- Invitation Status
- Posting Speed
- 1-3 posts per week
- Writing Levels
- Prestige
- Preferred Character Gender
- Male
- Primarily Prefer Male
The Twin Shade restaurant was nice, but that was the extent of what one could say about it. Situated in North Capitol Street on a less than busy neighborhood, its proximity to Downtown kept a reasonably constant mix of locals and tourists heading its way, and it was far enough of a walk from anything interesting to make them hungry right at its doorstep. It was as if whoever opened the place had planned it. No, the restaurant wasn't exclusive, or even particularly high-end. The attempt to appear as such would easily make any proper critic laugh to death, but there wasn't any critic around, and the act amused the locals, sometimes even tricked tourists. So it was that the oddity that was the Twin Shade restaurant persisted, average but not seedy, easily packed but not popular. A perfect location for...certain types of reunion.
When the man in gray stepped through the threshold, he found a warmly lit space big enough to fit fifty diners all at once, but decorated to be cozy and close. The crowd tonight was sparse, a few couples here and there, some lone diners, 4 tables in one corner packed with laughing tourists. A conflicting sight, but not uncommon. The Twin Shade was half-deserted, as was expected. It had only been 5, after all. Early for the evening crowd to fill the place.
The host, a young man in his late 20s, stood in front of his digital podium, diligently greeting the man in gray with a professional smile. If he was caught off guard seeing someone dressed like this entering an establishment such as the Twin Shade, he hid it exceptionally well.
"Welcome, sir." He said with a crisp unplacable Midwestern dialect. "Do you want me to guide you to a table?"
"I have a reservation, actually." The man in grey said, taking off his shades. Under the tinted expensive glass were startlingly pale blue eyes the color of a cloudless sky. "The guest hall on the second floor?"
"Of course, of course. What's your name, sir?"
"Jimmy Holmes."
The host consulted his list and looked up, the smile having never left his face. "Right this way, sir." He led the way through the maze of tables and toward the stair on one side of the kitchen door.
In these days and age, it was customary to ask for identification for all sorts of things, delivery, entrance to official buildings, even churches. But the host was maybe inexperienced enough that the man in gray wearing such an obscenely expensive suit was considered sufficient identification. Or perhaps it was the imposing tightness in his posture he couldn't quite hide, or the sheer self-assurance, near arrogance bleeding out of his gaze. The result was the same, the fake ID he had bought was completely unnecessary, a deathly funny joke wasted, even though few would have gotten it.
The guest hall on the second floor was large, as large as the entire restaurant down below, the kind suitable for massive events like weddings or private corporate celebrations.
"You didn't reply to our inquiry, sir, so we didn't know how to prepare the space for you." The place was indeed bare. Even tables and chairs were missing. "How many people are we expecting?"
"Five." The man in gray said, then after a moment of further consideration, added: "Maybe 8. No more than 10."
The host was good, too good for a place like Twin Shade. He only nodded as if it was exactly what he had expected to hear.
"I'll have them bring table and chair up for you."
"One last thing." The man in gray called the young host back before he could leave to tend to his duty. From inside his jacket, the man in gray produced a white card the size of one's palm made from tough and no doubt expensive material. Beautiful flowing Calligraphy danced across its surface in black ink. It read simply:
"Jackson Reunion.
Planning a surprise party for an old friend.
Twin Shade, Washing D.C., October 5th. 6 PM.
J.M."
"The people I'm expecting will have an invitation like this. Remember what it looks like."
"I remember." The host stared at the card for a moment then nodded. "How soon will they be arriving, sir? I'll...need some time to set everything up."
"Just the table and chair is enough, thank you. And some privacy. They won't arrive for another hour, so take your time. And pick the food for me while you're at it."
"Of course, sir." The polite smile was braced like a shield, the man in gray thought, the way it was used. Either a shield or a mask.
The door closed, then he was all alone in the massive room, bare and vacant. The amber light reflected off the green paint of the ornate walls, creating a strange mix of modern home design and out-of-date architecture wholly unfit for a dinning hall. The ticking of clocks echoed out of sync.
The man in gray gaze traced the dimming horizon and the brightening streets outside a window, shining downtown and flashing rivers of headlights, like the city was coming alive.
"I'm coming for you, old friend." His voice was the softest of whisper, to the empty room, to himself.
"Are you ready?"
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