restlesspalate

[restlesspalate]

Dom glanced up from the prep list in his hand, catching Christian’s curiosity with a flicker of interest. The scent of roasted tomatoes still lingered in the air from a sauce test gone right that night. “Soon,” he said, voice low but certain. “Couple more hoops to jump through.”

He wiped his hands on a towel, the fabric already stained from the day’s work. For a second, he studied Christian—measuring, maybe. Then, with a nod toward the kitchen inside:

“I’ve been running a few taster nights. Off-menu stuff. Just friends, folks I trust to give it to me straight.” A pause, then the corner of his mouth lifted, subtle. “You and your girl feel like trying something before the rest of the city gets wind of it… I’ve got seats.” He didn’t oversell it. Didn’t have to. The smell of herbs and charred bread in the air said enough.

It had been over a month since the charity gala and in that time Dom had managed to do a low key soft launch of his restaurant. It had been busy but not hectic and he was building up to the official launch. He stood in the kitchen mulling over the new menu just as he heard his sous chef clocking out. 11pm. It was an early night in his eyes but burn out was a lesson he learned the hard way. He packed up and turned to exit out the front door instead of the service exit. As he opened the door he turned around when he heard a voice.

He tilted his head and nodded slowly, “It is.” He said, as he eyes the sudden interloper with interest. “I suppose word got around then?”

[restlesspalate]

Dom gave a half-smile, the kind that tugged at one side of his mouth but didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Wine girl, huh? Makes sense. You’ve got that whole classy-but-can-still-handle-her-own vibe.” He leaned back slightly, fingers curling around his glass. “Usually whiskey. Neat. But I’ll drink just about anything that doesn’t come with a paper umbrella or taste like a melted popsicle.”

Her eyebrow raise and the joke earned a soft chuckle from him. “I’ll take the Christmas gift in a tall glass, preferably not while someone’s crying about their ex across the table.” He paused, watching her for a moment. “And hey, regret’s part of the ride sometimes. Doesn’t mean the trip’s not worth it. You like the guy? That’s a good start. Just trust your gut—and maybe don’t ignore any red flags waving in your face.” His tone was casual, but the sincerity snuck in there at the end—low-key, grounded, like he wasn’t just making conversation.

Dom offered a rare smile, the kind that softened the sharp lines of his face. “That means a lot, Millie. Thank you. I’ll probably take you up on that offer—there’s always something that needs lifting, fixing, or figuring out.” He leaned back a little, watching her as she ordered. “Red wine, huh? Still sticking to the classics.”

At the mention of dating, his brows lifted slightly, not in judgment—more like curiosity wrapped in amusement. “Dating? Brave woman,” he said with a short chuckle. “I wouldn’t know where to start anymore. I think the last date I went on involved a stolen salt shaker and someone crying over their ex.”

He let the humor settle for a second before adding, more honestly, “I’ve been… alright. Keeping my head down. Trying not to mess this second chance up. Feels different this time—like I want to get it right, not just for me, but for something bigger. Slower pace. Fewer screw-ups.” He gave her a nod. “Good to hear you’re doing well, though. You deserve that.”

[restlesspalate]

Dom swirled the whiskey in his glass, the ice clinking softly under the low thrum of music and too-loud laughter echoing off the Civic centre’s walls. Everything about the event screamed polished excess—polite smiles hiding sharp teeth, designer gowns brushing past whispered threats. Dom felt out of place in his rolled sleeves and quiet silence, but that was nothing new. He glanced sideways at Seong, catching the tail end of his question. “Wasn’t planning on having a good time,” he said, voice low, rough like gravel soaked in something softer. “Didn’t figure that was on the menu tonight.”

The chandelier above them glittered like it didn’t know better, casting reflections across gold-trimmed glasses and conversations steeped in old money and newer grudges. Dom’s eyes tracked the movement of people he didn’t care to know an inch of their back door business dealings. “Sometimes,” he went on, “you come to places like this just to remind yourself what it feels like to be around people. This kind of crowd? They don’t see you unless you make them.”

