Chestnaya Politika [Serafima/Public]

Serafima Pavlovna was nothing if not proactive. If she was going to sell her body, then by god, she was going to profit off of it. And have a damn good time while doing so.

But to really get anywhere while working alone, she had to be clever. She had to seek out the customers on her own, in places where other, dumber whores wouldn't think to go to. Places where they'd be too afraid to skulk around in. For Serafina, this meant places where someone who was obviously lower-class would stand out, including most prostitutes. And seeing as how a good percentage of them also weren't 'registered', the house of the law was the perfect place to avoid the competition.

Not to mention, it was choice haunting grounds for wealthy men who were very likely married to 'proper' ladies, and therefore wanting for some real pleasure in their lives. Granted, a good number of those men were rather old (not that she was terribly picky, but even she had a limit), but they were easy enough to avoid. On the off chance that one did approach her, she could make up any number of lies to make them go away. "My husband's hat got caught on the wind, he's run off to retrieve it." "Ya ne govoryu po-nemetskii." "I have the clap." Et cetera.

That said, for the most part, it was open season.

Twirling a lacy parasol between her gloved fingers (despite that she was standing in the shade of a tree), she watched the well-to-do passing by like a hawk waiting for the juiciest mouse to appear before swooping down. Occasionally, one would catch her eye, and she'd smile provocatively, but people here tended to be in a hurry to get to work. Or maybe they were just intimidated. It was certainly uncommon for a well-dressed woman to be loitering around without escort, let alone be so forward with her body language.

She'd set her gaze on a group of men (she couldn't tell if they were politicians, or if they were just hanging around) who seemed to be in no rush to get anywhere, and, concluding that they seemed like decent prospects, made her way over to them.

There was a way to walk that grabbed men's attention. Casually, without being in too much of a rush, so that they had ample time to look, but not so slow that it was too deliberate. There was a gait that best showed the movement of the hips, a posture that best framed the figure, a tilt of the head that was not too shy, not too snobbish. There was a way to smile and glance and be alluring and mysterious and desirable, without making one's intention's obvious. And there was a way to 'accidentally' drop one's handkerchief in the hopes that someone would pick it up and offer it back to her, thus giving her an easy reason to initiate conversation.

Of course, it was taking a risk (not that she couldn't pretend to realize she'd dropped it and turn back to retrieve it), but these gentlemanly types were usually too polite to let a lady lose her handkerchief right in front of their eyes. Especially a lady whose own eyes spoke so invitingly.

[[ Cannot resist chance to accuse her of being a succubus-- /SHOT ]]

Perhaps this had not been as good an idea as Lewis had initially thought. Indeed, his father was in the same profesion as this group of men so he knew quite a bit on the subject. So the theory had been good. The only problme was. . . They were speaking in German. It's not that his German was terrible, he'd been learning and using it since he was thirteen and started at Eton, but, of course, learning legal terminology had never struck him as something he would need in the future. Shame on him. Although one of the Austrians had been kind enough to translate the terms for him when he asked, but he could tell that they were starting to get annoyed by having to translate for him.

Well at least he could attempt to join in conversation with them when they were talking about other things. Maybe there was still a slim chance of befriending them, not that it seemed at all likely. He'd considered looking for some other writers, but really he didn't think he was any good at it, they'd probably hate him or laugh at him for not having any books published yet or something. But then he'd yet to write one he was happy enough with to try and get it published, so maybe he could if he tried. . . Maybe.

He simply sighed, listening to one of the other men talk quite happily about his new daughter and how she'd said her first word this morning before he'd left and looking around at the other people in the area. More people people in suits, reminding him that he was dressed slightly different from the rest of them, after all, London did seem a lot more. . . Advanced than it did here, a feature Lewis didn't know if he thought this was tedious or endearing about the city. He stopped, at seeing the woman in red, probably keeping his eyes on her for a different reason to what most, if not all the other men that had made eye contact and scurried off to their jobs.

She would indeed make an interesting character in a story, the Englishman had decided, making mental notes of the way she acted for later use. Not that he had decided her role in the novel as of yet. . . Or anything about it, really. But it was a start. A light smile appeared on the man's face as he watched her, running through all the possible roles this character could have, only snapping out of it at seeing her drop the handkerchief.

