[The Withering Rose] Getting Ahead (Syndela)

[Fallacy]

Timestamp: TBA by player

The time was late and the mood was perfect. The quiet restaurant with rose donned tables was the perfect setting to find someone with talent. Yes, talent was what he was looking for. Entering the Withering Rose was none other than Shale himself. A well respected man around these parts for the business he deals in. The man often frequents the rose in search for what he calls talent to do what he calls jobs. A man that is usually caught up in details is rather vague when it came to discussing such work that he would hire here.

The man walked across the restaurant to find the perfect table, one that carried with it a black rose. Sitting down he nodded at the waitress who already knew what he wanted to eat, giving her a sharp smile reveled his pointy teeth. If that was not enough to intimidate anyone his appearance put yet another nail in the coffin. He was slender but also at the same time was thick enough to give the feel that he really should not be messed with. His face donned a distinct under bite showing off some of his teeth even when his mouth was closed. The carrier of dark blue eyes as deep looking as the sea had the power to pass judgment without the use of words, and his brown hair was long, cluttered, but it seemed to fit him. There would be a top had adorning his head, one that would give a hint that he was in ‘show business’, and wore a rather fancy looking suit.

Sitting there he drummed his fingers on the table while he waited for his meal to arrive, his patience seemingly already at end. Waiting his eyes never stopped scanning the place, it was obvious that he was either very paranoid or he was looking for someone or something. As they would pass over a person his eyes would silently judge them, and for Shale initial looks were everything. A frown would creep up on his features as he judged about half the restaurant, none of them seeming to have the stuff that he was looking for.

[Syndela]

Timestamp: 86th of Summer 511 AV

The Withering Rose had a valuable reputation within Alvadas. Word of mouth spread of the delicate food and drink behind a shady and intimidating escapade. Time dwindled into the afternoon, crowds cutting back as the first of workers left the streets to go back home. Those who slept on the streets began to unpack in small groups, laying out tattered sheet and cloth to be used as shelter from the oncoming cold that would drag Alvadas into an unescapable chill. Unless the summer decided to be kind and offer salvation through an escape of warm breeze.

Sliding the door of the Withering Rose open with a claw, the red irises quickly scanned the interior. Shaded figures of esculating heights and weight blotched the small restraunt from wall to wall. It was as beautiful as they had said it was. Luscious shades of red and black aligned with dark timber tables. However it was not the sight that appealed to the Symenestra, nor the figures or possible meals inside. Wafting before her nostrils as temptation incarnate was the smell of fresh food. High quality too, judging by how the more you smelt it, the more intricate it became.

Herbs, spices, meat, vegetables, fruit, wine...all mixing together to settle her tongue into a salivating mess, save for the swallow that abated it. Her lithe figure surpassed the door silently, dark robes ensconcing any proof of identification and race. Some of the patrons sitting at their rose adorned tables turned startled as she walked past, not having heard the strange figure enter.

Syndela found the restraunt to be a bit crowded for her liking. Faces flashed in her direction and though she would not look them eye-to-eye for obvious reasons, she could feel their stare swirl over her shoulders and back. One of the figures in particular drew her attention. A male in a top hat whose everpresent snaggletooth fizzled food for thought. Darker clients came to settle their discussions here over a meal but the Symenestra mearly drew here out of her inquisitve nature. What purpose was there to discuss over a warm meal with strangers.

Once her black robes had been thrown over a stool did Syndela choose to take a seat, keeping her hood lowered with cuffs and sleeves pulled over wrists. She doubted anyone would try to approach her. Not when seeming this imposing.

How the wonders of colour and silk could fool the most fragile of figures to seem intimidating. Or for count, draw more attention upon.