His fingers tightened around the glass. “I don’t drink to forget. I drink to feel the edge of things—where the quiet starts to hurt less, where the thinking gets clearer.” He met Seong’s gaze then, level and steady. “And if I’m being honest? I came here tonight to see if there’s anything left in this place I could build something real with.” He looked out across the room again—at the crooked smiles, the shifting loyalties, the storm that was always brewing just beneath the crystal veneer. “Or someone.”

Dom let out a quiet, low laugh, the kind that barely lifted the corners of his mouth. He shifted his weight against the bar, fingers absently turning the glass in his hand, watching the amber liquid catch the dim light. “Didn’t realize I had a tell,” he mused, voice edged with dry amusement. “But if I look defeated, guess that means I walked in here thinking it’d be different.” He exhaled slowly, eyes drifting over the room—polished floors, murmured conversations, the scent of expensive perfume mixing with aged whiskey. Same scene, different night.

His gaze flicked back to Seong, sharp but not unkind. The other man had that detached look—half-present, half anywhere else. Dom had seen it enough to recognize it. “What about you?” he asked, nodding toward the barely touched old-fashioned in Seong’s hand. “You’re either pacing yourself, or you’re trying to convince yourself you actually want to be here.” A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, subtle but there. “So which is it?”

[restlesspalate]

Dom set the bag down gently on the bar, the corner of his mouth twitching in what might’ve passed for a smirk if it didn’t look so tired. “You always did have a knack for cutting through the noise, Sienna.”

He didn’t deny it—what would be the point? “Yeah. I’ve got something lined up. Not that it’s your business, but you’re right—these places aren’t just for the ambiance. Some folks come for the drinks. I come for opportunity.”

He met her gaze evenly, voice steady but edged with something sharper beneath. “But I don’t forget what goes bad. I’ve seen it. Hell, I’ve been it. That’s why I’m careful with my ingredients now.” A beat passed. Then he picked the bag back up and gave her a short nod. “Enjoy your night, Sienna. Try not to poison the wine.”

Dom exhaled slowly, his fingers idly rolling the glass against the bar’s polished surface. “Because sending a gift and skipping the rest doesn’t buy you much in a place like this,” he said, tone measured. “People remember who bothers to show up. And if you want to stay in the game, you make sure they see you.” His gaze flicked to the black bag in his hand, then back to her. “Besides, some doors only open if you shake the right hands first.”

He let her words settle, watching the way she spoke like she’d long since learned the script. Maybe she had. He understood it well enough—different cities, different people, but the same rules, the same careful maneuvering. “You’re not wrong. People don’t change, they just get better at playing pretend.” His mouth curved, something between amusement and resignation. “And me? Let’s just say I’ve got something to build, and it doesn’t happen without the right introductions.” He lifted his drink slightly in a silent gesture toward the room. “Even a kitchen needs the right ingredients. And places like this?” His gaze drifted over the crowd before settling back on her. “They’re where you find them.”

[restlesspalate]

Dom offered a rare smile, the kind that softened the sharp lines of his face. “That means a lot, Millie. Thank you. I’ll probably take you up on that offer—there’s always something that needs lifting, fixing, or figuring out.” He leaned back a little, watching her as she ordered. “Red wine, huh? Still sticking to the classics.”

At the mention of dating, his brows lifted slightly, not in judgment—more like curiosity wrapped in amusement. “Dating? Brave woman,” he said with a short chuckle. “I wouldn’t know where to start anymore. I think the last date I went on involved a stolen salt shaker and someone crying over their ex.”

He let the humor settle for a second before adding, more honestly, “I’ve been… alright. Keeping my head down. Trying not to mess this second chance up. Feels different this time—like I want to get it right, not just for me, but for something bigger. Slower pace. Fewer screw-ups.” He gave her a nod. “Good to hear you’re doing well, though. You deserve that.”

