for dangerousness: A Nice Russian Meal in NYC

[stands_for_hope]

Clark had been looking forward to his lunch with Ilya for some time, but the timing just hadn't worked out. Of course, he'd had to fly in from Metropolis, but he had a reasonably good reason to be there (he'd been putting off that meeting with the JSA for far too long, after all) which justified the travel in his own head. And it was always good to eat before he got there since Ma Hunkle would ply him with the fruits of her kitchen otherwise.

All the same, it was good to see (and smell, mmm) the place he'd picked out for their lunch and to see that it looked exactly as it had the last time he'd spent time in the city. It also smelled the same, which promised that the meal would be extraordinary.

He got them a table and started looking through the menu, figuring that Ilya would make his way in when he could.

Comments

(only a month late, so sorry :/)

[ex_altercated469]

Despite his heritage, the restaurant Clark picked is not one that Illya has frequented before. His normal choice is far more downscale; a few restaurants owned by his countrymen in Russian neighborhoods. Once in a while, for work purposes, he'll wander into the Tea Room, but that is more opulent than he is strictly comfortable with. So this place is a nice surprise.

He arrives only a few (read: ten) minutes late, sliding his work mobile into a jacket pocket, and looks around until he spots someone fitting Clark's description, namely, Clark himself, and maneuvers his way through the crowd.

"Mister Kent. Apologies for the tardiness. May I sit?"

No worries!

[stands_for_hope]

Clark was the last person to give anyone trouble for being late, the absolute last person, and thus the cheerfulness in his voice was genuine enough.

"Of course, Mister Kuriyakin. And no apologies needed. I know you're a busy man."

[ex_altercated469]

The blonde snorts. "Apologies are proper to offer." Just because Americans are lax like that doesn't mean he'll go along with it if there's a better option. He settles down in the chair across from Clark, and takes a minute to peruse the menu. It doesn't take too long to make his choices.

Menu slid to the side, Illya braces his forearms against the table edge. "How is the news business going?"

Because inquiring is also proper behavior.

[stands_for_hope]

"And they're just as proper to dismiss," he said with the blithe smile of a midwesterner. There would always be Things You Did and Things You Said and sometimes they meant what they were supposed to, but sometimes they were just a part of the unspoken language of civility. Like blessing someone's heart below the Mason-Dixon line. Or telling someone that you were 'fine' in a certain tone that meant you were anything but fine even if the other party was then supposed to leave it alone and, if possible, leave the speaker alone.

"The news business goes well," Clark explained with a little smile as he considered his options for beverages. "I'm doing a bit of work for the New York desk for the next few days, so I was up for meeting. And your own business?"