
Pasha was well aware that the exterior looked like shit. He'd hacked together the signage himself without a second thought, and he'd purchased the building knowing it was in a sketchier neighbourhood than most people would look to start a business. Heck, it was halfway hanging into an industrial park, and a lot of his clients were actually workers there.
"The exterior is how I like it." It prevented too many people from poking in out of curiousity. It spread by word of mouth and kept things small. He wanted to remain low key for a reason; people weren't too fond of the Soviet Union, even less so outside of Russia. It was a somewhat dangerous situation to be in until he could return.
Would he ever be able to, though?
Pasha gave a vague nod. "It is fair for what I use." None. He used absolutely none. In the meanwhile, he took another glass and poured some vodka in before gently tapping it across the table, stopping just an inch away from Ignatius' elbow. Part of him was curious as to how much he needed to pump into the man to get him drunk. He was even taller than Pasha was, damn it.
As for being wall off in Russia, he shrugged. "Not quite, but you may consider it." He was well off once upon a time, during his heydays. He may have still technically been relevant, but it was the wrong kind of spotlight.