He smiled warmly at his old friend, “Millie,” he greeted her with a small nod and polite smile. “It’s coming…” he said softly as a frown creased his brow. He knew the importance of this event, but he really did need to work on his plans. “..coming along well.”

It wasn’t a total lie, the menu was half done, the ambience and furnishings were waiting to be delivered… “Just trying to source the produce and staff…” he said as he ordered a whiskey double on the rocks. “How have you been?”

[restlesspalate]

It had been over a month since the charity gala and in that time Dom had managed to do a low key soft launch of his restaurant. It had been busy but not hectic and he was building up to the official launch. He stood in the kitchen mulling over the new menu just as he heard his sous chef clocking out. 11pm. It was an early night in his eyes but burn out was a lesson he learned the hard way. He packed up and turned to exit out the front door instead of the service exit. As he opened the door he turned around when he heard a voice.

He tilted his head and nodded slowly, “It is.” He said, as he eyes the sudden interloper with interest. “I suppose word got around then?”

CLOSED STARTER FOR @restlesspalate FT. CHRISTIAN & DOMINIC!!

christian had been eyeing the restaurant from the moment the sign came up outside. he'd be lying if he said it hadn't piqued his interest and he wanted nothing more than to try the food that was packed away into the kitchen. he was walking by when someone walked out and seemed to be locking up for the evening. normally, he wouldn't approach but he was curious. approaching, he stopped near him. "hey," he started, just loud enough to get his attention, "this your place?" he asked, nodding toward the restaurant in front of them.

[restlesspalate]

Dom let the weight of Grant’s words settle, but he didn’t flinch, didn’t shift like a man unsure of his footing. The low hum of the bar, the distant clink of glass against wood, all faded into the background. He took his time with his drink, rolling the whiskey over his tongue before setting the glass down with quiet finality.

“Risk’s part of the game,” he said, his voice steady, low, meant to carry just enough. “So’s knowing when to hold your ground.” His fingers tapped once against the rim of his glass, a slow, deliberate motion—not nervous, just thoughtful. He wasn’t a man who rushed his decisions. “I’m not here to chase bets—I’m here to build something that lasts. Fire or not.”

He met Grant’s gaze, his expression unreadable but sure. “Question is, when the smoke clears, what’s left standing?” His words weren’t a challenge, just a simple truth. “Besides, well made good can always cure a lost soul.” He is final words a sage truth, and really he’d never turn away a desperate person. He knew that a currently inconvenience or desperate person could be a very good client in the long run.

Dom let the words settle between them, his grip tightening slightly around his glass. He’d been around enough sharp-eyed men to recognize when he was being weighed, measured. “Trouble’s like fire in a kitchen,” he said, voice low, steady. “Doesn’t matter if you started it or just walked in at the wrong time—you’re still gonna get burned if you don’t know how to move.” He took a slow sip, gaze flicking over the restless crowd before returning to Grant. “But you’re right. Timing’s everything.”

He shifted slightly, letting the weight of the room press in without folding under it. “Maybe I don’t mind a little risk,” he said. “Or maybe I just know that if you wait for the perfect moment, you’ll starve before it ever comes.” His gaze dropped briefly to the glass in his hand before lifting again. “I’m not here asking about sides. I’m here figuring out what’s worth putting my chips on.” He gave a small, unreadable smile. “Every fire leaves something behind. You just have to know what to salvage.”

[restlesspalate]

Dom let the words settle between them, his grip tightening slightly around his glass. He’d been around enough sharp-eyed men to recognize when he was being weighed, measured. “Trouble’s like fire in a kitchen,” he said, voice low, steady. “Doesn’t matter if you started it or just walked in at the wrong time—you’re still gonna get burned if you don’t know how to move.” He took a slow sip, gaze flicking over the restless crowd before returning to Grant. “But you’re right. Timing’s everything.”

