10-27-2016, 07:23 PM
Jacques watched the young lady depart with his order, then after a moment found the resolve to tear his gaze away and finish giving the room a more detailed observation. There was a part of his mind that never changed, and after many long months of conflict and stress, that part was still ratcheted tight. Attention to detail, the subconscious urge to ever watch the crowd, the high places, the shadows. Hyper-vigilance. His gaze took in locations of fire exits and internal doors, analyzing where they might lead. Without his Landwarriors, he relied on memory for the aerial imagery of the city streets around Khalisti; roads and alleys, the size and significance of buildings around it. But that was but a small part of his ever-active mind, carefully tucked to the backburner, forbidden from becoming the center of his attention.
More importantly, was the final organization of mental notes regarding the one he was there to meet that night. Mr Jahoda, of AZO Mining. Some upper-middle-management type, there was little doubt in Jacques mind as to just what the man was trying to achieve with the impromptu meeting. The man wanted a promotion, and was seeking it by trying to bribe Jacques into giving AZO Mining proprietary rights to minerals in Sierra Leone, all pathetically disguised as an offer of humanitarian funding. To be arranged in a burlesque house. Totally on the up and up.
He had, for the moment, lingered to the room's edges. Not out of any degree of uncertainty as to how to act in such an establishment (in his days as a lowly 'battle captain' of Legion Premiere, he had had a well-earned reputation for his love of the night life, although gambling had always been his preference), but he equally was withdrawn from the idea of committing himself to any distractions until after what would surely be a very brief meeting.
Of course, as resistant to distraction as he might have been, he was, at the end of the day, only a man, and the young woman returning with his drink was certainly distracting. But, work had to come first.
He flashed his charming smile, and tucked his right hand at the small of his back; less so as if to hide the prosthetic, crude to the standards of the CCD, but more out of comfort of stance. "Merci beaucoup, mon chéri."
Despite spending most of his life in Africa, he still retained an air of his heritage accent.
While many of Europes languages were far from dead, they had grown far less common place since their birth nations assimilation by the CCD. English was the common tongue of the land, and many a person born in recent decades had forsaken their traditional languages to focus on what would best benefit them in the modern economic sector. Even in the heart of Moscow, Russian was spoken mostly by the elderly or the scholarly, something which had begun to hold true throughout the expansive nation.
"I suppose a moments respite would not be remiss. So long as the company is pleasant, and the cushions not too soft. It would not due if I were to be too comfortable, and distracted just yet"
The night was early yet, and he still had work to do, after all.
More importantly, was the final organization of mental notes regarding the one he was there to meet that night. Mr Jahoda, of AZO Mining. Some upper-middle-management type, there was little doubt in Jacques mind as to just what the man was trying to achieve with the impromptu meeting. The man wanted a promotion, and was seeking it by trying to bribe Jacques into giving AZO Mining proprietary rights to minerals in Sierra Leone, all pathetically disguised as an offer of humanitarian funding. To be arranged in a burlesque house. Totally on the up and up.
He had, for the moment, lingered to the room's edges. Not out of any degree of uncertainty as to how to act in such an establishment (in his days as a lowly 'battle captain' of Legion Premiere, he had had a well-earned reputation for his love of the night life, although gambling had always been his preference), but he equally was withdrawn from the idea of committing himself to any distractions until after what would surely be a very brief meeting.
Of course, as resistant to distraction as he might have been, he was, at the end of the day, only a man, and the young woman returning with his drink was certainly distracting. But, work had to come first.
He flashed his charming smile, and tucked his right hand at the small of his back; less so as if to hide the prosthetic, crude to the standards of the CCD, but more out of comfort of stance. "Merci beaucoup, mon chéri."
Despite spending most of his life in Africa, he still retained an air of his heritage accent.
While many of Europes languages were far from dead, they had grown far less common place since their birth nations assimilation by the CCD. English was the common tongue of the land, and many a person born in recent decades had forsaken their traditional languages to focus on what would best benefit them in the modern economic sector. Even in the heart of Moscow, Russian was spoken mostly by the elderly or the scholarly, something which had begun to hold true throughout the expansive nation.
"I suppose a moments respite would not be remiss. So long as the company is pleasant, and the cushions not too soft. It would not due if I were to be too comfortable, and distracted just yet"
The night was early yet, and he still had work to do, after all.