| Dinner at the Wynn |
[17 Nov 2006|11:10pm] |
Of the restaurants that Darian held in his highest regard, he considered Alex to be the best choice for his business meeting with Elise Shelby. It was an intimate dining room at the bottom of a magnificent staircase in the Wynn resort. Dark wood and lush fabrics gave it an even smaller feel, and its primary view was of an enclosed courtyard. A prix fixe restaurant and very high-brow, it served the best French cuisine one found away from the Riviera.
This meeting was a calculated risk. He knew it. While he maintained a bland expression without difficulty, the demon’s mind worked quickly behind it, sifting through alternatives... the best choice of words, the right demeanor to bring about desired reactions, the truths to speak or leave alone. In short, how to get what he wanted.
Darian picked up a fork and eyed its silver tines. He began to flip it between his fingers, a fidgeting gesture that was unusual for him, but not a sign of nerves so much as a mind attempting to be in too many places at once. Here. Elsewhere. Now. Last night. The one before.
A waiter brushed the tablecloth on his way past. The fork between Darian’s fingers faltered and then stopped, his eyes going to the man’s shoes instead.
The twirling fork in Darian’s hand had reflected the lighting and sent slivers of brightness dancing across the tabletop. Elise had watched them for a long moment before alerting the maitre d’ to her presence and receiving the requisite escort to the table. The meeting was impromptu and curious; she still was unsure of the nature of the man himself, and could not fathom why sparse conversation at a Halloween party could lead to such a meeting. Her own curiosity had been piqued then, but it was simply the nature of the game: if she was meant to stay in Las Vegas for an extended period, she wished to know her surroundings.
Quite a step up from the dingy bar she had encountered with the rough-and-tumble vampire some nights before, Alex was much more Elise’s style and while she had avoided the Wynn resort as more flashy than she would desire in an extended stay, she wondered if she had made a mistake in rooming elsewhere. After all, there weren’t many resorts in the city that could boast having a Manet or a Cezanne on the premises.
Before taking her seat, she smoothed back the skirt of her black dress in a habitual manner and simply nodded in greeting. She had changed before arriving, finding the sleek white business suit of her daytime exploits too oddly informal for the setting.
“So, please tell me… to what do I owe the honor?”
( Dialogue Over Drinks )
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