09-03-2013, 07:13 PM
Igor's looked as Igor's had always looked since the day his great grandfather had opened the doors. The crumbling red paint on the outside had always been crumbling, it was just much more so now. The beat up old door that squeaked when you walked in. Vlad never bothered to oil it. It was an easy fix, but it was part of the way it had always been. The red neon sign outside blinked Igor's was always on, no matter the time of day.
If you had never been to Igor's before and expected the inside to be the same as the outside you would be highly mistaken. The inside was luxurious. The walls were painted in faux marble. The chair rails and molding were all specially carved pieces of dark wood that looked like mahogany but were much cheaper. All the woodwork from floor to ceiling was polished nightly.
The floors were white tiles that were bleached nightly. The ceiling glittered with fake crystal chandeliers. Everything about the place was fake, but the no one seemed to care, it was in the Red Light district after all.
In the background Russian classical music played from the Might Handful. They were not Vlad's favorite, but it kept with the mood. If you wanted authentic Russian Cuisine this is where you came. Igor's probably could have moved uptown, and you could pay a high dollar for what they served, but here in the Red Light District, you could go unnoticed for many a thing. And Vlad liked it that way, as had his father and his father before him since the opening of Igor's.
Vlad hardly paid any attention to the front of the business. The restaurant pretty much ran itself. The day manager, Ivanna Pavelova scheduled everything and insured that the books were correct. Vlad should really think about paying her more, but that was something to think on later, today he had other things to deal with.
The office in which his father had died had become his. Vlad still remembered that day clearly in his mind. He tried to focus on the events that had happened but he couldn't place it.
Vlad was kicked back in the leather office chair with his feet kicked up on the desk in front of him. He was waiting for the boy to come in, he was late. Vlad flicked pulled the unlit cigar to his lips and lit the end with a mere thought. It was only seconds to the onlooker, but it was a long drawn out process for him. He had to grasp the power and call upon the elements and weave the fire onto his cigar. It had taken years to just learn that. But now it was natural - as easy as a piece of cake as they say.
The knock came and Vlad called out. "Voydite!" As his father before him, if you wanted to work here you had to speak Russian.
If you had never been to Igor's before and expected the inside to be the same as the outside you would be highly mistaken. The inside was luxurious. The walls were painted in faux marble. The chair rails and molding were all specially carved pieces of dark wood that looked like mahogany but were much cheaper. All the woodwork from floor to ceiling was polished nightly.
The floors were white tiles that were bleached nightly. The ceiling glittered with fake crystal chandeliers. Everything about the place was fake, but the no one seemed to care, it was in the Red Light district after all.
In the background Russian classical music played from the Might Handful. They were not Vlad's favorite, but it kept with the mood. If you wanted authentic Russian Cuisine this is where you came. Igor's probably could have moved uptown, and you could pay a high dollar for what they served, but here in the Red Light District, you could go unnoticed for many a thing. And Vlad liked it that way, as had his father and his father before him since the opening of Igor's.
Vlad hardly paid any attention to the front of the business. The restaurant pretty much ran itself. The day manager, Ivanna Pavelova scheduled everything and insured that the books were correct. Vlad should really think about paying her more, but that was something to think on later, today he had other things to deal with.
The office in which his father had died had become his. Vlad still remembered that day clearly in his mind. He tried to focus on the events that had happened but he couldn't place it.
Vlad was kicked back in the leather office chair with his feet kicked up on the desk in front of him. He was waiting for the boy to come in, he was late. Vlad flicked pulled the unlit cigar to his lips and lit the end with a mere thought. It was only seconds to the onlooker, but it was a long drawn out process for him. He had to grasp the power and call upon the elements and weave the fire onto his cigar. It had taken years to just learn that. But now it was natural - as easy as a piece of cake as they say.
The knock came and Vlad called out. "Voydite!" As his father before him, if you wanted to work here you had to speak Russian.