Rochefort frustratedly tapped his forehead, "God, why didn't you tell me earlier, I bought the three most expensive tickets from the 'Queuing Party'..."
"It's alright," Porte Yer pointed towards the direction of the square, "So many people have come today, it should be easy to resell them."
...
In a small tavern in the northern suburbs of Saint Petersburg, the cracked-skinned Chadov tightened his collar and looked at the young man in the worn leather jacket at the door, "Fronov, haven't they arrived yet?"
The sharp whining wind outside made the young man close the door with effort. He turned his head, "What did you say?"
"Those noble gentlemen," Chadov took a sip of wine and frowned, "Could they be scared and not come?"
Accompanied by the "squeak-squeak" sound of stepping on snow, the tavern door was pushed open, and a tall young man in old military uniform walked in with the biting cold wind.
Fronov was about to close the door but found two people following behind him.
