The after-party was already drowning in an atmosphere of chic and luxury. The companies gathered with glasses of alcohol, conducted various small talk, as Marilyn considered, completely empty and annoying. It's boring.

The giggles behind the bar and the champagne that ended in a glass prompted Manson to go for more, because the only way out that seemed real to him was to throw in as much as possible and relax. Everything has already been paid for here, and therefore, it is a sin not to take advantage of this opportunity and take as many cocktails as possible.

You looked up from the straw in your glass and looked around the room with a bored look. Waiters in perfectly pressed uniforms and snow-white gloves scurried back and forth between the people here, helpfully brought glasses and rushed back to the bar.

Your colleagues, models from the country's leading agency, were quietly cooing about something of their own, perched not far away. About rags, about clothes, about traveling, someone's personal life, who slept with whom. About what you weren't interested in, and the cherry dries were already smoothly rolling to the bottom between the melted ice floes.

"I didn't expect to see you here," Your ear caught a familiar intonation. Grinning, cheeky, creepy. Marilyn tilted his head down, suppressing a chuckle. Indeed, in the two years of their acquaintance, although interspersed with tours, shows, and other duties, you have not changed at all.

The frontman also remembered how you clamped down on the first viewing at a modeling agency, and he tried to help by saying something about grace, openness and confidence. And apparently, you remembered everything perfectly and now, as a model with a big name, you openly shot back gaze at Manson with malice.

Humiliating each other and egging each other on in something is their forte.