12-03-2023, 06:20 PM
Maksim was easily in his element. The guys were all swapping stories, one-upping each other on their latest tales. A rock star performing at a birthday party. A container ship that sailed into international waters for a highly illegal weekend bender. It was racing on the ring roads that inspired Maksim to show off video of his latest acquisition: a Veyron X7, a ghostly beast of a sports car, high-tech, beautiful, aero, and powerful. In such a group, nobody would blink an eye at the cost as it was a drop in the bucket of their massive accounts, but Maksim had a second story to accompany it.
“A nice little prize after cashing in on a hell of a bet. Laid it all on some random American newcomer.” He explained to Svalov, a man he’d known since they were kids, another member of this micro-generation of heirs that began their lives under the Russian regime in adolescence and found themselves at the pinnacle of the CCD elite in adulthood.
Alina rolled her eyes playfully. She heard her husband brag about cars almost as much as he bragged about gambling. She seemed to smile at his childlike enthusiasm of winning at either.
“Ah! I see. Who is your secret source of gold, Max?” Svalov replied, laughing. “Do share!”
The question prompted him to switch the video from himself in the Veyron show room to a completely different atmosphere. It was a dark, industrial space that gave the impression of being a transient arena up for one night only.
The video was from the perspective of the front row, angled up at an elevated platform in the center. Alina would recognize the venue. She was at his side at the time of the event, sexy and gorgeous.
The man on the holo-screen delivered a punch that dropped his opponent so dramatically it was almost cartoonish. He was covered in sweat from a long exertion, or perhaps he was sprayed down beforehand to accentuate the bulges of muscles wrapping his bare chest. He wore little else but short shorts and snug wraps on his wrists. Everyone in the arena lusted after him, and every man in the arena shared that primal energy demonstrated on stage. Husband and wife though they were, Maksim and Alina practically ravaged each other once they returned home that night like first-time lovers from the high of it.
Svalov’s expression changed after watching the video to being the keeper of a smug secret himself.
“What?” Max questioned.
Svalov answered by nodding in a certain direction. As soon as Maksim followed the line of sight, he caught a glimpse of the fighter himself. The eyes of the others followed.
Maksim’s dark face broke into one of victorious smile. Alistair Bishop was walking among them.
He broke from the group, expecting Alina to follow, though he was in too much of a rush to confirm it.
Alistair was in the company of a gorgeous woman that Maksim didn’t recognize. Alina seemed to, though, but she remained silent in her assessment. He was also in the company of a man Maksim did recognize, an associate of Scion, his father’s. But then again, everyone claimed to be Scion’s associate to some degree. More so now that the Ascendancy had taken such a great interest in Scion’s success. Maksim was more than aware of the rumors that his father would soon take over as Privilege of DI once Valentin Sulteev retired. The promise felt imminent, and until proven otherwise, every member of the Moscow aristocracy wanted to remain in Scion’s good graces. Much of that extended to his firstborn son and main heir, Maksim.
JJ’s brows lifted high, recognizing Maksim Marveet in return. They shook hands.
“Maksim, my boy.” He greeted, but turned his charm and humble attention shortly after to Alina, “Mrs. Marveet,” he smiled coyly and kissed her hand. Maksim kept a firm eye on JJ as the older man's palm grazed his wife’s wrist.
“JJ, I would say its good to see you, but your nephew recently swindled me, and so, by all pride and honor, I must extend my pissed off anger to you for sharing the bloodline of assholes.” JJ’s accent was quite stronger than Maksim’s, but it was clear they were both blue-blooded Russians. The seriousness between the two men darkened for a moment. JJ waved over a worker, took two stopkas of vodka and gave one to Maksim.
“On behalf of Ipatiy I apologize…. that you had it coming.” He smirked. The two men clinked the shot glasses together, drank simultaneously, and afterward laughed in the cleared air.
Maksim turned to Alistair, introducing himself. “Maksim Marveet. I saw your first match. Brutal, man. Brutal.” The grin that accompanied the handshake said he highly approved.
“A nice little prize after cashing in on a hell of a bet. Laid it all on some random American newcomer.” He explained to Svalov, a man he’d known since they were kids, another member of this micro-generation of heirs that began their lives under the Russian regime in adolescence and found themselves at the pinnacle of the CCD elite in adulthood.
Alina rolled her eyes playfully. She heard her husband brag about cars almost as much as he bragged about gambling. She seemed to smile at his childlike enthusiasm of winning at either.
“Ah! I see. Who is your secret source of gold, Max?” Svalov replied, laughing. “Do share!”
The question prompted him to switch the video from himself in the Veyron show room to a completely different atmosphere. It was a dark, industrial space that gave the impression of being a transient arena up for one night only.
The video was from the perspective of the front row, angled up at an elevated platform in the center. Alina would recognize the venue. She was at his side at the time of the event, sexy and gorgeous.
The man on the holo-screen delivered a punch that dropped his opponent so dramatically it was almost cartoonish. He was covered in sweat from a long exertion, or perhaps he was sprayed down beforehand to accentuate the bulges of muscles wrapping his bare chest. He wore little else but short shorts and snug wraps on his wrists. Everyone in the arena lusted after him, and every man in the arena shared that primal energy demonstrated on stage. Husband and wife though they were, Maksim and Alina practically ravaged each other once they returned home that night like first-time lovers from the high of it.
Svalov’s expression changed after watching the video to being the keeper of a smug secret himself.
“What?” Max questioned.
Svalov answered by nodding in a certain direction. As soon as Maksim followed the line of sight, he caught a glimpse of the fighter himself. The eyes of the others followed.
Maksim’s dark face broke into one of victorious smile. Alistair Bishop was walking among them.
He broke from the group, expecting Alina to follow, though he was in too much of a rush to confirm it.
Alistair was in the company of a gorgeous woman that Maksim didn’t recognize. Alina seemed to, though, but she remained silent in her assessment. He was also in the company of a man Maksim did recognize, an associate of Scion, his father’s. But then again, everyone claimed to be Scion’s associate to some degree. More so now that the Ascendancy had taken such a great interest in Scion’s success. Maksim was more than aware of the rumors that his father would soon take over as Privilege of DI once Valentin Sulteev retired. The promise felt imminent, and until proven otherwise, every member of the Moscow aristocracy wanted to remain in Scion’s good graces. Much of that extended to his firstborn son and main heir, Maksim.
JJ’s brows lifted high, recognizing Maksim Marveet in return. They shook hands.
“Maksim, my boy.” He greeted, but turned his charm and humble attention shortly after to Alina, “Mrs. Marveet,” he smiled coyly and kissed her hand. Maksim kept a firm eye on JJ as the older man's palm grazed his wife’s wrist.
“JJ, I would say its good to see you, but your nephew recently swindled me, and so, by all pride and honor, I must extend my pissed off anger to you for sharing the bloodline of assholes.” JJ’s accent was quite stronger than Maksim’s, but it was clear they were both blue-blooded Russians. The seriousness between the two men darkened for a moment. JJ waved over a worker, took two stopkas of vodka and gave one to Maksim.
“On behalf of Ipatiy I apologize…. that you had it coming.” He smirked. The two men clinked the shot glasses together, drank simultaneously, and afterward laughed in the cleared air.
Maksim turned to Alistair, introducing himself. “Maksim Marveet. I saw your first match. Brutal, man. Brutal.” The grin that accompanied the handshake said he highly approved.