sonja.

The man chuckled at the slight bit of snafu that the woman had been doing as she approached him, started to speak with him, before she realized something and quickly apologized. He shook his head, wordlessly, a wry grin creased along his lips as the male listened again, nodding at her question. “It’s okay.” Gabe mused. “I can take you up to my hotel room later, we’ll have time, I know what you’re implying. It does kinda get lonely up there…” He laughed, as he answered her question. “I grew up everywhere, really.” Gabe said, leaning a little as the brunette reached for his fingers to caress. “Where didn’t I grow up. I’m Californian-born, all the way from Los Angeles. Then I moved to Nice, France when I went to college, then I came back here and stayed at New York.” Gabe replied. “What about you? Where did you grow up?”

For a second she lingered her sights on the wryness of his grin, boldly attractive yet altogether not doing justice to the rest of his features when he was terribly handsome. The subtly in her actions told Sonja this was not a reason to be moody about. Usually her clients opted to abandon whatever conversational exchange there was to have the minute she would fancy a place which her services transpired. So he was gracious enough to forget her huffy attitude but confident enough to know there was still time to go upstairs... Sonja used her free hand to pick up her glass, tasting the undertones in her wine which coated her tongue. Her fingers continued to trace over his. "You sound like you had too much free time on your hands. I'm jealous actually," she grinned. "I mean... I've always wanted to see France, but I don't think my tongue can pick up the language very well, or at least enough to navigate my way through the country." Sometimes Sonja chose to lie about her upbringings, simply because she was easily disillusioned by the make believe of being on a date. This time however, she forgot to come up with a clever lie. "Mmm, I'm from Limburg. Born ansd raised and easily escaped from," she quipped. Her fingers exchanged his fingers for his wrist. "Were you... close to your parents? Weren't they scared to let ya' go all the way to France for college?"

“You can hear a hundred nice words about yourself, and you’ll only remember the one bad one.”

Cold streets in New York.

The Man from U.N.C.L.E. (2015), dir. Guy Ritchie