Post by Strome on Dec 26, 2013 23:34:32 GMT 8
Strome was highly agitated-- there were numerous people thronging Capital at the moment, mostly envoys from other nations and the like. While he considered himself a visitor, he did not have much patience for others. They were usually loud, uncouth, and annoyingly inquisitive- overly interested on the wonderful "gadgets", "architecture", and "scientific breakthroughs" of the place. He needed quiet. He walked along the crowded Central roads, reminiscing about the peaceful days he had spent before in both Lenaria and Wiken Territory. Sadly, the quiet, contemplative type could only be found in the Institute--not in the numerous thoroughfares that criss-crossed the city.
The young half-breed decided that he should escape the streets. He found a lonesome restaurant, the half-dead flickering sign (which he saw was supposed to be neon) seemed to discourage anyone from entering the shabby place. Knowing that energy was what kept most Southern establishments running, he touched the door on which the sign was hung, transmitting levels of high energy into it, and seeing it shimmer again with new vitality, he entered the place.
It was expectedly quiet. Only one table was occupied-- and that by a snoozing waiter, who bolted up immediately at his entrance.
"Goo' evening, sir." spoke the waiter. "Please have a seat, uh, somewhere." Clearly the server was inexperienced. Strome sat himself, his table semi-hidden by an alcove. The waiter, who stood expectantly by his side, handed him the menu. Strome scanned through it.
"Noodle salad. Wiken-style. Peaches. And water." he answered, in an unexpectedly clipped manner. Strome realized that he had not spoken for quite some time already. Not that there were much people to talk to. The waiter immediately rushed to the kitchen to relay his order.
He took the time to observe his surroundings better. Aside from his table, there were around eight others, which came in many different shapes and sizes. His own was circular, made of some sort of black granite, and was surrounded by cove lights that have gone out of fashion approximately three years ago. The wall was surprisingly bare, except for a certain portion that had some sort of pseudo-graffiti art sprayed onto it. Tired of observing things that were not of import, Strome pulled up his satchel and procured his tablet from it. The device was a late purchase, but with the fact that Internet connection was available almost literally everywhere here in the South, he considered it an expedient tool to get his work done. He checked his e-mail briefly and started reading the first few pages of a romance novel that came free with an App he bought two days ago.
The young half-breed decided that he should escape the streets. He found a lonesome restaurant, the half-dead flickering sign (which he saw was supposed to be neon) seemed to discourage anyone from entering the shabby place. Knowing that energy was what kept most Southern establishments running, he touched the door on which the sign was hung, transmitting levels of high energy into it, and seeing it shimmer again with new vitality, he entered the place.
It was expectedly quiet. Only one table was occupied-- and that by a snoozing waiter, who bolted up immediately at his entrance.
"Goo' evening, sir." spoke the waiter. "Please have a seat, uh, somewhere." Clearly the server was inexperienced. Strome sat himself, his table semi-hidden by an alcove. The waiter, who stood expectantly by his side, handed him the menu. Strome scanned through it.
"Noodle salad. Wiken-style. Peaches. And water." he answered, in an unexpectedly clipped manner. Strome realized that he had not spoken for quite some time already. Not that there were much people to talk to. The waiter immediately rushed to the kitchen to relay his order.
He took the time to observe his surroundings better. Aside from his table, there were around eight others, which came in many different shapes and sizes. His own was circular, made of some sort of black granite, and was surrounded by cove lights that have gone out of fashion approximately three years ago. The wall was surprisingly bare, except for a certain portion that had some sort of pseudo-graffiti art sprayed onto it. Tired of observing things that were not of import, Strome pulled up his satchel and procured his tablet from it. The device was a late purchase, but with the fact that Internet connection was available almost literally everywhere here in the South, he considered it an expedient tool to get his work done. He checked his e-mail briefly and started reading the first few pages of a romance novel that came free with an App he bought two days ago.