La Muerte Subita

Welcome to Washington

Mark hadn't thought much about the email. It was a bit tacky if anything, but it checked out once he and his team had looked into the company. That was three months ago; now, he's standing outside a boutique hotel in the middle of bum-fuck Egypt waiting to be picked up and driven to the venue.

He pulls his phone out of his jacket pocket and checks the time; 7.18 am.
It's was too early to be outside, especially when it's -90 degrees outside!

The car that had arrived was an expensive SUV painted all black. It honks at him from down the ways and the driver's side window rolls down to reveal a young man with honeyed brown skin and warm hazel eyes.
"Good Morning, Mr. Fishbach!" he calls with a smile, pulling up to where he stood and unlocking the doors with a tell-tale whir.
"Morning," Mark says, opening the back door and climbing in. It's warm and he settles down into his seat and buckles himself and his bag.
The man in the front rolls up the window and turns up the heat a little as he pulls out of the hotel's parking lot and onto the adjacent street with caution, fiddling with the radio until it played quiet, relaxing jazz through the car.

Lakewood Washington was freezing in late fall, and the early morning sky was slate grey with clouds. The road was dark with drying rain as the car drives from street to street. The driver is silent for most of the drive and Mark spends his time watching the scenery pass by his window: tall evergreen trees and vibrant green grass. Every so often, though, there's a small body of water where cranes and other birds gather. It's pleasant for so early in the morning.

_ _

La Muerte Subita was a massive, concrete building surrounded by factories; industrial and looking abandoned from Mark's view out the window.
There was a small group of people milling outside the front, standing behind metal barriers in scarves and beanies, made round and chubby with layers jackets and sweaters. They pull up to the front of the building, slowing to a gentle stop as the car shuts off.
Mark unbuckles himself and zips his jacket up to his neck before snatching his bag climbing back out into the cold.

He hadn't packed heavy enough for this chill.

The driver climbs out beside him, smiling as he closes Mark's door;
"Let's head inside. Nicole will get you all set up. Are you hungry at all? Should I find you some coffee? Breakfast?" he offers kindly, gesturing for Mark to follow him up to the sliding glass doors at the front of the building.
"I'm alright for now," he mutters, "Thanks."

The driver only shrugs before pulling a lanyard from beneath his jacket and scanning the card attached, unlocking the door with a robotic click.
Inside is a warm sitting area with a reception desk and fireplace. The crackling of the fire is relaxing, and the faint smell of wood makes for a homey feeling.
He's waved toward the sitting area;
"Go ahead and take a seat, I'll go find Nicole."

Mark sits in the warm reception room and inspects his cameras while he waits. There are a few different types, a couple of extra batteries, and chargers... He hadn't really known what to bring to the Emporium.

He wishes he had brought less.

His bag was large, and angled, and uncomfortable when filled: usually, he'd leave most of his equipment at home when he traveled, opting for a smaller camera or simply using his phone to capture little clips...