12-09-2013, 09:52 PM
The bar at the Ritz-Carlton was relaxing enough. Nicholas sat alone, with his second glass of whiskey empty in front of him. There were more than a few of his so-called colleagues washing away their boredom in the room. None were much in the mood for conversation, either. It was just as well--the privacy of public seclusion gave Nicholas time to think, and the liquor massaged away his morning headache.
He signaled the bartender for another glass. Expensive, but it was good to get away from Reed every so often. Even if she was nice to look at, too much time spent taking her abuse and Nicholas might have found himself brought down to earth. He grimaced. Like that'll ever happen,
he thought, only shivering a little. He was glad to know that at least there was nothing wrong with his head, but a lack of illness presented its own problems. He was really going to do it, really going to run for the presidency. Ever since coming to the decision he half-felt like kicking himself. There really was too little time, and he was stuck tailing Nikolai Brandon while Jessika Thrice was doing her best to destroy the United States from within. Now, if I can get her on board...
Something caught his attention and pulled his eyes away from his glass. The piano notes drifting from the corner of the room had been steadily increasing in noise and tempo, the melody becoming more and more complicated until Nicholas was sure there had to be at least three pairs of hands at the keys. Then it stopped suddenly. When he looked over to see who had been playing, there were only two. A man, well dressed and classically handsome; and a woman who looked like she was ready to tear his clothes off right then and there. Hey, he could give credit where credit was due. The guy was playing a nice angle.
Curiosity satisfied, Nicholas turned back to the far more important matter of his drink. The bartender had been kind enough to replace his glass while Nicholas' attention was elsewhere. There was so much to think about, and thinking was easier when you weren't sober. That line of thinking worried some small part of him, but most of him couldn't care less. Habits weren't unhealthy unless you took them to extremes.
"A fresh Cuban,"
that moment of dark reflection was broken by the arrival of a cheerful sounding Englishman. Nicholas didn't know what it was, but something about the people from that island didn't sit well with him. That said, he tried to keep his prejudices buried.
"And one for my friend, as well."
Nicholas didn't even have the time to politely refuse before the man claimed the seat next to him. Extending a hand, he made his greeting. "A pleasure, Mister Trano,"
he said, and with a wide smile gave his name. "Dane Gregory."
It was the same man who had been playing the piano.
Great.
Nicholas had really been hoping to do some quiet soul-searching while he sat at that bar. Still, he was quick to return the smile as he shook the man's hand. It was his first chance to talk to somebody normal in a long time, after all.
"Glad to meet you, Dane."
He glanced back at the glass sitting on the bar before bringing his full attention to the newcomer. "It looks like you know a lot more about me than I do about you, so what brings you to Moscow?"
Judging from the surroundings and his foreign accent, probably business. Moscow wasn't high on Nicholas' list of tourist destinations. He tilted his head towards the lone piano player. "It can't just be the women."
Edited by Nick Trano, Dec 9 2013, 09:57 PM.
He signaled the bartender for another glass. Expensive, but it was good to get away from Reed every so often. Even if she was nice to look at, too much time spent taking her abuse and Nicholas might have found himself brought down to earth. He grimaced. Like that'll ever happen,
he thought, only shivering a little. He was glad to know that at least there was nothing wrong with his head, but a lack of illness presented its own problems. He was really going to do it, really going to run for the presidency. Ever since coming to the decision he half-felt like kicking himself. There really was too little time, and he was stuck tailing Nikolai Brandon while Jessika Thrice was doing her best to destroy the United States from within. Now, if I can get her on board...
Something caught his attention and pulled his eyes away from his glass. The piano notes drifting from the corner of the room had been steadily increasing in noise and tempo, the melody becoming more and more complicated until Nicholas was sure there had to be at least three pairs of hands at the keys. Then it stopped suddenly. When he looked over to see who had been playing, there were only two. A man, well dressed and classically handsome; and a woman who looked like she was ready to tear his clothes off right then and there. Hey, he could give credit where credit was due. The guy was playing a nice angle.
Curiosity satisfied, Nicholas turned back to the far more important matter of his drink. The bartender had been kind enough to replace his glass while Nicholas' attention was elsewhere. There was so much to think about, and thinking was easier when you weren't sober. That line of thinking worried some small part of him, but most of him couldn't care less. Habits weren't unhealthy unless you took them to extremes.
"A fresh Cuban,"
that moment of dark reflection was broken by the arrival of a cheerful sounding Englishman. Nicholas didn't know what it was, but something about the people from that island didn't sit well with him. That said, he tried to keep his prejudices buried.
"And one for my friend, as well."
Nicholas didn't even have the time to politely refuse before the man claimed the seat next to him. Extending a hand, he made his greeting. "A pleasure, Mister Trano,"
he said, and with a wide smile gave his name. "Dane Gregory."
It was the same man who had been playing the piano.
Great.
Nicholas had really been hoping to do some quiet soul-searching while he sat at that bar. Still, he was quick to return the smile as he shook the man's hand. It was his first chance to talk to somebody normal in a long time, after all.
"Glad to meet you, Dane."
He glanced back at the glass sitting on the bar before bringing his full attention to the newcomer. "It looks like you know a lot more about me than I do about you, so what brings you to Moscow?"
Judging from the surroundings and his foreign accent, probably business. Moscow wasn't high on Nicholas' list of tourist destinations. He tilted his head towards the lone piano player. "It can't just be the women."
Edited by Nick Trano, Dec 9 2013, 09:57 PM.