Post by Pyotr Alekseevich on Oct 4, 2016 21:55:28 GMT
Fyodor sipped the tiny cup of coffee which had been place in front of him. He winced slightly at the strength, it made him feel like he'd been slapped by a Venetian whore. Unlike the Venetian though, this coffee put something of a spring in his step. He finished his coffee and scoffed the small baklava which had been lingering on his plate and left the small change which would cover the cost of his little nibbles. He stepped from the soothing shade of the palms that his coffee had been consumed under and passed into the bustling crowd which thronged along the jam packed street. Little stalls selling everything from lamps to fruit were hemming the crowd in, forcing the young Russian noble with his chunky moustache to rub shoulder to shoulder with the sweating mass of humanity.
Fyodor stumbled through the crowd before turning into a small side alley, the alley was much quieter and lacked the bustle of the street, but held far more interest for this amateur sleuth. Fyodor ambled down the alley, with the tall buildings climbing skywards and inducing a distinct feeling of vertigo. But Fyodor was not to be distracted for long, he soon spotted the building he was after. It was a small 'coffee' shop. The kind that less savoury types might spend their afternoons whitling away the hours between unsavoury pastimes.
Fyodor grabbed a stiff drink at the bar and placed himself at a small table on one side of the room, he adopted the universal frown of a man who is intent on conversation with his drink and no other. But lurking beneath this frown were a set of piercing eyes, slowly assessing the men present and making mental notes of certain attributes. The bald Dutchman who had a habit of scratching his arse before rubbing his eyes, the grizzly Frenchman who was pinching the arse of everything that came close, male or female... But most importantly, out of this menagerie of natures most majestic beasts sat the Russian. Big, hairy and afraid. Afraid of what? Who was to say. But the hulking cretin was obviously worried, his eyes constantly darting around the exits and entrances, his hands lingering near a concealed weapon...
Fyodor relaxed and lent back in his chair, it creaked alarmingly. But nonetheless he had found his quarry, now he only needed to wait.
Fyodor stumbled through the crowd before turning into a small side alley, the alley was much quieter and lacked the bustle of the street, but held far more interest for this amateur sleuth. Fyodor ambled down the alley, with the tall buildings climbing skywards and inducing a distinct feeling of vertigo. But Fyodor was not to be distracted for long, he soon spotted the building he was after. It was a small 'coffee' shop. The kind that less savoury types might spend their afternoons whitling away the hours between unsavoury pastimes.
Fyodor grabbed a stiff drink at the bar and placed himself at a small table on one side of the room, he adopted the universal frown of a man who is intent on conversation with his drink and no other. But lurking beneath this frown were a set of piercing eyes, slowly assessing the men present and making mental notes of certain attributes. The bald Dutchman who had a habit of scratching his arse before rubbing his eyes, the grizzly Frenchman who was pinching the arse of everything that came close, male or female... But most importantly, out of this menagerie of natures most majestic beasts sat the Russian. Big, hairy and afraid. Afraid of what? Who was to say. But the hulking cretin was obviously worried, his eyes constantly darting around the exits and entrances, his hands lingering near a concealed weapon...
Fyodor relaxed and lent back in his chair, it creaked alarmingly. But nonetheless he had found his quarry, now he only needed to wait.