[downtown]
(danya)
While he is ignorant of the descriptive trials and tribulations inherant in the city's layout and eateries, he is not unaware of the flat delivery accompanying this information in comparison to their earlier nod towards polite conversation. "Thank you for your time, Dr. Slaughter."
The visitor identification badge is returned to the security desk. And just as he arrived, there is little more than the cadence of bootsteps in the hallway to signal his departure.
(tristan)
Time for a break, finally. He’s been playing the biggest money making corner in the area for a while now, and not made too bad a haul for a sleepy Saturday afternoon. However, there are few things that speak to a Gnawer more then his belly, and the pretty boy kin’s is demanding some sort of filling before it will quiet enough not to distract the musician from wowing his crowds.
So, a slow easy couch brings allows him to pack up the Violin, gathering the cash already garnered from his regular patrons, bills shoved into pocket, change tucked into the small velvet bag and thus shoved inside as well. Case closed and locked, and he stands, and turns in a slow circle – pick a direction, any direction....
Sniff. Belly grumbles. Footsteps start... thataway. There’s food on that there horizon – and the Gnawer aims to conquer a big ole plate o’something good....
(danya)
His exit from the OCME took him to the nearby parking garage. Permission from security (combined with manipulation's charm) allowed his vehicle to remain in the lot as he supposedly jogged around the corner to grab a quick bite to eat. Parking is atrocious to find in the city, didn't you know.
In the backseat, the heavy coat and labshirt are exchanged for a more hospitable light jacket to wear over the black tee tucked into dark blue jeans. Luckily, Danya had no intention of jogging. Instead he begins exploring the city with that same, deliberate, slow and steady walk. Rounding the second (blind) corner of a building halfway though his journey towards the mentioned restaraunt, he practically walks into the recently packed and hungry violinist.
(tristan)
He is startled, to say the least as he is practically run over (someone taller [barely] then he is! nice.) by Danya as he turns around the blind corner, and only a step back and a hand on the other man’s arm saves him from landing in an ungainly heap right on his ass. He’s chuckling however, as that hand leaves it’s brief touch along light jacket to lift and push back tumbledown curls, that easy going grin in full force as he apologizes. “Sorry, man... I wasn’t looking where I was going....”
(danya)
Tristan is startled... Danya, however, is not. Or doing a fantastically convincing job of covering it. As the hand closes on his arm, his own twists to revert the grab and lend leveraging support to the nearly knocked-down boy with curls. Just as easily, he lets go, dark dark green eyes studying the other, breifly. "No worries." Soft spoken, as always. "Neither was I."
(tristan)
He adjusts his hold on the violin case in his hand, and tucks the other into his pocket, before looking around again, and then questioning. “Then we’re even.” Grinned, and then... “Question for you – where should a practically starving wasting away to nothing musician with limited funds hit to ease the grumbling of his belly? This isn’t my normal area of town...”
(danya)
The grin is afforded a slight smile - he must be amused. "Again, we are even. I was told of a nearby restaraunt named RED, and the possiblity of a few diners in the immediate area... but I'm a week of the plane, myself."
(tristan)
He chuckles. “Damn the luck. Well then – I suppose I will continue to follow the grumbling of my belly until finding such a place. Diners are usually better – they don’t mind the coinage.” Pause, a moment, and still (always) the easy smile. “A whole week, hm? Where from?”
(danya)
"Los Angeles." The tall(er) black-haired man doesn't share the same easy smile as Tristan, but the expression on his face at least seemed cordial. Hands slide into the pockets of his jeans, taking the moment of conversation as a chance to allow his eyes to wander the street.
(tristan)
“Ah, west coast boy. Spent about 3 months in LA couple years ago before working my way back toward home before coming here.” He shrugs a bit, and then with a chuckle. “I’d best let you get on your way... nice running into you Mr......”
(danya)
"Tretiak." While he may not speak with an accent that supports the name, that and the next roll off his tongue in a way that is decidedly non-American."Danya." A hand resurfacing from its pocket home in efforts of a diplomatic shake.
(tristan)
“Tretiak.” Answered, and hand pulled from pocket to settle into Danya’s for that diplomatic shake. “Tristan Stern. A pleasure.”
(danya)
"And perhaps I will have the pleasure of one day turning the corner early enough to hear you play, rather than taking you to the ground." Deep lagoon green eyes drop to the violin case at the other's side, and once more that slight smile appears across his face. Then just as abruptly as he seemed to appear, Danya slips past and continues on his way.
(tristan)
He chuckles. “Wander about here or down Riverfront way most nights, and I’m sure you will. Have a pleasant evening.” And as he watches the taller man for a few steps (with everything he is, the pretty boy is still, firstly, something of a dog) before he gives himself a mental shake, and a likely diner down the way spied, he heads that way.