KINGOFTHESUN:<br/><br/>The sun beat down on the soft golden sand. The smell of the salty Mediterranean permeated through the air, mixing with the pungent smell and sounds of champagne being opened and drank. The French Riviera was by all means void of any sign that a war that had killed millions had just occurred a few years ago. The past enmity between the Germans and the French, the British and the Ottomans had faded away like the bubbles of a stale bottle of sparkling wine.<br/><br/>Aristocrats, tycoons and duchesses lounged on the beach, sharing gossip and news that only those who could afford to do nothing but drink and lay in the sun would care about. Of the tycoons, duchesses and royalty, one man lounged, a tall glass of gin, lime and syrup sipped on his cocktail and read through a copy of<i>This Side of Paradise</i>by a strapping new author who had called himself Scott Fitzgerald. An interesting man— Gabriel had met him only a few days ago in Paris— it had been at some coffee parlor called Le Polidor? Or Le something. The French had the habit of spelling everything convolutedly and saying it an even more incoherent matter.<br/><br/>He looked up from his horn rimmed sunglasses, the sun had set the once clear blue sky ablaze with hues of red orange and deep purple. For a moment he looked way, distracted from the book— it was time he made his way back to the hotel— plus he could use another drink. Gabs finished off his cocktail, leaving the the glass there, it was someone else's problem now. Closing the book he walked off the beach, his green eyes straying to look at the women that laid on their stomachs, still asleep from a long day of drinking and sun bathing. It was odd to see women in such scant clothing, after the war both the attitude and dressing of women had changed drastically— less the better.<br/><br/>Rolling up the sleeves of his white linen shirt, Gabs walked to his motorcycle— he had bought it recently, an impulsive buy but ultimately worth it. Starting it up he drove through the narrow but lively streets; the French as most Europeans had an odd work ethic, it seems that they napped all throughout the day and then came to life at night. They reminded him of termites, hiding in their stone homes during the day and then frolicking around the night.<br/><br/>It took him roughly ten minutes to get back to his hotel— it was a quaint little tavern, it's main benefit was it's vicinity to the beach and the bar (the hotel was more of a front for a high end escort service). Gabe had noticed the constant web and flow of beautiful woman that moved silent in and out of the hotel— he couldn't help but doubt that they were from esteemed families if they were simply spending the night.<br/><br/>KALINDA:<br/><br/>"You're a woman. You should not be working, especially not on a vacation like this. Every lady is relaxing at the beach and you are trying to find a needle in your hotel room. Go outside." With those words, her father had shut the door behind her back after pushing some money and her sunglasses into her hands. There she stood in the middle of the hallway, with an agitated expression on her face.<br/><br/>Esmée Chartier was the daughter of Basile Chartier, one of the most well-known owners of a succesful horse stable in the United Kingdom. He owned a couple of great racehorses that had brought up lots of money – leaving the Chartier family to live a rather wealthy life. But the Chartiers were also very old-fashioned, which was causing a lot of issues in the family, especially with the youngest Chartier expressing her desires to work. Work, like a man was supposed to do. To make her own money – like a man should do for his family.<br/><br/><br/>They had hoped that a vacation would get rid of Esmée’s dreams. That she would find peace with her ambitions, maybe even meet a rich gentleman that would be able to talk her out of those ludicrous dreams. Basile and his wife had not been succesful so far, unfortunately. The red-haired lady would not bend, even while she had been sent out of the hotel room to socialize like every young woman should be doing. To allow a man to court her – it was ridiculous and outdated.<br/><br/>With no other options left, Esmée eventually decided to walk down to the hotel’s bar. Her red hair had been tied up in a bun and she was wearing a pair of wide, high-waisted white pants along with a sailor top and espadrilles on her feet. It was classy and inspired by the French, the clothing handmade by her tailor upon her own request and called a disgrace by the supporters of the old days. But as she carried herself with confidence and pride, it was clear that she did not worry about the opinions of others.<br/><br/>The woman ordered a glass of champagne as she brought her cigarette holder with a new cancer stick that had been freshly lit to her crimson painted lips. Upon looking around, she could see a lot of young, beautiful women that were trying to flatter the men among them and vice versa. She had been aware of the status of the hotel, of the many ladies that were able to sell themselves for a couple of hours that required their company. Intimate company. Esmée distanced herself from them and would sit in a corner of the bar by herself, sipping from the crystal glass with bubbles and inhaling the smoke that her cigarette offered. Perhaps she could spend an hour here, before she would call upon an early dinner so she could return to her hotel room as quickly as possible. She was determined to find that needle and continue with her work.<br/><br/>KINGOFTHESUN:<br/><br/>The liquor from the cocktails on the beach was setting warmly in his stomach. A small view seemed to settle over his mind, his vision slightly blurred as his green eyes caught a woman that sat alone, seemingly distancing herself from the web of people that seemed to ever flow through the halls of the hotel. He cocked his head lightly as he contemplated sitting with her—<i>why not?</i>He thought to himself as he walked over, readjusting the sleeves to his linen shirt. He sat down next to her and raised his hand and was received by the bartender almost immediately (Gabe had a habit of tipping well so the bartenders would remember him). He cleared his throat before ordering, "I'll take two things my dear friend, one will be a Cigar— thickly rolled and a gin and tonic."<br/><br/>Instead of subtly even making a remark or hitting on the woman, Gabe just turned in his seat to face her, he looked at her for a moment before speaking up, "I'd ask you if I could buy you a drink, but it seems you already have one." He motioned to the crystal glass filled with champagne. "So I'll do the next best thing I can think of which is," He pulled out his silver lighter and opened it, lighting her cigaret for her. "this." He said as he closed the lighter and smiled as the bartender returned with a cigar and a gin and tonic.