Angel of Death [Mihaly]

Zafír Gate was both a respectable bow toward Miha’s heritage, and the means to get as far away from his roots as possible. The amount of money he managed to gather before he moved to Japan was more than enough to get by in the country, and also a step to establish an information network and gauge the interest of quirkers around.

Miha envisioned his bar to be a place where the more mature, higher standing people of the quirker or non-quirker society could gather, and so, he established certain rules to be strictly held. He would escort underage people outside, as obviously stated by law; he would also forbid the use of harmful drugs and stop any possible dirty fight to break out. He hired two security guards for that purpose and educated his baristas accordingly as well. They all wore elegant clothing; black ironed pants, pristine white button-up shirts and black vests, with a thin golden chain adorning the pocket just above their hearts and connecting to the pin that showed Zafir Gate’s sign and the employee’s name.

Zafír Gate stood in the slightly less busy streets of Tokyo. It took up the first two floors of an apartment building, and advertised itself by pale blue lights and darkened windows. Inside, the entrance hall had the same bluish lighting dimmed to a comfortable shine, basking the place in a serene atmosphere. On one side, the bar was taking up the whole of the wall, the counter curving around to give more space for the guests to sit around. Elegant, high legged chairs spotted its curve. The wall was lit with white light, filled to the brim with drinks of various quality and price, as well as a handful of snacks for people who desired something salty or sweet. No matter what a person would want to drink, they would be able to get it here. Especially since the barista was practiced in making cocktails, and confident enough to show off their skills. Opposite of the counter were various tables with couches and comfortable club chairs. The walls were littered by colorful paintings of various artists.

A tall, blonde man was standing behind the bar, dressed in the uniform of the baristas. His facial features, his pointed ears and slit, green eyes made it obvious he was a quirker, a visible mutation at that. The side of his face had what one assumed to be yellow fur, similar to his hair color. He looked up from the pristine glass he was cleaning as soon as he heard the bell above the door jingle. Another person was standing near him, seemingly more interested in the papers he was looking at than the guest that arrived. His pale, white hair gained a bluish tint in the lighting of the bar. Although barely visible in the cover of the bar counter, his body was wrapped in dark blue robes with its edges embroidered by golden tints, perfectly matching the room’s atmosphere. His clothes were rather weird compared to all the people present, it seemed more like the ceremonial robes of India than anything else. He appeared to have a hump on his back under his robes, which was a little less noticeable with the way he carried and positioned himself. He seemed decidedly foreign, green eyes and slightly tanned skin giving him a non-Japanese vibe. A bodyguard was sitting near the door, another man with mismatching black and white hair and scared arms, but he made no movement to acknowledge the arrival of the new guest either. It was not either of their job to do so.

“Welcome to Zafír Gate! How can I serve you?” Asked the barista with cold professionalism, turning to the arriving woman. His name plate read “Shisui”, if one cared to check it at all. The other man, the foreigner only looked up once the woman walked up to the bar, but only greeted her with a kind smile before turning back to the booking he was doing. It was the baristas job to get the orders either way, unless she had other business to attend to. The foreigner was waiting for a contact to arrive, but unless someone stated they wanted to meet the owner on a special business meeting, he would not jump to conclusions. He was careful like that.

The bartender seemed to be unfazed by the authoritative voice of the guest. As being the worker of an establishment that served mid- to high-class people, he had learned how to converse with them, and that whatever wish they had, he should be completing them according to the house rules. The guest had broken no rules, and hence he bowed, “Certainly”, before briefly turning to the other individual behind the bar, then getting to work when given a nod of approval.

The foreigner behind the bar looked up just as she mentioned she wanted to see the bartender’s boss on official business. He halted in his movements, halfway to turning a page of listed essentials he had to order in for Zafír Gate, as he eyed her up and down. Authority was not something that bothered him either. He had gotten used to it over the years, and he had found that those who have a rather healthy confidence and nose up in the sky were easier to figure out. So long as he did not step on their toes or challenged their pride, they were easy to deal with.

Packing up his papers and hiding them in one of the cabinets, he circled around the counter to stand in front of the Narumi clan’s new boss, as she called herself. His movements were deliberate and calculated, torso leaning forward just a little bit as if he was carrying weight. It was barely noticeable for the eye. But once he stopped, he was standing as straight and elegant as the bartender behind him.

“It is a pleasure to meet you.” He said in fluent Japanese with a hint of European accent. “My name is Végh Mihály. I am the owner of Zafír Gate.” Reaching out as gentle as he possibly could, he would take her hand, the one that was not holding her purse right now, to bow and touch his lips to her fingers as a greeting. It was incredibly old fashioned and elegant of him, but when dealing with the female boss of a clan, that was the least he had to do. He had missed her words, but one look at her was enough to tell him she was rather appreciative of his person. He could understand. He was a pleasant being when he wanted to be. “You can call me Miha, if you desire. I understand that it must be easier to pronounce for the Japanese tongue.”

Once beaming his most pleasant smiles at her, green eyes glinting, he turned to the bartender with a few instruction. “Shisui-san. Please, bring her order and another for me to the backroom.” Upon receiving the nod and the understanding, Miha turned his attention back to her. “This way, if you would. We can talk in a private room.” Leading her past the counter towards the back, Miha opened up one of the backrooms and offered her to walk in. These rooms were reserved for people who wanted to have privacy for themselves, either to plan some shady business, or just have a quieter time with their significant other. A winding staircase led up to the second floor, and another security guard sat next to it, ready to be called. He would only let people near the backrooms with the permission of the owner himself, so there was no fear of being interrupted. Miha exchanged a few words with the guard before stepping into the room himself.

There was an oval shaped wooden table in the middle, surrounded with heavy, padded chairs; some of those chairs had no back-rest, they appeared to be similar to smaller barstools. Their presence might have appeared strange, but Miha knew there were certain mutation types who were simply unable to use common chairs for one reason or other. He himself was exactly one of them. Paintings of landscapes covered the walls. On one side, there was a huge smart television hanging, currently switched off. The lighting was pleasant, more natural than the blues and purples of the bar’s main room.

“Please, have a seat.” Only once she had seated herself comfortably, would Miha choose a place across her, and sit on one of the backless chairs carefully. Part of his robes would fall behind the back of the chair, touching the ground and hiding his body from sight. He placed his arms on the table, touching his fingers together, back still straight, posture confident. “Let us get down to business right away. Your time must be quite precious, and I would not dare to waste it any more.” He was also a busy man, and his deadlines were creeping up. “You are here about a job, I believe?”