The Art of Business

Stubbing out his cigarette in the convenient ashtray placed nearby, King clasped his hands together, and shivered in the cold. It was April, but it was still moderately cold - being that he'd spent too much time in the comparatively warm city of Vaingloria, King had yet to adapt. He'd only been in Drachma for a couple of days yet, and already someone rather ambiguous had set up a meeting with him. Outside was always good, sure - but King'd be damned if one of many of Moscow's city squares still wasn't colder than a witch's tit.

He took a liberal swig from the bottle of beer set down next to him on the stone bench, which encircled a flowerbed. Contained within was a rather magnificent - and apparently fairly hardy tree - which was supposed to have lived through ninety winters, or something stupid like that. Brushing off the frost that had accumulated at the bottle's base, and shivering a second time, King exhaled, letting his breath turn to warm white smog upon the harsh, bitter air that nipped at what little skin he was showing.

King had decided to garb himself in a thick button-up longcoat, over his usual attire for working for Alena. A black suit - sparing no expenses, it seemed, Vanity staying true to her namesake - with a tie, trousers, and dress shoes. Comfortable and sleek enough; the homunculus wasn't arguing.

In the corner of the otherwise-empty city square, a beefy Drachman man operated a hot dog stand beneath the falling snowflakes, dancing like microscopic white angels upon the air currents. King had already purchased three - having eaten two - from him in an effort to sate the gurgling void in his stomach. They were fairly good quality, though they hadn't done much. He was still hungry. He was always hungry.

As an insurance policy, King had tucked the Automag into his inner right jacket pocket, and left a button on the coat undone for easy access. A mutual friend of his, and the contact, had organised the meeting, but the homunculus knew he couldn't be too careful. There were apparently people all around who wanted to usurp and manipulate the power of the homunculi, and considering he was fresh meat compared to what Vanity had told him of the other seven, in his comparative naivete, he'd be an easy catch. She'd advised him personally to start stocking up on security - though he'd done a good job for her, for the past few years, so he felt moderately confident.

As for the information Piotr had given him about the contact? It'd been a brief meeting, here in Moscow itself, in the hours he wasn't working for Vanity, whereupon he'd been told that she could be trusted, but needed discretion - and, puzzlingly, would arrive with children on the scene. King was taken aback initially, but decided that he could use a break from the musky stench of vodka and sweat that most of Drachma's inner-city bars seemed to possess like it was a trend. The stronger the stink, the harder the bar. Simple.

Though, with his apparent... 'immortality' - King was more than skeptical of the term being applied to him - he had now somehow become a touch braver in circumstances, but had been warned not to let it go to his head. Being headstrong wouldn't get him anywhere... and he could still feel pain, even if just for a moment.

With a wet squelch, King tore into the third hot dog, biting away the bread and the delicious sausage meat eagerly, smiling contentedly as he felt the two substances meld with the copious quantities of ketchup and mustard he'd squirted on. "Mmm..." It wouldn't last long, but the feeling of hot food in that dank, endless pit that was his stomach was always a good one. Hell, God knew he could needed all the warmth he could get in the bloody tundras that were the streets of Moscow.

Now to just wait for his mutual friend to arrive...

HOLY MOTHER OF GOD IT WAS COLD!!! Sure, Aerugo could get cold, and sometimes in winter it was really cold by the mountains, but holy shit, Moscow was fucking COLD! Bundled up with her leather jacket under a darker wool and leather duster, it was late when the train stopped and the Cretan bartender scooped up two sleepy little boys to brave the of the station's chill. London was a whole new animal from Vegas. Bigger, louder, more crowded, but definitely easier to get lost in the fray. She had Ela trying to help get her ass out of the frying pan with the police back in Vegas, but until then, Anouk had to stay under the radar as best she could.

Takatori was dead, and Anouk had her sons back with her, and oh like hell she'd leave them out of her sight unless it was aaaaaaaaaabsolutely necessary. But she couldn't just sit on her hands and hide in Ela's little flat. Sitting still too long... made her mind wander. And right now, even with the anti-depressants, that wasn't a safe idea. Anouk needed a project. She needed to do what she'd promised and pick up the pieces to keep going. And the best way to do that was to go back to what she and her boys knew best: the bar. London was a thriving city with millions of people, and who didn't like another friendly, neighbourhood pub to go to after work? It wouldn't be the Green Dragon, but nothing again ever would be.

