(http://i279.photobucket.com/albums/kk137/HaibaneR/Monaco/Characters/Avatars/AdrianAvatar.jpg)<br/><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 18pt;">Adrian Layvin Dumont</span></span><br/><strong>Location:</strong>Maya Bay Bar & Café<br/><strong>With:</strong>Rayn and Rosalie Assad & James Sutherling<br/><br/><hr/><br/>Adrian had understood the simplicity of this transaction, and he wanted to get this over with as fast as Rayn did. Business could sometimes add fruit to life, but this was a strange business. There was a level of anxiety involved that was making Adrian uncomfortable. He tried to look patient as his mind fired up over and over again. the speed of his wine was irritating, the conversations around him were distracting, Mr. Assad held no interest to him. For, Adrian was very positive of why he had come to this diner.<br/><br/>Rayn's slave was clouding him. It almost felt like paranoia. He would have no trouble discussing this if it weren't for Rosalie. She made him nervous, and hesitant.<br/><br/>As for Mr. James Sutherling, Adrian had found his introduction to be a bit of bad timing. He had double scheduled himself that afternoon. Feeling rather annoyed by his own empty headed mistake, he took notice of his friend, and gestured for him to wait a moment. Not with-holding a slight sense of embarrassment, Adrian didn't speak to the doctor. The clumsy American had already made the situation more stressful than it was. He turned back toward Rayn with dew determination in his eyes.<br/><br/>"I'm not worried too much about money. I can probably spend up to 300,000 euro's if I need to." There was no dishonesty in this, Adrian was a thrifty man, and he didn't buy salt for his dinners. "I'm also not much concerned with the shape of the girl. There isn't a..." Adrian paused, as if he was searching for the words. "type of woman that I prefer. Although, I do prefer," his eyes darted over to Rosalie without control, "European types." He smiled, catching himself along with everyone else, swallowing the mouthful of humiliation with grace, turning back to Mr. Assad. "You know this. The type of woman with more words in her head than pictures. I'm not good with pictures. I speak well. I need a slave that can read. as far the physique:"<br/><br/>He paused enough to look back toward the door for his wine. It was still delayed enough to remain in hiding. "Fucking service." He was not irritated. It was as if he had read a human interest piece in the newspaper. "A woman. Not a twiddled up little nymph. I trust you know what I'm talking about. Classic beauty, something familiar." His accent was still tampered. He chose to talk in a very specific way. "And, uh, one with more of a chest than yours." His eyebrow twitched and he gestured toward Rosalie with his head. In the shadow of the next moment, he smiled out of the left corner of his lips. That was a sucker punch, and his shit-eating little smirk was only making it more blunt than his language had done.<br/><br/>His wine had still not yet arrived. he no longer seemed to care at all.