Post by Marko Iliev on Sept 7, 2012 15:30:20 GMT -5
((TO DEFEAT. THE HUNS. I'M NOT SORRY FOR THAT TITLE, OKAY!? OKAY.))
It wasn’t easy for one to keep their head down and not appear suspicious when the intention of them being in a place was to be seen. Such was Marko’s situation that morning. Four weeks had passed since the decimation of the Opera house, and since then – particularly with the curfew in place – he’d done his best to avoid the masses. His face, and his injury, had yet to be linked to the event, but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t be, soon.
Of course, avoiding the masses was harder, when an arrangement had been made to meet with another businessman within the centre of the Trade District. He’d never met IJze ten Haven in person; something that in retrospect, he found a little odd, considering who they both were. At least today, he would be meeting him, finally, to discuss… Business. What kind of business, Marko didn’t really know, as of yet. The outside seating area of the tea room – where he currently happened to be, taking small sips from the cup of coffee he’d still be drinking in an hour’s time – was probably too public a place to discuss anything confidential. After all, there could have been anyone lurking around, ready to eavesdrop…
Post by IJze ten Haven on Sept 18, 2012 11:09:50 GMT -5
Hands in pocket, IJze rubbed his thumb over the familiar relievo of the worn florin that sat between the dark cloth and his fingers. The sun warmed his skin, exposed where he had rolled up the sleeves of his shirt and long coat, as it charmed the old stone roads and walls of the trade district. Women in modest but fashionable dresses chattered about the agreeable weather and the best buys of the day. Some merchants rolled by with their carts, too poor to afford the steam-powered engines of modern transport vehicles, and he heard the sound of a locomotive thundering in the distance, its plume of dense gray smoke belching up in the sky over the Industrial District. He took a turn towards the small but friendly looking café, soon spotting a tall man seated on the terrace and while the shades of his hair, clothes and eyes were not particularly dark, there was something murky that clung to his radiance. Something obscure, but with traces of an old regality. He already had IJze’s full attention.
“Marko Iliev I assume.” IJze started, sounding almost pleased.
He reached out his hand to shake, one businessman to another, the barest hint of a smile appearing on his face.
“It is good to meet you at last.”
He sat down, crossing his legs comfortably and leaning one arm on the chair’s backrest as he signaled a waitress for a black coffee before assuming a slightly less informal position and proffering a special brand of cigarettes to the man before him.
“I’m sure we have a lot to offer each other.”
ooc: I’m just assuming things to liven up descriptions a bit, but I’ll edit it if things turns out be different in the future steampunk decisions/Marko/Marko’s café wise as to not confuse new players)
Post by Marko Iliev on Oct 6, 2012 15:56:13 GMT -5
He supposed he should have half-expected the slight paranoia that set in when he was approached, in spite of knowing he was meeting with someone he'd never seen in person. And figures that happened to be taller in stature than Marko himself was... Well, they were rare. Upon having his attention grabbed by the other man, he quickly reminded himself that this was someone he was meeting with for business, and there was little, if no chance at all that the military could be interfering. He calmed his nerves and switched his plain expression out for a smile, sitting forwards and shaking the man's hand.
"That's me." He sounded almost insincere in his response. "A pleasure, Mr. ten Haven."
He release the other's hand, taking a small sip of what remained of his cold coffee; by the time he'd set the cup back down, the man was seated, and holding cigarettes towards him - something he'd hardly ever refuse.
"Mn. I think we do." Marko slid one out of the packet, examining it for a moment as he reached into his pocket for a lighter. "You make these, don't you?" He asked with interest.