He shifted slightly, letting the weight of the room press in without folding under it. “Maybe I don’t mind a little risk,” he said. “Or maybe I just know that if you wait for the perfect moment, you’ll starve before it ever comes.” His gaze dropped briefly to the glass in his hand before lifting again. “I’m not here asking about sides. I’m here figuring out what’s worth putting my chips on.” He gave a small, unreadable smile. “Every fire leaves something behind. You just have to know what to salvage.”

Dom’s gaze flicked to the bag at Grant’s insistence, but he didn’t move to open it. His lips twitched with a barely contained smirk, leaning against the bar as he took another sip of his drink. “You know how it goes. Gotta play by the rules if you want to stay in the game,” he said with a shrug, his voice low but steady. He made a point of not letting the tension in the room show—this wasn’t his first charity event or his first time in a town like Devil’s Junction. He was used to the undercurrent of danger.

“I’m not exactly a fan of playing things safe,” Dom added, his eyes sharpening as they met Grant’s. “But I’ve never been one to lay low either. The bag’s just part of the deal. Nothing worth losing sleep over. It’s not about the donation; it’s about the right impression.” He set the drink down, his expression unreadable. “And as for business… I’m just here to see who’s playing what side in this mess.” He glanced around the room, eyes narrowing slightly. “Seems like trouble’s already here. Just gotta wait for it to show itself.”

[restlesspalate]

Dom exhaled slowly, his fingers idly rolling the glass against the bar’s polished surface. “Because sending a gift and skipping the rest doesn’t buy you much in a place like this,” he said, tone measured. “People remember who bothers to show up. And if you want to stay in the game, you make sure they see you.” His gaze flicked to the black bag in his hand, then back to her. “Besides, some doors only open if you shake the right hands first.”

He let her words settle, watching the way she spoke like she’d long since learned the script. Maybe she had. He understood it well enough—different cities, different people, but the same rules, the same careful maneuvering. “You’re not wrong. People don’t change, they just get better at playing pretend.” His mouth curved, something between amusement and resignation. “And me? Let’s just say I’ve got something to build, and it doesn’t happen without the right introductions.” He lifted his drink slightly in a silent gesture toward the room. “Even a kitchen needs the right ingredients. And places like this?” His gaze drifted over the crowd before settling back on her. “They’re where you find them.”

Dom took a slow sip of his drink, his eyes flicking over the crowd, scanning the sea of faces in front of him. There was something about the way everyone moved—carefully calculated steps, smiles too rehearsed to be genuine. He gave a small, almost imperceptible shake of his head. “Yeah, it’s always the same show,” he said, his voice low but carrying an edge of dry amusement. “Charity’s just the front for all the power plays. Same games, different crowd.” He gestured subtly with his drink, the ice clinking against the glass as he turned his gaze back to her. “I’m not here for the pleasantries or the overpriced wine either. Trust me, if I had a choice, I’d be somewhere else.”

His eyes lingered for a moment on the gift bag in his hand, the sleek black exterior stark against the flashes of gold and silver around them. “But sometimes, you’ve got to play the game, make an appearance. People expect it.” He shifted his weight, his expression unreadable, yet there was a slight curve to his lips—a hint of someone who knew the rules all too well. “As for jumping back into this whole thing…” His voice trailed off as he glanced around the ballroom, taking in the calculated conversations, the fleeting alliances forming with every handshake. “It feels like testing cold water—you know it’s freezing, but you can’t help but dip your toes in.” He looked back at her then, his eyes locking onto hers with a hint of curiosity. “People never change, no matter how many times they try to. But you seem like you’ve been around this game before. You’re not fazed. Is it just another night for you?”

[restlesspalate]

Dom took a slow sip of his drink, his eyes flicking over the crowd, scanning the sea of faces in front of him. There was something about the way everyone moved—carefully calculated steps, smiles too rehearsed to be genuine. He gave a small, almost imperceptible shake of his head. “Yeah, it’s always the same show,” he said, his voice low but carrying an edge of dry amusement. “Charity’s just the front for all the power plays. Same games, different crowd.” He gestured subtly with his drink, the ice clinking against the glass as he turned his gaze back to her. “I’m not here for the pleasantries or the overpriced wine either. Trust me, if I had a choice, I’d be somewhere else.”

