[hr][hr][color=Firebrick][h3][b][i][center]Clayton Radshaw[/center][/i][/b][/h3]
[center][b]Location: London, hotel room.[/b] 
[b]Interacting With: [@shamrocknroll].[/b][/center][/color][hr][hr]
 
He might not have woken up amongst soft white sheets, fluffy pillows and in the company of a gorgeous lady, but here he was now. The smug smile on his lips was nearly uncontainable. The way the sultry French whisper rolled off her tongue only made it worse. The sounds were magic enough but the words then tested and stretched his memory. 

He knew [i]je suis[/i] for 'I am', so therefore assumed [i]appelé Cerise[/i] to be her name. Who was he to judge. Her next comment also put any doubt about her intentions to rest. She was extremely forthcoming for a stranger he just met in the alleyway, a married one at that. But then again, who was he to judge. 

[color=lightblue][i]"un peu noir ou rouge"[/i][/color] He says in his broken accent in attempts to humor or impress, all while he gives a sly predatory glare. His eyes followed her intently until she was out of sight. Shamelessly studying her womanly body and figure. 

There was still sometime before he had to be at the airport so he decided he might as well have some fun to kill the time. 
He gets up and heads over to the mini fridge and begins searching through it, occasionally wincing every time an off movement reminds him of an injury.