Nikola Zielkov
The longer she interacted with Koucha, the more Nikola began to feel that he was either terrible with people, which she doubted was the case, or he was just oblivious to the effects his words had. Well, the latter was quickly disproved when he hastily stammered, I-I-“ he paused here to clear his throat, "I apologize if I said something wrong, I didn't intend anything, I just meant how your small frame is..." Mother Russia, what was he trying to say now? Nikola bit her lip hard and mentally dared him to say something stupid...
"Cute..."
Nikola straightened. Had she heard correctly? Cute? Had this damn near stranger just called her cute? Although her face was burning a bright red barely disguised by her makeup and her eyes were widened with surprise and outrage, Nikola noted she really wasn’t as angry as she should be. Anybody else? Lights out. But now... was it because she was all dolled up and didn’t want to ruin her image? A large part of her mentality scoffed at such a thought. But another, smaller part, was actually flattered. Appalled at her confliction, she remained silent with her eyes on the floor in front of her, hoping he’d do nothing further to embarrass himself as well as her.
"I'm gonna go get a drink, nice meeting you," he said before she felt his presence leave. With an audible sigh of relief and a visible relaxation, Nikola lifted her head again and unclenched her hands. The best decision he could’ve made, at that point. She hadn’t bothered to say a goodbye of her own.
She sat in that chair for a few minutes more, mind devoid of thought and feeling. Just... sitting. Until at last, one urged spiked: a drink. Not just any.
Nikola rose slowly, testing her balance, before sighing again once fully upright. Her challange of the evening: the restaraunt. Getting inside was no big deal, she soon discovered. Nor was maneuvering around the people. Going unnoticed was usually a talent of hers. As soon as she saw the drink table, she felt an overwhelming urge to return to her safe little anti-social corner when she saw someone already there. It was a girl, another Drink. She knew this girl was a tea, distinctly remembering her face amongst the group for one reason or another. Her name, though... it wasn’t important. It wasn’t as if they were going to talk or anything. Or so she logically assumed.
She quietly made her way over to the table, not swaying as much as she had been before, which she took as a good sign. And then she saw it. Her drink.
The bottle was unremarkable, like the many she’d seen before, exactly the same save for the label. She opened it, took a small glass, and poured herself a shot. Replacing the top and the bottle carefully, she moved to stand at one end of the table, sipping her drink. The warming embrace of the liquid promptly sitlled her nerves, and she contemplated what she’d learned about her oponent: Koucha.
I was embarrassed, she thought. I was stupid to let it show, but he... he was also flustered. She further analyzed his reaction. At first, he’d been all smooth; calm, cool, and collected. But then... had she caught him off guard? Or did he always act that way in conversations? Unconsciously, Nikola frowned. He was obviously smart. But not too smart. Borderline threat, she concluded.
She hoped she wasn’t underestimating him.