The Carta’blanch wasn’t among the richest restaurants in this city upon Estaria.
It did yet cost a pretty penny but Armen felt he was doing well enough so whatever.
He had a girl to impress as well. She went to school on this world, this star in the air.
Downtown, a man found the place and set the date. Now he sits down waiting for her.
Purple is the atmosphere of the restaurant, violet lighting surrounding tables and chairs.
Dark, not too much so that you can’t see the person you’re talking to, but sets the mood.
Brighter at the bar, purple merging with pink, bathing bottles already colored in rainbow.
It’s all so very poetic and romantic, a man thinks, actually he honestly doesn’t really care.
But she will. She’ll like this. This is her kinda setting and cup of tea.
Sitting at a square booth beside tables, circles so round, is him.
A man, Armen Westyll, parking his ass on royal purple leather.
In a black suit, it seemed fitting, like the tablecloth of lavender.
Atop the tabletop, no cup of tea, a glass, a drink, liquid is pink.
Gin and wine in a cocktail, a martini, garnished with pink cherry.
No olive or lemon twist, but from farmland wotzit and it’s sweet.
Armen bites it, swallows it, sips his drink, licks lips, looks at comlink.
Any minute. Any second. He thinks.
She wasn’t early but wasn’t that late.
Given that she’s a student, he can wait.
Armen isn’t impatient, too relaxed, they say.
Nonchalant, doesn’t give a damn, but not always.
He just doesn’t see the reason in people panicking.
Overreacting at anything, doesn’t understand, anyway.
Indifferent, a bit blasé, but learning more empathy is Armen.
The Jedi Order, he is their student, and they teach him the way.
“You want another drink while you wait?”
Asks the server as she walks up, smiling.
“Sure. Another one of these. And thanks.”
He doesn’t look up. Comlink has his face.
While he waits, the server walks away.
Armen slouches, comlink now on table.
Bored of hvtropes, instead plays a game.
Two menus, one man, waiting on his date.
Text pops up on Armen’s com.
Beside another name. It’s Taco.
He goes with the first. It's her.
‘Sorry I’m late. I’m on the way!’
‘No problemo.’ Is his response.
A silver watch, left wrist, hangs loose.
He checks it, what time it is, past noon.
Past five, not yet night, approaching eight.
Doesn't get why but Armen rhymes anyway.
Time flies in moments as an empty glass leaves and a filled one arrives.
The server smiles again, Armen affords about half of one as his reply.
It is not personal, he isn't shy, he is just generally a quiet kind of guy.
Sips more pink liquid, sets the glass down, hearing a voice from behind.
"You look better in a tie."
She has the voice of a woman.
And the blue features of a Pantoran.
Long blonde hair curled over right shoulder.
"Oh...I was hoping you wouldn't notice."
Armen half-smiles again. Ties choke him.
Her gold eyes gaze moments in his brown.
Silence in her pupils, irises, circles so round.
"Kinda fancy, isn't it?"
Dang. Is it judgment?
Dates, not his business.
Not his first date, this is.
"Uhhhh..." Looks left and looks right.
"...I was hoping you wouldn't notice?"
Silence again, gazing into their eyes.
Rigid lips, they split, smiling. "Idiot..."
And the conversations begin.
Pointless, it's all just nonsense.
Between them, though, meaning.
The server. "Can I get you a drink?"
"Lemme get an ecumonopolitan, please."
"You got it. Will we be ordering a meal?"
Damn am I hungry. "Just another minute."
He's polite about it. Kinda feelin' the eel...
What he isn't feeling is what patrons do.
Despite the mood, it's still just a restaurant.
"I might get salmon." She looks up from her menu.
"Eel. Salmon. I feel a dance comin'." Their eyes lock.
It did yet cost a pretty penny but Armen felt he was doing well enough so whatever.
He had a girl to impress as well. She went to school on this world, this star in the air.
Downtown, a man found the place and set the date. Now he sits down waiting for her.
Purple is the atmosphere of the restaurant, violet lighting surrounding tables and chairs.
Dark, not too much so that you can’t see the person you’re talking to, but sets the mood.
Brighter at the bar, purple merging with pink, bathing bottles already colored in rainbow.
It’s all so very poetic and romantic, a man thinks, actually he honestly doesn’t really care.
But she will. She’ll like this. This is her kinda setting and cup of tea.
Sitting at a square booth beside tables, circles so round, is him.
A man, Armen Westyll, parking his ass on royal purple leather.
In a black suit, it seemed fitting, like the tablecloth of lavender.
Atop the tabletop, no cup of tea, a glass, a drink, liquid is pink.
Gin and wine in a cocktail, a martini, garnished with pink cherry.
No olive or lemon twist, but from farmland wotzit and it’s sweet.
Armen bites it, swallows it, sips his drink, licks lips, looks at comlink.
Any minute. Any second. He thinks.
She wasn’t early but wasn’t that late.
Given that she’s a student, he can wait.
Armen isn’t impatient, too relaxed, they say.
Nonchalant, doesn’t give a damn, but not always.
He just doesn’t see the reason in people panicking.
Overreacting at anything, doesn’t understand, anyway.
Indifferent, a bit blasé, but learning more empathy is Armen.
The Jedi Order, he is their student, and they teach him the way.
“You want another drink while you wait?”
Asks the server as she walks up, smiling.
“Sure. Another one of these. And thanks.”
He doesn’t look up. Comlink has his face.
While he waits, the server walks away.
Armen slouches, comlink now on table.
Bored of hvtropes, instead plays a game.
Two menus, one man, waiting on his date.
Text pops up on Armen’s com.
Beside another name. It’s Taco.
He goes with the first. It's her.
‘Sorry I’m late. I’m on the way!’
‘No problemo.’ Is his response.
A silver watch, left wrist, hangs loose.
He checks it, what time it is, past noon.
Past five, not yet night, approaching eight.
Doesn't get why but Armen rhymes anyway.
Time flies in moments as an empty glass leaves and a filled one arrives.
The server smiles again, Armen affords about half of one as his reply.
It is not personal, he isn't shy, he is just generally a quiet kind of guy.
Sips more pink liquid, sets the glass down, hearing a voice from behind.
"You look better in a tie."
She has the voice of a woman.
And the blue features of a Pantoran.
Long blonde hair curled over right shoulder.
"Oh...I was hoping you wouldn't notice."
Armen half-smiles again. Ties choke him.
Her gold eyes gaze moments in his brown.
Silence in her pupils, irises, circles so round.
"Kinda fancy, isn't it?"
Dang. Is it judgment?
Dates, not his business.
Not his first date, this is.
"Uhhhh..." Looks left and looks right.
"...I was hoping you wouldn't notice?"
Silence again, gazing into their eyes.
Rigid lips, they split, smiling. "Idiot..."
And the conversations begin.
Pointless, it's all just nonsense.
Between them, though, meaning.
The server. "Can I get you a drink?"
"Lemme get an ecumonopolitan, please."
"You got it. Will we be ordering a meal?"
Damn am I hungry. "Just another minute."
He's polite about it. Kinda feelin' the eel...
What he isn't feeling is what patrons do.
Despite the mood, it's still just a restaurant.
"I might get salmon." She looks up from her menu.
"Eel. Salmon. I feel a dance comin'." Their eyes lock.