****Five years ago*****
Two men.
Their posture was stiff, serious, and fundamentally intimidating.
Their shoulders were so broad, so massive, they looked almost inhuman as if they had been carved directly out of the stone pages of a Greek mythology textbook. They stood like unresponsive mannequins in front of a beautiful minka that glowed with the amber warmth of golden torches.
Through the translucent walls, the silhouettes of delicate, moving shadows swayed gracefully in a rhythm so attractive it felt hypnotic from the outside.
The biting cold wind, a violent cocktail of snow and fog, sucked at the air like a vacuum. It brushed past in aggressive gusts, causing the empty lavender lanterns hanging precariously from the eaves to sway.
The encrypted metal planks chimed together, ancient Japanese characters reading [Grab your liquor and a lucky dumpling today].....echoing out into the frozen quiet of the night like a restriction warning.
The sight was freezingly beautiful. It was simple, warm, and welcoming, yet it radiated an exquisite high taste, a palpable old-money eloquence.
"Just from the outside, you could see the faint shadows that never stopped swaying like ghosts.... So aesthetically pleasing, as my Fed would always describe it.... the sight could easily pass for that."Mr Storm nodded stiffly, the thought blooming in his mind with reluctant admiration.
He struggled, fighting his way toward the minka, battling the wind that slapped his hair into his eyes and the thick pile of snow that threatened to swallow his progress.
"Eiiiishh," he let out a frustrated grunt. The wind attacked his long coat with a predatory aggression, and ice freckles somehow found their way deep into the lining of his fur boots.
"Freeze to death before you get a favor I understand now," he complained. His eyes darted around as he made headway.
He wanted to. He wished he could take a picture to show his son when he got back, but he knew his fingers would likely be snapped the moment he even thought of reaching for his phone.
These two guys standing here with stone-cold, unbothered faces...they must really mean business under those shades, and I don't want to find out how much, Storm thought as he approached.
His eyes scanned the environment one last time, drifting back to the faint, blurred image of his parked car before landing back on the hut and the men guarding it.
Storm was scanning the area, but not out of a sense of danger, what kind of danger was worse than the desperate move he was about to make? He was just trying to convince himself he was in the right place and not trapped in some horror movie episode.
Because who in their right mind stands so unbothered outside, in this temperature, without a coat? Storm couldn't help but look at them with a mix of pity and concern, needs they clearly didn't possess.
He had a coat on, but at this point, even two wouldn't have been enough to stop the uncontrollable trembling of his body or the self-annoying, unstoppable clatter of his teeth that began the moment he parted his lips.
Storm studied the men suspiciously while rubbing his palms together. Neither of them had said a word to him.
Did this man not tell his boys that he would be having guests? The cold was becoming unbearable; he surely wasn't going to survive much longer out here. He tried to utter some words, but since he was too old and a bit too skinny to handle this level of exposure, the sounds came out garbled, as if he were holding a mouthful of water.
"He's waiting for you inside," one of the men said condescendingly.
Finally. Storm didn't hesitate. Even though his face twitched with a flicker of frustration, suspecting these men had intentionally left him to marinate in the cold as a form of petty punishment, he kept his mouth shut.
He wanted to confront them, but what if they revoked his access? He wasn't going to ruin everything he had been planning for months. The speech, the plea, the future, it all depended on this.
"...My ass," he murmured through clacking teeth as he hunched past the guards, who exchanged a brief, sharp gaze and a flickering smile behind his back.
The shōji slid open with a soft, rhythmic "Grrrrk!!" As Storm stepped inside, he was immediately enveloped by a wave of warmth and a hushed, sacred quiet that stood in total contrast to the chaotic howling outside.
"Holy Mother Mary!" Storm exhaled, bewildered by the world he had just stepped into.
It wasn't just the well-detailed decor or the untouchable luxury threaded with a fragrance meant only for the exclusive "flirty rich" to perceive.
That wasn't the true jaw-dropper of the night. What took his breath so long to release was the sight that befell his eyes.
It made him feel as if he had stepped onto sacred ground, as if he were suddenly unworthy of the very air he was breathing.
They looked like servants, but the word "servant" felt like an insult. They looked like flawless demigods. Each woman strutted softly with an assigned purpose, moving as if they were floating through the air.
Some carried golden trays with a delicate precision unlike anything Storm had ever seen. In as much as he would love to take a picture, this time it wasn't for his son; the view here made him swallow hard, his throat tight with a different kind of tension.
Their mode of dressing was limited: either a silk-draped, transparent robe or stark unapologetic nakedness. Those seemed to be the only options on the dress code board.
One would literally mistake this place for a brothel, Storm thought, blinking rapidly to clear his vision.
He added a new mental note to his agenda: he was going to make sure he persuaded this man to teach him how to make this kind of money, so he could live exactly how he pleased.
Another detail he couldn't help but notice was the tattoos....intricate, beautiful designs layered uniquely on the skin of every lady in the room.
"The rumours are true—Salazar surely has an eye for good things. And whatever he is doing that gives him the audacity for this kind of taste, I want that too," he whispered to himself, still standing paralysed by the entrance.
To be continued...