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The first sign of the cultural influence of the area is a change in architecture; many roofs and storefronts take on a distinctly East-Asian feel. The festive vermillion hue is stained upon maple storefront pillars and the overhangs have a matching red clay tiling that shows vividly through, despite the grime and wear of urban life. Likewise signs and waving banners in the area do not favor English, there are as many in the shared Kanji/Hansa alphabet of Japan and China as any with romanji characters. Other alphabets vary through the signage just as prominently, they are simply in a smaller minority. The squat two story building of the Apothecary is representative of the non-uniformity of the buildings that crowd the 'Chinatown' streets.
Restaurants in the area offer everything from Sushi to 'Japanese' Hibachi style steak houses, but there are other East Asian cuisine represented as well, such as Pho stands on wheels and Korean barbecue stalls. The scents of food are absolutely everywhere, as are lines of laundry hanging like colorful banners between apartments above. The cultural center acts as a pulse for the community, and its pell-mell of architecture speaks to the identity of said community in a mixture of East versus West that blends like scarlet clouds against a brilliant sunrise.
<<Places active at this location>>
Venue: Mr. Kim’s Noodle Cart
Mr. Kim's cart is a classic Chinatown staple, painted in faded red and gold, with handwritten signs displaying the menu in both English, Mandarine and Korean. The cart's surface is covered in worn, laminated photos of his best dishes and a few personal snapshots tucked in - pictures of his family, a cat lounging in a sunbeam, and an old, wrinkled photo of his hometown.
Steam billows from a large pot of broth as Mr. Kim ladles out noodles with practiced ease, humming softly as he works. He's an older gentleman, friendly but reserved, wearing a well-worn apron and a simple cap to keep his hair back. A couple of lucky charms dangle from the cart's edge, adding a bit of local color, but there's nothing overtly magical here - just the comforting aroma of soy sauce, garlic, and a hint of ginger.
Locals know Mr. Kim for his generosity and his noodle bowls that hit the spot on chilly nights. He's the kind of vendor who knows your order by heart if you're a regular, and his quiet smile hints at a life full of stories he might just share over a bowl of noodles, if you're lucky enough.
In the early evening glow, Tyler stands at Mr. Kim's noodle cart, a familiar fixture nestled along a narrow, bustling street in Chinatown. Strings of red lanterns sway above, casting warm, golden hues onto the cobblestones. Tyler balances a small cup of steaming tea in his hand, inhaling its faint jasmine scent as he speaks to Mr. Kim in respectful, practiced Korean. The two exchange easy pleasantries and updates-Mr. Kim nodding as he expertly stirs noodles in his seasoned wok, metal clanging softly against metal.
Beside Tyler, another man leans on the cart’s counter, conversing with him in Mandarin. Tyler, shifting seamlessly between the two languages, nods and laughs lightly at the man’s comments on the weather and the bustle of the street tonight. Mr. Kim chuckles as he overhears, switching to Mandarin himself to join in. Tyler takes another sip of tea, savoring its warmth, while he waits for his bowl of noodles to finish, surrounded by the comforting hum of language and the smoky, savory scents wafting from the cart. Though the academic lad is able to speak both languages, his accent is a little off on some words revealing that he's not a true native speaker but one who's just been practicing - possibly by visiting Mr. Kim's cart on more than one occasion.
And rrrrrright behind them, a street rat shuffles along. Faded, baggy dark hoodie. Green cargopants with the same non-pristine color intensity. Sneakers. The hood drawn up over the head. And a mass of possitively excessively long braids spilling forth from the hood, hanging down the girl's front. Almost, but not quite, to the sidewalk.
As she shuffles along, her hands are stuffed into the pouch of her hoodie, and it *might* look like she is just about to pass them all by...
..when she stops. Then lets out a soft grunt. And then it begins. Motions in that hoodie pouch. Fingers searching and plucking - and the young chinese girl's lips lightly move as she...counts!
Finally her expression turns into a light grint as she pulls out a handful of coins with one hand, eyeing them before she just slips next to the men against the cart. Korean? Nah, she can't do that. She can talk a mean english, though. "'ey! Can I get some o' that spicy beef?" she wonders, slanted eyes peering up at the menu for a moment, and then Mister Kim as she holds out the coints. "'bit of sesame as well, if you have it, please."
Mr. Kim, a short, comfortably stocky man with a quick, perceptive gaze, looks down at Xiu's handful of coins, a knowing smile softening his usual stoic expression. He switches easily to English, his voice carrying a warm rasp. "Spicy beef, coming right up," he says, scooping fresh noodles into a bowl with practiced ease. "Extra sesame for a lucky guest," he adds, winking.
