Alexander entered the pub like a tiger entering a pen full of kittens. He regarded the other occupants coolly and wandered to the bar with all the elegant capability of oiled silk. The ironic thing was that Alexander never really tried to do any of these things. Something about growing up with an evil genius in the house sort of trickles into the way you regard the world, and as Alexander ordered a white Russian, the occupants were beginning to take notice.<br/><br/>Well, half of them were taking an extreme interest, and the other half were trying to ignore him. The primary dividing line was whether or not they were female. Several women attempted rapid seductive approaches, but he batted them out of the air like a cat hunting flies. He turned to watch the fading light of the evening filter through the windows and sipped quietly on his drink, seeming to bask in the glory of himself. In truth Alexander was wondering what the hell one actually did in these sorts of situations. He was not interested in sex. Well, okay perhaps he was, but it wasn't his primary interest. Well, okay that is a bit of a lie too, but he was not interested in women throwing themselves at him in an ever so classic act of desperate desire.<br/><br/>As such any woman who came at him with her neck line dipping and her hips swaying like a belly dancer received a calm and uninterested look that stopped the words in their throats. It was a wonder no one had required CPR to dislodge a poorly conceived pick up line. Alexander sighed a little and ordered another white Russian. In reality he would have preferred a brown Russian, something with a little more rum-to-vodka ratio and a little less coffee and milk flavor, but to Alex brown Russians were a drink one made in the privacy of one's own home. White Russian had a classy, almost sexually charged feel like something a high dollar prostitute would do to an attractive businessman. Brown Russian sounded more like a street slang for bowl cancer or cheap corner store tacos that required that you sat on the toilet as you ate them.<br/><br/>He detected eyes on him. Not that he hadn't felt this all evening, the suit was probably worth a month's salary to half of the people here and money like that tends to show itself, but this felt like a look at the back of his head and not the back of his jacket. Or more specifically his right ass cheek against which was a leather wallet with a plastic card that could buy half the city on a whim. Not that Alexander didn't have a nice ass either, but it was hard to think about that when you are say, a single attractive woman who is looking for someone else's money to spend.<br/><br/>No, this felt like someone was trying to read something shaved into the back of his head, perhaps projected on the inside of his skull. He turned slowly, more out of a pleasant curiosity than anything more malicious, and locked eyes with a woman on the other side of the bar. She was not an unattractive person, Alex had little trouble detecting the athletic body under the slightly over sized clothes, but he was far more interested in the way she held his gaze despite the amount of pressure he put into it. A small smile graced his lips, he had an oddly charming smile for someone who had just dumped a man into a tank of piranha.