It had taken some poking and calling to find Piotr; it was surprising how many of your friends bail on you after you vanish in a crisis, and funnier the shit they say to explain where you went. Apparently the word in the area was that Anouk had gone back to Aerugo and killed herself after the cops gave up on finding her boys. Huh. Wasn't that sweet of them. Piotr, however, had been quite happy to hear from the Cretan bartender he'd been out of touch with. They'd met years ago at a flare-tending competition and bartending expose, and since then he'd come to the Green Dragon anytime he was in Creta, whether he was coming to Vegas or not. And now, even though it had been over a year since they'd seen each other, the giant Drachman snowbear, thick and bushy from head to toe, guffawed and wrapped meaty arms around Anouk. He'd been rather sad to hear about Anouk's losses, and was all-too happy to help set up a meeting with his own boss, who owned a few very successful bars in a few countries.

And so with Kenta curled up in Piotr's arm and cuddled inside his coat and Kitaro gripping his mother's hand, in the quiet of night he'd taken them to the heart of Moscow itself. It was funny in a way. This was where the war happened, wasn't it? Or nearby, at least, from what she'd heard. It was strange to hear the story hinted at from the giant Drachman bear as he prattled on happily about the glories, ignoring entirely that Anouk was Cretan; he'd been her friend before the war happened, and he saw no reason to stop because of that. Anouk was slightly nervous about the meet, but she wouldn't immediately admit that; she'd come too far and gone through too much just to get her sons back and restart her life. She wouldn't let pre-business-meeting jitters get the best of her. It wasn't far, thankfully (she loved Piotr, but he only rambled more the later it got, she'd learned), and soon she saw a man sitting on a bench. A beefy hand raised up to wave at King from the opposite corner, Anouk letting out a nervous breath and mustering up a polite smile. Here goes.

"King," Piotr boomed out jovially in Drachman as they crossed the street. "Mama wolf and her pups." He laughed, looking down to Anouk as he switched to Cretan so she would understand. "King, I want you to meet Anouk. She is a good bartender and shoots vodka like a fish." Kitaro squeed Anouk's hand, shyly stepping behind her as he watched King carefully, his mother reaching out her hand to King politely.

"It's nice to meet you, she said, saking his hand firmly. One of the things Nu did like about her years of running a business was that she'd at least learned how to shake hands with a man in a strong way and wasn't afraid to look them in the eye while smiling warmly. She'd had to do it many times over the years when it came to investors, inspectors and high-paying patrons. "I'm Anouk Ueda, and these are my sons, Kitaro and Kenta. Piotr says you might have some property to sell in LOndon?"

"King, I want you to meet Anouk. She is a good bartender and shoots vodka like a fish." King nodded, and scanned the woman up and down carefully as he took another sip of his beer. As common courtesy, he gave a sharp inclination of his head as the quartet approached, looking at the two boys and smiling.

"I Anouk Ueda, these my sons, Kitaro, Kenta. Piotr say you some property sell, London?" Was the extent of what King understood as he shook the woman's hand, before breaking off. It was enough to get the gist of the message, but, uh, the details of any further sentences would completely pass him by.

From his time in Drachma, his voice, especially when speaking in Cretan, carried an odd accent which shone more through as Moscovian than anything else. It was heavy, with a sluggish tone to it, and he often left large pauses between words. "Hello, my name is King," That much he'd learnt how to say back from Cretan classes at the orphanage. "My Cretan... little good. You speak Drachman?" A pause. He guessed that was a no. "Cerisian?" Probably another no. A blast from the past as he offered a third alternative up. "Amestrian?" God, he'd probably have scared the kids out of their wits already, speaking like Frankenstein. He shot another look towards them, smiling.

But, yes, he did have a piece of property in London that he'd managed to more-or-less pay off - he'd spent so many years whilst Rem was asleep trying to save up money to eliminate the mortgage, and the moment he'd started work for Vanity, she obliterated it in a single payment. Even better, the bar's importance had become negligible - its purpose as another outlet for income had become obsolete, considering his work for Vanity had continued and its... lucrative nature. It was almost ten years down the line, and, economically, King was in a much fitter state.

Pulling ruble banknotes from his pocket and offering them to Piotr, King smiled at the kids, miming the over-exaggerated action of chewing momentarily, before saying two words in Cretan. "Hot... puppies," His face straightened up properly, and he looked to the Drachman once more, speaking again. "You mind buying a few to keep them busy whilst we discuss things?"

