Showdown in Little Sakura

Sakura Sushi House

Decorated in dark reds and blacks, the Sakura Sushi House wraps patrons up in a warm, glamorous Asian atmosphere. Along both walls are black bench-tables, sparsely decorated with small red flowers in black vases, and tea light candles. In the center are smaller tables designed for two, to create a romantic setting. The food that is offered at the Sakura is quite different from any other Asian restaurant. It offers a fusion of Japanese foods such as sushi and teriyaki and Szechuan dishes such as twice cooked pork.


The early dinner crowd is now starting to trickle out, replaced by the late night cocktail and sushi crowd, but Sakura's seems to be managing the changeover as seamlessly and effortlessly as they always do. And the bar, not quite as empty as it once was, still has a few seats available. Settled onto one of them is Mignonette, slowly working her way through her main course. Sizzling pork, with sticky rice on the side. Despite the folders off to her right, and the phone set on top of them, she seems more concerned with the meal than the work that's being kept waiting.

It is not the most ideal location in James' mind, but there are some things you learn to stomach and deal with - with a chin held high most likely aids in that endeavor. The man strides through the front entrance while pocketing his car keys and in the process he removes a set of thin shades in the process, hooking them into the collar of his shirt. There's a moment's pause and he reaches into a pocket to check the time with his cell phone before stepping in further and finding his target of the evening. He comes to sit next to Mignonette without any fanfare. "Sorry I'm late, traffic," he pauses with the light lilt of his accent, lifting his brows at the food chosen. Then, he leans forward and quietly asks,"None for me this time around?"

There are a few things you learn, being both a woman and a lawyer. One, is to sit where you can get a good view of the room you're in…you never know when some little detail might end up giving you a bit of leverage, and keeping you safe. And, as the dark-skinned detective strides in, his approach is noted, through she'd had enough training to school her reactions, and her smile, as she turns to face him, mimicing his movement, leaning in until someone looking at them from across the room might think a kiss was inevitable. Someone closer would be unable to mistake the flat coldness in the woman's eyes, the complete opposite of the smooth, sweet silkiness of her voice, "You were late. I thought I would wait until you got here to order. Mongolian beef, I think..extra spicy?"

Young tightens his jaw at the response and he moves to sit back. There is no kiss and only false pleasantries between the two of them; so much so that James looks to the food once again before easing his broad shoulders into a simple shrug. His right hand lifts, rubbing at his cheek just beneath the scar at that side of his face. "Sure. Anything is good enough nowadays," at times, his metabolism can be a pain upon his wallet but he looks aside for a moment before directing his attention back towards Mignonette. He places his hands in his lap. "I'll be paying, you know."

"Mmhmm." A non-commital sound, as she turns that smile, now a real one, rather than the carefully articulated response she gave the detective, to the chef behind the bar, "A order of mongolian beef, white rice on the side. And another extra plate." The order is accepted, and she turns, hand lifting the family sized, ie. massive, plate of pork over in his direction, "Appetizer." And then she returns to serving herself another portion, looking more than at home in the setting, smooth and casual and comfortable, "I was wondering how long it would be before I saw you, Detective Young?" A quirk of her lips, almost an impertinent half smile, "Or is it still Officer Young?"

"Please," comments the man as smoothly as can be while his mind doubles over the order. It's in anticipation that he quiets down and inhales. Even when he isn't hungry, he's hungry. There's a pause though and he arches an eyebrow questioningly. She's pushing the buttons extra-hard tonight but he wets his lips thoughtfully instead of readily replying. He could probably be read by a book at times like these so he reaches out to serve himself. He smiles. "Officer," is his answer, finally, "Still doing whatever your family tells you to do?"

"And very successfully, actually. We're already getting quite a few clients coming in." Mignonette waits until you've served yourself, before she picks back up her chopsticks, "Oh, you have to try this." The chef delivers, not your order, yet, but a plate of six pieces of sushi. Sort of. "It's beef tataki." The beef is seared, but still quite pink, almost rare, over sushi rice that looks and smells like it's been infused with balsamic vinaigrette. Still, the appearance continues, as she picks up one of the pieces, and offers it to you, holding it out for you, quite romantic, one might say, "And what brought you to Dallas?"

"I'm sure the people will enjoy such dog and leash mentality presented," he pauses though as the chef delivers more food and then upon the chef's departure he remains quiet. With it retained, he glances aside towards Mignonette and then directs his attention down to the sushi as it is being explained to him. He twists his lips into a thinned smile and then leans forward to eat it. James hesitates with the movement though, just long enough to smell it. Deeming it satisfyingly not poisoned, he finishes the movement and chews it over. "Not you," pointedly jabs the man in reply, but he smiles so nicely and charmingly. "I needed to find a couple of answers to things. The change of pace is welcomed, too. I'll assume you're around more than a month or so because of business - and not pleasure - it tastes good, what is it again?"

"They'll enjoy the competent legal services my family have always offered their clients." Mignonette falls silent, as the chef moves off, and she waits for the man sitting with her to take the sushi or not. That slow, sweet smile again, as he does, before she moves to pick up one for herself, chewing, savouring, before she answers, "You say that so forcefully…I'm almost inclined to let my feelings get hurt." A tilt of her head, as she sips her water, "Seared prime beef, pounded tender, seasoned lightly with ginger, and the rice is balsamic vinegar sushi rice. Oh, and onion strings on top. They're the best part, don't you think?"

