Speaking of men, and of watching; it wouldn't do if the man himself weren't in attendance. Naturally he is, and just as naturally he's traversing this party like if he doesn't own it, someone should give it to him and they might. Sharp suit, polished shoes; an engaging smile and an ever-present champagne flute that he rarely drinks from. Ambassador Roy has only been in his appointment for perhaps a year - if that - but he's quietly carving out his name here.
Tonight that means charming wives without embittering husbands, remembering names and sharing opinions, and remaining incredibly tolerant of the pervasive opinion about the usefulness of British ambassadors.
It's a landmark election this year, and Caius is fascinated.
When you walk through a crowd, you have two options: you can either neatly sidestep anyone in your path, or you can move like you expect them to step around you. Mina doesn't even brush an elbow. People glance at her, but her chin is held high, and she doesn't look at anyone besides the ambassador.
The influence of his position is criminally under-appreciated, she thinks.
And she loves finding those little goldmines of possibility.
He appears to be in conversation, or at least someone is speaking to him, but Mina's voice cuts through like a knife:
"Ambassador," she says, "may I have a moment of your time?"
Maybe it is now, but Caius doesn't intend for it to stay that way - and if he has an unattended free hand to start, so much the better. He turns, eyebrows raising, at the strange voice and the...rather intriguingly dressed woman it belongs to.
"May you?" It's an amused question, almost a challenge; there's something about her that he can't put his finger that's drawn his attention almost immediately. He was on the verge of conversation more than properly in one, but it's almost meaningless. Not entirely - but almost. "My time is yours, Ms...?"
"Citlalmina Olin," she tells him, extending one hand. It's less like she expects a handshake and more a matter of using touch like a weapon (conceal and ignore all 'she'll steal your soul that way' jokes here and now).
If she's smiling, it's very slight and very knowing--like there's a joke between the two of them.
Comments 86
Speaking of men, and of watching; it wouldn't do if the man himself weren't in attendance. Naturally he is, and just as naturally he's traversing this party like if he doesn't own it, someone should give it to him and they might. Sharp suit, polished shoes; an engaging smile and an ever-present champagne flute that he rarely drinks from. Ambassador Roy has only been in his appointment for perhaps a year - if that - but he's quietly carving out his name here.
Tonight that means charming wives without embittering husbands, remembering names and sharing opinions, and remaining incredibly tolerant of the pervasive opinion about the usefulness of British ambassadors.
It's a landmark election this year, and Caius is fascinated.
Reply
When you walk through a crowd, you have two options: you can either neatly sidestep anyone in your path, or you can move like you expect them to step around you. Mina doesn't even brush an elbow. People glance at her, but her chin is held high, and she doesn't look at anyone besides the ambassador.
The influence of his position is criminally under-appreciated, she thinks.
And she loves finding those little goldmines of possibility.
He appears to be in conversation, or at least someone is speaking to him, but Mina's voice cuts through like a knife:
"Ambassador," she says, "may I have a moment of your time?"
Reply
Maybe it is now, but Caius doesn't intend for it to stay that way - and if he has an unattended free hand to start, so much the better. He turns, eyebrows raising, at the strange voice and the...rather intriguingly dressed woman it belongs to.
"May you?" It's an amused question, almost a challenge; there's something about her that he can't put his finger that's drawn his attention almost immediately. He was on the verge of conversation more than properly in one, but it's almost meaningless. Not entirely - but almost. "My time is yours, Ms...?"
Reply
"Citlalmina Olin," she tells him, extending one hand. It's less like she expects a handshake and more a matter of using touch like a weapon (conceal and ignore all 'she'll steal your soul that way' jokes here and now).
If she's smiling, it's very slight and very knowing--like there's a joke between the two of them.
Reply
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