His eyes lingered for a moment on the gift bag in his hand, the sleek black exterior stark against the flashes of gold and silver around them. “But sometimes, you’ve got to play the game, make an appearance. People expect it.” He shifted his weight, his expression unreadable, yet there was a slight curve to his lips—a hint of someone who knew the rules all too well. “As for jumping back into this whole thing…” His voice trailed off as he glanced around the ballroom, taking in the calculated conversations, the fleeting alliances forming with every handshake. “It feels like testing cold water—you know it’s freezing, but you can’t help but dip your toes in.” He looked back at her then, his eyes locking onto hers with a hint of curiosity. “People never change, no matter how many times they try to. But you seem like you’ve been around this game before. You’re not fazed. Is it just another night for you?”

Dominic’s gaze flickered to her with a touch of amusement, the slightest curve of a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He wasn’t the type to offer a response too quickly, but her question had a certain edge to it that made him think for a moment before answering.

“Don’t usually make entrances, but figured I’d give it a go,” he said, his voice calm, but carrying that usual intensity underneath. He glanced at the gift bag in his hand and gave a half-shrug. “Auction item. Not that it matters. People here seem more interested in the spectacle than the cause, anyway.” His eyes flicked briefly over the crowd, as if assessing them all before landing back on her. “As for the event—been a while. Figured I’d see if I still knew how to play this game.” He studied her for a moment, looking beyond the exterior, seeing something more familiar in the way she observed the room. “You? First time or just your usual crowd?”

[restlesspalate]

Dom’s gaze flicked to the bag at Grant’s insistence, but he didn’t move to open it. His lips twitched with a barely contained smirk, leaning against the bar as he took another sip of his drink. “You know how it goes. Gotta play by the rules if you want to stay in the game,” he said with a shrug, his voice low but steady. He made a point of not letting the tension in the room show—this wasn’t his first charity event or his first time in a town like Devil’s Junction. He was used to the undercurrent of danger.

“I’m not exactly a fan of playing things safe,” Dom added, his eyes sharpening as they met Grant’s. “But I’ve never been one to lay low either. The bag’s just part of the deal. Nothing worth losing sleep over. It’s not about the donation; it’s about the right impression.” He set the drink down, his expression unreadable. “And as for business… I’m just here to see who’s playing what side in this mess.” He glanced around the room, eyes narrowing slightly. “Seems like trouble’s already here. Just gotta wait for it to show itself.”

Dom let out a quiet breath that wasn’t quite a laugh, tipping his glass slightly in Grant’s direction before taking a sip. “Can’t argue with survival tactics,” he said, the whiskey burning just enough to keep him anchored in a room that still felt like someone else’s world.

His gaze flicked to the Sanchez family, watching the way they moved through the crowd, effortless in their performance. “Skimming’s just tradition at this point,” he murmured. “Gotta respect consistency.” The explosion at the Grand Royale had shifted more than just the skyline—power always found new hands to fill, and the way this town operated, those hands were already reaching.

At Grant’s question, Dom’s expression didn’t change, but there was a brief pause before he answered. “Not a tourist,” he said, rolling the weight of the word on his tongue. “Business, of a sort.” He glanced at Grant, measuring. “Not the kind that usually lands me in places like this.” He shifted his grip on the black gift bag at his side. “But here we are.”

[restlesspalate]

Dom let out a quiet, low laugh, the kind that barely lifted the corners of his mouth. He shifted his weight against the bar, fingers absently turning the glass in his hand, watching the amber liquid catch the dim light. “Didn’t realize I had a tell,” he mused, voice edged with dry amusement. “But if I look defeated, guess that means I walked in here thinking it’d be different.” He exhaled slowly, eyes drifting over the room—polished floors, murmured conversations, the scent of expensive perfume mixing with aged whiskey. Same scene, different night.

