Post by METTLE on Jan 11, 2022 14:23:22 GMT
An open rooftop in New York City would not have always been the most romantic site. Too much pollution - the noise of the city below, the smell of smog. It was the middle of winter, and so there'd been snow.
Now, with the comforts of technology, such factors could be ameliorated. Mettle passed his hand over one of the hummers, a small machine that mitigated the noise from the cars below. No horns honking, no engines backfiring. It was quiet. You could speak to someone at your table and hear them easily, the white noise filtering out the city sound. Plants grown in Millennium City labs subtly decorated the parapets, seemingly absorbing the urban smell, replacing it with a subtle flowery scent. And the snow, of course, had been easily cleared out. Perimeter heaters rendered the rooftop dining venue exceedingly comfortable.
And all but empty. There was him, of course, and a member of the wait staff, who wore a small black domino mask. Nearby, an automated grand piano played classical music in beautiful legato. The keys moved up and down, touched by invisible hands.
Extravagant, to buy out an entire floor of an expensive restaurant for an evening. For a date. Maybe too much so. But Mettle pushed that thought from his mind, taking a deep breath, silver skin gleaming in the night air. She had earned it. The privacy.
He looked up at the stars - of what he could see of them, at least, in New York. With silver orbs for eyes, everything was much sharper. He gazed up at them while waiting for her to arrive, absentmindedly adjusting one of the buttons on his sleeve; he wore a dark jacket over a white shirt, with a deep blue tie. Somewhere out there, there were problems. But he had promised, for this week, to let someone else handle them. Tonight, he could be free.
Maybe even happy.
Now, with the comforts of technology, such factors could be ameliorated. Mettle passed his hand over one of the hummers, a small machine that mitigated the noise from the cars below. No horns honking, no engines backfiring. It was quiet. You could speak to someone at your table and hear them easily, the white noise filtering out the city sound. Plants grown in Millennium City labs subtly decorated the parapets, seemingly absorbing the urban smell, replacing it with a subtle flowery scent. And the snow, of course, had been easily cleared out. Perimeter heaters rendered the rooftop dining venue exceedingly comfortable.
And all but empty. There was him, of course, and a member of the wait staff, who wore a small black domino mask. Nearby, an automated grand piano played classical music in beautiful legato. The keys moved up and down, touched by invisible hands.
Extravagant, to buy out an entire floor of an expensive restaurant for an evening. For a date. Maybe too much so. But Mettle pushed that thought from his mind, taking a deep breath, silver skin gleaming in the night air. She had earned it. The privacy.
He looked up at the stars - of what he could see of them, at least, in New York. With silver orbs for eyes, everything was much sharper. He gazed up at them while waiting for her to arrive, absentmindedly adjusting one of the buttons on his sleeve; he wore a dark jacket over a white shirt, with a deep blue tie. Somewhere out there, there were problems. But he had promised, for this week, to let someone else handle them. Tonight, he could be free.
Maybe even happy.
