Re: gotham russian tea room; loren & jules
"Tea," was his response. The word lacked what could have been a good chance for irony, but no. Just tea. It would inevitably arrive in a pot, little porcelain cups empty. Not black or green or even steeped long enough to sustain a color that deferred from yellow-ish, there would be flecks of tea herbs floating on top. If it was any way that resembled the tea of his youth, it would be that.
Loren, while he took in Jules' black with barely a sweep of attention, noticed the sneakers. He thought of sneakers for running, but the lack of socks made him consider that he might be wrong. "Are you hungry?"
And they they were, blue eyes. Iceberg eyes, emotionless and empty and slate cool eyes. "I could order for you." The menu was both in English and Russian, and even if Loren thought the translation slightly off, he knew that Jules was a connoisseur and would likely choose well. The waitress stepped by a moment later and deposited the little flowered teapot with the empty cups on their saucers, a small bowl of tea cookies that would be near flavorless save for the powdered sugar they were dusted in.
Loren watched Jules, attention never even lifting to the waitress during all of the arranging.