The sun's just begun to set on Chinatown, but the shops are still bustling with activity. People walking about, checking out the stalls, as car horns blare outward, trying to not hit the bicyclists or push cart cabbies. Rush hour in the city is always a tricky affair, as over a million people all commit a daily mass exodus from their grey cubicles and glass skyscrapers to the streets, some flagging down cabbies, others taking public transportation, buses and elevated trains clattering by. In Chinatown it's no different; buses go by, conversations in a mixture of English, Mandarin Chinese, the occasional Japanese and even a Spanish couple or two all blend together in a cornucopia of sounds of the world.

The restaurant is just as busy, as the 9-to-5'ers are getting off work, coming in to enjoy the daily specials, some already on their third bottle of Tsingtao. A pair of small TVs hang above the bar, one showing the local news station, another set to the baseball game. The heat of a mid-August summer still hangs in the air, the small AC unit laboring to keep the restaurant at a semi-comfortable temperature. The kitchen door in back swings open and closed constantly, busboys running back and forth, a particularly limber busboy swerving around the tables like it were a ballet. The young redhead behind the bar seems almost out of place, as everyone else is clearly of Chinese descent, where-as she looks to be from a healthy stock of Irish forefathers. But she knows how to mix a mean drink, and certainly knows enough Mandarin to serve there.

Plus, it's their weekend special: a pitcher of Tsingtao beer and a sizable meal for a very affordable price, combined with the proximity of several colleges, means the youthful generation has migrated here as well. If a fire marshal were to see this place, it would clearly be a fire hazard, but no one really seems all that concerned with a fire breaking out, focusing more on the baseball game or their own localized conversations.

And it is here that a lot of the Amber Tech workers have begun hanging out. Amber Tech is a fairly new company, but already they're making a name for themselves in the tech world, as their custom OS is gaining a healthy corner of the computer market, some hailing them as the next-gen company that can stand up to the juggernauts of Microsoft, Apple and Google. They've even hired on a sizable security consultant team, clearly concerned about some type of corporate espionage. Though, if someone really wanted to do such a thing, it would probably be best accomplished here, where wet whistles and a "kind friend" could loosen some IT person's lips.

Duncan deftly avoids a group of suited men walking four abreast down the sidewalk then slows to a stop when he notices the restaurant. He's seen it a couple of times before, hell, he's even eaten lunch at it once, but tonight something is different. On a whim he crosses the busy street and enters the place. Inside the air is festive and sociable so Duncan gives his name to the hostess and waits for a table. Yes, he thinks, this feels.. right.

Tim is walking back to his seat when he notices the man ask for a table. He heads over, beer in both hands. His blue uniform is untucked, his tie loosened. His eyes light up with his easy smile. "HEY, You, I know you. You're the new guy they just hired right? Come grab a seat with me." He puts his arm around Duncan and starts to steer him to the bar. "Man, don't see many cats our age coming in, everybody right out college, barely old enough to shave, am I right?"

Duncan lets the giant man guide him to the bar, "Yeah. Tim, right?" He extends his hand, "I'm Duncan. Hired on Monday. How long have you been here? He asks, leaning against the bar. "With the company, I mean" he adds as an afterthough.

The redhead gives a polite smile as Duncan joins Tim at the bar. "Anything you'd like to drink, or would you like to order some food?" The accent is decidedly from the Midwest, but has a very slight Southern twang to it, as though she might be 2 or 3 generation's removed from the South. The view from the bar is quite lovely, and not just because of the woman behind it. The TVs give a very clear view of the game, with the audio not quite drowned out just yet. The local baseball team is winning at the moment, as they make a late season push for the playoffs. It also allows a pretty unobstructed view to the kitchen, where inside you see at least a dozen cooks and busboys running around, the smells of sizzling beef and chicken assaulting your senses.

"Sure," Duncan nods to the taps, "Can I have a.. umm, a Bud will do for now." He looks up at Tim, "Soo, how long did you say?"

4 years this Christmas. Best present I've ever got. My buddy Charlie, he calls me up, Hold on a sec." Tim downs one of his PBR's in a gulp then leans over the bar. "Hey Sexy" He waves the beer when the ginger bar tender looks up. "Anyway, he calls me up when I retire from the force and he's like, 'You want to head back to Iraq, I can get 120k a year plus bennies' and I'm like, 'I got a pension, I got my benefits, I going back to get shot at by some 15 year old hajib with nothing better to do no way, Thank you very much, but you can shove that 120k up your ass. Anyway, we keep talking and it turns out he's got some contracts here in Chitown. 2 days later I got a job siting at a desk, drinking coffee all day long. So how bout you Duncan, what you do?

Duncan sips his beer as he concentrates on Ian's story, trying his damn-est to ignore the faint, almost imperceptible shapes that flit around the giant man.
"I've been hired as a temp, but I think next week I'm transferring down to you in security. To fill in for Paulson," Duncan explained with a shrug, "Who knows what they're doing in HR." He takes another drink, "But before I joined the company I was a bike courier.. until I was hit by a car. That sort of shook me up, so I thought I may as well apply for a safe and quiet office job for a while."

The end of the bar erupts in joy at the television as the cameraman zooms in on a base runner, slowly taking a victory lap around the bags, his team mates waiting to congradulate him at home plate for a grand slam.

"Well how about that," Claire says, glancing up at the screen, "those jackasses might just make the playoffs if they keep playing like that." She hands Duncan a fresh cold Bud, ice shavings still sliding down the bottle, swapping Tim's empty PBR with another equally cold one. "Food'll be ready soon gents." She nearly takes a step away before stopping, her gaze shooting outside the lone window out towards the street. "...Be back in a few minutes." Without another word she steps into the kitchen, hair whipping by her as she sprints amongst the workers towards the freezer.

"Aye ya, what's she doing now," the nimble busboy groans, taking her spot at the bar as she disappears. "You guys ok?"

Duncan jumps as he takes the beer from Claire spilling half of it on the counter and floor. He looks from the spilt beer to the woman and stops, staring with a bemused look on him face as though this is the first time he's really seen her. "Sorry." he stammers feebly, swallowing hard.

He raises his hand as she leaves the room, "Hey, wait!"