East Asian Special Ward(...)
Taking a proper look around, Michael found himself a bit surprised by how much his surroundings had changed. Wondering when he'd started getting this sloppy, the immortal took in his surroundings with a smidgen of curiosity. There was something different about the place. Most of the people and some of the attire, first off, but also the signs, most of them in different languages than what he'd seen in the part of the city he'd been in before. The supernaturals walking around, aside from being a bit more open now here, were also of a somewhat different sort. Honestly, this place almost reminded him of a city in one of those Far Eastern empires he'd visited a few centuries back. Or was it a few millennia? ...Wait no, there had been empires there during both of those time periods.
Huh. Well, I can't say I wasn't expecting this, at least a little. In any case, might as well start looking here.
Obviously, a school within the hustle and bustle and the general pollution of the city would be out of the question, but nonetheless, there were usually a few types you could rely on in regards to real estate. The first of those was usually the nearest thing this place had to authority, but from what he'd seen, such and authority would be spread far too thin over a city like this. Not to mention that, of the many things Michael was prepared to deal with today, bureaucracy and its fondness for the red tape was not amongst those things. The other option, of course, would be whatever organized crime reigned in the area, and the immortal was all but certain there would be such a hive of scum and villainy in a place like this, if not multiple.
With the practiced ease born of repetition and boredom, Michael looked around for the nearest possible hub. It's not like the trends usually differed much regarding the kinds of places they liked to gather, and there were always certain signs that the practiced eye could pick out. This wasn't likely to take long.
There was a difference between the way people who avoided the disapproval of hundreds of years of societal propriety and those who tangled in it carried themselves. This was the case whether or not the latter were were aware of their transgressions, and even if they consciously did not recognize the order of things ingrained into them. So long as they were a product of society, criminals would know themselves as criminals, even if they saw the law and order of their birthlands as the true icons of reproach (even knowing the unquestionable personas at the helm exploited them for personal benefit). Knowing this, it was not difficult for Michael to know who was more likely to lead him to a hub of the criminal types, nor to recognizable patterns from the flow of presumable criminals.
In the end, the more things changed the more they stayed the same, and the longer you were acquainted with something the better you knew to find it. So it didn't take long for him to come to a modest building in the middle of one of the more visually distinct neighborhoods, an seeming hub for all manner of business. While the upper floors resembled a row of apartments or offices from the outside, and a hint of activity showed itself through a window, the bottom floor was, he guessed, meant to look like the local equivalent of a bar or tavern.
Although the face of the establishment was modern, decorated with somewhat showy symbols and colors, the interior was a different matter altogether. It was much more like an old inn, the long tables laid apart with equally long benchs, furbished primarily in wood; but the paneling and surfaces were darker and smoother, of construction that could not be mistaken for something of even a past century, but which breathed of familiar age. There were few people here, their features reminiscent of those eastern people he had met in the past and mingled more commonly in the district. Mostly men, including the bartender, in a blend of semi-formal and street-wandering styles of clothing.
Here, they made no effort to conceal the tattoos that peeked out from their collarbones or wrists. And no effort to conceal their pointed notice when Michael walked in and stopped at the counter. The thin employee behind it conveniently missed his approach, busy placing glasses in a cupboard, but he did not have to wait long to be well received.
One of the patrons approached, smiling through narrowed eyes, and greeted him. He sat down and leaned in subtly, his tongue flapping amicably, but experience exposed the second meaning of each sentence out of his mouth.
"You look lost, buddy."
I don't know you, and I don't trust you."Don't think I've seen you around before. "
You don't belong here. You should leave."Anything I can help you with?"
What are you doing here and what do you want?
