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He's merging with his poster, or his poster is merging with him. It's difficult to tell, they wear the same wicked smile, and look out of the same hungry eyes. The real life 3D Shido deliberately lurks in front and slightly to the side of the 2D representation of himself, making sure not to cover his own evil face up. The poster, stuck to a wall of the stadium concourse, sits in a plastic fronted frame, unlike the others splayed across the white washed bricks, which haven't received the VIP treatment, although they too depict candidates for the (democratic) throne of Japan.
Rin, as her alter ego Neige, trots over to him underneath the artificial light, her gait girlish, full of an unawareness of harm, and full of the fear of it. It's no deception, and because she is not deceiving him, Shido cannot jump at the thing all powerful men fear - lies. Lies from others, at least. However, it's not the truth that he's grinning at. To either side of him his bodyguards keep straight faces, but they'd also like to smile, because Rin's a very pretty girl, and a very alluring one, especially when she's all dressed up in her sleek and sexy French fashions, French fashions which their boss delights to blow money on just so he can see her walking around in his gifts.
People flow past in an unending stream, making it difficult for the girl to ford. Despite her beauty, all their faces are turned towards the middle aged politician waiting for her, moon-like, sunflower-like. He smiles and bows to the masses now and then, but eventually he jerks a sharp eyebrow at a bodyguard, the huge man swinging out into the river of human beings, damning it so that Rin can cross over the last few feet of painted concrete, her heart pounding faster as Shido's grin and amber eyes fill more and more of her vision. Her heart pounding faster as she fears to bump into someone she knows from her 'regular' life.
“These pearls look good on you, Noxie. I wonder where you got them, hmm?” the man reaches for the loop of genuine pearls that graces Rin's neck, his touch the touch one uses for a passive animal only a step above an inanimate object. His touch is the sort that leaves icy spots behind on the skin. Dead spots a person attempts to forget. “Mmm.” he hums, twisting the string so that it forms a luxurious hangman's knot against her throat.
Watching baseball with the prime-minister-to-be is the most private experience possible, even besides being a genuine nobody with a cheap ticket. Even besides the bodyguards, who are paid to be open eyes, ready hands, and closed lips. Shido, even before Rin involved herself in his life, hated to be seen by the public except for when he chose to be, so his private box is completely private - no one knows he's there except for those who need to in order to facilitate his enjoyment of Japan's national obsession. Of course ultra privacy equals ultra danger when it comes to an unhinged murderer like him, but such is the place Rin's life has taken her.
“Here-” Shido turns away with the expansive wall of glass overlooking the green green diamond field and the stands full of plebeian spectators, towards a footman holding a silver tray full of golden champagne flutes. Snatching one of these, he unceremoniously downs it before plucking two more from the tray and handing one to a primly sitting Rin, not gently, but with brutal insistence, thrusting the expensive glass with its expensive liquid at her chest. “-enjoy, my little brat.”