[Yuri ducks past the bouncer, hands in his pockets, hair in his face as usual. His whole appearance -- the way he holds himself, tense and hunched over, the sunglasses, the hood up -- is a painfully obvious cue to how intent he is on being taken seriously. It doesn't make up for the fact that he is little, though, that he moves gracefully in spite of himself, that even his grumbled "Подвинься" at the hit men comes out faux-gruff.
Still, there's a definite lack of fear as he steps over the nearest hit man like he's an inconvenient piece of furniture, falling heavily into the seat nearest Matoba and wrinkles his nose at the cigarette smoke.]
Yuri. [It's a correction, and he leans back in his seat, puts his feet on the table.] Who're these?
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Still, there's a definite lack of fear as he steps over the nearest hit man like he's an inconvenient piece of furniture, falling heavily into the seat nearest Matoba and wrinkles his nose at the cigarette smoke.]
Yuri. [It's a correction, and he leans back in his seat, puts his feet on the table.] Who're these?