The hookup
Who: Angelo and open to Sang-min
Where: Chinatown
When: mid-day
It seemed to Angelo that Mother Nature just couldn't make up her mind today, with how the weather seemed to flip sporadically between spatters of rain and hints of light bleeding between the clouds, and that fact suited him just fine. To him, it meant she was in tune with the city itself, the city that switched between wonder and horror in equal measure every day.
More importantly, the contrast of rain and sorta-shine was inspiring for the artist as he walked along the streets towards Chinatown, twirling his new umbrella by the handle and grinning to himself. He'd seen plenty that deserved to be expressed in splashes of paint, and once this little 'errand' was done? There would hopefully be time to smoke a fresh pipeful and paint for a bit before work beckoned.
Turning the corner into Chinatown itself, Angelo's eyes twinkled as he looked over the part of the city that truly never slept. There was always something happening around here, legit or otherwise, and 'otherwise' was the order of the day for him. He just needed to walk for a bit along familiar streets, to smirk at the surprised looks he always got for being a black man in this neighborhood, and to keep an eye out for his hook-up. Sang-min my brother, where you at?
Sorry for the wait, but here ya go!
Punctuality had always been one of Sang-min’s strong points. He was dressed and out the door a good thirty minutes before his business partner’s approximate schedule. He spent this time wandering the derelict streets of Chinatown, nodding carelessly to those who knew him, ignoring the sly looks that the little laundry girls passed him through their tiny, slitted eyes. He was the man that all concerned mothers warned their daughters about: Handsome, dark, but trouble. Stay away from him!
It wasn’t too difficult a feat, despite their attraction. Sang-min had little to do with flirting or romance. He was all about business, affairs that closely concerned him. Other than his immediate family and affiliates, he preferred to be left alone.
Angelo, however, was one of the few who Sang-min had taken a genuine liking to, though he would never admit it. The artist’s cheerful, open-minded demeanor appealed to Sang-min. He was a happy person who seemed to rely on nobody else to keep himself as such. The only thing he really seemed to need, Sang-min gathered, was that special stuff, the opium. And Sang-min had no problem with that dependence—it did benefit him, after all.
It was drawing nearer to the time of their exchange, so Sang-min decided to settle in one place. He chose a dirty little closed-down Laundromat, settling himself comfortably on the bench in front of the place. His eyes flashed in the brief spasm of sunlight that managed to creep its way through the clouds, and he tilted his head back. A single psychotic drop of rain fell onto his forehead. He blinked it away and squinted his eyes against the fine mist that now fell from the sky. Angelo would be here soon.
.
Even among the myriad faces of the neighborhood, the ones that most people in Eidolon couldn't discern between, Angelo could spot familiarity. At least Sang-min's breed of it. He had a lean sort of grace, he didn't speak of violence in his body language like so many people here did either. It was largely why Angelo trusted the man as his dealer: he knew bloodshed happened here daily, but Sang-min? He didn't reek of it like the others.
They'd met at the Laundromat before, though not recently. But it was one of maybe a half-dozen spots that seemed to get cycled through, so as Angelo walked? He watched each of them that he passed thoughtfully. And when he crossed the front of the place and saw lounge Sang-min had going on the bench? He grinned and started over. "Son, you look like a cat with a mouthful of canary," he called in greeting.
Sang-min’s head tilted at
Sang-min’s head tilted at Angelo’s familiar jangling voice. He looked up at him through naturally narrow eyes, and his mouth managed a slight upward curve, the closest it got to a smile when he was in public. He stood and held out his hand as though for a handshake, palm curved slightly to gently grasp the little bag of substance within it. He liked Angelo. The man had a loose, relaxed aura about him, the only urgency being his addiction to the opium. He was draw to Angelo much in the way Angelo was drawn to himself: The musician didn’t reek of potential violence like everybody else in the vicinity. Sure, he was confident, and could hold his own ground, but he managed it in a way that didn’t seem to spit in your face.
“I could say the same for you,” Sang-min replied in his quiet voice. He allowed the smile to warm his eyes, a fairly uncommon occurrence for his customers. He did not inquire about the money; he trusted Angelo. “I’m expecting good things from you, Angelo, after this inspiration.”
Sang-min would occasionally visit the man and indulge his ears in some smooth jazz. He enjoyed the way Angelo managed to coax the tunes out of his flashy instrument, the way the notes could either sizzle in your blood or cool the fire. It was a true talent rare in this city.
.
With a familiar ease, a practice that had been refined a hundred times before now, Angelo grasped Sang-min's hand in greeting. The moment his hand folded around the other man's, a fold of bills slipped from between Angelo's fingers as they hooked, passing off money and claiming his stash in one smooth movement. "I think you 'bout the only one in this city who expects anythin' at all outta me," Angelo noted, chuckling slightly and slipping his purchase into a pocket.
"Still, I do so hate to disappoint. Figure you're more or less my patron, dig?" he asked, eyes twinkling, "Jus' gotta come on by some night. The Round if you feel like a tale, the Kitten if you like watered-down jams, or my own door if you wanna drink from the fountain."
He lived right on the edge of Chinatown, rented from a resident of the area, and because of connections like Sang-min? Angelo never felt threatened by the spot, despite the oddity of a black man living among the melting pot of Asian culture here. Sang-min in particular had never struck him as a violent man, a fact that Angelo was grateful for, and one that was rare in it's own way around here.
The familiar rustle of green
The familiar rustle of green in Sang-min’s hand was comforting. He slipped the bills into his pocket, a welcome practice. His heart felt lighter as his pockets were weighed down; money itself wasn’t a weakness for Sang-min, but he did enjoy the stories it carried along with it, depending on where he had obtained it. For example, this particular wad of cash would forever carry Angelo’s essence, no matter where Sang-min chose to disperse it. It was an odd thought, but something he always considered when he sold.
He considered the three options that were laid before him with considerable pleasure, debating on which would sound best. He had no plans or jobs to speak of tonight, and it had been quite a while since the two had clapped their filled mugs together. Sang-min suddenly longed for his TRUE weakness: The tongue-loosening froth of alcohol. It was an indulgence that his own family and co-workers rarely allowed him to partake in, especially since his dangerous little mind was positively loaded with secrets that longed to spill forth. Angelo, though…he was different. Maybe not one hundred percent trustworthy, but he definitely was more so than anybody else Sang-min knew, except maybe his cousin Young. Speaking of Young…he wouldn’t approve of this, not unless he came along also. Sang-min would have to sneak out.
Hell, he was feeling reckless. It had been a while, after all.
“I’ve been pretty thirsty lately, Angelo,” he said, after musing all of this over in his mind. “Mind if I stop by tonight, spill a little with you?”
Sang-min used odd phrases, sometimes, English sentences that didn’t quite fit together correctly. It made sense in Korean, but things get lost in translation.