Logs:Of Manners and Men (Or, Gold Leaf)

Of Manners and Men (Or, Gold Leaf)
Dramatis Personae Kavalam, Skye
In Absentia	2020-06-04 "Some might say it's a little too very, but I think it's just the right amount."
Location <NYC> Boom Boom Room - Chelsea
At the top of the Standard Hotel on the High Line, this luxury restaurant and lounge offers breathtaking views of the Hudson and the glamorous clubs of of the Meatpacking District through floor-to-ceiling windows. The interior is striking, with a golden ceiling, dangling lights shaped like dandelion heads, polished brass fixtures, and plush leather seating. The booths are small conversation pits of flowing, organic design, all arranged around the eyecatching centerpiece: a horseshoe-shaped bar with gold countertops ringing a tree-like column lined with shelves of premium liquor, all lit up in warm amber light. Every night, New York's quality gather here to see and be seen, to hear the excellent live bands, sip expertly mixed libations and dine on the constantly rotating menu of delicacies. Perched on one of the low-backed leather stools at the bar, Skye looks like a fixture of the place herself in a royal purple cheongsam trimmed with intricate gold lace and gleaming golden pumps. Her long black hair is tied up in an intricate updo and held in place with a gold stick barrette styled like a skeletal leaf pierced by a golden branch, her makeup smokey purple dusted with gold that give all the more contrast to her ruby red lipstick. She looks -- bored, frankly, swirling the remnants of her Cosmo as she scans the early Thursday evening crowd. Two seats down from Skye there is -- well, maybe an empty stool. Or at least there hasn't seemed to be anyone there, not for some time, but gradually tugging at the edges of Skye's awareness is a presence. Too gradual to be startling -- though perhaps mildly disconcerting even if Skye can't quite put her finger on why. Kavalam does not look nearly so elegant as Skye, though his plain white button-down and black slacks are neatly fitted. "Are you bored?" Though his accent is heavy his diction is clear. "Have you seen this place?" Skye blinks, her eyes failing to focus on Kavalam on the first try. She blinks again. "Pardon?" But then she shakes her head, laughs. "I've seen the place, a few times, but I wouldn't say I'm bored, exactly. My date's just running late." She takes a sip of her drink, looks over the teenager. "First time here?" "It's just -- it is very --" Kavalam waves a hand around the room, his eyes wide. Kind of bright. There is an empty martini glass beside front of him already, a little plastic sword resting against its rim, and a second half-full of something vividly blue whose citrus rind he is toying with. "Yes, I -- we -- I." He shakes his head, looks up at the gilded ceiling. "You come here a lot? That must be wonderful. Have you seen the -- no. Wait. Of course you have. Where do you come from? You look --" He waggles the rind towards Skye's dress, "far from home." "It is very," Skye agrees with a laugh. "Some might say it's a little too very, but I think it's just the right amount." She smiles gently at the question. "I'm from China, but to be honest I was so little when we came here I barely even remember. Easy to feel far from home in a city like this, though." Her head tilts, elegantly inquisitive. "And you?" "Oh." For just a split instant Kavalam's expression falls. He rallies again soon enough, nodding his head several times. Then several times again. "China yes see -- practically neighbors. I came from India although -- not so long ago. There --" His smile broadens. He props his elbow on the bar, and his head coming to rest on his closed fist smooshes his cheek up, squinting one eye inadvertently closed. "We like this kind of very. Bright and golden and -- your dress is very nice," he interrupts himself abruptly. "Colorful. Goldish. Where do you go to get things that have color. The world it has so much grey." "China and India are both pretty huge," Skye says, "but I was born in the way southern part, so -- practically neighbors, like you say!" She taps the gleaming gold countertop with impeccably manicured purple-pink ombre nails. "Unless you're from the other end of India, I guess." Her smile brightens. "Oh! I have never been to India, but it does look very colorful in the movies. If you mean clothing -- hm..." She takes a sip of her beverage, looks Kavalam over thoughtfully. "This dress came from Canal Street Market, there's all kinds of Chinese clothing shops there, from budget to high-end. Might be harder to navigate if you don't read Chinese, but if you buy something from one of the fruit vendors and ask them?" She raises her glass to him. "They'll lead you right." "I am from" Kavalam admits with a laugh, "a very southern part of India." He takes a swallow of his beverage just a moment after Skye does, lips twisting only a little bit as he swallows. "Canal Street Market. I will remember. Maybe I will remember. I don't so much read Chinese but I do eat a lot of fruit." He looks around the room with a small frown. "Your date," he tells Skye sternly, "does not have manners. Good dress. Good nails. Good -- hair -- leaf -- thing. Not nice to just. Just leave people." "Distant neighbors, then," Skye says, undaunted. "It's in Chinatown. Google will get you there, but if you get off on any of the Canal Street stations, someone can point you the right way." She chuckles, looking down into the remnants of her drink, swishing it around. "Well, thank you. He'll make it up to me," she assures him, "or he won't be seeing me again! I'll say this, though." She smiles, looking back up. "I don't know if you're as young as you look, but you've got better manner than at least 95% of men -- and I've known a lot of men." This pulls another laugh from Kavalam, brighter, startled. "Oh! Manners. I do not," he confesses, "get accused of that so much. But then. I also do not so much --" He stops, shakes his head. "I do not know about age. My teachers, when they remember to talk to me, they say I'm an old soul." He sounds a little bit disdainful with this parroting. He takes another gulp of his drink and wraps his hands against the flared base of the glass. "I don't know what good manners are. In this country. Maybe you are just easy to be nice to. I hope," he says, softer, "that you have a good date." "'Old soul'," Skye echoes thoughtfully. "they said that about me, too. I'm not sure anyone really knows what they mean by it. Maybe just 'a younger person I like talking to.'" She shakes her head. "I'm not even talking fancy manners. I mean just talking to women like we're human beings already gets you ahead of most guys. If I get a complement on top of that? It's all gravy -- a nice bonus." Her smile is suddenly warmer, less precise. "Thank you. And I hope you find some gold for all this gray."