"Only if I can have one, hah!" King chuckled, and with that, the Drachman sprinted off towards the stand with the kids, engaging in a mock hundred-metre race, and the homunculus wiped off a space to his left on the circular stone bench, gesturing for Anouk to sit down, finishing off the last of his own, neatly set aside his beer bottle on his right.

"Good kids," King smiled, watching the pair run off, before turning back to Anouk, his face returning back into that look of contented neutrality it seemed to always possess when something wasn't entertaining him. Almost lethargy; a feeling of comfort, of laziness, a will to just fall asleep whilst the world isn't poking and prodding you. From what Piotr had implied, these kids and their mother had been through a lot - as had he, really. It was all just a matter of perspective on the whole thing.

"Mama Mia, is cold out today." King murmured and took another sip, turning back to Anouk with a light sigh, no longer mesmerised by the Drachman bent over and clutching his stomach as the boys sped away. Too much vodka will do terrible things to a man. "Yes, London," He began to murmur, waiting for Anouk to hopefully pick up a different language and continue.

King was a quiet man, and if nothing else seemed very relaxed as he sat there on the bench. It was a bit cold to stay out all night to talk shop, but maybe they could move somewhere warmer in a few minutes; Nu knew her sons were less than happy about the wintery chill. Kitaro shuffled further behind Anouk as King introduced himself, Piotr bouncing the toddler in his arm lightly. "You speak Drachman? Cerisian? Amestrian?" Ah, ding. There was one Nu could catch him on; something told her having to use Tiotr as a translater all night would have just irritated both men, and she knew Piotr would much rather play with the kids.

"Mama..." Kitaro's voice was muffled as he hid behind the black folds of his mother's coat, squeezing her hand with one of his and gripping the leather with the other.

"It's okay, honey. We'll go inside soon." Nu's Aerugese was soft and almost whispered as she watched King take out a few rubles from his pocket and held them up for Piotr.

"Hot...puppies." ....OH. Hot dogs. Nu smiled gently, urging Kitaro out from behind her as Piotr moved to take Kenta's hand, laughing as he started to mock-race with the little boy at his side to the hot dog vender nearby. Something warm in their bellies would keep them happy for a few minutes, and Piotr would find something fun to tell the boys about, she was sure. "Good kids." Anouk nodded, taking a seat on the bench, pulling out a small file held shut with paperclips.

Amestrian. Right, at least that was one she did know; it came in handy for all the tourists and soldiers on holiday. "I speak slower, but my Amestrian is okay." Anouk's Amestrian accent wasn't perfect at all, the dialect much more regional to what was spoken nearer to the border, but good enough to know what she was saying at least. She used to havea company in Amestris she'd import nice dark beers from, espeicially during tourist seasons. Anouk pulled off the paperclip, opening the file; she'd dig it up from public records and the figures were all in Cretan pounds, but it would give King some idea about how good a business woman she was. "Piotr is an old friend of mine; he says you might still have an old shop in London I can rebuild into a pub?"

Anouk shivered slightly, pulling the duster higher up on her neck to ward off the chill of the April night. Fuck, when did spring come here? Luckily this was something she was familiar with doing; pitching ideas to investors and banks to try and get thigns started. She'd majored in it, after all. Just now it was slightly different. Now it wasn't through a bank and a real estate company, but through a private owner directly. "I had a tavern in Las Vegas for almost ten years. I'm hoping to open something similar in London. It's a bigger city, so hopefully revenue will be as good." The first year of business you were always in the red; that was a given and anyone starting up new not to expect to break even until year two, and profit until year three unless they really had something special. Anouk wasn't fond of themed bars or exploiting weird niches; instead, she let people come for her service and how good her pub food was, and let it all sit on her reputation. But that was the outskirts of Vegas in an old tavern where everyone had known the original owners, and then had known Anouk and her family as their own. London would really be starting from the ground up, but... What else could they do?

"I speak slower, but my Amestrian is okay." King nodded slowly. Amestrian was a breath of fresh air, for him also, and a common-ground they could both understand each other on. He raised a hand to scratch the back of his head, and sighed quietly, before speaking again, flicking a glance towards Piotr and the kids, apparently now enjoying themselves and ignoring the bitter cold.

He turned back to Anouk in an instant. "Same here. It is a little rusty, so I might be a little... uh... slow," The irony. King watched slowly, leaning back and sipping his beer, as the mother produced a wad of business papers, going through figures as the homunculus sat there and chuckled. "Piotr is an old friend of mine; he says you might still have an old shop in London I can rebuild into a pub?"

