Abruptly interrupting, he corrected Sofia. “Almost every other woman.” His finger trailed the curve of her arm. The slow, precise movement suggested he might have once done the same with a knife dragged over the skin of an enemy. These tense moments between them pulled strings in his body tight enough to snap on a breeze, and during such moments, he completely ignored their surroundings. The rest of the world could wait until it burned to ashes for all he cared. This moment belonged to him, and Zixin was more than possessive of it.
Satisfied, he allowed himself to be diverted toward Colette, of whom Zixin finally gave a proper examination.
She was as alluring as Sofia described, but she was a hummingbird in comparison - a sweet something to watch in amusement until it flitted away to the next flower. He was curious as to what brought a new yorker to moscow. Politics, he assumed, but Zixin cared little for games in a faraway, failing land. He was courteous, polite even as his charm was unleashed upon her. Adrian, on the other hand, he disliked, though he could not state the reason. Yet as he glanced his way as one might in the throes of casual conversation, he decided it was like looking into a window frosted by snow. There was something on the other side, but he could not discern what. It irritated him, and thus far, Zixin trusted his gut to such things. He would watch Adrian until such time as he decided the man may be ally, enemy, or fodder.
Unlike Adrian, Zixin was very much aware of the person who next approached their grouping. He studied the man’s sauntering walk, the smirk that curled his face, and the way he absorbed focus upon himself. It worked, Zixin was nearly mesmerized, but not by the charismatic Myshelov, but by the power he represented. There were few figures capable of Zixin’s respect.
Zixin knew his moment had come. “Zixin Kao,” he interjected without hesitation, positioning himself in front of the Patron - man to man. Myshelov eyed him curiously, and after a few quiet words, Zixin agreed to meet him later that night. For now, however, he owed Sofia a dance.
Which left Zixin alone to watch his date be escorted by her beloved ‘uncle.’ He smiled to himself and asked Colette to join him instead.
Satisfied, he allowed himself to be diverted toward Colette, of whom Zixin finally gave a proper examination.
She was as alluring as Sofia described, but she was a hummingbird in comparison - a sweet something to watch in amusement until it flitted away to the next flower. He was curious as to what brought a new yorker to moscow. Politics, he assumed, but Zixin cared little for games in a faraway, failing land. He was courteous, polite even as his charm was unleashed upon her. Adrian, on the other hand, he disliked, though he could not state the reason. Yet as he glanced his way as one might in the throes of casual conversation, he decided it was like looking into a window frosted by snow. There was something on the other side, but he could not discern what. It irritated him, and thus far, Zixin trusted his gut to such things. He would watch Adrian until such time as he decided the man may be ally, enemy, or fodder.
Unlike Adrian, Zixin was very much aware of the person who next approached their grouping. He studied the man’s sauntering walk, the smirk that curled his face, and the way he absorbed focus upon himself. It worked, Zixin was nearly mesmerized, but not by the charismatic Myshelov, but by the power he represented. There were few figures capable of Zixin’s respect.
Zixin knew his moment had come. “Zixin Kao,” he interjected without hesitation, positioning himself in front of the Patron - man to man. Myshelov eyed him curiously, and after a few quiet words, Zixin agreed to meet him later that night. For now, however, he owed Sofia a dance.
Which left Zixin alone to watch his date be escorted by her beloved ‘uncle.’ He smiled to himself and asked Colette to join him instead.