Shadow-filled apartment
When last the two Shadows met, it was an uncertain, wary encounter in the younger world. The apartment carefully shrouded in black was as much a sign of distrust as any body language, although in a first meeting nothing less than caution was expected.
By contrast, this invitation is as open as it could possibly be. They are on the Old Tiger's turf now, and he almost makes a show of going the other way. It may be that he's trying to make a point, or it may simply be that he is too harried by his present situation to be as cautious as he might otherwise be. Either way, the Rettigue apartment is left as-is, and the old man is dressed informally in slacks and shirt. The place is clean, save for the paperwork on the coffee table, but his alternate will likely recognize that even using that as a temporary work desk, he is as ready as always to pack up at a moment's notice. Even this apartment, which is as much his home as the Sanctum, is just one of several way stations for work and sleep. The only form of decoration is Myra's calligraphy card, propped in a place of honour on the shelving unit that takes up much of one wall. Apart from that it holds only a handful of books, stereo, VCR, and television. The last of these is on, the sound low but just loud enough for the words to be audible. His various media devices, like nearly everything he owns, are used for his work. He's half listening to the news broadcast, keeping up on current events even as he sorts through reports and lists out work orders for his network. He wears his reading glasses for this, of course, but it can't be helped. At the moment he is drained, living on adrenaline, caffeine, and sorely strained nerves. He knows dressing up in black couldn't conceal that from his younger self's keener eyes, and therefore he makes no effort at hiding it.
The scent of fresh coffee brewing is the best welcome he can come up with.
By contrast, this invitation is as open as it could possibly be. They are on the Old Tiger's turf now, and he almost makes a show of going the other way. It may be that he's trying to make a point, or it may simply be that he is too harried by his present situation to be as cautious as he might otherwise be. Either way, the Rettigue apartment is left as-is, and the old man is dressed informally in slacks and shirt. The place is clean, save for the paperwork on the coffee table, but his alternate will likely recognize that even using that as a temporary work desk, he is as ready as always to pack up at a moment's notice. Even this apartment, which is as much his home as the Sanctum, is just one of several way stations for work and sleep. The only form of decoration is Myra's calligraphy card, propped in a place of honour on the shelving unit that takes up much of one wall. Apart from that it holds only a handful of books, stereo, VCR, and television. The last of these is on, the sound low but just loud enough for the words to be audible. His various media devices, like nearly everything he owns, are used for his work. He's half listening to the news broadcast, keeping up on current events even as he sorts through reports and lists out work orders for his network. He wears his reading glasses for this, of course, but it can't be helped. At the moment he is drained, living on adrenaline, caffeine, and sorely strained nerves. He knows dressing up in black couldn't conceal that from his younger self's keener eyes, and therefore he makes no effort at hiding it.
The scent of fresh coffee brewing is the best welcome he can come up with.