Damien notices the guards coming to him, but his face doesn't show anything.
When the guards arrive, he tells them:
"Un bon club. Enzo and his associates surely did great job.
Mais I didn't order anything yet, nor I want to... For now."
But his attempt of joking seems to have failed, since none of the guards smiled at his words.
One of the guard looks at him with a serious face. "You come with me. Enzo wants to see you." They make gestures and lead him to the VIP section.
There, Enzo was sitting in a read armchair made of leather "Damien, good to see you. Take a seat."
He takes the bottle of champagne and pours it into a glass, handing it to Damien "Here, drink. So, why did you leave?"
Damien takes a seat and gets the glass, but doesn't drink yet. Instead he looks at Enzo:
"Leave? I'm still here, as you can see. Just not in space, unlike the previous days.
Besides, didn't you say yourself that I'm free to do that? Even leave, you mentioned that one too."
He watches Enzo, awaiting for the response.
Enzo takes a sip of champagne "Of course you were free to do it, but there must have been a reason.
I can see you're not crippled, or have some problems with your head. You'e also not an old man, mon ami.
So, why did you do it when it could have been most profitable for you?" Enzo leans back and awaits his response
Damien takes a sip from his glass, then he starts speaking:
"Profitable? Enzo, mon ami, you know that not everything can be measured in profit. I do have enough cash for little pleasures of life...
Nothing extravagant, but still not the worst life you can have in the Border Worlds.
Sometimes calm life is all you want... Or at least you think that you want it.
Besides, Christine is doing good job out there, isn't she?
I guess I've found a good replacement."
Damien's face shows no emotions, so you can't guess whether he tries to conceal anything or not.
Enzo, after having listened to Damien, starts laughing.
After a break, he stars talking.
"A calm life? In Gallia? As someone non-royalist? You have too high expectations, Damien...
Do you really think you will ever be able to live a calm life?" Enzo stands up. "Not here, mon ami, not in Gallia. Maybe you should try and find your luck outside. I heard there is a group of pacifists living on large stations across the whole Sirius sector." He gets nearer to the window, overlooking the whole club. More and more visitors come.
"Oui, Christine is indeed a talented femme. I didn't have much time to get to know her better, though" Suddenly he recieves a phone call. "Mon ami, if you'll excuse me now, I have a meeting in the...whirlpool lounge. Maybe you should try it out too, once. Maybe it will help you clear your thoughts."
He leaves, heading for the said lounge.
Jean enters the club with a suspicious expression on his face.
He looks around, examines all the different people sitting on the tables
and hanging at the bar. He feels the glances of the people resting on him. "Weird people here, it seems they don't like new faces." , Jean mutters very quiet.
He heads for the bar and takes a seat.
After a few seconds the barkeeper stands next to him, an old, corpulent man cleaning
a glass with a dirty cloth. "A glass of 14er de Champagne s'il vous plait."The barkeeper nods and disappears. Two minutes later
he comes back with an old bottle in his hand. He pours the wine in a glass
and passes it to Jean without saying anything. "Merci." , he says and takes a sip.
Damien stands up, having drunk his glass:
"High expectations, you think? Maybe you're right. Yet we're here now, and it doesn't seem like this place
is too dangerous. Perhaps I should settle down here, on Narbonne.
Or on one of the Council planets. There're still some opportunities, mon ami."
Damien comes to the window as well, to see what's happening in "Le Baron": "As for Christine... She may be still quite reserved, especially after... the latest events.
So don't bombard her with questions straight away."
Then Enzo receives the call. Having listened to Enzo's last piece of advice,
he leaves the VIP-lounge too and returns to his place.
Meanwhile, back in a certain lounge, Bernard is begining to wonder if his face is actually redder than the leather armchair he is no longer sitting comfortably in. He has certainly never considered himself to be a prude, nor has he ever thought that he has lived a particularly sheltered life, but he finds that the skills and services that the hostess are offering to be literally mind-blowing. He feels almost like an embarassed child, about to lose his virginity to a highly skilled and very experienced older woman. He is no longer sure he wants to find out just how skilled and experienced she is, in fact he is currently wondering how he can retreat to the safety of the main bar with what is left of his dignity and reputation intact.
"Merde", he thinks, "Mon Dieu, why did I let myself get into this position?", as he realises that the previously beautiful and very sexy woman now appears rather like a predatory cat, while he feels uncomfortably like a trapped mouse. "Ahem, I think I will just get another cognac" he says, but with an off-hand gesture, she waves towards a full bottle of the best quality cognac, "There is no need Monsieur, I have planned for every possible eventuality", she said in her husky, almost breathless way. Then with an almost feral smile, she 'flowed' into his lap.
Bernard said the only thing that his brain seemed capable of saying at that moment, "Squeak?"
Jasmine entered Le Baron, catching a few stares from patrons of the bar. She wore her usual black dress, split into four different strips, two at the front and two at the back, to provide proper movement in combat while still providing adequate 'coverage'. The dress itself had no sleeves, but two metal clips held a pair of seperate sleeves that extended down to her wrists. Smooth black hair fell down past her shoulders, and white bandages were visible in the gap between the sleeves and the dress. Her most quizical feature, though, was the strip of white cloth that covered her eyes. She observed the room, apparently able to see clearly through the cloth. Weaving her way through the tables, she took a seat near the corner and relaxed into the chair, continuing to watch the goings-on.
A million dollars isn't cool. You know what is cool? A basilisk.