Konrad Vrdoljiak
Fri 10:12PM EST
He hasn't come in by the door since the first few times. In fact, he hasn't come in at all recently. Nonetheless, tonight her sofa is empty one instant, and occupied the next. In between, only the slightest pop! of the weave of reality tearing, refusing. One of these days he'll get careless, forget to peek first, and pop in at a very inopportune moment. One of these days...
Sitting forward, he combs his hands through his hair. Tiny bits of what looks like frost-strewn spiderwebs fall to the floor and do not so much melt as they simply fade slowly away. He dusts more of this odd glistening material from his shoulders, his arms, his chest, his thighs. Then, groomed, he sits back on the sofa and watches her if she can be seen; watches the furnishings if she cannot.
Edyta
Fri 10:18PM EST
One of these days he will materialize in front of Mark and this little slice of the world will be forever changed.
Something would have to give...
It would no doubt be Mark's blood from his veins.
One of these days he will materialize and come face to face with the cool harsh metal of a gun barrel.
Something would have to give...
His brains.
Or...
Her life.
It could actually be a coin toss on which one, even if he was Garou and she - mere Kinfolk.
Watch out for the human...
She had been crossing the open plan living space of the lushly appointment apartment, from bathroom towards the kitchen and no doubt with plans to head back into the bathroom.
Until he appeared, materialized, popped into existance.
And disrupted her evening plans.
Konrad Vrdoljiak
Fri 10:27PM EST
Motion from the corner of his eye turns his head. He watches her heading for the bathroom and, presumably, stopping to face him.
Konrad doesn't say anything. He shakes his fingers clean of patternweb and leans back, steady and smooth in a way only extraordinary strength could give and explain. His arms spread along the back of the sofa; his tawny eyes passing over her from blonde head to oliveskinned toe. The hue of those eyes is not as she remembers, if she bothers to remember what color her lover/mate/business partner's eyes are. The color of those eyes can never be remembered accurately, for they change minutely from instant to instant, day to day, light to light and mood to mood.
They are dark as they linger on the curves of her sleek body and, as they rise to her face, lighten as the weave of his eyelashes lift. They were rich, nearly a cider tone; they are pale now, low-carat gold, thin amber.
And the edge of his mouth lifts, one side first, then the other. "Darling," he greets her. It's the sort of endearment he would use with his women, affectionate without any true affection. It's not the sort of endearment one would use with her, though. "Did you miss me?"
Edyta
Fri 10:34PM EST
"As much as a botched backyard hystermecomy," she answered as she paused in the movement from metallic sheen kitchen, across deep stained and polished wood living room floor with the goal of the cool polish tiled emenities of the awaiting bathroom.
Bottle of wine in one hand, pack of cigarettes in the other.
Water in one hand, fire in the other.
It was like being pressed up against the smooth burning surface of an artic glacier, the temperature drop of the room as it now stood.
Konrad Vrdoljiak
Fri 10:47PM EST
"What a thing to say," he murmurs, laughing. "So unrefined."
It's hard to say what it is. Something about the timbre of his voice, a little rougher-grained than usual beneath the smooth veneer. Something about the enunciation of his words, sharper in the internal consonants, a tad, a mite blurrier at the external. Longer vowels. Lower vowels. It's hard to say what it is that tips her off, but she knows it - he's had a few drinks already.
He's come for a few more.
The hand closer to her, stretched along the top of the sofa, turns palm-up toward her. The fingers curl just briefly, and just once in beckoning so subtle she may have missed it. Glacial or not, he is apparently difficult to deter once set on his course. And anyway, once you've had a woman in your bed, how glacial could she possibly be after?
(Very.)
Edyta
Fri 10:55PM EST
She was in no place to comment on his indulgence in the fermented beverages.
Wasn't she carrying a bottle of wine in her own hand?
Wasn't it pretty easy to guess that she would have finished it to herself by night's end?
She looked from his hand - that faint curl of his fingers - to his swathy features. An elegant arching on one eyebrow and a slow exhalation through her nose as she crossed the living room, feet padding silent against the polish floor, and placed the bottle of wine on the table edge.
She wasn't a dog (he was).
She stayed at the table edge, tearing the corner of the soft pack of cigarette open and discarding the metallic and plastic into the ashtray before tapping one of the cancer-inducing vice-sticks from the tight confines of the wrapping.
Rasp. Flicker.
She touched the small lighter flame to the cigarette, the end igniting with a hellish orange glow that flared brighter as her lungs sucked in the poisonous fumes (cancer consumes my soul, my cells; nictotine stains spread). She tossed the light idly onto the table top...
Then...
(and only then...)
Does she grace her mate with her presence.
Antartica has nothing on her when it comes to frost bite.
Konrad Vrdoljiak
Fri 11:10PM EST
It's the wine he was after. Gentleman that he is, he wouldn't dream of touching her until she showed herself receptive, after all. He doesn't dream of touching her much at all, in fact. She is, after all, colder than Antarctica.
The wine, then. It doesn't escape him that she's set it on the edge of the table where he must reach to snag it. His tawny eyes are on hers, locked, and at length a small smile curves his mouth and he coils-uncoils forward, joints opening, lean powerful animalistic form stretching slow and easy to snag the bottle in one swift and economical snap of the fingers.
She isn't a dog.
He's neither dog nor wolf nor man.
