Da Capo (Manifesto)

[Zhenya]

Zhenya accepted the offer of another drink graciously. Cruz was sweet and charming, and he made for pleasant company while they waited. She granted him her full attention, no small boon given who she was and how often her company was sought amongst Moscow’s most elite (an endeavour which continued in the peripheral even now, but with a subtle swipe at her bracelet Yulian was directed to take care of sweeping their orbit free of would-be swooners). She really must remember to tell Cruz’s grandfather what a wonderful boy he had. 

Her smile at Seven’s arrival was beauteous, and glowed remarkably genuine within the artifice of a club like Manifesto. She had not been searching the crowd, but a small vibration from the slim device on her arm alerted the approach. She reached to squeeze Cruz’s arm and so garner his attention. Our cavalry has arrived,” she told him with a small, slightly mischievous smile, and then a delicate splay of fingers indicated the man headed into their midst. “This is Seven.”

There was something about Seven that felt, not like a completion exactly, but like the most perfectly balanced counterweight. She enjoyed the effervescence of his company, and it was no real surprise to see he had not come alone. It pleased her in some small way to realise he must have adjusted his plans to do so, but hopefully his companion would be amenable to the diversion; she did not mean to steal him away. Zhenya was curious and amiable in her perusal. The club was stringent in its security, and she was not without her own of course. The face did not belong to someone she recognised, but then Seven moved in varied circles.