Red Rice With a Slice of Lime

[Mr. Lime]

A thoroughly disreputable Dunlin pulled up to Noshima and spat out a guy and a cartoonishly oversized piece of luggage. They then took up station nearby. Lime reviewed his checklist and walked to the bar. Yeah, that bar. The bar his contact asked him to visit. That bar.

It was a surprisingly subdued affair, representatives of the Sisterhood on their brief visits were quite solemn and not given to festive moods at this time; these were most likely in place to listen in on both Artifact smugglers and keep tabs on various HVTs. The slightly more boisterous Hogosha clustered around a table would have the server bring more drinks and continue their discussions. Even deep into their cups, these men stood on ceremony. A Rheinlander, almost as out of place as Lime himself, was sitting almost but not quite with the Hogosha. And then he actually walked in.

His first mistake was making eye contact with the Chrysanthemum nearest the door. His second was saying nothing and keeping his head down, he had an appointment to keep. It was too late, though, he had drawn unfriendly eyes from the local underground. The Detroit Garner he was currently checking with the bouncer, as well as his carry-on would be perfectly safe, he hoped. To his lack of surprise, one of the GC’s colleagues had gotten up ostensibly to collect a drink order. She would hear the almost-whispered “red rice, please. I’ve heard it to be excellent.” The sight of the woman relaxing after hearing whatever the gaijin said defused tension nobody in the room would admit to there being. To the Chrysanthemum, he must have been just another gaijin Order agent likely discussing the alien situation. No party was really willing to molest the man, everyone in the room knew of a colleague disappearing mysteriously, with energy signatures consistent with alien weaponry-scathed hull plating turning up some time later. The Chrysanthemum returned to her booth with the three other women Lime couldn’t for the life of him tell apart, the Hogosha must have concluded whatever he said not to be their problem and went back to whatever they were discussing, and the bartender waved him to a more private room almost but not quite subtly. The serving of dyed white rice with a drink of plum wine seemed sacrilegious somehow, but Lime wasn’t saying anything. To his lack of surprise, his luggage had also been rolled in.

Now all that was left to do was wait.