Xander ordered refill for his coffee -- cream with two sugars. He was going to have to agree with Seven's assessment of crowded places. But then it didn't take much to strike up a conversation either, so it didn't matter much.
Xander reached across and shook the other man's hand. "Now this is going to sound contrived, but you can call me Z." He chuckled. He could imagine all sorts of reasons why a man might choose to go by a number. Seven people he killed. Seventh son of the seventh son. It was a good reason to let his shields down and look at the aura of the man who had joined him. Black with the tinge of gold -- a man atoning for something. Xander was going to go with the idea that this was a dangerous man. And the images floated around him like the special people and Xander clamped down the moment he saw the fire that sprang to his vision when he thought of why Seven was called seven. The fire likely the cause of the reason. Something Xander would not inquire about.
This was probably the most authentic Xander had come to being himself in a long time. He was clearly American -- his voice, his clothes, but still Z was a persona he played. Close but not quite Xander Mitchel.
"What brings you to this quaint little cafe in Moscow?"
Xander reached across and shook the other man's hand. "Now this is going to sound contrived, but you can call me Z." He chuckled. He could imagine all sorts of reasons why a man might choose to go by a number. Seven people he killed. Seventh son of the seventh son. It was a good reason to let his shields down and look at the aura of the man who had joined him. Black with the tinge of gold -- a man atoning for something. Xander was going to go with the idea that this was a dangerous man. And the images floated around him like the special people and Xander clamped down the moment he saw the fire that sprang to his vision when he thought of why Seven was called seven. The fire likely the cause of the reason. Something Xander would not inquire about.
This was probably the most authentic Xander had come to being himself in a long time. He was clearly American -- his voice, his clothes, but still Z was a persona he played. Close but not quite Xander Mitchel.
"What brings you to this quaint little cafe in Moscow?"