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.
Early evening, the dinner crowd has only just started to filter in, leaving the sushi bar quiet, broken only by the sounds of the chefs behind the bar and drifting conversation from some of the further tables to the wall. The bar itself is sparsely populated, but there are a few patrons, each with their own chef waiting to place their order.
One of them, a slender, petite woman, sits, legs demurely crossed, a stack of legal briefs set off to her right hand side. But she seems less interested in the work, than in the chef across the glass partition, who's currently in the process of preparing a small sampler plate of sorts, a few different presentations of octopus.
—-
Sloane's like a walking billboard. It'd take a splendid idiot not to notice which company she works for, because the Dallas Wildlife Preservation Company logo is pasted to just about every piece of clothing she wears. On top of her black-haired head is a deep green baseball cap, sporting that familiar logo, with the wolf head jutting out over top the yellow and red text. The burgundy and green jacket covering her torso does as well, with the emblem sewn into the breast of the garment. Meanwhile, Sloane has a scowl as obvious as a bright red barn in the middle of an open field. Her job, which seems to be delivering some type of box to the establishment, isn't one that she seems too thrilled by.
Sloane pushes the door open with her backside, leaning against it once she's entered. Taking a step forward, she glances around the place prospectively, perhaps looking for the person who wanted the package. Her brows gradually come together, cinching with irritation and impatience. Lips pursing, she moves further into the establishment, walking towards the bar and taking a seat there, letting the box sit in her lap. Her eye twitches once, and her nose wrinkles. "You can't just order all this crap and then NOT pick it up…" she mutters.
—-
Mignonette looks across, at the girl making a delivery, the disruption or perhaps the difference between the look of the rest of the patrons and the woman enough to make her stick out. She's given a careful once over, before Mignonette looks back to the chef, who slides the carefully arranged plate over to the small brunette, before he goes to the back, rapidfire Japanese escaping his lips. A few seconds later, a demurely dressed woman comes out from behind the swinging doors, moving towards the woman from the preserve. Her english is accented, but precise, "How may I help you?"
—-
Sloane's elbow goes up onto the counter's surface and she rests her chin in her palm. Her fingers tap tap tap against the side of her cheek, pausing to scratch there once. Anxiously, she turns her head around, eyes searching fervently for the nearest clock to check the time. Judging by her expression, she must have some other place to go, or she's just wholly unimpressed by the… lack of a present customer. "Uh," she says, turning around again when the woman asks how she can be helped. "You can't, really… Just a lemonade, I guess," she says to the lady, shrugging her shoulders. Eyes shifting to the side, they land on Mignonette briefly, perhaps noticing that she was being looked at. The box is then set up on top of the bar, revealing the label there. 'Classified' it reads, though nothing from a wildlife reserve could really be THAT secret. "… The food good here?" she asks Mignonette, a bit desperate for conversation and entertaintment instead of silence.
—-
"From what I've had so far, yes." Mignonette's voice is soft and her accent is distinct, Cajun, from likely deep in Louisiana, but her english is impeccable. "I've read a few good reviews of the place, and thought I might give it a try. I always like to make it a point to find a few nice places for meals when I arrive in a new city." A light gesture of a hand, to indicate one of the many seats at the bar, "I think that's your lemonade." it is indeed, and the glass is set down on a coaster just in front of where the woman in waiting. The package isn't touched. Clearly, the woman, at least, the one delivering the order, has no idea whom or what the package is supposed to be for.
—-
Sloane's mouth pulls into a thin, hard line as she listens to Mignonette's reply, as though she half-expected to be ignored. Closing the distance, the woman lifts herself off her seat and jumps off, taking the package with her. She makes her way to Mignonette's side of the counter, where it's easier to converse, given the rising level of volume from the new onslaught of dinner time customers. "Hmmm, always wanted to try it, but my whacked out parents think the people here were imported from Asia solely for the purpose of working here. They think that this is some sort of weird, Americanized version of sweatshop labor. Personally, I think they're only telling me that because they're vegetarians and they don't want me eating animals," she rambles to Mignonette, slouching a bit forward as she taps her nails against the package. Her free hand holds the cold glass of lemonade, and she cranes her neck to take a sip from the straw. "You're new? I kind of figured. Why the hell would you pick Dallas, of /all/ places?" she wonders, her eyes rolling. "I'm sure that wherever you're from, it's much better than here."