King nodded slowly, raising his right arm to hang slack over the upper barrier of the heavily-engraved Moscovian granite flowerbed, taking extra care to ensure his expensive coat sleeve didn't drop into the soil beneath, sighing. "The deal is simple. The building is yours. The mortgage has been... taken care of," Another sigh as he took a sip of the cold, crisp Amestrian beer. He didn't have many fond memories of the barren desert that he'd seen of the country, and he was supposedly at war with them now, but King would be damned if they didn't make good drinks.

"I simply require you to pay it off so I can break even on the funds, is all," He cocked his head, looking down into Anouk's eyes carefully. She was a good few inches shorter than him, but she seemed to radiate... determination, if nothing else. She was a committed woman - to her children and her line of work. Her blue eyes held fire and vigour in them; King was confident she was a woman to honour the agreement, and her friendship with Piotr only backed this up further. "The licenses for the building are all... legitimate. If Piotr gives me... contact details, I'll be... uh... more than able to forward the figures appropriate to you," He kicked himself mentally, the sentence sounding somewhat irregular and unprofessional, almost hasty.

Speaking Amestrian in Drachma was suspect enough as is. If any of Vanity's men had followed him here, then he'd probably have a decent amount of explaining to do, and it would probably be an opportunity to rid himself of the building in London gone in an instant. "As well as this, I can supply... drinks, da?" Things were starting to get worse by the minute with the language barrier - he wasn't good at all at speaking informally, and it was making him sound all the more irregular to any possible onlookers, and probably Anouk herself. Consequently, King took another sip of his beer.

The pale Moscovian light glanced off of the man's tongue, dancing along the edge of the Ouroburos tattoo as it glistened with spittle. Another sigh, and the man ran a black-gloved hand through grey hair, tousling it a little as the taste of the beer faded from his mouth, and his stomach inevitably gargled. He was Gluttony, after all.

"As I said, all I ask is that I'm paid back appropriately, and I don't mind how long it takes. The building is yours," He waved away the paperwork she'd taken out. "I'll send you all the documents in time," King was fairly relaxed about this. It was an opportunity to rake in a touch more revenue, perhaps to help he and his brother get back on their feet when it was two of them and not just one. "What you choose to do with it is entirely up to you," A good majority of him wanted to rid himself of the building, but, really, King wasn't fussed. Alena had taken care of it for him, and it wasn't another money-sucking pit dogging at his heels for mortgage and maintenance once more; he dealt with the building maybe once a month. All Anouk would be doing was paying him off for a minor inconvenience, and turning it into a profitable source of income for herself. Piotr's friendship was all he needed to forge a trustworthy bond, in reality - he knew the man well enough.

His wayward glance fell once more upon the three at the hot dog stand, playing around. King let a chuckle fall from his lips and onto the bitterly cold Drachman air, half-smiling and idly wiping a touch of frost from the bottom of his beer bottle, before taking another sip of the cold, dry, golden liquid. "I had a tavern in Las Vegas for almost ten years. I'm hoping to open something similar in London. It's a bigger city, so hopefully revenue will be as good."

King arched an eyebrow. Now... this, he hadn't been told about. Piotr had informed him she was a good bartender, and King had simply presumed she wished for a change of scenario, or maybe another outlet for her and the boys. The word 'had' was entirely integral to the sentence, and King's ears pricked as soon as he heard it. Curiosity struck him like a bolt of lightning, his fingertips tingling in an instant as they clenched around the bottle, King frozen in mid-sip, before movement finally returned to his body and he lowered the bottle. Even with the language barrier, he picked the tone and the word out with ease, smiling uncannily and curiously as he looked towards her, inquiring further with a single word. Some would say 'nosy'. King would say 'inquisitive' - if he knew how to.

"Had?"

This honestly had ot be one of the most casual business meetings Anouk had ever attended; then again, this was probably the most 'behind-the-bar' meeting she'd ever been to, as well. Still, Piotr trusted him and said many good things about King, and she'd known the talking carpet long enough to trust his suggestions for business approaches. Anouk glanced down to her former income figures and Las Vegas licenses; even though she'd had to lay low, Ela said he could clear her name directly with Dietrich and she'd be safe. Apparently the Men in White had a hand with RIOTE, so by killing their operatives she was technically striking against the enemies of their country, which was a good thing. The explanation made her feel a bit weird, though, since she only set out for the sake of her family; saying it like that made it sound like she was doing it more for King and country like some weirdo vigilante. Right. Super Nu. Who knows eeeeeeeevil lurks in the hearts of men? Apparently the bartender.

