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Gromkyo extended his own hand stiffly and have the much smoother, less calloused one a vigorous shake.

"I am told you can aid us in the situation with the Japanese." His words were coated and dripping with a thick, rough accent, and they came out hesitantly.

"Yes. We wish to provide grounds for diplomatic talks between Russia and Japan. The global situation is a precarious one, and it would be troubling for new conflict to manifest." Sebastien didn't know the extent of Johanne's diplomatic experience, and thought it might be best to give him some kind of starting point.

"Ah. But it is not us who are the aggressors. Japan has been making eyes at Russia for too long!"

Gromkyo's already small eyes narrowed further into tiny slits. Russia? Put forth a proposition to the tiny Japan? It was a proposterous solution. That would make Russia seem weak; like it was waving the white flag.

"We cannot do that! Making the first move would be political suicide. They will think we are making a gesture of surrender! And the Russian people," Gromkyo lamented, "they will see us as their betrayers! No better than the Japanese themselves. It is not possible."

He did pause to consider the man's second comment. Something that would benefit them in the long run? Hesitantly, Gromkyo continued. "How will this benefit us?"

Gromkyo glowered at the man who appeared a sliver younger than the other. He was right, of course. And it was infuriating. Gromkyo couldn't stand foreigners who were right; he couldn't even stand other Russian people who were right. They were always smug and condescending to the stout, plain, common Gromkyo.

"We will not be caught off guard. We cannot afford to be caught off guard." In his anger, Gromkyo had nonchalantly thrown that last sentence out; he didn't notice what he had said. "We must, it cannot be denied, make a sort of move," he mused, half to himself.
What manner of move, other than the silly idea of putting forth an embarrassing proposition, do you propose we make?"

He was confused, and a little troubled, by the talk of baths. They did not make any sense to him, but he decided he should keep that to himself, lest he let these men think he was stupid. "But Russia has the oil. Uhh... historically speaking, of course." Gromkyo could not hide the wince that made its way to his features. "Yes... Japan, however, has nothing we would want. The little backwards feudal country is useless; all they have are extra people."

Gromkyo's face slowly softened, the harder, deeper lines melting to give an overall less stern picture. People to work...

He found that he was not quite so annoyed at the man any longer. While he did not quite approve of letting such riff-raff into their glorious country, he had to admit that Russia did need workers. The Russians were currently worked up in a fervour over politics, and more than usual, no one wanted to take up the dangerous job of extracting oil. So those Japanese may yet prove to be good for something...

He cleared his throat noisily. "Well. although the Japanese are useless, dirty little things, I cannot deny that they may be put to good use extracting oil." They would have to think about how to make this more palatable to the populace, and even to the rest of the Kremlin. Gromkyo was, deep down, sure there would be little opposition. That damn tsarevich was the only thing people were worried out these days! But he was finding it hard to shake off even the most shallow layer of his deep-set prejudices.

Sebastien, who had moved a little behind Johannes, smiled slightly. This was going well. The Russian almost seemed... happy was a stretch, but they were getting closer to neutral. He leaned in to speak.

"I believe that are coming closer to a solution, Mr. Gromkyo. Thanks to your graciousness as well as that of Russia, the situation may be handled properly." Sebastien knew what kind of man Gromkyo was; it had been the things he had said, with so subtle an edge hinting at that which he thought would be so valuable that led Sebastien to what he was saying now. "I propose we take a little break now. Diplomacy--" he could not help but smile, although he tried to suppress it as best he could, "is hard work."

Gromkyo stared at the other man, who until now had said little. He decided that yes, they were no longer so annoying. And they had good taste. He was relieved when the man proposed a break; his tensions sank back down into him, seeping out of his harsh face. He motioned jerkily and a man appeared, carrying a quantity of narrow, cylindrical glasses and a large bottle of clear liquid.

Sebastien had to keep from shouting with joy. It had to be vodka. It was perfect. He didn't know if Johannes knew anything about proper vodka etiquette in Russia, but Sebastien certainly did. He wished Eknephias was here; it would have made the task much easier. Eknephias could outdrink anyone. But they would have to make do. Perhaps...

