08-03-2024, 07:19 PM
Tarik held his composure all the way to the men’s room. He greeted those he knew with a hard handshake and compliments for the masks, but the moment he continued, his face fell to intolerance.
True to the gradiosity of the estate, the men’s room was preceded by an opulent antechamber that was one part lounge and one part powder room. The far wall was a floor to ceiling shark tank, casting a blue hue to the space. A monkey was staged in one corner performing tricks with its handler, although everyone primarily ignored it. The shark was more interesting, but it won Tarik’s impression for only a moment before he found what he was looking for.
Better yet, who.
“Grisha,” he greeted as he approached. Tarik stole two shots of vodka lined on a table, offering one in tradition, slapped it on the table, liquid sloshing over the edges in order to down it in unison. Then they shook hands.
Grigori Vasiliev was the youngest of Konstantin’s sons. Tarik was older by a few years, and while he spent more time with Dmitri, he was rather fond of Grigori. Mostly for what he offered.
To that end, a few simple commands transferred funds, and soon, Tarik was enjoying a much needed dose of P. After which, he finally felt more like himself, and he followed up with a, “Hey, congratulations for your father and mother.” He nodded in affirmation. Family was important, as was respect, and Tarik was a pure bred Moscow man. After a few more exchanged pleasantries, he leaned on a chair and watched the dancing monkey across the room.