Post by Persephone on May 30, 2006 19:07:53 GMT -5
Persephone propped one well manicured hand up under her chin, peering down from the long smooth dinner table filled with important bureaucrats and rich aristocrats. Clinking glass champagne flutes imported from the wealthiest manufacturers in the Matrix, with diamond studded silverware and satin dress. The decadence of the bourgeois was overwhelming.
Merovingian was absent from her side, at his place at the head of the table, filet half eaten. He'd caught sight of a pretty little twit in a tight fitting green dress, one that revealed her bust-with a suggestion of other attributes soon to be discovered by an eager suitor. Merovingian preened in his silk black suit, for the girl's benefit; he smoothed his hands through his hair, excusing himself from the table. With his pension for fine attire, scintillating banter, and-most particularly-carnal pleasures...she knew exactly where he "excused" himself to.
Persephone sighed, pushing a curtain of satin black hair over her shoulder, one hand lightly resting atop a bloodred glass of wine. In a tight fitting creme gown, the trophy wife mirrored the practiced elegance of her husband, regarding the members of their little...get together with increased contempt.
She raised an eyebrow as her gaze settled on the Twins, albino skinned guards with dreadlocks-they burst silently through the double doors of the club, gazes searching, fixing-
On her. First to him, but at her casual shrug...they realized he had been detained on other matters. They hesitated.
Persephone gave a casual wave of her hand, suggesting it was fine. They could wait. She always did.
Merovingian was absent from her side, at his place at the head of the table, filet half eaten. He'd caught sight of a pretty little twit in a tight fitting green dress, one that revealed her bust-with a suggestion of other attributes soon to be discovered by an eager suitor. Merovingian preened in his silk black suit, for the girl's benefit; he smoothed his hands through his hair, excusing himself from the table. With his pension for fine attire, scintillating banter, and-most particularly-carnal pleasures...she knew exactly where he "excused" himself to.
Persephone sighed, pushing a curtain of satin black hair over her shoulder, one hand lightly resting atop a bloodred glass of wine. In a tight fitting creme gown, the trophy wife mirrored the practiced elegance of her husband, regarding the members of their little...get together with increased contempt.
She raised an eyebrow as her gaze settled on the Twins, albino skinned guards with dreadlocks-they burst silently through the double doors of the club, gazes searching, fixing-
On her. First to him, but at her casual shrug...they realized he had been detained on other matters. They hesitated.
Persephone gave a casual wave of her hand, suggesting it was fine. They could wait. She always did.