He paused for a moment, waiting to see if anyone would pick it up for her. If they didn't, well, it was a golden oppourtunity to talk to her an find out wht she was like, for the moment more thinking about her as a potential character than a person. And they didn't-- Splendid! He excused himself from the group, at least one of them seemed glad to be rid of him (or he could have just been Lewis being paranoid, but that didn't matter for the moment).

But oh dear, his nerves seemed to be kicking in again as he got closer to her, fiddling with the rim of his top hat in his hands until he was close enough to pick up the handkerchief and hand it to the woman. The words got stuck in his throat for a moment as he tried to draw her attention. If only talking to people was as easy as writing, he'd be some sort of social butterfly with the amount he'd written over the years.

"E-excuse me, miss, you dropped your, ahh. . . " Oh no he'd forgotten what they were called, what was it-- Oh no he was probably starting to look silly. Instead of trying to think of the word he just smiled weakly, offering it out to her to take.

((LMAO, yessss-- XDD Oh god, this is really awful, but I just saw this clip recently and couldn't help but be reminded of it--/SHOT))

Ah, how disappointing. Perhaps this would be one of those 'off' days. Sighing lightly (not that there were many other ways to, with corsets), she was about to fake realization and turn around to look for her 'lost' handkerchief (maybe she could attract their attention by bending over for it--), but then...

Painted lips curling upwards, she turned around, pretending to not realize... Oh, but that did look like her handkerchief, didn't it, now? Her hand trailed down to a pocket in her dress, as if to check for it, and, feigning surprise when it was not there, she accepted it, hand lingering over his.

"Ah...how careless of me..."

She couldn't quite tell what his accent was (it didn't seem Austrian), but hers was distinctly Russian. Robust, rich, deep...and in this case, enticing.

"This is my favorite, you know," she lied easily, "I am so grateful, Herr...?" She left the question open, seeking a name.

Finally drawing her hand away (practically stroking his in the process), she put the folded little square of cloth back securely in her pocket...until the next time it was needed.

Taking a good look at her potential customer, she noted that he looked quite young--possibly even younger than her--and faintly smelled like garlic. Nothing she couldn't handle. He also seemed like the timid type. Her favorite. Men who were unsure...they were so much fun to seduce, to get flustered. Her eyes, wolflike with hunger, ran him up and down without any reservation whatsoever.

"Come walk with me?" It was less of an offer as it was a velvety command.

[[ IwillneverbeabletounseethatwhenIwatchthatfilm-- /shot Yeess. I love Dracula Dead and Loving It. B) Victorian men are such prudes-- ]]

There was something. . . Off about this woman. Lewis had never been good enough with people to place exactly what, but it was definitly something. . .

Although now he was in a much closer proximity to her, it gave him a chance to get her features right for when he got around to immortalising her in fiction. She was shorter than he was, possibly five-five, five six at most; fashionable vlothing-- The black roses looking less than welcoming, but it all added to the charm of here character, in his opinion. She was certainly easy on the eyes, attractive, even and with very, hmm, he couldn't quite find the word to describe them. Not so close and with her staring at him, even so it took him a moment to break eyecontact with her and look down at their hands as she took back the peice of cloth that had brought Lewis over in the first place.

Though it was only know that it had struck him she was an actual person, and now she was talking talking to him. He couldn't place her accent immediatly, eyes narrowing lightly as he tried but still locked on their hands. It certainly wasn't English. Not German or Austrian either. . . Perhaps Russian? It would have to do for now, but there was definitly something in her voice that drew him, and no doubt over men to her.

"Y-your favourite?" he repeated, voice high and quivering like his hands, "Fletcher-- L-Lewis Fletcher."

He really needed to calm his nerves, but it was understandable (to the Englishman, at least. It made him feel better to think insuch a way ) that one would have trouble keeping his wits about himself. Though Lewis was already convinced that he had less resistance to her than the average man would, made more certain by the wayhe flinched when their hands made contact. Embarrassing to say the least.