The mand had set down the alcohol, and proceeded to lay down a spread of traditional alcohol-accompanying snacks, only to then promptly disappear. This suited Sebastien perfectly, as he stood and distributed the glasses, intending to act the part of the server. He could then, hopefully, control the amount of alcohol they were all going to ingest a little better.

"This is very gracious of you, Mr. Gromkyo. Please, allow me." Deftly, Sebastien poured the alcohol into the three glasses, filling Gromkyo's more and Johannes' less, with his own solidly in the middle. He made sure the difference was not too noticeable.

He passed by Johannes and murmured quietly close to his ear as he poured. "All together after the toast; take it in one shot and take a bite of something immediately afterwards. That's how each round goes. Do try to get something about the political unrest out of him, but not too quickly. Oh, and I'll try to pour you a little less." He tacked on the last comment with an irrepressible smirk.

Gromkyo cleared his throat again. "My non-Russian friends. It is good of you to attempt to come and assist Russia against those Japanese. Russia, our great nation, will remain great! It will trounce all competition, and emerge at the top! All will be well, and you will have helped this to come about, my friends!" With that, the Russian man raised his glass, and tilted his head back to down the shot.

((We didn't specify, but let's say they're sitting down and have been for the diplomatic talks. Otherwise it would seem awkward, I think.))

Sebastien did not feel like he looked; he had never enjoyed the taste of stronger liquors, preferring for himself the wines of the Loire valley. But it was important to make Gromkyo feel at ease, and gain his trust. Or, failing that, to get him roaring drunk.

Since they were waiting for a few more rounds to bring up what was really important, Sebastien seized the chance to talk about food, spinning it into his speech. "Allow me, friends. What we have here, Johannes, is an excellent spread of traditional Russian hors d'oeuvres. You will see first that Monsieur Gromkyo has allowed us to sample Russia's excellent varieties of caviar; that to the left is black, and to the right is the red. They are, I assure you, the best caviars you will have ever tasted. A little closer to you is sitting exemplary pacific salmon and sturgeon. I, according to personal preference, have a leaning towards the salmon, but the sturgeon will not disappoint you. The left of the table has upon it an assortment of meats, and the right vegetables. The mushrooms are particularly good; you should try them next, Johannes." Sebastien had himself, taken a pickle this round; it had resulted in him not tasting the vodka to any great extent. Gromkyo had also taken a pickle, and he noticed the man grinning at him. It was always best to go with tradition the first time around-- it was one of the only useful pieces of advice Eknephias had ever given.

Sebastien made another round, refilling the little glasses, then resuming his seat and raising his own glass. "To good food, of which Russia appears to never run out!"

That made two. He figured by the next round, they could begin to hint at what they really wanted to know; no more small talk.

Gromyko raised his glass in a toast. "To Russian food!" He drained it quickly and banged the glass down on the table, sending a faint ringing sound around the room. Sebastien raised his eyebrows. Gromkyo was already turning that tell-tale shade of red, his features blotchy. Sebastien would have thought the man had more tolerance. It seemed both he and Johannes were going to outlast him, which was a stroke of luck he had not imagined.

Sebastien refilled the glasses once more. He figured Gromkyo had a few more rounds in him before he likely fell asleep, but they could start now, due to the man's surprisingly low tolerance for alcohol.

He cleared his throat before beginning to speak. "Russia's food is good, but I think that Russia's men are better. Especially those that run the country, don't you think, Monsieur Gromkyo? They are brave and-- and united, no?" He raised his glass.

Gromkyo quickly followed and after stuffing a bite of caviar down his throat, he quickly drained his glass. Gromkyo's hand shook unsteadily as he replaced the glass on the table.

"Y-- yes. Russia's men are great! We all-- we all follow the wise and powerful council of the Kremlin. We all... all... almost all..." Gromkyo snorted with derision.

Sebastien made another round, refilling the glasses. However, while Gromkyo downed his instantly, Sebastien's glass stood untouched. Sebastien gave Johannes a look and put out his hand, as if to signal to the Austrian man to stop drinking. Sebastien did not think Gromkyo would notice at this point in the game that his comrades were not drinking with him anymore.

Gromkyo's eyelids fluttered slightly. "They are all great save for that damned Tsarevich! Russia was united, we were to rise and become a great leader in the politics of the world... until he came. Out of nowhere, even! Damn that MAN!" His voice had become louder until he was at the verge of shouting.