His gaze flicked back to Seong, sharp but not unkind. The other man had that detached look—half-present, half anywhere else. Dom had seen it enough to recognize it. “What about you?” he asked, nodding toward the barely touched old-fashioned in Seong’s hand. “You’re either pacing yourself, or you’re trying to convince yourself you actually want to be here.” A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, subtle but there. “So which is it?”

Open to all

Location: civic centre

Dominic looked around the Civic Centre, standing in line to register his offerings to the auction, that now was dressed to the nines like its attendees. He’d been to many charity events such as this in his old life, he thought to himself as he felt an old spark of something settle in his stomach.

An understated matte black gift bag hung from his right index finger while he fought the urge to play with the Dunhill Rollagas vintage lighter than sat in his slacks pocket. Hopefully the money his items garners would go to a good cause. “Would be good to one day cater an event like this.” He whispered beneath his breath.

Moments later, he had left the head of the line and was walking casually towards the bar in search of the good liquor when someone jostled his shoulder.

[restlesspalate]

Dom huffed a quiet laugh, tipping his glass slightly in her direction. “Depends what you mean by ‘new things.’” His tone was dry, amused, but nonchalant. “Haven’t exactly been keeping track, but I’ve been… occupied.” He took a slow sip, letting the implication settle—nothing serious, nothing worth dissecting, just enough to take the edge off long nights and longer weeks.

He smirked, shifting the focus back to her. “But getting back into the dating scene, huh? Sounds like a process. Hope it’s more fun than frustrating.” He leaned against the bar, the corner of his mouth tugging up slightly. “Or at least interesting enough to make the effort worth it. Couldn’t be me—between work and everything else, I’d have to start scheduling people in.” There was a teasing note in his voice, but the truth sat just underneath it.

He smiled warmly at his old friend, “Millie,” he greeted her with a small nod and polite smile. “It’s coming…” he said softly as a frown creased his brow. He knew the importance of this event, but he really did need to work on his plans. “..coming along well.”

It wasn’t a total lie, the menu was half done, the ambience and furnishings were waiting to be delivered… “Just trying to source the produce and staff…” he said as he ordered a whiskey double on the rocks. “How have you been?”

[restlesspalate]

Dom let out a quiet breath that wasn’t quite a laugh, tipping his glass slightly in Grant’s direction before taking a sip. “Can’t argue with survival tactics,” he said, the whiskey burning just enough to keep him anchored in a room that still felt like someone else’s world.

His gaze flicked to the Sanchez family, watching the way they moved through the crowd, effortless in their performance. “Skimming’s just tradition at this point,” he murmured. “Gotta respect consistency.” The explosion at the Grand Royale had shifted more than just the skyline—power always found new hands to fill, and the way this town operated, those hands were already reaching.

At Grant’s question, Dom’s expression didn’t change, but there was a brief pause before he answered. “Not a tourist,” he said, rolling the weight of the word on his tongue. “Business, of a sort.” He glanced at Grant, measuring. “Not the kind that usually lands me in places like this.” He shifted his grip on the black gift bag at his side. “But here we are.”

Dominic barely glanced at Grant, the impact registering more as an afterthought than an offense. He adjusted the cuff of his jacket, the movement slow, deliberate—less about acknowledging the remark and more about deciding if it was worth engaging.

“Yeah,” he said, voice even, unreadable. “Crowd’s got a habit of standing in the wrong place.” He let the words settle, neither antagonistic nor apologetic, before shifting his attention to the bar.

His gaze flicked over the lineup of bottles, unimpressed but calculating. The kind of selection meant to impress people who didn’t know any better. “Guess they figured if they poured enough good whiskey, no one would ask where the money’s really going.” He finally looked at Grant, eyes sharp, but with a glint of dry amusement. “That your plan, or just making sure they get their money’s worth?”

