Vignette:Teahouse Talk

o call Zalivkov a city that never sleeps would be a mistake.

Rather, Zalivkov cannot sleep; it is ridden with insomnia. Millions of beating hearts, pounding brains, and aching backs work around the clock to keep a vital organ of the country working. Government workers slay bureaucratic messes to keep the perpetually turning gears of the administration clear of any gunk, office workers trade their youth in return for living wages and a company that will grow ever larger, and garbage collectors spend their nights and days fruitlessly trying to keep their home a safe and sanitary place to live in.

Should it stop, Osorra will be left in the dust. So they don’t.

It’s been too long of a day for Nam-Gi. The last meeting he has is with some media company from somewhere in Kesh with pipe dreams of getting into the Osorran market and it’s at six in the evening today. He’s lucky he doesn’t need to run back to the office to grab the proposal papers; he’s got someone else to do that for him. All he has to do is wind down at a nearby coffee shop or tea house for the next hour and review his notes.

What greets him the moment he opens the door to the tea house is a neatly-dressed man that looks suspiciously similar to one of the people he’s supposed to meet in one hour. His suit is impeccably intact for someone in the business district; there’s no sign of scuff marks and ripped seams from bumping into mindless office workers on the busy streets, but there’s… a bit of sand on his shoulder. Not dust, but sand.

“What are you staring at me for?” He’s got a very odd accent. It’s like he had a crash course in the Yarovan dialect instead of Osorran.

“You have sand on your shoulders.” Nam-Gi points an accusing finger at him.

''“You speak Yarovan? I’m glad you aren’t a tourist.”'' He breathes a sigh of relief as he sweeps the sand off.

“Would you rather I speak Yeosani and walk away?”

Now that he’s got a better look at him, he is the person he’s supposed to meet.

“You’re from APOLLON, aren’t you?” His accusatory finger makes an appearance again.

“I assume you’re from Kakhab.” There’s a curt smile on his face as he extends his hand. ''“Theodoros Sperilis of APOLLON. Nice to meet you.”''

''“Park Nam-Gi of Kakhab Entertainment. It’s a pleasure.”'' There’s a hearty handshake that hurts his hand. “Want some tea?”