He took a second to clear his throat to hide said embarrassment, placing his top hat on his head as a distraction meant more for himself than the woman and staring at her fan rather than look her in the eyes again. He found his legs already moving before he'd even had a chance to fully take in what she'd said. Traitors. "Y-yes okay," he mumbled, barely audiably and remembering how initially he'd felt very uneasy around her, milling it over as he follwed her like some sort of lost puppy.

((Lmao, I need to watch the full movie, sometime--I've only seen some clips. XD))

Oh dear, he did seem very nervous, indeed. It was a struggle to keep from smirking too much in anticipation. 

Her apartment was not too terribly far away, but she didn't know if she could lure him all the way into the poorer parts of town. No matter, there was a landlord nearby that let her use one of his rooms for free, periodically. There were a couple of strategical locations she had around the city like this. The owners were given offers they couldn't refuse.

"Herr Fletcher..." She tried out, then, with a light laugh, "Why, it doesn't sound very Austrian, at all--not that I would know."

Stepping off of the sidewalk to cross the somewhat busy street, she took it as an excuse to take his arm, her hand coiling around it like a serpent.

Not letting go, even after making it across, she continued, "My name is Serafima. But you may call me 'Fina', if you'd like." She smiled and pressed against him, briefly, to avoid a passing bicyclist. "I hope you don't mind, I enjoy walking with people I've just met. But..." Her eyelashes fluttered. "I've forgotten something in my apartment...it's very close by. Would it be too much trouble for us to stop by there?"

No doubt she seemed overly-familiar in the way she was behaving. No doubt the young man was confused, or uneasy to some extent. But that was how she liked it.

[[ You shouuuld, it is one of my favourite films ever. B) ]]

Oh dear now where was she taking him-- And why was Lewis allowing himself to be lead so easily? He'd never met this woman before in his life and here he wasm following her with no protest. Well, at least he could try and excuse himself from her company and avoid her like the plague. Though really, he didn't have a clue what he'd do if he ran into her again.

Perhaps he just wouldn't leave his place of residence. . . But then the whole point of coming to Vienna been to get fresh air? He could have stayed in home all day back in London.

"I-it's because I'm British," He mumbled, still not very loud and yet to get over his nerves, understandably. He rarely got this close to anyone, let alone very forward women like her, and it was only making him less comfortable by the second.

He had barely had enough time to adjust to standing next to her before her arm had wound it's way around his own. Well now he knew how those poor mice felt when they were eaten by a snake. It was suddenly very hard to breathe-- whether it was the shock or claustrophobia, Lewis didn't know. Either way it wasn't a very pleasant feeling. But they were in the middle of the road, trying to get her to let go of him here could end up horribly (after all, it only took one person to get everyone else killed).

After allowing himself to be ascorted across the road, at least that what it felt like. Never had he been so tempted to attempt gnawing off his own arm, but that never did go down well. After all, a certain level or courtesy needed to be observed and losing a limb was certainly not included, especially when it had been you who removed it. "It's nice to meet you, miss--" Oh dear, he'd used the English. What was German for miss-- It was frightfully hard to think in such conditions, perhaps she wouldn't mind until he remembered the word, "Miss Serafima." He certainly wasn't going to call her 'Fina' just yet-- if ever. She didn't seem the type of woman he'd like to be associated with.

There was a sharp intake of breathat being pressed against. How inappropriate-- but. . .It seemed like an accident, though by this point he wouldn't put it past her having done it on purpose. Or perhaps he was simply being too harsh.

Hold on a second. Just how long did she expect this walk to be? No. He needed to stand up for himself now before it was too late. He'd simply say he had to be somewhere and hope to god he never saw her again. He used his free hand to adjust his hat (people did that when they wanted to be taken seriously, or so he thought); first step, free himself from her grip. He moved his hand with every intent of peeling the woman's hand from his arm but her hands did look rather fragile. . . His own hand slowed to a stop, hovering above Serafima's. What if he accidentally hurt her? He didn't want to do that-- he just wanted her to let go. He could feel the courage he'd built up leaving him in a matter of seconds as his eyes wandered back to her face, completely gone at once again and once again shaking lightly, shaking lightly from distress.

"I-I don't see why n-not," He said quietly, quickly pulling his hand back to adjust his hat once again (it made for a good distraction). She reminded him of something-- definitly a thing and not a one, but what? It was even harder than he thought to think clearly around this woman.