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.
"Ms Olin," he says, clasping her hand briefly between both of his own in place of actually shaking it. An odd sense of...satisfaction, perhaps, strikes him; he ignores it, for now, but he'll remember it and the way that she smiles at him. "What is it I can do for you this evening?"
Sensing the changing tide, evidently, the man who'd been making what amounted to smalltalk drifts away from them. Caius makes a mental note not to forget his name, even so.
She turns, beckoning him along with her. Her head is held up high, and her manner of movement is slow, purposeful--Mina is not in any hurry, and she doesn't care or even seem to notice the onlookers. Already, she thinks, amused, the speculation begins.
But she also thinks he likes her boldness.
There's a smaller room (for smoking, once, but in these days where that isn't fashionable people just have smaller, stronger drinks here) with velvet chaise lounges and chairs, heavy satin curtains and bookshelves lining the walls. The fireplace is present, but unlit, probably useless. It's empty.
Caius smokes, whether or not it's fashionable, but his cigarette case in the lining pocket of his jacket is untouched yet - he abides by the (far too constrictive, he feels) American smoking laws politely and lights up in the car on the way back to the residence, as a habit.
He's some two decades married, but he showed up without a wife or a wedding band; Caius is used to speculation. He ignores much of it, pays attention to what might be useful or irritating, and ruthlessly crushes anything that references his daughter in any way.
Mina isn't buying that harmlessness for a moment, but she is rather pleased he closed the door himself. It doesn't show, though--instead, she turns to the little bar, touching a bottle of Stolichnaya thoughtfully.
"I'll offer you a once in a lifetime opportunity," she continues, as though they've known each other for years and not a half minute, "I'll make you a drink instead of calling in a third party to attend to it for us. What would you like?"
Some people know better than to take Caius entirely at face value; he finds those people fascinating, to be cultivated or simply watched. He's not entirely sure yet which category Mina falls into...not intellectually, at least. His gut instinct has other ideas.
"I'm afraid I should be careful," he says, matching the vibe, "since I'm driving tonight."
"So only have a little," she suggests, "and only have enough to give yourself a taste."
Her back is to him, displaying...most of it, in that outfit, and her hair pinned up in a way that's half-elegant and half-tousled, as if she couldn't be bothered to be too prim and precise. She's going to make herself a very simple drink which is essentially ice cubes in vodka. That's how the best kinds are made to be consumed, after all, and this is a place that ostensibly offers the very best.
And Mina, well. She doesn't settle for anything less.
"Scotch," he says, then, considering her...back, "no ice."
The presentation - of herself, of her introduction - is fascinating in and of itself, and Caius is more than a little interested in what exactly her purpose is. He'll deal with the speculation if it comes, but it'd be nice to know why she incited it in the first place, after all.
"Glenfiddich suits you fine, I assume," she murmurs, acquiring and pouring and handing it to him with her own glass in the other hand.
"Did you know that of all the people in that room whose opinions matter," she nods minutely at the doorway, indicating the hotel proper, "only three agreed with increasing monetary expenditure to ease poverty--what is it, 'south of the border'? And you happen to be one of them--the only one with any ideas."
Caius pauses only briefly as he takes the glass from her, like he's just recalled where he's heard her name before. His expression changes, ever so slightly; he's found his footing, at least for now.
"I wouldn't be very good at my job if I wasn't aware of the opinions around me," he says, even, good natured but neutral.
She observes the minute change, smile briefly wryer than it was before--as if to say, yes, now you know you're in the room with that radical. Mina sips her drink, delicate about it.
"And you are, I think, quite good at your job," she tells him, "considering the most the previous ambassadors have done is give us a multitude of platitudes, no disrespect intended. There are people who would do this differently--who would small-talk and sweet-talk and, I suspect, you'd see through it."
Mina leans against the bar, setting her drink down.
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
"Ms Olin," he says, clasping her hand briefly between both of his own in place of actually shaking it. An odd sense of...satisfaction, perhaps, strikes him; he ignores it, for now, but he'll remember it and the way that she smiles at him. "What is it I can do for you this evening?"
