[i]“Lovely evening.”[/i]

A quiet sigh of annoyance rushed past Demetrius’s lips at the interruption. All he wanted to do was finish his cigarette in peace, but in a place like this, it was apparently too much to ask for. That was one of things he hated most about the bourgeois -- their dogged need to make small talk with whoever happened to be present. With each passing second, whatever motivation he had for attending this little festival quickly evaporated, and the idea of hopping into his Rolls Royce and getting the hell out of dodge grew increasingly appealing. The Chiklis summer home was only a five minute drive away, after all, he could make it back before anyone noticed his absence. But when Demetrius turned to look at the source of the voice, who he saw was far from the sweaty, dirt-caked farmer he’d been expecting.

In fact, the man who stood before him was dressed to the nines, a [i]very[/i] expensive looking crystal chalice cradled in his fingers. Demetrius’s eyes narrowed, just a little, though the subtle change in demeanour would never escape an expert’s scrutiny. Stratford saw its fair share of filthy rich merrymakers, especially during the summer months, so it wasn’t surprising that he happened to bump shoulders with someone who appeared equally affluent. Except… he’d never seen the stranger around, and that was what made his current situation all the more perplexing. As heir to the Chiklis dynasty, Demetrius was expected to know every last detail about their competition and allies, but for now, he was drawing a blank.

“Yes, I suppose so.” Demetrius murmured, taking a long drag of his cigarette. For a moment, his gaze lingered on the stranger, searching, before it finally flickered away, back towards the festivities. “Though I can’t say the same about the company. And you are...?”