10-21-2014, 08:21 PM
A thin line of disgust flattened Enzo's expression of any other emotion. The flyers on the pole were only the beginning. His roaming gaze quickly identified a borage of unwanted imagery: halogen drenched flesh behind plate glass, video projected interactive scenes otherwise best left behind closed doors. Shame and disinterest might have pulled his gaze to the cement until he was in better surroundings, but a voice kept it level with the ground for now.
The voice came from a younger man in finely tailored clothing, but he was without a coat in the sharp winter air and oddly carried a half-drank glass of clear liquid. Enzo stepped aside out of instinct, but it seemed this man mirrored the movement.
Before Enzo could answer, another individual joined them. He was more appropriately attired and seemed to recognize the first. They both had the same thick Russian accent. Enzo's was musical in comparison. "Je m'appelle Enzo. My name is Enzo."
He shrugged his bag higher on his shoulder as though uncomfortable with the situation.
With the way the three of them were positioned, he'd need to squeeze between the street curb, thick with traffic, and the larger of the two men to pass unfettered. There was a sharpness to Enzo's gaze that suggested he was capable of handling himself if necessary, but he would prefer not become entangled in any sort of scene on the sidewalk - especially in this particular district. He didn't pull his Wallet out, despite how it would lead him out of here.
"I am not lost, only surprised at where I find myself. This is not the sort of situation I typically find myself."
The voice came from a younger man in finely tailored clothing, but he was without a coat in the sharp winter air and oddly carried a half-drank glass of clear liquid. Enzo stepped aside out of instinct, but it seemed this man mirrored the movement.
Before Enzo could answer, another individual joined them. He was more appropriately attired and seemed to recognize the first. They both had the same thick Russian accent. Enzo's was musical in comparison. "Je m'appelle Enzo. My name is Enzo."
He shrugged his bag higher on his shoulder as though uncomfortable with the situation.
With the way the three of them were positioned, he'd need to squeeze between the street curb, thick with traffic, and the larger of the two men to pass unfettered. There was a sharpness to Enzo's gaze that suggested he was capable of handling himself if necessary, but he would prefer not become entangled in any sort of scene on the sidewalk - especially in this particular district. He didn't pull his Wallet out, despite how it would lead him out of here.
"I am not lost, only surprised at where I find myself. This is not the sort of situation I typically find myself."