WORD COUNT: 0.6k // SUMMARY: In which a girl with a purse full of sand enters a café.
The bell by the door rang, and Konoe looked up.
He was sitting in a small, out-of-the-way café, nestled amidst a tangle of public housing projects. The coffee was decent, but Konoe was not a connoisseur of such things, and it was merely something to sip from as he leafed through the newspapers which he had brought with him on this little excursion. The couple who had just entered seemed relatively average, just a pair of lovebirds out on the weekend, and Konoe watched as they made their way to an alcove in the corner before returning his gaze to the door.
Recrossing his legs, he turned a page and studied the article before him. One of the dolls on the entertainment circuit had gotten into trouble again, it seemed. Pity, Konoe thought, adjusting his collar. She could have come to us. We would have taken care of it for her.
Then again, the organization to which Konoe belonged was not yet strong enough to have its dictates be unquestioningly accepted by the city of Seoul, let alone the entire country. No, that would take time.
The bell by the door rang again, and Konoe looked up to see a girl enter the café.
She was tall and pretty, and Konoe raised an eyebrow as she waded through the crowd to his table. The barista snuck a glance at her as she passed him, and the harried-looking student who was tapping away at his Macbook Air a few tables away tilted his head upwards and away, furtively.
"Silica." Konoe cleared his throat and kept his newspapers, glancing down for a beat. It had never sat well with him, this tendency to adopt codenames and cyphers. "Is this the face that you have decided to go with?"
“Very well.“ Konoe reached into his briefcase, withdrew a manila folder, and pulled out a small stack of papers. “Here’s the contract.” When the girl reached for it, he pulled the papers back. “No, not yet. We’re going to need some documentation.“
The girl sighed. “Fine.” She had a small, off-white purse with her, and Konoe watched as she emptied it out onto her half of the table. A few passport-sized photographs fell out, accompanied by a small cloud of sand. “I’ve got a name and a birthday, too.“
“I’ll need that in writing.“
Wordlessly, Konoe removed a pen from his breast pocket and handed it over. The girl took it, scribbled on the back of one of her photographs, and pushed the lot over the table at him. Then, she waved her hand over the small patch of sand that had collected on her side of the table; as it passed over the glass, Konoe could clearly see the individual grains flicking back into her palm, so quick that his eyes could barely follow the movement. It was enough to make him flinch: fortunately, he didn’t.
“There we go,“ he said, instead, conversationally, and handed the girl her contract. “Sign on every page, and I’ll have my men bring you to your new accommodations.“
The girl stared at the contract for a while, expression unreadable. Konoe busied himself with stowing her photographs into a small envelope, and it was only when she made a small noise that he looked up. “It’s done.“
