The Noodle Bar

Downfall stood outside of the dingy little place, finishing his smoke before chucking it to the ground. He knew the couple that owned the little noodle bar didn’t like smoking inside, due to the size of the place. He was grateful it was indoors, as the rain had started to fall, as it would in the Seattle autumn.

The joint sat in a more decrepit area of Seattle downtown, and given Downfall would be meeting Talon soon-who lived on the top floor of a skyscraper in the downtown area as well-he decided to stop in, as their bibimbap was the stuff of legends. It was worth driving all the way through Tacoma for, where he lived in the loft of a huge warehouse. It wasn’t a terrible neighborhood, all told, and it was fairly well traveled by wageslaves and the like on their way home, so business was good.

As he walked in-his massive, steel-capped boots echoing on the wooden floor-the co-owner, Mr. Sang, smiled broadly.

“Downfall!” he said, his Korean accent still noticeable, despite he and his wife having lived here about twenty years. They both were pretty fluent in English, though. Downfall had picked up a few words of Korean from his old Tae Kwon Do master, and could occasionally pick up a few words of what they said to each other.

He smirked, pushing back some of his long hair, rubbing the jagged ear that had the tip sliced off with a knife about a decade past. Mrs. Sang came out, beaming. “Hello!” she said, immediately washing her hands, ready to prepare food. “Bibimbap? How many?” She always asked how many, as the giant elf would often eat three to four servings.

“Three today, I think…” he paused. Mr. Sang began fiddling with the credstick reader. “Actually…four.” He had just woken up not too long ago, mostly sleeping during the day. Sunlight did not agree with him; his skin was incredibly sensitive to it.

Not that he had to worry about that this time of year, anyway.

“As usual,” she said, also making note to prepare a gimbap. She always included a free one if he ate four or more. The Sangs loved his patronage as he would eat a ton.

He slotted his credstick in the reader, and the forty nuyen was deducted from his account. He was fairly okay these days, though he suspected he would have to take a job or two soon to line his coffers just a little. This place sold very reasonably priced food, and offered both real-and soy-variants. The real variants were literally double the price; ten nuyen a bowl, and were a bit thinner on the meat, but it was worth it he found. He would buy enough that it would sustain him.

He walked over-his chains rattling, as he adopted a sort of industrial sort of jewelry style-and sat at the one troll-sized table they kept in the corner for their larger clientele. It was hard for them to include it, but they were a very metahuman-friendly human couple, and they tried. The odd troll that came in appreciated it, even if things could be cramped.

Downfall himself certainly appreciated it, as he stood around seven and a half feet tall without his boots on; he was an elf who could look trolls in the eye and arm wrestle them down. Elves could run very tall-he had met ones but a few inches shorter than he-but he stood out even compared to them. Some troll-made things were still a bit off for him, though, as they were tailored toward people with shorter legs and longer arms, and his legs were terrifyingly long compared to a troll.

He was happy they didn’t have to fly too often. Those up-front tickets cost a bundle.

He slumped down, crossing his legs under the table as he slung his longcoat off his shoulders. His arms were scattered with various scars as well as mechanical-looking tattoos here and there. The people there paid him no mind; the human and the dwarf were regulars and knew him, but strangers could give the gigantic elf who looked like he crawled out of the basement of one of the industrial-gothic fetish clubs a wide berth. He was very attractive-almost pretty one might say, though his clothing, jewelry, eyeliner and sheer size led non-runners to scoot a bit away from him.

His appearance was great for getting work where he had to scare people, though. Not many people would cross a seven-foot-plus elf who could kick a hole through a steel door.

The rain began to batter the small windows to the place; the streetlights had already popped on. It was barely dusk. The only other person in the place were two middle-aged men-a human and a dwarf-enjoying bowls of bibimbap and drinking coffee, probably coming off of work. The trid blared the latest news, the newscaster saying something about a corporate promotion somewhere before discussing a bit of ‘urban renewal’ that would possibly start in Redmond.

Downfall had an inkling of an idea what that meant.

