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Just below the dull roar in the tavern Teodor could make out the lilt and rhythm of a familiar accent. His grey eyes scanned the room, taking in the crowd that had gathered, and tried to find the owner of the voice. The men at the bar near him were too young to be the source, and those at the nearest table too small. This voice sounded like a growl, but it was a voice that made Teodor homesick in a way he hadn't been in years.
He lost track of the voice around the same time he felt eyes watching him. He took his time finishing the last of his ale, allowing the eyes to linger until he was sure where they were directed from. He left a few coins on the bar then turned around with purpose. He knew the moment he saw the man on the bench near the far wall that he'd found both his spy and his countryman.
As Teodor approached, he sized the man up. He was dark featured, the lower half of his face hidden behind a thick beard, and he was noticeably tall, even seated as he was. There was a certain presence to him that took up more room than strictly, physically, necessary and that was something Teodor found irresistible if the heat in his stomach was anything to go by.
"Vous avez été me regarder," Teodor said by way of greeting. He was glad to note that the man looked at least ten years his senior. The boys of the city had proven to be quite boring over the last few years.
"Je ne pouvais pas me résoudre à détourner le regard."
Teodor couldn't be sure, but he thought the man smiled somewhere behind his considerable beard. He settled himself on the bench beside the man and continued the conversation.
"You approve of what you see?" The taste of the words was wonderful and natural. It was nice to not have to search his brain for the correct words and then wonder if some of the meaning was lost in translation. The game was much easier to play in his native tongue.
Teodor felt a heavy hand come to rest just above his knee. Apparently the game was even easier to play without any words at all. He spared a moment to wonder about how obvious they were being but decided the table kept them modest enough for present company.
"So, are you a sure thing?" the man rumbled.
Teodor raised an eyebrow and did his best to look affronted despite the fact his body was reacting very strongly to the hand on his knee. "Do you have a name?" he asked.
"Charles de la Motte."
"And wine, Charles de la Motte? Do you have wine?" Teodor smirked at the pleased glint in the man's eyes.
"Of course I have wine. I am French."
"Yes. I am a sure thing."