07-10-2013, 03:00 PM
Continued from: Window Shopping - Moscow City
Add in the cars parked along both sides of the street and everyone else had to muscle their way down the center of Nikolskaya street: actually, the nightmare clogged the entire city. His apartment was barely more than two miles away, but throw on a busy weekend, summertime tourists, and a brief blockade for a Privilege’s motorcade and Jaxen finally made it. Well, close enough. The corner was a couple blocks down yet. If the distant honking from blocked cars in both directions were anything to go by, it might take another half an hour to roll the rest of the way there.
“I’ll walk the rest of the way,” he announced to the driver, and waved off the need for him to open the door.
Though past sundown, there were plenty of pedestrians milling about, and a guy in a white-tie tux getting out of a slick town car drew no extra attention than anyone else. To his eyes, the milling tourists stuck out like a sore thumb, but so also did the local elite-- if only for the contrast. Women strode forcefully through the crowd, stilettos expertly maneuvering along cobble stones and dodging slow-moving wayfarers. Straight-faced men were about the same: a silk pocket square here, a sheepskin briefcase there; timepieces, designer glasses. There was a time when the collection would have earned his entire attention, however, now, in the brief moment of emerging from the car and taking in the sights, it was the buildings which Jaxen studied. Signs illuminated the imposing facades, despite being of relatively few floors, they dwarfed a man by sheer monumental comparison. Angular rooflines streaked high overhead, mostly lost to shadow but mashed together from one building to the next. A whiff of steam puffed up between cars marked the location of manholes. While bulges and niches in various corners pointed out the most likely locations for security cameras. Or birds nests. Or both.
With his Wallet secured deep within his jacket, Jaxen strolled along the sidewalks up toward Baccarat, hands idly in his pockets and glancing here and there, mind blank as he absorbed the place. He wasn’t a big guy, which actually worked in his favor when it came to his hobbies, but the cool expression and sharply styled hair projected an image of a guy who was unlikely to swerve first. The darting glances alone shoved one or two out of his path, the rest took a wider berth.
A block later, Jaxen witnessed a guy follow a couple into a second-hand bookshop. It wasn’t obvious, but Jax knew what was going down. He hesitated. The question was, did he follow after and try to salvage what was sure to be a mess, and probably ruin his tie in the process, or go on? Champagne was sure to be waiting, even if Aisha wasn't.
He checked the clasps on his cuff-links and aimed for the door. It was better to be fashionably late anyway.
Add in the cars parked along both sides of the street and everyone else had to muscle their way down the center of Nikolskaya street: actually, the nightmare clogged the entire city. His apartment was barely more than two miles away, but throw on a busy weekend, summertime tourists, and a brief blockade for a Privilege’s motorcade and Jaxen finally made it. Well, close enough. The corner was a couple blocks down yet. If the distant honking from blocked cars in both directions were anything to go by, it might take another half an hour to roll the rest of the way there.
“I’ll walk the rest of the way,” he announced to the driver, and waved off the need for him to open the door.
Though past sundown, there were plenty of pedestrians milling about, and a guy in a white-tie tux getting out of a slick town car drew no extra attention than anyone else. To his eyes, the milling tourists stuck out like a sore thumb, but so also did the local elite-- if only for the contrast. Women strode forcefully through the crowd, stilettos expertly maneuvering along cobble stones and dodging slow-moving wayfarers. Straight-faced men were about the same: a silk pocket square here, a sheepskin briefcase there; timepieces, designer glasses. There was a time when the collection would have earned his entire attention, however, now, in the brief moment of emerging from the car and taking in the sights, it was the buildings which Jaxen studied. Signs illuminated the imposing facades, despite being of relatively few floors, they dwarfed a man by sheer monumental comparison. Angular rooflines streaked high overhead, mostly lost to shadow but mashed together from one building to the next. A whiff of steam puffed up between cars marked the location of manholes. While bulges and niches in various corners pointed out the most likely locations for security cameras. Or birds nests. Or both.
With his Wallet secured deep within his jacket, Jaxen strolled along the sidewalks up toward Baccarat, hands idly in his pockets and glancing here and there, mind blank as he absorbed the place. He wasn’t a big guy, which actually worked in his favor when it came to his hobbies, but the cool expression and sharply styled hair projected an image of a guy who was unlikely to swerve first. The darting glances alone shoved one or two out of his path, the rest took a wider berth.
A block later, Jaxen witnessed a guy follow a couple into a second-hand bookshop. It wasn’t obvious, but Jax knew what was going down. He hesitated. The question was, did he follow after and try to salvage what was sure to be a mess, and probably ruin his tie in the process, or go on? Champagne was sure to be waiting, even if Aisha wasn't.
He checked the clasps on his cuff-links and aimed for the door. It was better to be fashionably late anyway.