He sat back, sipping the large cup of coffee Mr. Sang had brought him-also on the house-and they knew exactly how he liked it. Black, a tiny pinch of sugar, not too much. He listened to the rain drum on the windows as it picked up; truth be told, he liked the rain. He lived in Seattle, so he imagined if he didn’t it would sort of suck for him, but he liked it. He was much happier in the big city than anywhere else. He never understood the whole back to nature thing, and he also never understood how anyone could actively give up beef.

He had told one of his team mates that it was rare enough to eat the real stuff, and his kind liked to give it up? He didn’t get it.

Checking his wristphone, he had gotten no messages. The job they had run two weeks back had been fairly clean in terms of loose ends, though it was a smash and grab…and his team was particularly adept at those.

Downfall was one half of the muscle of the team, and Talon the other half. Their team was an oddity in that the two main muscle happened to be elves. Talon was shorter than he was, though he was still much taller than most other elves, and he had enough cyber that Jolt, their decker, would wonder if he would be okay if they stuck a paperclip into him. They had only been an 'official’-if one could call it that-team for a short while now, but they worked well together, and most importantly, they trusted each other. They covered a wide array of skills, and Spanky-their Fomori fixer-was working very nicely with them these days as well.

He still took part in the occasional pit-fight, though. He could earn quite a bit doing it and was a crowd favorite, given his size and strength. He would make for some…colorful entertainment, given his strength was near abnormal, and that was before his physad powers made him even stronger.
Snapping back, the four bowls of bibimbap and one gimbap were placed in front of him, along with a large set of chopsticks. Mr. Sang nodded his head and left Downfall to his dinner.

As he was devouring the third bowl-holding it up, shoveling the delicious rice, meat, and vegetables into his mouth in large quantities, his wristphone went off. He glared at it for a moment before seeing it was Talon calling. He swallowed his mouthful, washed it down with coffee, and tapped it.

“I’m still eating,” he said, not bothering with a standard greeting. The door opened a moment as another couple of people-a man and woman, seemingly wageslaves-stopped in after work. A harder wind blew in some rain. The place smelled of grease, frying noodles, rice, scorched soy, and the outside rain mixed a bit with the rubber of cars that drove by.

It was pretty nice, all told, if you were someone who loved the city.

“Hmph,” the other elf started, his usually windblown hair slightly damp. “We got news of something from Spanky. He wouldn’t say what it is over the line,” he said. Talon’s voice was soft, and his face was serious, though he was usually glad to see Downfall. The two had a bond that was not often replicated, garnered back when they discovered the elf in a bunraku parlor, his mind a mess from BTL they had forced into him. He was a vicious street samurai, with excellent street connections and also ties to the Yakuza; his now deceased father had been Japanese and a fairly decent ranking member. Due to this, despite him being both a meta and and ethnically mixed, they worked fairly often with him as an affiliate, even if he wasn’t a full member.

Downfall sighed. “Drek. I guess that means I need to hurry.”

“You’ve been taking awhile as it is.”

He snorted. He was one of the few people Talon would joke with. “If you’d have come along with me it would be easier.”

“I was sleeping.”

“I suppose you want me to bring you something.”

“T’s okay today. We’ll be at Spanky’s.” He paused. “Maybe a gimbap.”

“Right. So we’ll see there instead.”

Talon nodded, a small smirk appearing at the corner of his mouth on the vidphone. He scratched the side of his head, his dull steel-gray cyberarm flashing into view for just a moment. He only had one meat-arm left. Both of his legs were heavily tricked-out and pumped up cyber replacements as well. He had gotten most of that before they had found him. It seemed so long ago that he was struggling to bring Talon out of his traumatized shell in the back of Dr. Douglas’ cyberclinic.

“Afterward. Hi-rise or the loft?”

He shrugged. “We can flip for it there, Gael.” He spared him one more smirk-he rarely smiled much around anyone else-and the call fizzled out as soon as it began. Downfall glared at him just as he hung up, knowing full well that Talon would use his real name from time to time-in a safe spot of course-just to rile him up.

Talon was the only person he allowed to call him that. He was the only person who even knew it.

He thought for a few moments before picking up his bowl to finish quickly, the wind sounding rather vicious at the moment. Riding his cycle to Spanky’s pub would be quite the feat tonight.

What did they find out, I wonder?

Maybe I’ll be getting that credstick bonus sooner than I thought…