Location: Shogun Sushi (Team Sushi)
Finding a table relatively set apart from the other patrons, Dorian opted to have a specialty tea prepared for him in lieu of a meal as he did not feel like this upcoming meeting was going to last extremely long and the cocaine he snorted earlier had curtailed his appetite for food. Much like the preparation of food, even the simple act of brewing tea has been elevated into an experience at this establishment highlighting the grace and finesse it took to create such dishes. Dorian always enjoyed needless pageantry, but today his mind was preoccupied with the forthcoming encounter as there were a plethora of variables to take into consideration most of which lay outside of control and he absolutely loathed not being in control. The tea sommelier gingerly placed a small dish of emerald leaves on the table, Dorian noticed that the older man was intently studying him as if to get some sort of read on his character. Ultimately it was of no concern to Dorian as he knew that Gyokuro was considered a luxury even in Japan and it is not too often that someone is willing to pay for it here in the states; he came to the conclusion that the old codger was probably just afraid he was going to dine and dash. Dorian cleared his throat and the sommelier began the intricate series of motions involved in preparing the Gyokuro tea, the ritualized movements were overall aesthetically pleasing and managed to pull his attention away from his train of thought serving as a momentary distraction. Afterwards Dorian took a small sip and let the liquid rest on his tongue for a few tantalizing seconds in order to experience the full flavor of the tea, it had a sweet aftertaste that lingered in his mouth. Perhaps sensing his pleasure with the tea the sommelier took off, leaving Dorian to people watch as he waited for the scheduled meeting to commence. Using his good eye to scope out the establishment he noticed a few other customers milling about, but this place was far from being filled to capacity which was unfortunate as a packed house would make discussing illicit matters easier. The loudest customers were two aged frat boys who were having a heated discussion about a yacht race the pair had apparently been involved in; they seemed to blame each other for their team’s less than stellar placement; it was mindless prattle.
Dorian took a sip of his tea and after procuring a pen from one of the servers he began to mindlessly doodle on one of the napkins, he always had time to indulge in his passions even in such an undignified way. Oh, how he wished he was in his make-shift studio right now, he had such an urge to create. He debated on going out to his car and receiving his sketchpad, but decided against it as he need not attract any more undue attention. Before he could properly flesh out his impromptu drawing, he was rudely interrupted by a woman colliding into him. What was this platinum-blonde ditz’s problem, it was only through dumb-luck that his expensive tea was not spilled. Putting down the pen he took a sip of said tea before addressing the would-be-ruffian in a condescending tone of voice.
“Hmph, I am sure the maze on the placemat can certainly be considered ‘work’ for someone possessing such tact and grace as yourself. But I suppose I can accept your pardons little lady, I can’t expect everyone I come across to adhere to my lofty standards. Now how about you gather your special friend that is galivanting behind you and run along darling, I am sure the playground at the fast-food joint down the road is more suited to handle those of your ilk.” He makes a shooing motion with his free hand dismissively to punctate his point before taking another sip of tea.
At that moment two figures enter Shogun Sushi. The first figure is an older gentleman, who despite being in his early-sixties looked more haggard than his age suggested; he has dark circles under his eyes and his style could be described as haphazard at best. To others it would seem like he got dressed in a hurry as it is clear that he is wearing a tweed jacket and pants over his pajamas; unruly stubble also suggests that he hasn’t shaved today. His demeanor is one of dejection he shambles around like a man in daze, while his eyes dart around in desperation looking for someone or something; it is almost like watching a man being led to the gallows. The younger second figure is clad in a matching denim jacket and denim jeans; he is looking much less morose than his companion and walks with a certain pep in his step. He wears an expression akin to a dog that just performed a command and is looking for a treat. This giddy man sports a black rat-tail and a patchy beard that does not fill out his face well. When the duo-move the younger man follows closely behind the older one never letting him fall behind, at one point he gives a shove as the old man attempts to slow down to talk to the two aged frat-bros. The old man puts his hands in his pockets of his suit and shambles along.
A glimmer of hope crosses the old man’s eyes as he recognizes someone sitting amongst the patrons, a freelance photographer that he once employed to photograph his nephew’s bar mitzvah; the old man felt blessed that he still possessed a knack for remembering the names and faces of those he briefly interacted with. He approaches the photographer with a renewed vigor that took his companion by surprise and before he could be stopped he sat across from Sid.
“Sid? Sid? Is that you? It is me Reuben. Reuben Hersh. You know the owner and founder of PriorArty Gallery. You see it is a play or priority...prior..art..y. Nevermind. You were the photographer at my nephew Issac’s bar mitzvah a few months back. Right? Remember? Anyways, it has come to my attention that I have never had the chance to properly tip you. Remember? So here you go.”
Reuben reaches into jacket pocket, produces his wallet, pulls out an assortment of bills of varying denominations and holds it out to Sid. It is not an exorbitant amount of money only adding up to a few hundred dollars at most, Reuben looks at Sid almost pleading with his eyes for the other man to lean in and take the money before his 'shadow' has the chance to swoop in.