforehand of what he might expect tonight. Ephraim could be discourteous with the truth, which might mean he’d led his new “associate” in blind, but might equally mean Seven was not as fresh to Moscow’s proclivities as suggested -- in which case Ephraim was simply trying to nudge her into taking him underwing, in the hope it would sway her towards whatever ends were tonight’s intentions.
“It’s true,” she said. “It’s the best way to know the truth of a man’s soul, or so they say anyway.” A brow rose playfully, and she laughed like maybe she could offer another opinion on that. Her gaze lingered, still forming her first impression of him. “Your accent, Seven, it’s Swedish?”