09-03-2013, 11:13 PM
So that was why it had been so difficult to get the bartender to identify Oriena as the owner. She didn't operate the place with a hand's-on touch, preferring to stay in the shadows and only visit from time to time. More like a silent partner who came to her playground when she desired. And she had been keeping this secret from Jaxen, the patron she'd deliberately approached to toy with.
He gave Oriena a small nod at her refusal to serve the drinks. He thought he'd been polite enough. “You must tell me sometime what you mean by 'asking you nicely.' Unless that is another secret you wish to keep.”
And speaking of secrets...Jaxen offered to pour the drinks. Jon's lips twitched a bit at the subtle barb Jaxen had slung at Oriena. Doesn't like to get her hands dirty, is that so? Perhaps she did not like to do so, but it wasn't difficult to tell from her eyes there was a rough past in the trail left behind her. One did not simply come to own such a place like this – and have the luxury of not having to shoulder the brunt of the work to keep it aloft – so young, without a story, or without powerful connections. Or perhaps both.
Speaking of powerful connections...yes, the name Jaxen tickled a memory. It would not do for Jon to come to Moscow without becoming acquainted with the movers and shakers of the town. He was a son of … aw, screw it. He couldn't remember clearly at the moment.
Jon accepted the drink from Jaxen and took a deep swallow. At first the only sensation was lime on dry, tasteless liquid. Then the warmth exploded and a crisp, clean burning sensation spread through his mouth and down his throat. His head told him he wasn't going to be able to drink much more of this – or anything else, for that matter.
Jaxen was admiring his cufflinks. “Thank you,”
Jon replied. He turned his wrists to glance at them. “The coins themselves are relics of a time when money had real value. Fitting the minters would pick Mercury to be the herald of an end to that era.”
He chuckled and grinned at Jaxen. “But what has value is always relative, isn't it?”
Something about the man's appraising glances set Jon a bit on edge. The man was sizing him up, and certainly not in the same way as the glances Jaxen continued to send Oriena's way. From one man to another, there was little doubt in what motive lay behind those glances. Jon wished him the best of luck – but he didn't see it happening without the display of some serious game.
Speaking of games, it concerned Jon he might miss a casual glance, or muttered word, that might put him at a disadvantage here. He opened himself up to the Great Spirit again and seized the power that lay within his grasp. It flooded through him, and his senses...yes. The scurry of an insect across the floor came to his ears, the crisp bite of the vodka...that was almost too overwhelming.
And the sense of confidence that overpowered his buzz and sense of self-preservation had returned as well. He was just itching to have a good time. “I wonder – are either of you taken to games of chance? I am new to the city, and have been looking for a decent game.”
He gave Oriena a small nod at her refusal to serve the drinks. He thought he'd been polite enough. “You must tell me sometime what you mean by 'asking you nicely.' Unless that is another secret you wish to keep.”
And speaking of secrets...Jaxen offered to pour the drinks. Jon's lips twitched a bit at the subtle barb Jaxen had slung at Oriena. Doesn't like to get her hands dirty, is that so? Perhaps she did not like to do so, but it wasn't difficult to tell from her eyes there was a rough past in the trail left behind her. One did not simply come to own such a place like this – and have the luxury of not having to shoulder the brunt of the work to keep it aloft – so young, without a story, or without powerful connections. Or perhaps both.
Speaking of powerful connections...yes, the name Jaxen tickled a memory. It would not do for Jon to come to Moscow without becoming acquainted with the movers and shakers of the town. He was a son of … aw, screw it. He couldn't remember clearly at the moment.
Jon accepted the drink from Jaxen and took a deep swallow. At first the only sensation was lime on dry, tasteless liquid. Then the warmth exploded and a crisp, clean burning sensation spread through his mouth and down his throat. His head told him he wasn't going to be able to drink much more of this – or anything else, for that matter.
Jaxen was admiring his cufflinks. “Thank you,”
Jon replied. He turned his wrists to glance at them. “The coins themselves are relics of a time when money had real value. Fitting the minters would pick Mercury to be the herald of an end to that era.”
He chuckled and grinned at Jaxen. “But what has value is always relative, isn't it?”
Something about the man's appraising glances set Jon a bit on edge. The man was sizing him up, and certainly not in the same way as the glances Jaxen continued to send Oriena's way. From one man to another, there was little doubt in what motive lay behind those glances. Jon wished him the best of luck – but he didn't see it happening without the display of some serious game.
Speaking of games, it concerned Jon he might miss a casual glance, or muttered word, that might put him at a disadvantage here. He opened himself up to the Great Spirit again and seized the power that lay within his grasp. It flooded through him, and his senses...yes. The scurry of an insect across the floor came to his ears, the crisp bite of the vodka...that was almost too overwhelming.
And the sense of confidence that overpowered his buzz and sense of self-preservation had returned as well. He was just itching to have a good time. “I wonder – are either of you taken to games of chance? I am new to the city, and have been looking for a decent game.”