She's a Razorgirl
Who: Molly Millions // Kang
What: It's NOT a date. Not really. Right?
Where: A high-class cafe in Zone 2.
Notes: Semi-closed. If you want to see Kang on his not-date, poke Kang about interrupting.
The cafe? High Class, but not stuck up: Yes, there is a difference. Quiet conversations thread their way through nooks and crannies, set with cushions instead of chairs so that nearly any sort of organic can be comfortable, the tables automatically adjusting for height.
The music? A low downbeat, a dub: synthetic and basic and primal all at once, almost outside the edge of normal hearing. The waitstaff move to it out of body memory, swaying without spilling anything, ever.
The menu? Tailored to organics from everywhere. Everything from raw vat-meat to bruised mint leaves covered in sherry.
The girl? Waiting by the door, angles and attitude: The cafe staff are unworried about her, but some customers give her a wide berth. She's not on duty, so the uniform-of-sorts has been replaced by tight leggings and a vest laced tight across her chest, arms bare and muscle well defined. The unnamed weapon is still on her hip, but otherwise she is all the weaponry she needs, and she carries herself as such.
It's 3pm. She's waiting.
What: It's NOT a date. Not really. Right?
Where: A high-class cafe in Zone 2.
Notes: Semi-closed. If you want to see Kang on his not-date, poke Kang about interrupting.
The cafe? High Class, but not stuck up: Yes, there is a difference. Quiet conversations thread their way through nooks and crannies, set with cushions instead of chairs so that nearly any sort of organic can be comfortable, the tables automatically adjusting for height.
The music? A low downbeat, a dub: synthetic and basic and primal all at once, almost outside the edge of normal hearing. The waitstaff move to it out of body memory, swaying without spilling anything, ever.
The menu? Tailored to organics from everywhere. Everything from raw vat-meat to bruised mint leaves covered in sherry.
The girl? Waiting by the door, angles and attitude: The cafe staff are unworried about her, but some customers give her a wide berth. She's not on duty, so the uniform-of-sorts has been replaced by tight leggings and a vest laced tight across her chest, arms bare and muscle well defined. The unnamed weapon is still on her hip, but otherwise she is all the weaponry she needs, and she carries herself as such.
It's 3pm. She's waiting.