[restlesspalate]

Dominic barely glanced at Grant, the impact registering more as an afterthought than an offense. He adjusted the cuff of his jacket, the movement slow, deliberate—less about acknowledging the remark and more about deciding if it was worth engaging.

“Yeah,” he said, voice even, unreadable. “Crowd’s got a habit of standing in the wrong place.” He let the words settle, neither antagonistic nor apologetic, before shifting his attention to the bar.

His gaze flicked over the lineup of bottles, unimpressed but calculating. The kind of selection meant to impress people who didn’t know any better. “Guess they figured if they poured enough good whiskey, no one would ask where the money’s really going.” He finally looked at Grant, eyes sharp, but with a glint of dry amusement. “That your plan, or just making sure they get their money’s worth?”

Open to all

Location: civic centre

Dominic looked around the Civic Centre, standing in line to register his offerings to the auction, that now was dressed to the nines like its attendees. He’d been to many charity events such as this in his old life, he thought to himself as he felt an old spark of something settle in his stomach.

An understated matte black gift bag hung from his right index finger while he fought the urge to play with the Dunhill Rollagas vintage lighter than sat in his slacks pocket. Hopefully the money his items garners would go to a good cause. “Would be good to one day cater an event like this.” He whispered beneath his breath.

Moments later, he had left the head of the line and was walking casually towards the bar in search of the good liquor when someone jostled his shoulder.

[restlesspalate]

Dominic’s gaze flickered to her with a touch of amusement, the slightest curve of a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He wasn’t the type to offer a response too quickly, but her question had a certain edge to it that made him think for a moment before answering.

“Don’t usually make entrances, but figured I’d give it a go,” he said, his voice calm, but carrying that usual intensity underneath. He glanced at the gift bag in his hand and gave a half-shrug. “Auction item. Not that it matters. People here seem more interested in the spectacle than the cause, anyway.” His eyes flicked briefly over the crowd, as if assessing them all before landing back on her. “As for the event—been a while. Figured I’d see if I still knew how to play this game.” He studied her for a moment, looking beyond the exterior, seeing something more familiar in the way she observed the room. “You? First time or just your usual crowd?”

Open to all

Location: civic centre

Dominic looked around the Civic Centre, standing in line to register his offerings to the auction, that now was dressed to the nines like its attendees. He’d been to many charity events such as this in his old life, he thought to himself as he felt an old spark of something settle in his stomach.

An understated matte black gift bag hung from his right index finger while he fought the urge to play with the Dunhill Rollagas vintage lighter than sat in his slacks pocket. Hopefully the money his items garners would go to a good cause. “Would be good to one day cater an event like this.” He whispered beneath his breath.

Moments later, he had left the head of the line and was walking casually towards the bar in search of the good liquor when someone jostled his shoulder.

[restlesspalate]

He smiled warmly at his old friend, “Millie,” he greeted her with a small nod and polite smile. “It’s coming…” he said softly as a frown creased his brow. He knew the importance of this event, but he really did need to work on his plans. “..coming along well.”

It wasn’t a total lie, the menu was half done, the ambience and furnishings were waiting to be delivered… “Just trying to source the produce and staff…” he said as he ordered a whiskey double on the rocks. “How have you been?”

Open to all

Location: civic centre

Dominic looked around the Civic Centre, standing in line to register his offerings to the auction, that now was dressed to the nines like its attendees. He’d been to many charity events such as this in his old life, he thought to himself as he felt an old spark of something settle in his stomach.

An understated matte black gift bag hung from his right index finger while he fought the urge to play with the Dunhill Rollagas vintage lighter than sat in his slacks pocket. Hopefully the money his items garners would go to a good cause. “Would be good to one day cater an event like this.” He whispered beneath his breath.

Moments later, he had left the head of the line and was walking casually towards the bar in search of the good liquor when someone jostled his shoulder.