Tyler pauses mid-sentence, turning to the girl who slipped in beside him with an amused, almost curious look in his eyes. Taking in the mismatched hoodie, the unruly spill of braids, and the earnest handful of coins, he shifts slightly to give her room, holding his cup of tea with a thoughtful smile.
Tyler glances over at Xiu, brow raised with a hint of humor. "Spicy beef, huh? You know Mr. Kim makes it as spicy as it comes." His tone is gentle but warm, as if they were in on the same little joke. "Best noodles in the city," he jokes and the other man starts to quibble with him over exactly /where/ one can find the 'best' noodles.
There is the metal-on-wood rhythm of coin landing on the counter, before Xiu reaches up and pulls the hoodie hood back. If anything, to eat more casually, and to keep more of her vision on the sides now. She uses the same chance to move those hands through the braids a couple times, pulling them back, freeing up her front for the most part as she lets them hang down her back - while she grins at Mr. Kim. "Thank you!" the street rat chirps out, before she turns a bit, glaning at Tyler there next to her. "Hah, good! Love 'em spicy. If you never tried the authentic vietnamese stuff, you don't know spicy." Oh hey, a compliment to the vietnamese! This chinese gal is multicultural indeed.
She falls silent and smirks as Tyler and the other guy get into the pre-destined quibble of where to get the best noodles.
The girl probably has her own opinion. And Mr. Kims noodles shall be judged without mercy.
Tyler watches Xiu with a flicker of amusement, his eyes tracing her movements as she pulls back her hood and wrangles her mass of braids. He raises his tea in a small toast to her spirited endorsement of Vietnamese spice, a faint smile playing on his lips. "It takes someone tough to handle that level of heat," he remarks, his tone warm but subtle, as if intrigued by the unexpectedly well-traveled street kid who seems to have more experience with flavors than he'd have guessed at first glance. "I'm not that brave," he adds with a chuckle.
As Xiu falls into a comfortable silence with her spicey beef noodles, Tyler picks up the previous thread of conversation with the other man in Mandarin, a quick debate bubbling up over the ideal balance of chili oil and broth thickness for "true" noodles. Yet, he's aware of Xiu's presence, watching as she sizes up Mr. Kim's noodles with what he suspects is a serious, discerning eye. He leans in slightly, nodding toward her bowl, and asks with an air of curiosity, <<So? What do you think?>>, Tyler asks in book-perfect Mandarin.
Mitchel stifles a yawn as he walks down the roads of chinatown, eyes darting from side to side before steering to the noodle cart. "Can you make me some Chop Suey?" he asks to Mr Kim, searching a few bills from a money clip he pulls from the pocket, the shirt slipping up a little to expose just a little more of that pistol-bomb-eagle-and-trident on the shoulder as he drops the bill on the platter, the price read from the sign before he could be told about it. "Keep the change."
"Hah, you ever man up, 's a good vietnamese li'l food spot further up this roat and to the left. Warnin' you tho', it'll burn thrise." the girl freely quips, and grins wide at the guy.
And there are the noodles! The chopsticks are between the girl's hands in a fraction of a second, and she begins to eagerly feast. Carefully enough not to spill or splatter anything, but with definite gusto there, and not hiding the fact.
And Mr. Kim gets an appreciative *nod* and a wide smile around dangling noodles, before she continues. Judged! Positively so.
As 'chop suey' gets mentioned to her right, her slanted eyes flick their gaze over and her slurping stops for just a moment...before it begins once more!
Mr. Kim's usual warm smile fades, replaced by a slight wrinkle of confusion, as he shifts his weight and regards Mitchel with a patient but dubious look. "Ah, Chop Suey? We don't serve that here. It's more American than Chinese." Mr. Kim's eyes linger a moment on the tattoo peeking out, a subtle flicker of recognition crossing his face, before he nods respectfully. "But, you want real flavor? Try our beef noodles or dumplings. You won't be disappointed." He nudges a menu board forward, tapping the options with a wink, clearly eager to win over this unexpected customer.
Tyler raises an eyebrow, watching Mitchel with a mild curiosity that borders on surprise. "Not quite a 'Chop Suey' spot," he comments, half to himself, half to Mitchel. He takes a careful sip of his tea, nodding to the menu Mr. Kim suggested, "but the spicy beef is worth it, if you're looking for something authentic." There's a reserved but polite interest as he studies Mitchel-tattoos and all-as if trying to piece together what brought him to Mr. Kim's stand in the first place.
"The Beef Jerky then. As long as you don't have Bushmeat in it like a Somali backyard alley market, I eat anything" There's a short, stifled grin on the ex soldier's face, shoulders shrugging some. "And beating mess hall chow I bet it does any day."
