Week 3: Monday
Who: Keisuke and Open Where: Walking back towards the Towers When: Monday Night Rating: TBA
Keisuke had finally finished giving his assistant all the paperwork that he'd finished with in the last two weeks. Translation of the latest journals that the publishing company he was currently signed up with had been easy, if a little boring. He'd resisted the urge to correct some of the grammer and terminology in the original, disappointed and amused at the same time that Japanese had changed so much through the centuries. Honorifics, titles, even the ending of phrases changed. Sometimes he felt he had to work just as hard with his mother tongue as he did with learning English, just so he didn't sound awkwardly anachronistic, with formal speech that had long fallen out of use.
The girl he'd met with had pretty eyes hidden behind thick ugly black plastic glasses. She'd been snuffling continuously and had apologized profusely that she'd caught a cold and she hope she wouldn't give it to him. He'd made no response, merely continuing to let her know which documents needed to be mailed to Los Angeles, which needed to be edited and sent back. He did not enjoy dealing with postal services, even UPS, FED-EX, AIR, or any of the companies. Something about mail and mailing things seemed like such an annoyance, a rushed way of doing things. "We'll have it there by midnight!" No. He'd leave all of the messy paperwork detail to the book-keeping assistant that the local publishing sister company had. She didn't seem to mind and in fact had mentioned once that she enjoyed starting her work later because of his later "hours of inspiration". She and his publisher both knew that Keisuke did his work best when uninterrupted during the evening and sleeping through the day. Being an eccentric artist had its benefits.
Wrapping the loosened scarf he had on more tightly around the neck of his dress shirt, he paused for a brief moment as he walked down the darkened streets of Seattle, sporadic cars whizzing by in their hurry to be where they needed to. He was running low on gauche and he'd been thinking of finishing up the watercolor work he'd been fiddling with since last week. He remember there to be an arts and crafts shop somewhere nearby but given his lack of explorations thus far, he couldn't pinpoint exactly where it was in his fuzzy memory. Seeing not many people on the street, he wondered if he'd be luckier braving a stranger for directions or wandering into a nearby cafe or store to ask for the way.
Standing there, slightly tousled black hair falling over his eyes a little, black dress shirt paired with a thin grey and white scarf over loose slacks, he had a look of blank uncertainty even as he touched his finger to his lips in thought. The black handkerchief he'd tied in the morning, shifted downwards a little, but remained tight, paired with the black leather gloves he wore to cover his sun scarred hands. Finally deciding, he turned a little, looking around to see who looked like they wouldn't mind being bothered for directions.