Dmitri chooses a seat toward the back of the room. He has a clear view of the entrance from here, and the windows (already small) are likewise visible without offering a line of sight to anyone outside. He's barely twenty years old and this is his first trip to Madripoor. Seonsang-nim might have chosen the location because it offered privacy without surprises, or she might have chosen it because "even you have to admit buildings shaped like snails are exciting."
It is, he supposes, but he isn't sure exactly what to do now. Three hours to explore the city, no assignments and no supervision. His teacher only told him to try and have a good time before they met up again. After all, time off was a rare luxury in a schedule packed with language studies, acting, self-defense, stealth, and other lessons.
Oh, and she'd also said "You'd better not have that lost five year old look on your face when I get there."
Dmitri studies the table. It seems expensive, a spiral etched into pale wood with mother of pearl inlay. He keeps his hands in his lap to hide the exposure of his arms. He'd been planning to wear his own… no, one of the sweatshirts he'd grown up with. Seonsang-nim wouldn't have it. Not only was it conspicuous, she'd argued, he would undoubtedly drop dead of heat exposure in twenty minutes. She'd be the laughingstock of the spy community. It was not an option.
He didn't want to wear makeup, and he didn't want people looking at his skin. Makeup was for taking the role of a woman. Not Dmitri. This earned him a scoff and an expectant look. He waited. So did she. Eventually, slowly, he took his hoodie off.
The concealer is sticky in the humidity. His pores feel clogged. But there aren't any visible scars.
Still. Even with the light, wide-collared tee, the pants that stop short of his ankles, he knows he stands out as foreign. Blond hair, brown eyes, every inch of him Russian heritage. People notice his teacher isn't native either, but she at least knows how to blend in. Dmitri does not belong here. He has no purpose.
He'd managed to explore Hightown at least, peering uncertainly between the buildings. Madripoor's wealth allowed it the luxury of indulging in more fantastic architectural trends. Ships burst from rooftops, towers displayed a thousand clocks lining their walls, structures were held together in the embrace of metal octopi.
The sun here is high, the air heavy and saturated. At some point crowds bled into new neighborhoods, shops packed tight with clotheslines strung between windows to display their wares. The streets filled with dust and clutter, and Dmitri realized at once he was edging into Lowtown. The city's crooked underside, where you could still see how it earned its reputation as pirate capital of the world.
That was when, with a full hour to spare, he decided enough was enough. He would wait inside until seongsang-nim arrived.
You'd better not have that lost five year old look on your face when I get there.
Other lunch patrons ignore him for the most part, involved in their own business. Most of them speak English, although he picks up scattered Malay and Cantonese too. Nothing noteworthy, nothing to cause alarm. Dmitri sighs.
When he rises, his exchange with the waitress is very brief. She directs him to the restroom (a single stall, thank god) and agrees to direct his friend to her seat should she arrive early.
Once he's out of view, Dmitri examines his reflection in the mirror. His eyes are still too wide, his jaw too fragile, his features soft. The haircut might have helped get rid of some of that "sad urchin" quality seongsang-nim likes to tease him about, but he hasn't mastered control over his expressions yet. It's obvious.
So he spends the rest of his time practicing.
Ma Chaeran is waiting when he comes back. Sunglasses perch on her forehead–the layered blue jersey of her dress doesn't have a place to tuck them effectively. Her sandals are new, and he knows while she wears them they are almost (but not quite) equal height. Her hair is arranged to hold two loops at the back–once, drunk with a girl from Hong Kong, she'd apparently managed six. He hadn't been able to hold back a grin as she groaned, calling herself a travesty. Of course her tech concealed even the flush of alcohol from view.
She flashes her teeth, and as always his teacher's smile is unnaturally white. Dmitri doesn't miss a beat in advancing toward her.
"Sorry to keep you waiting," he says, "I only arrived a few minutes ago myself. Have you–"
"Oh, don't try that with me," she answers. Her eyes only crease slightly around dark blue irises. "You've been here at least fifty minutes. Could you seriously find nothing else to do?"
He falters, hesitates in pulling out his chair. "I…"
"What's wrong with you Dmitri," she continues, "you can't even get yourself in trouble walking through the slums? There are men out there who'd love the chance to steal kidneys from foreigners and you just sit here. Staring into space."
"How do you know I didn't fight anyone off?" he asks, trying to keep any hint of petulance out of his voice. He takes his place across from her.
"You're not sweaty," she says, waving a hand dismissively. "This country cooks people alive–as soon as you step outside you're soaked. You've been in air conditioned spaces for a while now." Then, after a pause, "You always look so confused. If I was a petty criminal I'd push you down and steal your shoes."
"Sorry seonsang-nim."
"You could have had a boat ride, Dmitri," she continues, "You could have gotten onto a boat with tourists. Why do you not do things?"
He looks down at his hands. "I wasn't sure where it was. I didn't want to be late. I don't know."
His teacher lets out a soft pfffft. "You could have had a mafia pirate adventure, you do realize?"
"I don't like the sound of that," he replies. "Besides, they'd probably steal my shoes. There's too much broken glass on the ground in Lowtown. It wouldn't work."
She leans back, rests her right arm on the table. Meets his eyes. "I've trained you well," she declares. "You can be the thing that people avoid in dark alleys, Dmitri. Anything you want, you can do. The world is yours."
Despite himself, he begins to smile. This earns him a smirk in return. "But only if you fix that face first."
AN: If there are any errors with the Korean (words or names) please do feel free to let me know! My collaborator is Korean-American but neither of us is 100% sure if it reads smoothly.