Sensing the changing tide, evidently, the man who'd been making what amounted to smalltalk drifts away from them. Caius makes a mental note not to forget his name, even so.
Reply
She turns, beckoning him along with her. Her head is held up high, and her manner of movement is slow, purposeful--Mina is not in any hurry, and she doesn't care or even seem to notice the onlookers. Already, she thinks, amused, the speculation begins.
But she also thinks he likes her boldness.
There's a smaller room (for smoking, once, but in these days where that isn't fashionable people just have smaller, stronger drinks here) with velvet chaise lounges and chairs, heavy satin curtains and bookshelves lining the walls. The fireplace is present, but unlit, probably useless. It's empty.
Reply
Caius smokes, whether or not it's fashionable, but his cigarette case in the lining pocket of his jacket is untouched yet - he abides by the (far too constrictive, he feels) American smoking laws politely and lights up in the car on the way back to the residence, as a habit.
He's some two decades married, but he showed up without a wife or a wedding band; Caius is used to speculation. He ignores much of it, pays attention to what might be useful or irritating, and ruthlessly crushes anything that references his daughter in any way.
"Ms Olin, you have me at a disadvantage."
Reply
She thinks get used to it, because she's a nice woman, but smiles instead of saying as much.
"I can leave the door open," Citlalmina says, deliberately, almost playfully, "if you're concerned I might be dangerous."
Reply
His smile is pleasant and harmless as he closes it neatly himself.
Reply
Mina isn't buying that harmlessness for a moment, but she is rather pleased he closed the door himself. It doesn't show, though--instead, she turns to the little bar, touching a bottle of Stolichnaya thoughtfully.
"I'll offer you a once in a lifetime opportunity," she continues, as though they've known each other for years and not a half minute, "I'll make you a drink instead of calling in a third party to attend to it for us. What would you like?"
Reply
Some people know better than to take Caius entirely at face value; he finds those people fascinating, to be cultivated or simply watched. He's not entirely sure yet which category Mina falls into...not intellectually, at least. His gut instinct has other ideas.
"I'm afraid I should be careful," he says, matching the vibe, "since I'm driving tonight."
Reply
"So only have a little," she suggests, "and only have enough to give yourself a taste."
Her back is to him, displaying...most of it, in that outfit, and her hair pinned up in a way that's half-elegant and half-tousled, as if she couldn't be bothered to be too prim and precise. She's going to make herself a very simple drink which is essentially ice cubes in vodka. That's how the best kinds are made to be consumed, after all, and this is a place that ostensibly offers the very best.
And Mina, well. She doesn't settle for anything less.
Reply
"Scotch," he says, then, considering her...back, "no ice."
The presentation - of herself, of her introduction - is fascinating in and of itself, and Caius is more than a little interested in what exactly her purpose is. He'll deal with the speculation if it comes, but it'd be nice to know why she incited it in the first place, after all.
Reply
"Glenfiddich suits you fine, I assume," she murmurs, acquiring and pouring and handing it to him with her own glass in the other hand.
"Did you know that of all the people in that room whose opinions matter," she nods minutely at the doorway, indicating the hotel proper, "only three agreed with increasing monetary expenditure to ease poverty--what is it, 'south of the border'? And you happen to be one of them--the only one with any ideas."
Reply
Caius pauses only briefly as he takes the glass from her, like he's just recalled where he's heard her name before. His expression changes, ever so slightly; he's found his footing, at least for now.
"I wouldn't be very good at my job if I wasn't aware of the opinions around me," he says, even, good natured but neutral.
Reply
She observes the minute change, smile briefly wryer than it was before--as if to say, yes, now you know you're in the room with that radical. Mina sips her drink, delicate about it.
"And you are, I think, quite good at your job," she tells him, "considering the most the previous ambassadors have done is give us a multitude of platitudes, no disrespect intended. There are people who would do this differently--who would small-talk and sweet-talk and, I suspect, you'd see through it."
Mina leans against the bar, setting her drink down.
"So I'm not going to condescend."
Magnanimous of the twenty-one-year-old.
Reply
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