03-17-2014, 01:29 PM
They all took their respective seats. Spectra positioned alongside Yulian, where she kept a hand draped on his knee, but across from Damien at the same time. Her usual sparkling water and raspberry garnish was placed before her, but she toyed with the slender glass between her fingers rather than take a sip. Her lips glistened, plump and inviting, in the dim light.
Friends in Mexico were impressive to collect. Spectra tilted her chin coyingly sweet, and wondered if his tongue was experienced enough to know her native language. Of course, she was being broad in comparing her native tongue to those of the Mexican vermin. He spoke English well enough, and the blend of accents did not go unappreciated either.
Yulian surprisingly provided the clearest explanation. The two men carried on as though they expected Spectra to be aware of their references. She clearly was not. Why on Earth would a woman like her care about spectacles taking place in the world's blackest holes; San Quentin being one such place.
Yulian picked up on her ignorance. He snapped his fingers and the man sitting on his other side slid a Wallet screen before her. Yulian played a silent video of the aftermath left in the wake of an escaped convict. When it was finished, the smile on his face was aimed at Damien. Spectra's smile was sincerely impressed.
"Sí, claro. You are Damien Oakland,"
she spoke to herself, although the entire table hung on her every word.
As intriguing as Damien's history was, she was relieved when the conversation returned to her. "I've been in Moscow for some time, sí."
She spread her arms wide, gesturing at the glamour and luxury in which they were bedded.
"Vaya. Where else should I be, if not in the greatest city of the world?"
She brushed off talk of turmoil. "You should see true turmoil, señor. True war rages on darker continents. Not here. Moscow is paradise on Earth."
She plucked the raspberry from her drink and popped the cold berry in her mouth. Paradise, indeed.
Friends in Mexico were impressive to collect. Spectra tilted her chin coyingly sweet, and wondered if his tongue was experienced enough to know her native language. Of course, she was being broad in comparing her native tongue to those of the Mexican vermin. He spoke English well enough, and the blend of accents did not go unappreciated either.
Yulian surprisingly provided the clearest explanation. The two men carried on as though they expected Spectra to be aware of their references. She clearly was not. Why on Earth would a woman like her care about spectacles taking place in the world's blackest holes; San Quentin being one such place.
Yulian picked up on her ignorance. He snapped his fingers and the man sitting on his other side slid a Wallet screen before her. Yulian played a silent video of the aftermath left in the wake of an escaped convict. When it was finished, the smile on his face was aimed at Damien. Spectra's smile was sincerely impressed.
"Sí, claro. You are Damien Oakland,"
she spoke to herself, although the entire table hung on her every word.
As intriguing as Damien's history was, she was relieved when the conversation returned to her. "I've been in Moscow for some time, sí."
She spread her arms wide, gesturing at the glamour and luxury in which they were bedded.
"Vaya. Where else should I be, if not in the greatest city of the world?"
She brushed off talk of turmoil. "You should see true turmoil, señor. True war rages on darker continents. Not here. Moscow is paradise on Earth."
She plucked the raspberry from her drink and popped the cold berry in her mouth. Paradise, indeed.