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[not yet] Dimitri | The Rikov Story | Dyana [not yet]
Slender digits twitched, tapping against pale flesh of toned thigh, curved upward to press it's front to crush against her chest. Elbows were bent, arms permitted to encircle knees in a comfortable position by the window, rocky greens, cold as the pour of earthward droplets outside, staring through the bars. Dyana was silent, serenaded by the violence of water against pane, the ivory handles so adored laid aside for the timebeing. She was home, no need to wear the holsters. Toes arched, pushing against the leather stretch of black boots so her body tipped backward, then released, done again as a rhythm kept in a steady see-saw.

Dimitri sat, silent as well, a single digit tapping against the side of his glass while the rest of them held firm around the curve. Body was lax, leaning into the comfort of his leather chair, legs outstretched over the ottoman. Glass was lifted, brim pressed against bottom lip as the container was tilted, the contents drained before the glass found home on an array of paperwork on the nightstand. Slowly, the blonde leaned forward, standing to his feet as those soles brought six foot scrape to an even six foot, a heavy thunk boasting a reply from their impact with the floor. Hands found pockets of those sable slacks, delving deeply as rocky greens turned to crtisize his sister at the window, "Going to sit there all night, Woman?"

Rocky green orbs fixated dryly out the window on the blink of a lightpost in the street, watching silently as every now and then, the unsleeping streets of New York were invaded by the usual insomniacs, "I might. Don't see what it is to you."

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