11-05-2017, 03:48 PM
Jaxen leaned against the desk, elbows propped and ankles crossed. The two Americans - obvious by their accent if nothing else - whispered, but he didn't even try to overhear. The kid was rightfully intimidated, course, he'd probably be intimidated by a 12 year old girl if she looked at him cross. The woman was impressed.
He shook her hand. "Marveet,"
he answered, waiting a slight moment for that subtle sign of recognition. There was none. "Jaxen Marveet. Let me buy you a drink at the incredibly well-stocked and superb bar this fine establishment offers,"
a sly, sarcastic smirk and he gestured at what was a glorified minibar in the corner of the lobby. The desk clerk would be the one to pour their drinks as the place didn't even have its own dedicated bartender.
Guiding the woman gently by the small of her back, he held up a stern hand that the clerk stay exactly where he was. "No offense to my Moscovian brother, but I know my way around vodka a thousand times better than anything he could ever pour."
He hopped over the front bar and frowned at what passed as an underbar beneath. The ice was dispensed from a soda fountain rather than from an ice machine. There was no rail station. In fact, bottles were hidden behind lopsided cabinet doors. He cringed to imagine what kind of vodka they stocked.
Retrieving the best of the options, he searched for glasses. "I'll show you real vodka Moscow has to offer later. Maybe Manifesto or Kallisti if you're up for it. Your kid won't make it into Manifesto, but with the right clothes you'd be welcome. Kallisti is less picky, but he's likely to faint in a House of Burlesque."
He poured three glasses, tipping extra into the kid's and pushing it in front of him. There weren't any limes. So ice and vodka it was. Eh, well, the worst vodka was still better than water.
He hopped back over and straddled one of the three stools for himself. "You're a long way from home."
And he took a sip. It was terrible. The kid was probably going to choke to death.
Edited by Jaxen Marveet, Nov 5 2017, 03:50 PM.
He shook her hand. "Marveet,"
he answered, waiting a slight moment for that subtle sign of recognition. There was none. "Jaxen Marveet. Let me buy you a drink at the incredibly well-stocked and superb bar this fine establishment offers,"
a sly, sarcastic smirk and he gestured at what was a glorified minibar in the corner of the lobby. The desk clerk would be the one to pour their drinks as the place didn't even have its own dedicated bartender.
Guiding the woman gently by the small of her back, he held up a stern hand that the clerk stay exactly where he was. "No offense to my Moscovian brother, but I know my way around vodka a thousand times better than anything he could ever pour."
He hopped over the front bar and frowned at what passed as an underbar beneath. The ice was dispensed from a soda fountain rather than from an ice machine. There was no rail station. In fact, bottles were hidden behind lopsided cabinet doors. He cringed to imagine what kind of vodka they stocked.
Retrieving the best of the options, he searched for glasses. "I'll show you real vodka Moscow has to offer later. Maybe Manifesto or Kallisti if you're up for it. Your kid won't make it into Manifesto, but with the right clothes you'd be welcome. Kallisti is less picky, but he's likely to faint in a House of Burlesque."
He poured three glasses, tipping extra into the kid's and pushing it in front of him. There weren't any limes. So ice and vodka it was. Eh, well, the worst vodka was still better than water.
He hopped back over and straddled one of the three stools for himself. "You're a long way from home."
And he took a sip. It was terrible. The kid was probably going to choke to death.
Edited by Jaxen Marveet, Nov 5 2017, 03:50 PM.