03-08-2014, 09:06 AM
Fully dressed and quite prepared to greet the day, Jaxen sat, legs crossed and hands folded, at his work station on the apartment's second level office. Open before him were his usual screens. He had scrolls relating all the news in Moscow's Nouveau Riche gossip from the night before. There were the relevant - albeit slightly boring - financial markets tickering on another. Running were the ever-present algorithms chipping away at Baccarat's internal servers - he'd be flagged the moment progress was made.
But center most before him was the screen occupying his full attention. The feed was his home's own internal security system, and presently gave him a live bird's eye view of the main living area.
He watched Sachi make her departure with the thin hint of a smile on his lips. Damn Mumbai seeping under his skin. He could hardly resist them. Sachi in particular was spicy and warm, her tilted eyes dangerous and tempting, the graze of her fingers intoxicating as the aroma of incense in a smokey room.
He shook himself out of recent memory and focused on his current venture. He could always replay the recordings later, if he wanted. In fact, he planned on it.
Tony made himself at home. So to speak. Not surprising. He remembered hearing about the event that supposedly obliterated Antony Soloyov to dust, beyond the point of gathering enough of a corpse to even bury. It had happened during Jaxen's banishment to the far jungles of the DIII capital, but his father had practically shit himself over it. The Soloyov's were not a humble family, and their entire fucking mansion went up in a ball of fire. It was enough to make Scion Marveet hire a few extra platoons of mercs to beef up their household safety. At the time, Jaxen cared less. In fact, up until only recently, careless he remained. Until he began to question Tony's identity.
Suspicion didn't drive the question, but rather, plain fucking curiosity. The fact that Tony handled himself so easily to get in the building, and he was dressed as he were - Fantastic coat, my friend - the phoenix glittered on camera, and he handled Michael's virulent personality, Tony was clearly more than he presented himself to be.
His companion was interesting as well. Claire, Tony introduced to the ether, had a sharp look to her despite her age.
The minutes rolled on. Comfortable with the level of insight he'd gathered regarding his guests, he stood from his seat and powered down the workstation into a locked, hibernation mode.
He gave his shirt a sharp tug. A belt wrapped his waist at the outside, looped through a ring, and dangled down his hip. Silver threadwork capped both shoulders and a wide fur collar circled his neck. Pants and ankle boots, and all together, he might have sauntered straight off the GUM runway. All in black and silver. All recognizable labels. Like the purposeful disarray of his hair, his selection of clothing for the day was a subconscious play on a medieval suit of armor. The shoulders were like plated pauldrons. The belt wrapped as though mocking a sword and sheathe. Playful and mocking. And on Jaxen's lean lines, damn sexy.
A trifecta.
He rolled into the room with a pleased expression brightening his face. "Ah! Tony. So good of you to show up. No problems down stairs I take it."
He said, shaking hands, though knew full well the answer.
He turned to Claire, "And any friend of Tony's is a friend of mine."
He kissed her hand, closely studying her reaction. "Sorry to have kept you both waiting."
He took himself into his favorite chair: a low, white leather seat. It creaked as he unfolded onto the cold leather. Tony was someone to keep an eye on. And Jaxen clearly would continue to do so, but Claire's presence piqued his interest. To her he grinned, "So I know what he can do,"
he waved a hand at Tony's general direction, "but what about you my dear?"
Surely she knew exactly what he was talking about.
But center most before him was the screen occupying his full attention. The feed was his home's own internal security system, and presently gave him a live bird's eye view of the main living area.
He watched Sachi make her departure with the thin hint of a smile on his lips. Damn Mumbai seeping under his skin. He could hardly resist them. Sachi in particular was spicy and warm, her tilted eyes dangerous and tempting, the graze of her fingers intoxicating as the aroma of incense in a smokey room.
He shook himself out of recent memory and focused on his current venture. He could always replay the recordings later, if he wanted. In fact, he planned on it.
Tony made himself at home. So to speak. Not surprising. He remembered hearing about the event that supposedly obliterated Antony Soloyov to dust, beyond the point of gathering enough of a corpse to even bury. It had happened during Jaxen's banishment to the far jungles of the DIII capital, but his father had practically shit himself over it. The Soloyov's were not a humble family, and their entire fucking mansion went up in a ball of fire. It was enough to make Scion Marveet hire a few extra platoons of mercs to beef up their household safety. At the time, Jaxen cared less. In fact, up until only recently, careless he remained. Until he began to question Tony's identity.
Suspicion didn't drive the question, but rather, plain fucking curiosity. The fact that Tony handled himself so easily to get in the building, and he was dressed as he were - Fantastic coat, my friend - the phoenix glittered on camera, and he handled Michael's virulent personality, Tony was clearly more than he presented himself to be.
His companion was interesting as well. Claire, Tony introduced to the ether, had a sharp look to her despite her age.
The minutes rolled on. Comfortable with the level of insight he'd gathered regarding his guests, he stood from his seat and powered down the workstation into a locked, hibernation mode.
He gave his shirt a sharp tug. A belt wrapped his waist at the outside, looped through a ring, and dangled down his hip. Silver threadwork capped both shoulders and a wide fur collar circled his neck. Pants and ankle boots, and all together, he might have sauntered straight off the GUM runway. All in black and silver. All recognizable labels. Like the purposeful disarray of his hair, his selection of clothing for the day was a subconscious play on a medieval suit of armor. The shoulders were like plated pauldrons. The belt wrapped as though mocking a sword and sheathe. Playful and mocking. And on Jaxen's lean lines, damn sexy.
A trifecta.
He rolled into the room with a pleased expression brightening his face. "Ah! Tony. So good of you to show up. No problems down stairs I take it."
He said, shaking hands, though knew full well the answer.
He turned to Claire, "And any friend of Tony's is a friend of mine."
He kissed her hand, closely studying her reaction. "Sorry to have kept you both waiting."
He took himself into his favorite chair: a low, white leather seat. It creaked as he unfolded onto the cold leather. Tony was someone to keep an eye on. And Jaxen clearly would continue to do so, but Claire's presence piqued his interest. To her he grinned, "So I know what he can do,"
he waved a hand at Tony's general direction, "but what about you my dear?"
Surely she knew exactly what he was talking about.