"The deal is simple. The building is yours. The mortgage has been... taken care of. I simply require you to pay it off so I can break even on the funds, is all." Now THAT was good news. The building was in his name and already totally paid for and all he wanted was rent? That, she could manage. A landlord was the best scenario she'd come hoping for. When she'd come back to Creta and took over the tavern she'd grown up with, she'd merely paid rent and property tax to the elderly couple since the building had been paid for since the second ice age. Even though she'd had the advantage of transitioning and taking over the regular customers who knew that watering hole as their other home, she was confident she'd be able to pull in the same steady crowd. She had to. "The licenses for the building are all... legitimate. If Piotr gives me... contact details, I'll be... uh... more than able to forward the figures appropriate to you. As well as this, I can supply... drinks, da?"

Anouk nodded. "I'll be sure to give Piotre everything you'll need from me. I haven't got much left, but I can also give you a small deposit if you need." Much as she hated offering money when it hadn't been asked for, Anouk knew that money talked lots. A good reference would get you many places, but being willing to show you were ready to invest in the project yourself was also a good sign. There wasn't much left of her finances, though; over the months she'd bargained and spent quite a lot trying to buy, sell, and trade information to hunt down Takatori and his operatives. While she wasn't sure how much Cretan King could read, Anouk shuffled through the papers to pull up the copies of the licenses she'd had in her own name. The offer being presented by King was incredibly generous. He had the building she could remake as she needed, could supply licensing and some of the inventory. Part of Nu thought she was dreaming because this was a godsend.

His hand waved away the finance records Nu was glancing over again and preparing to offer him. He really must have had little to lose by renting out the property and investing as he was; most normal bankers and lenders would have been scrutinzing every number to see just what they were working with. Then again, this man didn't exactly scream "bean-counter." "As I said, all I ask is that I'm paid back appropriately, and I don't mind how long it takes. The building is yours. I'll send you all the documents in time... What you choose to do with it is entirely up to you." Lavender widened slightly, a faint sheen catching the light from the streetlamps. It was just the cold making her eyes mist up, that's all.

And then, that sound. That sound the poor mother had almost forgotten the sound of and marked it as some remnants of a distant dream. Her two babies were there with Piotr, the large Drachman tearing the hot dog into tiny bites for Kenta. They'd both grown over the months she was away from them, and had learned so much, but in all this Kitaro had become more shy and withdrawn and Kenta almost as quiet and usually clinging to Anouk's leg. But there, between bites of food and from the small distance, she'd heard what made her heart sing; her Kenta had let out a bright squeal as Piotr and Kitaro played. She hadn't really seen Kitaro open back up like he used to, but.... if Kenta could, maybe there was still hope for her eldest, even though of the two Kenta was more likely to forget what happened with time.

Slowly Anouk closed the little file with the records about The Green Dragon. Whatever this property was, she'd make it work and turn it into a new home for them. It wouldn't be the same as what they'd known; nothing ever could be. But with Takatori out of their lives forever, the eternal debt of their parents gone and Ela free from paying protection money, they were at least free to start their lives over with less fear, even though now many times more carefully than ever. "Had?" The bartender nodded softly, pulling a property profile out of the file, the black and white xeroxed photo of her home doing no justice to show how alive and warm the tavern had been.

"Had. A few months ago... we lost it to a fire. A gang of thugs burnt it down..." Deep, steadying breath. This was no place to cry, or the time, even though the pain rose up on its own and fought for release. Her hand idly brushed over the wedding band and the engagement ring she'd never taken off for a moment since Ryosuke passed. She knew better than to mention names and affiliations in a place like this, and she didn't mention that those thugs took what she'd loved most. She had the insurance papers and police reports to verify that she hadn't set the bar on fire herself, though, even if they were the short and stamped versions that the police gave you when they were in a hurry. "We moved to London to stay with family and try to start over."

"I'll be sure to give Piotre everything you'll need from me. I haven't got much left, but I can also give you a small deposit if you need." King shook his head vigorously, smiling brightly at her, taking another glance towards Piotr and the kids, before focusing his eyes on Anouk's pale lavender orbs and waving the sentence off with his hand.