—-
"Well, I suppose historically, the asian population in America were brought here as cheap labour, so there is, as in many stories, some grain of truth. But I doubt that holds true now. I've found that most of the places like this, places with an ethnic bent, are more a means of making money at our expense than theirs. It's exploitation, but it's exploiting the general populations desire for exotic things, and less exploiting themselves. You're welcome to join me, if you like. I can recommend a few items to ease you into things." A quirk of her lips, a warming smile, before she looks out across the restaurant and then back at the other woman, "I'm opening a new office here, for my family's law firm. I'm Mignonette, by the by. But everyone calls me Coco."
—-
Sloane's brows raise up as she's given a history lesson. She looks bewildered at best, eyes held wide open as she struggles for a suitable response. Ducking her head down slightly and staring at the surface of the counter top, Sloane just shrugs again. "… I chalk it up to my parents being crazy. I came home from doing some deliveries one day and they ripped the fuckin' microwave out of the wall. My MICROWAVE," she exclaims, breathing in deeply and then sighing with just as much melodrama. "Nah, I'm good. I already ate, actually. Plus, I'm broke so I can't afford it. I'll chill for a bit instead," Sloane replies to Mignonette, draining her lemonade by about one third of the glass. She then begins spinning her bar chair beside Coco back and forth, presumably because her attention span's about as long as a spoon. "Mign- what?" she blinks, then snickers, fingers fiddling with the dog tag around her neck. "No wonder they call you Coco. I'm Sloane."
—-
Mignonette tilts her head, giving no verbal response to the other woman's actions, though, in answer to the first, she offers, "The problem with living with your parents, is you're forced to live by their rules. One of the benefits of living alone, I suppose. The rules that you live by are the rules that you make for yourself." As the offer to join her is declined, Mignonette precedes to sample her own, careful, delicate bites. Slow, and polite, so as not to exclude the woman, despite the fact that she's not eating, "A pleasure to meet you, Sloane. Mignonette, it's french. Coco's fine. Tell me about the preserve?"
—-
Sloane lets her head thud against the front of the package on the counter, forehead pressed against the sturdy, hard cardboard. "You have. NO. Idea." Her chest expands as she again sighs deeply, allowing her eyelids to close briefly. Then, they open again, green eyes staring to the side at Mignonette somewhat confusedly. "Where does 'Coco' come from, though? It don't see how you could derive 'Coco' out of Mignonette," she says, her mouth pulling at the corners and forming a faint, yet teasing grin. "Not that I can really talk," she says, looking down at herself, fingers still touching the dog tag at her throat. After all, her real name is Molly, which really has no connection to 'Sloane', either. "The wildlife site? It's just outside Dallas, out in the willy whacks. It's kind of like a zoo, except visiting hours are much more limited and we treat the animals very generously. Any new animal we find, we bring it, then try to re-release it into the wild. My parents own the place."
—-
"I had the biggest head, when I was born, on a tiny little body, my mother said. She thought it was adorable. So she used to call me her little coconut. And it turned into Coco. I suppose I just sort of got used to it. And it's much easier, as you've said, than using my first name." Mignonette samples each of the preparations, and the plate is soon finished, and she orders a second course, the house special sizzling pork. "That sounds like a quite a task. especially in a state like this, where so many people like to hunt recreationally, and most probably don't have much of a clue of what they're doing."
—-
Sloane takes her head off the box, sitting up in less of a slouch as she straightens. Half of her lemonade has now disappeared from the glass. Sloane begins swirling the ice and liquid around, making an annoying clanking type noise. Hearing Mignonette's anecdote, Sloane pauses, then her jaw muscles tense as she tries to subdue a laugh. "Oh, God. You poor baby," she snickers, baring her straight, white teeth as she giggles. When the pork is ordered, Sloane puts a hand over her stomach, then banishes the temptation of ordering food to the back of her mind. "It is. We've got such a small team of workers, and way too many animals…" she says, shaking her head with a deep frown. "If we could get a few volunteers on the weekends even, it'd help a lot."
