07-17-2013, 08:02 PM
Continued from: Window Shopping
After the incident at that blasted book store, Mr Arrabat had been far more cooperative about sticking to the itinerary. Even after the delay with the Custodians, they still arrived well ahead of their driver, whom Hood spotted stuck in traffic barely two blocks from where they had gotten out of the car.
The Baccarat Mansion was a lavish structure, made more so for the expensive banners that were rolled down the building's face, bearing the Baccarat seal and of some of the most important guests to the night's fundraiser gala.
A steady stream of expensive cars and limos lined the street towards the mansion's entrance, and CCD police played an important role in the horrible traffic congestion, as they closed off intersections and gave gala invitees priority. Only a handful of guests would deign to dismount and walk, not wanting to be seen doing something so indignant.
Mr Arrabat didn't seem the type to care what others might think if he were to simply walk up to the building. The two were met at the first landing of the steps leading to the mansion's open doors, where a handful of men that were obviously well-dressed guards kept an eye things, and a dozen valets waited to park the cars of anyone who had actually decided to drive themselves.
A concierge accepted Mr Arrabat's invitation and Hood's papers, and the two were allowed in after their names were checked off the list. The two walked in together, and Hood absently adjusted his tie before glancing down at the old man. "Well sir. Safe and sound. I'll be out back if you need me."
Mr Arrabat chuckled and nodded, "Yes well, at least there was some excitement tonight, yes? I will send for you once I am ready to leave."
And with that, the old Italian man moved into the main room, where guests mingled among the glass-encased displays of the Baccarat's finest works of art. Staff circled to deliver drinks or bore platters of expensive snacks, beautiful women hung on the arms of men three times their age were common place, and every second person was just a total waste of skin. In Hood's mind, at least.
He skirted wide of that room, moving to one of the side halls used by the serving staff. One of the servants actually tried to stop him at first, but after getting one good look at him the young man suddenly found himself busy inspecting the tray of empty drink glasses he was carrying.
Soon enough he found himself to the...what was the term? Veranda? Porch? A sign of the wealth and power of the Baccarat's was that their mansion, in the heart of Moscow, sported what passed locally as a rather expansive yard and garden. Guests mingled there too, talking and enjoying pipes or cigarettes. Most of the bodyguards guests had brought were secreted away in a small outbuilding in the yard, a bit out of the way of the main house.
They were allowed to come and go of course, especially if summoned by their client, but most made a point of staying out from under foot of their betters. There was little danger to their clients at the gala, after all. Hood's reason for being present was double-edged, however. Both as Mr Arrabat's escort, and an added bit of security for the Atharim, so he stayed closer to the house.
He loosened his tie and produced a cigar and cutter, with the cap tucked into a pocket rather then simply being discarded as some of the guests had done. Then a deft flick of his wrist and the cigar was lit, a few practiced puffs to get it smoldering nicely. That done, Hood just stood with near perfect stillness, calmly studying the garden and yard, especially the gaggle of bodyguards, the lay of the wall, the cameras, even the guests. He was being payed very well for this job, so he would make a good show of it, at least.
After the incident at that blasted book store, Mr Arrabat had been far more cooperative about sticking to the itinerary. Even after the delay with the Custodians, they still arrived well ahead of their driver, whom Hood spotted stuck in traffic barely two blocks from where they had gotten out of the car.
The Baccarat Mansion was a lavish structure, made more so for the expensive banners that were rolled down the building's face, bearing the Baccarat seal and of some of the most important guests to the night's fundraiser gala.
A steady stream of expensive cars and limos lined the street towards the mansion's entrance, and CCD police played an important role in the horrible traffic congestion, as they closed off intersections and gave gala invitees priority. Only a handful of guests would deign to dismount and walk, not wanting to be seen doing something so indignant.
Mr Arrabat didn't seem the type to care what others might think if he were to simply walk up to the building. The two were met at the first landing of the steps leading to the mansion's open doors, where a handful of men that were obviously well-dressed guards kept an eye things, and a dozen valets waited to park the cars of anyone who had actually decided to drive themselves.
A concierge accepted Mr Arrabat's invitation and Hood's papers, and the two were allowed in after their names were checked off the list. The two walked in together, and Hood absently adjusted his tie before glancing down at the old man. "Well sir. Safe and sound. I'll be out back if you need me."
Mr Arrabat chuckled and nodded, "Yes well, at least there was some excitement tonight, yes? I will send for you once I am ready to leave."
And with that, the old Italian man moved into the main room, where guests mingled among the glass-encased displays of the Baccarat's finest works of art. Staff circled to deliver drinks or bore platters of expensive snacks, beautiful women hung on the arms of men three times their age were common place, and every second person was just a total waste of skin. In Hood's mind, at least.
He skirted wide of that room, moving to one of the side halls used by the serving staff. One of the servants actually tried to stop him at first, but after getting one good look at him the young man suddenly found himself busy inspecting the tray of empty drink glasses he was carrying.
Soon enough he found himself to the...what was the term? Veranda? Porch? A sign of the wealth and power of the Baccarat's was that their mansion, in the heart of Moscow, sported what passed locally as a rather expansive yard and garden. Guests mingled there too, talking and enjoying pipes or cigarettes. Most of the bodyguards guests had brought were secreted away in a small outbuilding in the yard, a bit out of the way of the main house.
They were allowed to come and go of course, especially if summoned by their client, but most made a point of staying out from under foot of their betters. There was little danger to their clients at the gala, after all. Hood's reason for being present was double-edged, however. Both as Mr Arrabat's escort, and an added bit of security for the Atharim, so he stayed closer to the house.
He loosened his tie and produced a cigar and cutter, with the cap tucked into a pocket rather then simply being discarded as some of the guests had done. Then a deft flick of his wrist and the cigar was lit, a few practiced puffs to get it smoldering nicely. That done, Hood just stood with near perfect stillness, calmly studying the garden and yard, especially the gaggle of bodyguards, the lay of the wall, the cameras, even the guests. He was being payed very well for this job, so he would make a good show of it, at least.