"That will not be necessary." The smile faded back into his face a little bit, and regressed, as King explained. "I have faith in Piotr's judgement. Get back on your feet first before you consider payment. Think of it as a gesture of good will to begin our agreement," The smile was back as soon as it had fleetingly left, full-circle, a beaming, total grin. Sure, he did some bad things, sometimes, working for Vanity; he was a bodyguard, and he'd seen how Drachma worked beneath the snow-laden and patriotic exterior. It was little things like this that made it all bearable, all worth it. Making someone's day, even if it would benefit him less in the long run.

As soon as he inquired into the fate of her last business venture, King wished he hadn't. Anouk's expression and the happiness upon her face near-vanished as he felt a far more sombre wave wash over the conversation. Producing a simple black-and-white photograph of a homely-looking Cretan tavern, King nodded slowly, analysing the picture, and letting her explain. "Had. A few months ago... we lost it to a fire. A gang of thugs burnt it down..." He heard the breath; this was no lie. It was genuinely, absolutely a difficult topic for Anouk to talk about. In response, the homunculus nodded once more; slowly, with a strong measure of understanding in that simple, silent head-bob.

The nod was a simplistic gesture that, with just a touch of emotion, could mean a number of any things. With combinations of speed, strength, angle, direction... probably, over a thousand separate output scenarios on the other end, each one a manifestation of a feeling and mood entirely different from the next. It's why King preferred, a lot of the time, in situations he didn't know too well, simply to remain silent. Well, when he was sober, at least.

The conversation had taken a turn for the glum; that twinkling rain of vibrant white snowflakes had all-too-immediately turned to wave of wafting, bleak snow particulates upon the air that bore ominous precognition of moments to come. The scene now wasn't one of happiness; in an instant, it had become far more befitting a harrowing, ill-toned piano melody as a backdrop to it all. The sadness of Soviet Drachma had once more become paramount, and engulfed and overwhelmed the moment of happiness the pair had shared. The weight of the Automag pistol in King's inner jacket pocket became that much more evident in but a fleeting moment. "We moved to London to stay with family and try to start over."

King nodded another time, the conversation still sombre; although, it was climbing again. Damn, curiosity hadn't just killed the cat, but the mood, too. A brief comment on that sad state of affairs, and then they could attempt to ignore that uglier part of the conversation and move on without too much regret, sorrow, or pity hanging over them. "My condolences. It seems like it was a homely building; there is only so much a photograph and a conversation can tell you about a place, da?"

King put a gloved hand in front of his mouth to shield the city square from another one of his hacking coughs. The noises cracked the dull silence between the pair like a Kalashnikov rifle, all the while King's slender frame bobbing back and forth on the seat, ending all-too-soon with a sigh. After the bout passed by, his throat hoarse, the man raised back up and tilted his head from side to side, speaking in what was now a rather gravelly tone. "I am sorry. I have a cold in Moscow all year round," He sighed weakly, rubbing his brow with a leather-clad finger and looking back to her. "But... yes. It seems as if you have good plans for the building," King spoke once more, trying to prod her on into opening up on what exactly she wanted to do with his land. Even if it wasn't his business at all, he was still inquisitive by nature; and, hopefully, just maybe it'd raise the mood up a little further, back to an adequate conversational resting point.

The elated mirth in Anouk's lavender eyes had dimmed slightly with the somber dampness of grief. She'd killed so many to get to Takatori and then had denied herself a final revenge, instead taking the quieter choice her Ryosuke would have wanted. She didn't mention her beloved to this kind Drachman who was offering so much happiness to her for so little in return; it wasn't necessary to. Anouk had finally said goodbye to the man she never wanted to let go of, and talking about him so casually with strangers made her feel she might only sully the beauty of him that she treasured. She would start over for him, and for their sons. He would have wanted that. "My condolences. It seems like it was a homely building; there is only so much a photograph and a conversation can tell you about a place, da?" Anouk smiled softly, appreciating his words and so much right now.

"Thank you... Hopefully what I have in mind will go over well." Anouk shuffled the papers back together, closing the file slowly. Part of her mind was still stunned; she had forgotten what truly kind people were like and had spent so long traipsing and killing through the underworld that the sudden burst of altruism was like the first breath of spring that carried the scent of new flowers. It was both alien and refreshing, and was letting a feeling grow within her that she hadn't honestly felt for the longest time, especially as she glanced to her children: hope. She could have the building and he'd license it, send her the paperwork, and wait until she was getting things managed before he'd take rent from her. At this point even if he popped out and demanded a pound of her flesh every month to go with rent, it would still be a miraculous deal. Anouk looked back to King as he doubled over, coughing violently. That... didn't sound healthy. Nu wasn't a doctor by any means, but...