The chinese girl just grins at Mr. Kim's comment, without directly looking at either man. But, finally, she takes a break from noodle slurping - and takes a sip right from the large bowls, before she happily exhales - and peers sideways at Mitchel. "..'s a bushmeat?" she wonders. Okay, maybe she is not *that* culturally traveled there. "Some kinda meat found *in* an alley or somethin'?"
Mr. Kim raises an amused eyebrow at the banter. "Bushmeat? No, no," he chuckles, shaking his head, "here, the meat is fresh, not from alleys or... other countries." He offers Mitchel a polite but pointed smile, deftly ladling fresh broth into a bowl and adding the beef jerky with a flick of his wrist. "It's a simple dish, but better than mess hall chow-no mystery meat here."
Tyler, hiding a grin, glances at Xiu, who's sipping noodles like it's the elixir of life, and turns to Mitchel. "You're in safe hands. Mr. Kim's 'bushmeat' policy is pretty firm." He raises his own tea cup in a mock toast, "Welcome to Chinatown. And, ah, 'bushmeat'," he adds, glancing over, "just means wild meat, usually animals caught out in nature."
Glancing down at the man's tattoo, the neck-tied academic finally comments, "Bet you've seen your share of sketchy places though."
There's a stifled laugh from the question what Bushmeat is from Mitchel. "Lemme describe it another way... Bushmeat could be anything, and it's worse than mystery meat, because it ain't even cattle, game or pets that end on the block but anything that ends in front of the hunter. Heard it can even be longpork. A staple of the Kongo and Somalia and other places where questionable meat sources flourish." he explains to the youngster, making a little finger gesture to Mr. Kim that he approves of his answer. "I'd eat cat over bushmeat if you just tell me what it is."
"Yeeea, Sketchy places is where stuff needs to get done and they need a few SO to deal with it. Though I must say, the pirate squashing was fun for a little while."
"....sounds like best meat to me." Xiu remarks to Tyler after a blink. "Better 'n' some hormone-fed meds-pumped beef they sell in America in some places." She lets out a soft grunt, before she takes another sip of the bowl, before the chopsticks get to work again, lifting a bunch of noodles out of the dish.
The mentioning of 'sketch places' has her glance sideways at Mitchel - and more particularly those tattoos and his overall looks. The chopsticks continue to hover as she slooowly cants her head just a bit, while Mitchel describes the actual horrors of 'bushmeat' to the girl. "aaah. Goootcha..." she slowly says, nodding. "The 'bad' kinda mystery meat then." Another pause follows. "You been some marine merc or somethin'?"
Tyler chuckles at the back-and-forth, particularly at Xiu's take on "the best meat." Leaning back against the cart's counter, he gives her a thoughtful nod. "I suppose there's a point there-depends on where you draw the line with 'sketchy.' But yeah, something like bushmeat isn't exactly an adventurous delicacy most people go hunting for."
He pauses, intrigued by her question to Mitchel, glancing between the two. "I wouldn't mind hearing about that, either. Pirate squashing and all sounds like it makes for a good story." Tyler watches Xiu, surprised she doesn't seem phased by the gritty details, then gives her a slight, curious smile before returning his attention to Mitchel, visibly intrigued. Quietly, curiously, Tyler sips his tea.
The eyes scowl some at the mention of Marines and Mercs. "Girl, Marines are the first boots on the grounds, but if they piss their pants, they beg the Navy to send in ac couple Frogmen and bust open some asses for 'em." Mitchel sorts his face after the little rant about those 'lesser' fighters, though it's probably more a friendly banter to them because... a serviceman has a healthy rivalry to the others. "Nah, I was doing a tour supporting CT 151 out in front of Somalia. Was not too bad."
"Eeeeh.." xiu says and lifts her free hand (after setting the bowl down of the counter, without letting go of the chopsticks), before she waves fingers. "'m not good with all the military lingo. Navy solider, then? Fightin' those..african pirates, yeah? Heard somethin' about tradin' ships bein' attacked at those coasts." A light frown moves her lips as she tilts her head back. "Don't even remember when I heard 'bout that..." A moment of silence follows, before she leans forward and slurps more noodle and beef again. Well, Mr. Kim definitely has a satisfied customer in her.
Tyler chuckles lightly at Mitchel's banter, appreciating the camaraderie among the servicemen. He leans back slightly, finishing his cup of tea. "Well, I'd say that's a fair assessment, but I think we can all agree that good food-like Mr. Kim's here-is a universal language that brings everyone together, regardless of what boots they wear."
With a nod to Mr. Kim, Tyler glances back at Xiu and Mitchel. "I should get going, but keep me posted on this bushmeat debate," he adds with a smirk. "I'd hate to miss out." He walks away, a lightness in his step as he merges into the lively bustle of Chinatown, the sounds of laughter and chatter fading behind him.
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