James chuckles softly and coolly, amused. He does pick up a set of chopsticks finally and eyes over the beef and food again; since, in the end, it does indeed look delicious, he takes to eating more pointedly now. "I'm sure you secretly love me - so, it's okay," idly comments the man, sarcastically flowing alongside his accent. He holds up his chopsticks, trying to adjust them and then once he has found out how to appropriately hold them he returns to eating. "It is, yeah, but why'd you want me here anyway?" He glances aside in the direction of Mignonette's cellphone and the folder beneath it.

Mignonette moves to make room, as your order is delivered. And it's a good thing there's two eating, because…yeah. She does take a bit for herself, but the majority is left for you, as she turns to eat as well. No point in allowing a perfectly good meal to be spoiled. "It's so good to see your ego hasn't suffered any damage in your transplantation from Detroit." She gives not even a glance, at her paperwork, or the cellphone, enjoying the meal as she always does. Perhaps it's part of her southern upbringing, but she always likes to give a good meal her full attention, "You know I hate eating alone. And when I found out that you had been transferred here, I thought it would only be the polite thing to invite you out to celebrate your reassignment, and mine."

"Transplantation, such, oh - so, this is some fashion of torture you've devised? I see how it is," James pauses in eating in order to lift his chopsticks up before him and wave them lightly in front of his face. They're an extension of his hand in general, waving, with him pausing in order to return to eating quietly. He slows enough to speak up once again. "Thanks, for the invitation." It's just a moment where he removes his defenses and looks over towards Mignonette. He could call her a close friend if she didn't constantly drive him crazy. As a matter of fact, he attaches onto those words of thanks with a simple phrase, "I'm still paying for everything."

"Torture? Great food, fabulous company and scintillating conversation, and all I get is 'torture'? If i had really intended to torture you, I would have invited you to go out dancing. I hear one of the local dancehalls has a tango night every second Thursday." So long these two have been playing this cat and mouse game. Him on one side of the law, her on the other, or at least, her family. Long enough that they can each reach each other's body language, tone of voice, subtle traces that outsiders might fail to pick up on. And so, when he thanks her, she can tell he's being genuine. "My expense account can handle dinner. You can drive me home, so I don't have to call a cab."

As soon as James is fully prepared to smile, it's dashed more or less away and he instead gives a brief flare of his nostrils and bows his head. There's a laugh that's snorted briefly out and it keeps him from responding readily. "I'll take you up on the offer then," he counters. He might be a dancer, but the officer can - indeed - dance. He slowly adds, "If you say so, ma'am." The man leans forward and looks down at his lack of food, brow stiffening. He was hungry, noticeably less now given the size of the serving.

"Want to finish the rest, or should we get it to go?" There's still two pieces of the tataki, plus half, at the least, of the pork Mignonette ordered earlier. her tone is as sweet and conversational as ever, and she shows, at least outwardly, no reaction to the his counteroffer, save to add, "Well, then, I suppose we'll be seeing each other again next Thursday. I'll have my office sent you the address and the time." She seems to have finished her meal, but she also seems to be in no rush to make you finish yours.

James lifts his dark gaze in order to spy upon the food still remaining and he sets his chopsticks down in order to rest the same elbow at the edge of the counter and signal the chef with his other hand. A brief word, to comment upon their love of the food served and then in needing to get it to go, before he directs his attention towards Mignonette. "Are you asking me out on a date, Miss Savoy? I assumed you'd go for someone more - well, 'established'…" He lifts an eyebrow out of curiosity but he says nothing more. Instead of speaking up further, he waits for the containers to arrive.

Mignonette's gaze, as she meets the eyes of the man next to her is frank, cool, as calculating as always. If there's one thing Coco is good at, it's projecting all of the angles, "No. But you'll meet me anyway." The most delicate lift of a shoulder in a shrug, "Every girl likes slumming it from time to time." Just then, the boxes arrive, and the chef is kind enough to package everything for her, and once that's done, she slides off of her seat, a hand lifted in the empty air, in the proper position for an arm to be settled beneath it. She leaves the boxes to you.

"And here, I came to the conclusion that it was the other way around when we first met." He collects everything up and seems content to escort Mignonette out of the restaurant. If anything, they really are friends and the trading of blows is just how they share the adoration, or something. James merely holds his arm out for her and guides the woman out into the parking lot where his car is. In his other hand, he carries the small bag of boxed food.

Mignonette's hand is a light pressure on Young's forearm, as she walks out of the restaurant, her demeanour and the arch of her back every inch the debutante being escorted on the arm of the most eligible man in the room. "You mean the first time we met you were a boy from the other side of the tracks looking to trade up? Well, yes, that's possible. It's hard to get any more up than the Savoy estate." Once they're at the car, she releases his arm, and the pretense, as she goes to take the food, so that he can unlock the door, tucking the folders under her arm, which she managed to pick up, along with her cell phone, just before they left.

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