"I am sorry. I have a cold in Moscow all year round." The mother nodded, pulling the collar of her own coat up. It got cold in London, but mostly just that horrible wet cold that sticks with you; Vegas got cold at night and kinda cold during the winter, but hell if it snowed. But Drachma? Anouk was certain Moscow was gorgeous, and if she were staying in the city longer she might not mind taking the boys to show them historical things that were amazing and educational. But holy shit the cold of this place took first prize of anywhere Anouk had ever been. She was more amazed everyone didn't just live qith pneumonia, but then again, these were a pretty tough people; after so many centuries they were probably immune to everything but heat. "But... yes. It seems as if you have good plans for the building,"

Now, there were a few ways Nu knew how to deal with a hard cold. One was coltsfoot, horehound, mint and a shot of scotch brewed into tea and served hot. But it tasted like shit; you smelled mint and booze, which was nice, and only tasted freaking moss, no matter how much sugar you added. There was always cough syrup, but yuck. The best remedy that Nu knew of and gave to customers, was- "Sounds like you could do with a Hot Toddy." She smiled faintly, hoping things would translate right. If not she'd just tell him how to make it and maybe feel a little better physically. Anouk glanced down to the closed file on her lap, and then thought a moment. "Depending on how the layout works out, I have a few ideas already. Whole new menu to start with; this time I will make more Aerugese pub dishes along with my Cretan ones." A small, silent tribute to her husband that would make patrons happy and bring them through the door. "Something my sons will be proud of."

"Sounds like you could do with a Hot Toddy." King stared at Anouk, as perplexed as ever, scratching the back of his head in silence for a moment. A hot... what? Toddy? That wasn't food of any sort. Not that he knew of, anyway... he doubled back, taking another confused look at the hot dog stand... did she mean...?

"I... don't know what that is," King chuckled lightly with an awkward smile, and lowered his hand to scratch his neck. "I'd really just like a bottle of scotch and some of nanna's cannoli." A dry chuckle, and King finished the last of his beer, setting it down on the floor so he didn't reach for an empty bottle again in absent-mindedness. "I will survive," He concluded with an announcement. "I haven't found anything that'll kill me yet..."

Ever since that brawl in the alleyway, every little nick and cut King had had inflicted on him had healed over. Every shard of beer bottle glass lodged in his flesh had been rejected and regurgitated like an undercooked meal. Every broken rib or arm reforged itself in its entirety in a matter of moments, and King was up and ready to go. The pain had faded, too. Vanity had told him it was simply one of the upsides of being a homunculus; though King didn't want to test it any further. No matter how much being apparently invincible bolstered his confidence, the Cerisian-Gelemortian was still in no hurry to throw himself from a cliff.

"Depending on how the layout works out, I have a few ideas already. Whole new menu to start with; this time I will make more Aerugese pub dishes along with my Cretan ones." King smiled, looking over to Kitaro and Kenta as they and Piotr finished up the last of their hot dog. The homunculus closed his eyes and inclined his head with a sigh. Anouk seemed to at least have her head on straight; her readiness and business savvy only reassured King further that this was the right thing to do - though the warming of that usually-insatiable void in the pit of his stomach and the fuzziness in his gut wasn't any reason for him to stop, either.

"Da. And include some traditional home-cooked pasta e fagioli for your friend King, too, eh?" A chuckle and a wink, and the homunculus continued. "I'll be sure to include that on the paperwork."

Settling down quickly enough, King let Anouk continue. "Something my sons will be proud of." Nodding slowly, the man sighed, and let the mood settle as he took yet another look to Piotr, indistinctly booming with laughter around the children as they ate.

"I have faith that you will," King spoke simply, before sighing, and managing to pull himself up from that somehow apparently so comfortable fountain-edged bench with a yawn. "I think that concludes all of our business affairs. You and Piotr are more than welcome to... accompany me for a drink to sign things off, if you wish to," A their speech would be the forming of a contract, and the scotch he so desperately wanted the ink. "I haven't got much else to do today, but if you must be getting to places..."

