There are no video games on this comm device. It doesn't have a GPU, as it were.

Not even Zork? He did feel likely to be eaten by a grue.

Curses. All there is to do then is watch the clock. He briefly considers the more chaotic option—fake intercom announcements—but those are funnier when there isn’t a confluence with actual serious announcements. Plus, does a place with commscreens even have an intercom?

Tik. Tik. Tik.

Tok. Tok. Tok.

Maybe he should've been more punctual...

Backlashes really take the fun out of being an esper. He could do so many good joke announcements. Or plays. Or he could whisper things to people from behind them and make their friends think that they’re losing it. Instead he sat here looking vaguely special but being boring and useless.

Not that this stopped the occasional wandering eye. He is doing his best to look nonchalant—and honestly he didn’t think his eye color was all that noticeable! His hair is pretty ordinary, too. Maybe it’s just not that common to loiter in the lobby. 

At length, it occurs to him that he could just ride the elevator up and down a bunch, checking periodically whether his dining companion had arrived. But maybe they would notice that, too.

Instead he decides look for translations of Chekhov’s The Boor into Korean using his commscreen. It’s a good play for soliloquies, which were obviously the easiest for his power to do well. 

And at 8PM sharp, he appears in the lobby in a flash of light. He's in a button-up shirt that's unbuttoned almost halfway down his torso with sleeves rolled up to his forearms, a golden choker and numerous rings, and extremely tight pants that accentuate his assets. He spots Dasol and confidently strides towards him, letting out a low whistle. "Well, Kim Dasol, you're looking good."

Kim Dasol is so startled as to be totally airborne for a few seconds. He turns around after landing, and fusses with the hem of his sport coat. "Thank you, it was difficult to find something appropriate on short notice, but I couldn't let you go out on the town with anything but the finest."

"You couldn't, hmm? Well, I appreciate it."

”Least I could do,” in the sense that Minseo did it all, anyway. “It only occurred to me just now that we could xave teleported to our destination directly. I suppose that I assumed those were work-only.” Or does this still count as business?

"Not work only, but expensive as hell. Besides, what better time than an October evening walk to prove that—hmmm, nope, that would probably be way too crass, we met today."

“Xaxa! Try me. It’s not so formal in r—the north where I’m from. I worked with Malinin Misha-shi, after all.” Not being from Russia anymore is really making the whole bit of not being much like a Korean quite a bit harder to gesture toward. Spycraft sucks!

"I was going to say 'what better time than an October evening walk to prove that hoes don't feel cold'." Speaking of October evening walks, he's going to lead the way.

Dasol does not know the significance of gardening tools seeming cool to the touch, but on the positive side this makes it very easy not to take offense at the crassness. He laughs along and follows Si-yeon out into the street, where the weather is overwhelmingly pleasant to his unbacklashed skin. “I like this weather!” he asserts. “It is great for a walk.”

"Hoes and people from the north don't feel cold," he amends, cheerfully.

“Common misconception! That’s actually just all the vodka.” He squints as a gust of wind whips around a corner and assails them. “Oh! I hope we can get some soju. There was only ever the one kind in my village and it was awful. I want to try the good stuff.”

"We can get you good stuff, for sure.

"So, how'd your afternoon with Minseo go?"

How—wait, who are we kidding? Of course he knows. Dasol slowly releases the bowstring-tension in each of his neck muscles one by one. “I can’t speak for xer, of course. I xope that it went well. We cave sufficient compatibility for productive guiding, and she seemed unconcerned by my limitations.”

"I know how it went for her. I'm asking you, not her."

“Oh.”

“Uh… how did it go for her?”

"Hey now, I'm not a go-between, here. I'm asking how your day went as a friend, if you don't wanna talk about it that's fine but your professional relationship with her is your own."

So it didn’t go as well as he thought. “Ah. Well, I had thought it went pretty well, personally. She didn’t have any difficult demands, other than seeming bored out of her wits. Simple enough to help with, I think.”

"You're reading into what I'm saying," he observes. "You're going to get a lot of anxiety if you make that a habit, I'm a gremlin.

"How was the morkovcha?"

No he won't! He already has so much that no more will fit!

"I knew that was you! I left it out of the contract, and somehow it showed up anyway. It was really good. Thank you."

"You're welcome. I'll send you the contact of the people I got it from later so you can have it whenever you want."

Dasol sticks his hands in his pockets and looks down at his shoes. They were the only part of the ensemble that wasn't new, not that you could tell. They were buffed with military precision, shiny and black. Around him, Seoul is bustling despite the dark, and it's rather overwhelming. Even Vladivostok didn't have anywhere near this many people, certainly not all crammed together across a few city blocks. He looks up and has to search a bit to find Ha Si-yeon's tiny frame weaving through the crowd. He quick-steps three or so paces to catch up to him before he loses him in the colored haze of neon signs and streetlights.