Green Tea

Down the wood panelled hallway came the 'snap snap' of expensive shoes; dark, black leather shoes. Very plain, very snappy; shoes to be worn in the presence of important people by people aiming to seem more important in front of said people of importance. The shoes were attached to a pair of deep maroon trousers, a bright white shirt and an equally maroon waistcoat and jacket with bold mother-of-pearl buttons. A crisp stitched rose was embroidered in golden silk across the left breast pocket.
The snappy shoes earned condemning frowns from the sullen paintings that adorned the wall; dark dismal paintings showing old characters from a by-gone age. The maroon clad figure looked back with the same disapproval and a certain mocking look that said "well I'm not the dead one, am I? eh? Exactly." The shoes snapped down the corridor further.
At the end of the corridor was a floor-to-ceiling window looking out across the factory sector of the city; not a particularly pretty view but one that gave Mr. Rose a sense of selfish achievement. Just in front of the window today stood a butler with a tray and in front of him a door. Upon the tray stood a single tall and delicate glass of steaming green tea. This seemed to enrage Mr. Rose more than it usually did as he snapped down the corridor towards it.