Pasta e fagioli? Anouk thought about this for a moment. She knew what pasta was, sure; both her kids practically danced in it as babies. But Fagioli? Was he related to Pavarotti? If it made decent pub chow, no reason not to make it. She chuckled lightly; hopefully the boys hadn't become picky eaters in their time without her. "Sure. And swing by once we're open, I'll make you whatever you like if I know how to make it." Not like she wasn't used to running a kitchen to go with her bar, just this time she'd have to hire someone to help her eventually. But she would make it work. Anouk knew she wasn't the first single mother to run a business, and as much as had happened, she doubted Ela would let her fall too far behind, even though she'd try to lean on him as little as possible.

Ela. The new pub would be named after him, in a subtle way. If it hadn't been for him, Anouk knew she wouldn't have made it this far; she'd have just gone further down into the black, until either the police caught her, or she misstepped and one of Takatori's men would have finally overpowered her. Without her brother, Anouk was pretty positive she'd have never seen her sons again.Ela's blade flashed across Anouk's mind, glinting in the moon the way it had that night, and in that moment she knew what her future must be. The Green Dragon was gone like the ashes of roses, but from the steel of the sword that was Ela, Anouk would forge new roses. The Steel Rose would be for all of them to grow from.

Slowly King rose from the stone bench, beer now empty, and seemed rather pleased with the events of the night. "I think that concludes all of our business affairs. You and Piotr are more than welcome to... accompany me for a drink to sign things off, if you wish to." Anouk stook as well, not bothering to brush her duster off. She smiled warmly to King. A drink to agree to contracts and toast the new pub sounded good, and the boys probably wanted to get in from the cold. "I haven't got much else to do today, but if you must be getting to places..."

"We're staying with Piotr tonight to get the morning train, but I think a drink tonight sounds like a perefect way to wrap up the night." A toast to success, new income for them both, and most importantly, a new start.

"Sure. And swing by once we're open, I'll make you whatever you like if I know how to make it." King arched his eyebrow initially. Did she... did she not know how to make pasta e fagioli?! That was a travesty of all things culinary, to start. It was a basic Cerisian dish, you just take the pasta, boil it, and... ah, fuck it. It didn't matter.

"I'll make sure to," King nodded slowly. "That is, if they let a Drachman combatant like myself into the damn country in the first place..." He looked off into the sky, a distant, and almost glazed look sitting upon his emerald green orbs. He stood for a moment, almost vibrating with shivers thanks to the cold, just inhaling and exhaling, before, finally, Anouk's speaking brought him back to the world of the living.

"We're staying with Piotr tonight to get the morning train, but I think a drink tonight sounds like a perefect way to wrap up the night." Startled, King almost jumped as Anouk rather forcefully knocked him out of his train of distant thought. Just what was he thinking about? The future? His brother? Vanity? Or maybe a mixture of all three? King sighed, and dove into his pockets to draw a cigarette from a carefully-concealed pack, propping it atop his lips as Piotr and the children returned.

"That will kill you, some day, King," The man spoke in booming Drachman tones, before turning to smile to Anouk, ushering her freshly-fed children back towards their mother. King smirked, and retrieved his lighter, singing the edge of the cigarette and puffing out the first, initial, light cloud of smoke, a milky-white colour. He tucked away the lighter, and took another drag, as Piotr turned back and spoke to Anouk. "So, I'll bet my friend here invited you out for a drink, no!?" With those maniacal words, Piotr moved back into a deep, heavy laugh, soliciting a smile from the grey-haired homunculus as he puffed out another cloud of smoke once more, feeling the nicotine that he'd taken back glance the inside of his throat. "Off to the Horse, then," Piotr concluded in an instant. "The best bar in Moscow! WAHAHA!"

The others began to trudge off, boots crunching the frost in near-synchronicity as King stood back and smiled, looking up into the pale sunlight that lit a white-grey empty sky. He sighed, and let another cloud of smoke escape his mouth, Piotr up ahead, the other four having made significant ground already. "Are you coming, or not, King?!" The crazed shout came from upon the horizon, and once more, the pensive homunculus was brought back down to earth by his mortal companions.

"Of course! I wouldn't miss a chance to see you get drunk on a single shot of vodka again, would I, Piotr?" He followed it up with a chuckle, warm, and cold, to mirror his thoughts, and the climate hanging around him like a death omen. It was freezing, to say the least; King needed a little firewater in his belly. Stuffing his hands into the pocket of his coat, the homunculus sighed, and moved up towards the others, half-running as he did so, cigarette still sitting properly upon his lips.

"One day, Jack... one day, you can see Moscow too."