06-04-2015, 06:43 PM
Drink makes men friendly, Enzo thought as he sat. He shook hands with the three as he did and introduced himself. "Enzo," he returned his name to each offered by the others. The most outgoing of them was the blonde, Tony.
He settled into a seat, posture relaxed, and waved a hand, "Work brings me to Moscow,"
he said. They undoubtedly noticed his the musical tilt to his accent. Theirs sounded like a bowstring scratched over the strings of a mistuned violin. He was going to add the nature of his career to the explanation, as one was ready. At first, the mistruth felt like lies, but Corrado set his perspective straight. He was a private investigator of sorts, if one was open to interpretation. However, before he could carry on, Tony's companions were suddenly drawn aside, a behavior Tony quickly apologized for. Enzo did not mind, although his gaze followed theirs toward the stage. He watched the girl as she performed a few moments. Her grace was befitting a ballerina, but Enzo looked away. Soraphine was so proud of her first ballet skirt, she wore it for a week straight. It was sickening to think of his daughter, a beautiful, graceful adult, objectified like this. The situation wasn't the same, he knew. His daughter was immortalized as her fourteen year old self in his mind, incomparable to these women. He didn't approve, but he let himself be drawn away by memories too long.
"Of course, they are distracting,"
he diffused the tension with a slight smile. The waitress brought his wine about then, the stem of which he toyed with while one of their number departed briefly.
In keeping with the theme, Enzo let his gaze wander the other patrons of the club. None fit the profile of a dreyken, although everyone was suspicious in his mind. The music drew to its end, and he waited to see whether it was appropriate to clap, or in any other way acknowledge the performance. How men sat in these venues for hours, he did not know. The woman that took the stage next was alluring in her own right, but was practically exactly the same as her predecessor.
He should take advantage of the situation, and investigate, as that was his supposed duty. "Do you come to Kallisti often? Or Manifesto, for that matter?"
It wasn't long after that someone joined their group without preamble or invitation. Enzo was taken aback when he recognized the fact. "Sébastien?!"
he queried, surprise apparent. This seemed like the sort of establishment he would frequent, but the coincidence was increasingly suspicious.
"The GUM,"
he reminded.
He settled into a seat, posture relaxed, and waved a hand, "Work brings me to Moscow,"
he said. They undoubtedly noticed his the musical tilt to his accent. Theirs sounded like a bowstring scratched over the strings of a mistuned violin. He was going to add the nature of his career to the explanation, as one was ready. At first, the mistruth felt like lies, but Corrado set his perspective straight. He was a private investigator of sorts, if one was open to interpretation. However, before he could carry on, Tony's companions were suddenly drawn aside, a behavior Tony quickly apologized for. Enzo did not mind, although his gaze followed theirs toward the stage. He watched the girl as she performed a few moments. Her grace was befitting a ballerina, but Enzo looked away. Soraphine was so proud of her first ballet skirt, she wore it for a week straight. It was sickening to think of his daughter, a beautiful, graceful adult, objectified like this. The situation wasn't the same, he knew. His daughter was immortalized as her fourteen year old self in his mind, incomparable to these women. He didn't approve, but he let himself be drawn away by memories too long.
"Of course, they are distracting,"
he diffused the tension with a slight smile. The waitress brought his wine about then, the stem of which he toyed with while one of their number departed briefly.
In keeping with the theme, Enzo let his gaze wander the other patrons of the club. None fit the profile of a dreyken, although everyone was suspicious in his mind. The music drew to its end, and he waited to see whether it was appropriate to clap, or in any other way acknowledge the performance. How men sat in these venues for hours, he did not know. The woman that took the stage next was alluring in her own right, but was practically exactly the same as her predecessor.
He should take advantage of the situation, and investigate, as that was his supposed duty. "Do you come to Kallisti often? Or Manifesto, for that matter?"
It wasn't long after that someone joined their group without preamble or invitation. Enzo was taken aback when he recognized the fact. "Sébastien?!"
he queried, surprise apparent. This seemed like the sort of establishment he would frequent, but the coincidence was increasingly suspicious.
"The GUM,"
he reminded.