It was an unusually chilly day in the city today, and as Rasputin made his way idly along the busy streets, he could only wonder what normal people did on days like this. It couldn’t be anything actually worthwhile. That woman there was probably going to buy shoes for her kid, based on the way she was dressed and the magazine she was clutching in her hands as she walked deliberately toward the mall. That man was most likely going to a meeting, to discuss whatever mundane product he sold at his small business, judging by his moderately formal clothes and his briefcase.
But these people didn’t interest Rasputin in the slightest. They were normal civilians, with normal, stupid little minds. He only cared about those with higher brain activity, who actually understood things of importance.
However, one group of people that always amused him, despite the slower processing speed in their brain, was the group of drunkards in the dingy local bar that he sometimes glanced inside of. He never went in, as the beer was atrocious and he had enough money to buy his own winery, but it always entertained him to just take a quick look at what those rowdy people were doing at the time.
“Grigorii, hold on for just a moment,” he ordered his faithful old butler, who immediately stopped. With his usual strut, he strolled over to the window of the dark bar, glancing inside as he leaned against the woodwork. As usual, there were the drunks, one of which was on the table, dancing and singing while the others gathered around him, clapping and singing along. Rasputin smirked, and his blue-green eyes started to wander to the few lone figures around the bar. A couple women who looked as if they didn’t want to be bothered, a large and muscular man who was giving off a clear “come near me and die” message, and another man, sitting at the bar and chewing on his bottle…
Hm. How interesting. From what he could see from his vantage point by the window, the man didn’t seem as ignorant as normal people. Granted, he definitely wasn’t genius as Rasputin himself, that was a rarity that Rasputin had only seen once, which had turned out to become his arch rival; but this man at least had an understanding gleam in his eyes, rather than the dull, mindless gaze of an average human being.
After staring for a long time, debating about it, Rasputin finally decided to try talking to him. Hell, even if he was wrong, maybe the man could turn out to be a good drinking partner. He would probably enjoy the expensive Kauffman vodka which Rasputin had had imported directly from Russia much more than the grime sold here… anyone in their right mind would.
“Grigorii, I’m going to step inside for a moment,” he called back, keeping his eyes locked on the man. “You wait out here, I’ll probably be right back.” Quickly adjusting the collar of his high-class pea coat, he opened the door and walked in, ignoring the amazed stare of the bartender, who probably thought he was going to get business from a celebrity. Hah, in his dreams.
Without hesitation, he walked straight up to the man at the bar and sat down beside him. “Tell me,” he said, his voice low and quick as usual, his Russian accent very thick, “is it just me or do you perhaps have a higher cognitive processing speed than the average person you see in this bar?” He drew close to the man, looking up at him intensely, analyzing every twitch of his facial muscle and every uncomfortable glance of his eyes.
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