moonlight | rp discussion
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There is something, as it nears closing time, that always feels very quiet. Dongha has never regretted choosing to move back to Seoul, opening the new restaurant, carrying on with life instead of staying at home, stuck in the same old routine. Such is the life cycle of the chicken restaurant owner.
Still, despite the steady white noise of customer chatter, it's quiet: there's not the noise of his sisters bickering under the pretense of "helping" him, or of his mother scolding them. To Dongha, their restaurant back in Busan is home. This is —
— well, it's in the works. He turns the television volume up a couple of notches, and resumes wiping down the table he's been clearing.
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You'd think after all this time Nara would have more self-control. And usually she does. But today — today, she's tired, and what's more, she's hungry.
So she's back (she should really admit that she's become a regular), hidden in an outrageously oversized parka topped with an equally outrageously oversized visor. Look, when you're a global superstar, sometimes you have to be willing to risk all your self-made dignity for some ridiculously good chicken.
She swings open the door. The restaurant is empty tonight, except for a waiter wiping down tables. As she takes a seat (far right table way in the back), she lets out a sigh — of relief? exhaustion? who even knows these days — and stretches out her legs. God, she missed this.
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The bell on the door jingles when someone enters, and from his place, Dongha calls out a "Welcome!" He finishes wiping down the table, going to the back to wipe his hands and put down the rag. When he looks up from the sink, on the television is some variety show with A-Prince.
A few years ago, Dongha might have changed the station. Now, as he watches an extravagant, supposedly sexy introduction by GUN that makes him want to cringe, Dongha just scoffs. "Sin Taedong. You'd think that after twelve years he wouldn't be so full of shit," he says out loud, and then wonders who, exactly, he's talking to. (His customer? Himself? The void? ... he needs more friends here.)
Shaking his head, he pulls the pad and pen out of his apron pocket, heading over to the table the customer had seated herself out. Bearing his best I-don't-usually-swear-at-the-TV smile, he says, "What can I get you this time? Your usual?"