—-
Sloane might be trying not to laugh, but Mignonette, having what seems to be a good sense of humour about herself, laughs, the sound rich and full, before she quiets, "I'm sure she meant it for the best. And it certainly gives me a good anecdote about myself." One thing that can be said about the restaurant, is that they do work quickly, and her order is soon brought out. And in typical fashion for the type of cuisine, it's family style, the portion almost excessively large. With rice on the side. Mignonette offers over an extra pair of chopsticks, and then continues, "What sort of training does a volunteer have to have, before they can come and work with you?" A beat, "Please, there's more here than I'll ever be able to finish myself. And i've never been much fond of eating alone."
—-
Sloane seems to lighten up when Mignonette begins laughing, and she feels comfortable enough to let her snickers out. She smiles, the straw from her glass caught between her teeth. "It could've been worse. She could've nicknamed you 'football head' or 'beach ball' instead. Some parents are that cruel," she continues to muse, though her smile fades when the food is brought out and set down infront of Mignonette. "That's fuckin' massive," she says, astounded, and practically drooling. The primal urge to dive into the meat is suppressed, for now. "Eh, I'd better not. Feels weird to take from someone I just met," Sloane says as an excuse, casting Coco an apologetic look. "You need to pass a background check, first of all. Fill out a few consent forms, then I'd take you out for two weekends and show you the ropes. After a while, if you prove to be pretty good at it, we start offering jobs," she replies, scratching at her chin. "Of course, you wouldn't do anything too dangerous until you actually got a job and had experience. Some of the animals are vicious." Then again, so are the workers.
—-
"You're not taking anything that I'm not willingly offering. And I could certainly use the help. If not, I'll have to take it home, and it'll probably end up sitting in the back of my fridge until it grows into its own life form. Honestly, you'd be doing the poor thing a favour." She takes a small amount for herself, leaving the plate easily within reach of both herself and you, "Sounds like pretty standard operation, for any business. Do you specialize in any particular type of animal? or just whatever happens to be wild in the area?"
—-
Sloane's eyes drop from Mignonette's to the plate, staring at it in what looks like concentration as she speaks. "Really, it's all right. Wouldn't be polite. I've gotta be going soon anyway. You know, need to drive back to the site and call the guy who didn't show up," she murmurs, then considers Coco's question briefly. Her lips draw off to the side. "Well… wolves, mostly," she says, though she sounds slightly unsure of the answer. Her face is yearning and her stomach is rumbling, but as much as she wants to eat that meat, she really shouldn't. But then, an idea pops into her head, and Sloane grins devilishly as her body leans forward. She holds her mouth open, letting it gape like she wants to be fed. For dramatic effect, she adds in the typical 'aaaaaaaaaah' sound. So much for politeness.
—-
Mignonette nods, acceding to the woman's wishes. It is her choice, after all, "The bane of doing business with people who aren't as proper etiquette as you are. Hopefully, he'll at least try to give you a good excuse Sometimes, even if you know it's a lie, it still helps to make it worth the trouble." A curious look, as she considers the answer, "That must be quite daunting. I've never seen any close, but from what I've read about them and seen on television, they can be very difficult animals." As the other woman leans in, both of Coco's eyebrows arch, but then that laughter spills out again, and she picks up a serving of pork between two chopsticks and places it in Sloane's mouth, "Don't forget to chew." As she withdraws the utensils.
—-
"Eh, well, you win some, you lose some," Sloane says to Mignonette, having calmed down since her initial provocation when the man didn't show up. "I'll just tell him he owes me an extra five bucks or something," she shrugs again, adjusting the cap on top of her head with a free hand, the other used to balance against the counter. Her mouth accepts the pork from the chopsticks, teeth coming down on the tender meat before it disappears entirely. She swallows seconds later, then reaches for her glass to drain the rest of the lemonade. "Wolves are stubborn as hell. They're very difficult, but so rewarding to work with. Especially pups," she says, running her tongue over her lips. Then, she begins sliding off the chair at the bar, placing a few one dollar bills on the counter to pay for the lemonade. The box is once again picked up. "Anyway… I'd better head off. It was nice meeting you, Coco. You should stop by the site some time."
—-
A shake of her head, amusement still the dominant expression on her face, as Mignonette sets aside the chopsticks, reaching for the glass of water close to hand instead, "Five dollars at least. And a surcharge on the next delivery." You can't blame her for being a business woman. "I doubt you would continue to work there if they weren't, even if it was a family business." She turns in her chair, giving Sloane her full attention, as she preps to leave, "It was good to have met you as well, Sloane. perhaps I will stop by the preserve, perhaps on a weekend. It'll be a nice change for a day off."
