The Pillow Book, an aged tavern that had proven itself time and time again as the primary source of entertainment for this district. It had plenty of its own secrets, between what went down under the floorboards to the untold amount of meetings that had taken place here; but today there would be yet another. The soft murmur of the crowd carried and melded, eventually growing indiscernible as the many turned into one. It was lively, if not a bit foreboding for the uninitiated.
Spending much of his time in rooms just like this, the man known as ‘Slave’ was no stranger to its subterfuge and criminal nature. Here he found himself at home; amongst the rats and downtrodden of society. Before them was the great equalizer of crime, not the law of civilization. It was in these taverns that true unadulterated rights could be found; the right to do whatever you pleased so long as you could back it up.
Pressing through the crowds, The Slave let his hands drag across a booth seated far in the rear of the tavern; taking a seat with robe pressed beneath him. His eyes glowed gold in the shadow, but the crowds avoided direct eye contact with him on presence alone. He was dangerous, most there had enough sensibility to avoid such risks; only the drunk among them making mistakes that cost them their lives. They learned this over decades of bounty hunters with no moral compass coming in with a thirst, and leaving with a warrant for their arrest, leaving only blood and a corpse behind.
Watching the door, The Slave waited for his target; the man he called from millions of miles away to meet him in this neutral house of alcohol. He’d fought him once before, though it ended in a stalemate; but he wasn’t here to put him down, nor finish any sort of job. He was here to bring him on board a dream; the only dream that mattered.
In the short hours that would come, he would not sway his gaze nor his attention; forever locked on the door for the titan he needed.