Finished Am I a hypocrite?

"Maybe I am. I have been called that and worse in my lifetime. But it is less about my personal views and more a decision.of protection. I have no doubt that leaving the originals up might cause pain to some of my patrons. And further, the hate groups love to focus on recuperation of their beloved religious symbols. This cathedral wasn't being used and wasn't important to anyone, but I'm sure that now that I've reopened it as a club... well I'd like to mitigate that as much as possible by scrubbing as much of the original context as possible without losing the style I love."

Pietro shifted subtly closer to Natasha, his shoulder briefly brushing against hers. "And what about you? Do you think I'm some evil beast? Do you hate me, Miss Lockwood?"

Pietro's lips curled into a slightly mischievous smile as he regarded Natasha with an expression as warm as her own was cool. "Well for that I sincerely apologise, Natasha." He sounded sincere, at least, his eyebrows raising expectantly as he looked into her light blue eyes with his dark red.

And then he simply couldn't help himself. Pietro lowered his voice further, deepening half an octave and indusing a husky, sensual affect to his accent. "I certainly would like to rub you the right way, if you'd be so inclined."

Pietro's smirk only widened and he turned on the toe of his shoe, stepping only a foot or so away from Natasha. "Gallantry is a little old fashioned, don't you think? I told you before, I am a forward-thinking man. White horses and finery... I've done it for so long it feels almost cliche at this point."

Pietro's smile fell a bit and he looked tired for a moment, and for that moment his age seemed to catch up with him. That look quickly fell away and was replaced by his usual carefree smirk. "My apologies, Miss Lockwood. Natasha. I fear I have overstepped my boundaries. You are my guest, after all, and I shouldn't be so cavalier with my hospitality."

He glanced around, seeing that most everyone was thoroughly engaged with the party to notice the dip in his mood. "I think I need some quiet..." he said almost under his breath, sighing into his glass breathlessly.

"I will be fine," Pietro admitted, not flinching away from Natasha's touch but not particularly seeming to lean into it either. His smile turned to her more directly. She was a kinder person than he, and he knew it. She was older, he imagined remembering, and yet somehow she had kept a far greater sense of humanity about her than he had. "Just feeling my age a bit, I suppose. No need to worry yourself."

Slipping under her gentle hand, Pietro moved a few steps towards the stairs. "I think I am going to go upstairs and get away from all of the noise and the flash. It is... grating." He started his way up the stone spiral staircase that led into the private rooms on floors above, not explicitly telling Natasha to stay or follow one way or the other. Truth be told, their little antagonistic flirtation was the last thing on his mind at the moment.

Pietro stopped on the stairs, turning to smile down at Natasha. "You may do as you wish, Miss Lockwood. You are a guest, after all. I just need to get away from the noise."

He finished his ascent, gliding past all of the private rooms to one at the very end of the hallway: a personal office of sorts. It was a shock different from the rest of the club's interior. Dark wooden floors stretched out into the darkness. The far end of the room held the pipe organ he had mentioned previously, absolutely covered in dripping, ever burning candles to illuminate that half of the room. In front of that was a large oaken desk, carved with scenes from Russian history, starting back during the crowning of Emperor Alexander ii, called the Liberator until his assassination.

Pietro collapsed into a large, plush chair, sliding down so that his legs stretched out in front of him. He put his hand to his forehead, that same exhausted look from earlier taking him over. Though he could be easily mistaken for a woman of twenty with his age charm on, Pietro had the entire demeanor of a tired old man in that moment.