03-28-2014, 06:53 AM
Dane looked to his hands. The gloves he selected to be his own were better than 'nice.' They were superb. The leather was hand-sewn. The stitching itself threaded as its own work of art. The wool within was supple as warm skin. And they fit his graceful fingers perfectly. While there were excellent glovers in Paris, there were yet more prestigious brands here in Moscow. Dane did not appreciate the reminder of this deficiency from Jon.
"Thank you, but these are from Paris."
He replied tightly.
He studied Jon's appearance as an extension of his taste. Within a few quick assessments, Dane was already feeling better about himself. He laid his hands in his lap and relaxed.
Then the traincar lurched. They couldn't be at the next stop already? Had he underestimated the distance?
There was nothing but darkness beyond the windows. No light of the next station yawned before them. And the train rolled to a complete stop. How interesting.
Jon fumbled with his Wallet, and as he didn't connect to the metro signal, Dane marveled at the luck of being stuck on a train far underground without a single connection to the outside world.
Speakers buzzed with an announcement from the driver. He spoke with a guttural, harsh Moscow accent. "Attention passengers, this is your driver speaking. Central command station is experiencing technical difficulties. We will resume service when they return on line."
Dane was in no hurry to be anywhere, so he was perfectly content with the event. He was surrounded by butterflies, who would be disturbed by such a predicament?
Jon did have a surprisingly novel idea for a mediocre mind. Dane rose to his feet and followed. While the American took one side of the car, Dane padded his way gently along the other. His gentle voice broke the dim light with warm rays of comfort as he asked those whom he passed if there was anything he might do for them. Until he came upon the young woman with tawny brown hair. Her legs were drawn up to her chest, and smudges of colorless paint darkened her porcelain skin.
"And you miss, is there anything I might do for you?"
He sat next to her, and attempted to do so at what should be considered a comfortable respect for personal space, but the dim light and sudden eruption of conversation hinted that he should sit close enough that she might hear and observe him clearly. It was a guess either way.
"Thank you, but these are from Paris."
He replied tightly.
He studied Jon's appearance as an extension of his taste. Within a few quick assessments, Dane was already feeling better about himself. He laid his hands in his lap and relaxed.
Then the traincar lurched. They couldn't be at the next stop already? Had he underestimated the distance?
There was nothing but darkness beyond the windows. No light of the next station yawned before them. And the train rolled to a complete stop. How interesting.
Jon fumbled with his Wallet, and as he didn't connect to the metro signal, Dane marveled at the luck of being stuck on a train far underground without a single connection to the outside world.
Speakers buzzed with an announcement from the driver. He spoke with a guttural, harsh Moscow accent. "Attention passengers, this is your driver speaking. Central command station is experiencing technical difficulties. We will resume service when they return on line."
Dane was in no hurry to be anywhere, so he was perfectly content with the event. He was surrounded by butterflies, who would be disturbed by such a predicament?
Jon did have a surprisingly novel idea for a mediocre mind. Dane rose to his feet and followed. While the American took one side of the car, Dane padded his way gently along the other. His gentle voice broke the dim light with warm rays of comfort as he asked those whom he passed if there was anything he might do for them. Until he came upon the young woman with tawny brown hair. Her legs were drawn up to her chest, and smudges of colorless paint darkened her porcelain skin.
"And you miss, is there anything I might do for you?"
He sat next to her, and attempted to do so at what should be considered a comfortable respect for personal space, but the dim light and sudden eruption of conversation hinted that he should sit close enough that she might hear and observe him clearly. It was a guess either way.