The usually packed dining hall is nearly devoid of life, all patrons having been hastily ushered out, all other reservations for the night cancelled. Itās a scene which has become common among the highest class of restaurants in the city since the rise of the Kingpin. A man who accepts no less than the very best, Wilson Fisk made a habit of enjoying his dinners at only the most respectable eateries New York had to offer.
Ā Ā Ā Tonight, however, marked a change in his usual routine. A man who usually ate alone instead requested that a table on the balcony be prepared for two. Feeling no obligation to explain himself, the staff nervously huddled in the kitchen gossiping to themselves about which actress or model he could have possibly set his sights on.
Ā Ā Ā Fiskās own thoughts were on his guest as he smoked a cigar and lightly tapped his fingers against the table, idly wondering how the night would go. He had little expectation that things would go well, with Fiskās foremost question being of how the assassin would arrive: through the elevator, or more creativeĀ means?
( @bullseyc )
