@misterdondraper
“Scotch, please. Hold the ice.” Sliding into the stool easily, the hotel bar was pleasantly empty save for only a few others, most who seemed largely disinterested in the fact that he had just descended the stairs along with the receptionist who had taken her lunch break. Solo was poised like a cat, content to just mull over the newspaper with a glass of alcohol in hand, but before he could even read past the headline, something caught the corner of his eye. No, someone, a familiar face. Chances were that if this man was familiar at such a level, he had seen that face in person rather than during a briefing session.
“Ah! The man from the charity auction, if I’m not mistaken. Mr. Draper, correct?” It could be argued as dangerous to form any sort of ties that weren’t related to work, but Napoleon always argued that it was for work that he found himself extraneously socializing with more than just other spies. It was in case the other might be tied to any organizations he reasoned, primarily because even the CIA still knew he was helping himself on the side of his current work and maintaining a network was essential. The man had said at the auction that he just worked for some agency, advertising wasn’t it? And Napoleon had responded that he himself worked for a gallery that was interested in a few of the pieces up for sale, though had decided to escape cigarette smoke lingering in the air and returned early, having spotted the paintings he intended for himself later.
“Are you staying in this hotel as well? They’ve quite lovely room service, I was pleased to find.”
