10-10-2016, 03:51 PM
The woman was certainly animated about her trade. He'd known techs in the past that had been the same way, although he was educated enough to have at least understood, in theory at least, what they had been rambling on about. The importance of line of sight for telecommunications, or the affect of weather, atmospheric bounce, so on. What she rambled on about was certainly beyond him.
Oh he understood the words, or most of them anyway, but the grand concept was lost on him. But he let her ramble on, paying her no more or less attention then he had been before she had started speaking. The occasional glance, slight nod, sips of whisky.
And then she switched gears without loosing any of her giddy naivety.
When she tugged his sleeve, there was little wiggle-room in the fabric beneath. Some men wore sleeves with a bit of padding, meant to make the arms hidden beneath seem larger, more powerful, which was not something he needed. At her first tug his arm didn't move. He simply finished his whiskey, and gave the room another bored sweep.
He finally spotted what had drawn Methos' attention; a woman, striking in appearance, certainly. Enough so to draw the attention, even fleetingly, of a man White was pretty certain had a husband. Almost certainly too far on the crazy side of the Crazy/Hot scale.
Miss Talanov continued to be a small center of attention for those who knew whom she was, which amounted to only a handful of people in attendance.
With nothing else of note about the room, he conceded to the tiny scientist and allowed her to drag him towards the dance floor. The girl was clearly drunk, and eager to enjoy herself. So he would cooperate, at least for the moment.
He let her lead him towards what passed as the dance floor, even allowing a moment to appreciate the way her dress hugged her curves. Attributing herself to having 'killer legs' was not a groundless bluff.
Tall, in a tailored black suit, all shades and no colours. In that respect, it matched his name. Mr Talanov's tailor was a skilled man. Italian, naturally, and old, as always seemed the case of good suit tailors, and the man could work wonders with the bloody expensive fabrics. Subtle, cut to hint at the build beneath without seeming too tight.
In comparison, she stood out all the more in the room. To have dragged someone like White to the dance floor, the confidence and allure that would have hinted at to the other women, would likely draw her a few jealous glares, all the better for a woman's self esteem. And the shade of blue, with its hint of shine, stood out against the black of his own clothes.
Some men might have taken the opportunity to taunt anyone whom they had seen eyeing the woman they were with. For instance, the weaselly fellow at the bar that had been eyeing Danika earlier. But for someone like White, there was no need for so pathetic a display. The man had already been dismissed, and so White did not arrogantly seek to catch the man's gaze and flaunt his prize. Nor, of course, was Dane or any other person in the room summarily ignored, either.
The music was certainly not his style, but he was a quick learner and had spent far too much time crowd watching at such events. Buttons of his jacket were flicked open, letting it hang loose so as not to inhibit his movement, and the way it hung hinted at the shoulder harness he wore beneath.
She was celebrating a grand success, in a place where people like herself usually didn't stand out. Lovely, certainly, but without the confidence and presence needed to really flaunt it. So he would make sure she did stand out, and made a few socialites jealous in the process.
Oh he understood the words, or most of them anyway, but the grand concept was lost on him. But he let her ramble on, paying her no more or less attention then he had been before she had started speaking. The occasional glance, slight nod, sips of whisky.
And then she switched gears without loosing any of her giddy naivety.
When she tugged his sleeve, there was little wiggle-room in the fabric beneath. Some men wore sleeves with a bit of padding, meant to make the arms hidden beneath seem larger, more powerful, which was not something he needed. At her first tug his arm didn't move. He simply finished his whiskey, and gave the room another bored sweep.
He finally spotted what had drawn Methos' attention; a woman, striking in appearance, certainly. Enough so to draw the attention, even fleetingly, of a man White was pretty certain had a husband. Almost certainly too far on the crazy side of the Crazy/Hot scale.
Miss Talanov continued to be a small center of attention for those who knew whom she was, which amounted to only a handful of people in attendance.
With nothing else of note about the room, he conceded to the tiny scientist and allowed her to drag him towards the dance floor. The girl was clearly drunk, and eager to enjoy herself. So he would cooperate, at least for the moment.
He let her lead him towards what passed as the dance floor, even allowing a moment to appreciate the way her dress hugged her curves. Attributing herself to having 'killer legs' was not a groundless bluff.
Tall, in a tailored black suit, all shades and no colours. In that respect, it matched his name. Mr Talanov's tailor was a skilled man. Italian, naturally, and old, as always seemed the case of good suit tailors, and the man could work wonders with the bloody expensive fabrics. Subtle, cut to hint at the build beneath without seeming too tight.
In comparison, she stood out all the more in the room. To have dragged someone like White to the dance floor, the confidence and allure that would have hinted at to the other women, would likely draw her a few jealous glares, all the better for a woman's self esteem. And the shade of blue, with its hint of shine, stood out against the black of his own clothes.
Some men might have taken the opportunity to taunt anyone whom they had seen eyeing the woman they were with. For instance, the weaselly fellow at the bar that had been eyeing Danika earlier. But for someone like White, there was no need for so pathetic a display. The man had already been dismissed, and so White did not arrogantly seek to catch the man's gaze and flaunt his prize. Nor, of course, was Dane or any other person in the room summarily ignored, either.
The music was certainly not his style, but he was a quick learner and had spent far too much time crowd watching at such events. Buttons of his jacket were flicked open, letting it hang loose so as not to inhibit his movement, and the way it hung hinted at the shoulder harness he wore beneath.
She was celebrating a grand success, in a place where people like herself usually didn't stand out. Lovely, certainly, but without the confidence and presence needed to really flaunt it. So he would make sure she did stand out, and made a few socialites jealous in the process.