Freeport Eleven was an unusually cold station. Cold in both temperature and in hospitality, there were few smiles or manners to be found in this place, with most of the residents being blunt or just downright rude. He didn't like it, and he didn't understand why the University felt the need to set up here. His meeting with the leader researcher didn't go as well as he expected, in fact one might go so far as to call it a total waste of time, given the stunning lack of progress he made with the man which ultimately resulted in James letting the professor have a few more hours of work.
In the meantime, a chance encounter with a revolutionary woman he met outside lead him to deck three of the Freeport. He didn't know what to expect, nor did he have any idea where he was going or what she wanted. By now, he'd established his reputation with the local citizens as a diplomat, not a spy. The unfortunate truth being that this was a lie, he was only seconded to the diplomatic corps, but he wasn't actually a diplomat. With this in mind, he worried that this woman may have uncovered his secret. Nonetheless, he took a chance and came unarmed, his own personal curiosity getting the better of him.
When he arrived on deck three, he was suddenly left without anything to do, he hadn't been to this part of the station before and didn't think it wise to wander if someone was out looking for him. As such, he simply stood by the elevators, staring down the long, empty corridors for someone coming his way, but at this time of night, the halls were empty, and so he produced a smoke, hoping that it would stave off some of the chill.
Ding! The elevator doors opened behind him with a soft gentle swoosh revealing the revolutionary inside. Red lips curl up in a warm smile as a pair of dark brown eyes instantly find the individual by the elevator and twinkle in recognition. Very few people would wait in the freezing corridors of deck three without a purpose. It was a hedged bet. "It had not occurred to me, Mishtar Skirka, that you may also smoke."
Pimakhova walked out of the elevator adjusting and patting down her black leather military uniform. A little ash falls to the floor. Golden buttons fastened her jacket with small red trimming along the shoulder straps. A black gloved hand comes up to move her cap back a little, the red star on a white button glistening in the Freeport deck lighting. Unlike the man she had landed to meet, she had brought a sidearm. Of clear Coalition manufacture, it sat in a buttoned holster at her side.
"I trust you have not been waiting long? In either case, please allow me to offer you a Moscovian smoke... anyone with a curious taste surely wishes to try one."With a grin, she takes a packet of her own smokes out and feeds out two pre-rolled cigarettes. Placing one in her own lips, she offers the other to the diplomat. The man who claims to be a diplomat, at least.
A terrible habit, I know. he said as he tried to hide his surprise at her arrival. He paused for a moment, considering whether he should accept, before doing so, he did want to create a good impression, after all she was rather pretty. Thank you, I don't believe I've had the chance to try one. He pulled the Cigarette out and lit it with a bronze lighter that bore the faded letters B.A.F on the side. He immediately started coughing, it was a far harsher cigarette than he was used to Christ! he swore, before recovering his wits. Sorry about that, it's a bit rough for my liking...clearly. Perhaps you would care to try one of my during the course of this evening.
"Ah! Mishtar Skirka, my apologies... I should have told you beforehand how course the leaf of a moscovian can become. As it dries out it tend to get a little unrefined. I'll make it up to you with trying the Realm's equivalent."Wearing an amused smirk for an expression, Pimakhova gestures down the corridor."There is an establishment at the other end of the station on this deck, apparently known for it's plush smoking rooms and more refined selection. Would you indulge me in joining me for a meal, perhaps? Oh... and may I borrow your lighter?"She grins, gesturing to the cigarette between her lips before holding her hand out for it.
Of course he said, offering his lighter, before setting off down the corridor with her in tow. The reception was guarded by a man who looked like he'd rather be anywhere else. Table for two my good man. Somewhere quite, if that's alright. The man said nothing, instead gesturing for them to follow and lead them to a secluded booth that looked out over the Freeport and towards the sun. The tinted windows reducing the glare, but allowing enough light in to ensure that the booth wasn't shrouded in total darkness.
A drink of some kind my lady? He asked his companion, as the waiter left two menu's before departing.
"Mishtar Skirka... I would be delighted if you would indulge in some Spotykach with me? It is a mixture of vodka, spices and some berries. My senses tell me you would enjoy it."Eventually bringing the lighter up to the cigarette between her lips, she raises a brow as she looks at the engraving on it's bronze surface. Slowly she brought it down in her hand to offer it back to him.
"I trust that you enjoyed your service in the Armed forces, Mishtar Skirka? It must be quite a change of pace for you, suddenly thrust into diplomatic service?"Pimakhova leant back into the cushioned seating of the booth, her eyes training on his face with an analytical gleam to them as she exhales a cloud of smoke.
He pondered for a moment 'enjoyed' was a curious term, how does one 'enjoy' duty when it requires so much misery and hardship? When it changes someone so much as to be unrecognizable to ones own mother. Yes. He said simply It is a change of pace, and yes I would be more than happy to share some of this wine you speak of. But I am curious myself, how is it that you come to be this far away from the western Omegas? I must admit I am limited in my knowledge regarding your people, I hope you won't mind if I ask you a bit about yourself.
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