Leaning back then, the cushions hissing under his body, he pops the cork and tosses it on the table. "Thank you," he says, softly and ironically. "You're even colder than usual tonight," he remarks after his first sip straight from the bottle. "A bad day in the darkroom? Latest portraits didn't turn out right?"
Edyta
Fri 11:21PM EST
Love the packaging, can I return the gift?
She was a pleasent piece for the eyes to rest upon, but the whole image ruined as soon as she bothered to open her mouth. She didn't talk all that often and when she did it wasn't hard to see why not.
Poison of a viper's tongue.
Cold coils of a dragon.
. . . . . . . . and
Lightning strikes of an Asp.
She wrapped one olive hued arm around her waist with a brush of skin (so warm, so cold) against the unrelenting black sheen of the satin bath robe loosely belted with a sash. The slanted V of satin hugged the back of her neck and slid down her torso, spread open to her sternum and feathering barely to conceal her breasts.
She hadn't been expecting company.
But why hide the soft (luxuriate in me) skin that had already been seen?
She watched him drink from the bottle and just remained ever silent.
Ever poised.
Ever waiting.
Ever cold.
Ever resilient.
Konrad Vrdoljiak
Fri 11:33PM EST
She watches him. And he, with his animal eyes, watches her.
At last, he sets the bottle down beside him, wedged between two cushions in the couch, fingers wrapped loosely about the neck. Silky-soft, gentle and merciless and mocking as usual, as ever, his eyebrows lift and his mouth smiles and he asks, "Aren't you going to answer me, Sona? Why so cold?"
Such a fascinating voice he has. Precision of diction and enunciation slurred by familiarity of usage. Long American vowels just barely shortened by a touch of British tutors, East European nobility. No actor, he, pretending to uppercrust accents he had never used in his life.
And such a fascinating way of moving he has, swift and smooth as one would never expect: lashing forward like a liquid whip, setting the bottle down with a click of glass on glass even as he's already, and in the same motion, rising to his feet.
"Upset that I've interrupted your quiet evening?" Gentle, gentle, and soft. He could pace around her, staying just within her personal space, exerting his dominance. He could but does not. He paces toward her instead, stopping well within her personal space, or backing her up all the way to the wall if she steps away. "Upset that I didn't interrupt sooner? Upset that I turned you down the last we met? What is it, hm?" A tilt of the chin; a narrowing of the eyes, curiosity glinting alien within. "What goes on in that pretty head of yours when you look away from me like that? What are you hiding beneath that stonecold facade?"
Edyta
Fri 11:49PM EST
He rose - the eye of a storm just waiting to break and lash all it's fury upon the world. to prove it's worthiness of such a ferocious gift as the Mother gave - and as she had in the past she'd slid her weight evenly across her stance even as she lifted the smoldering cigarette to her mouth, wrapping her lips around the tip and drawing in deeply.
He paced forward - the stalk of the predator that runs through the jungles, the deserts, the forests, the plains, and the mountains all: man and feral as one - and she steped backwards.
He kept coming.
She kept moving.
(back was to a wall)
Cats lash out when cornered, didn't you know?
She dropped her head back against the plaster and paint of the wall and closed her eyes, darkly tinted lashes meeting together in a mutual embrace. She exhaled a toxic miasma of smoke, the whisper of noxious fumes seeping from her lungs and through the lips that spoke with silver blades.
Finally...
She lowered her face, eyes opening slowly in the process but only that a slash of ice blue was visible through the criss-cross of lashes as she peered at him in that same uncanny silence. She lifted a hand and placed it against his chest; palm flat and fingers splayed.
Warm flesh against warming material.
She curled her fingers, tugging at the material of his shirt so that it puckered and gathered into her slowly forming fist. A minor tilt of her head to the side as she lowered her eyes to her hand, drawing him that little bit closer with a pull of her hand against the clothing wrapped up in her (iron)fingers.
Close the distance between man and woman.
So close.
So very far away.
Like a cat that was being affectionate she wove her head from side to side, coming within a hairs breath to material and skin of his throat alike. She breathed out slowly then, warm and lush against his throat(jugular).
Ever tried to scream with your throat sliced from ear to ear?
"You speak too much," she replied finally, soft and dangerous and so much more than any normal(sane) person could include in a tone to speak so few words.
She then...
Pushed back against his chest and het her hand fall back to her side.
Konrad Vrdoljiak
Sat 12:18AM EST
She pushes him away and he moves, a motion faster than any human should be capable of. His left hand, his off hand (not that it ever really mattered at all) flashing up in a smooth, furious, strong arc to catch her beneath her jaw and slam her up against the wall, very nearly lifting her off her feet. Change seems to ripple up and down the one corded arm that holds her up against the wall, blunt square nails becoming sharp curving claws becoming nails again; coarse sparser hairs becoming smooth thicker fur becoming hairs again. The lifting moisture of her warm breath cools his throat but does not cool the molten gold furystorm in his eyes.
(Not so civilized after all...)
"You dare too much," he tells her, as softly as she had spoken, as insidiously, "little kočka."
Where her hand had grasped, the material of his shirt - a heavy but thin weave, expensive natural fibres cooling in the air - is bunched and smoothing itself over the slow metronome thud of his heart. It's his turn to lean close, then, the arm thrusting her to the wall flexing at the elbow; that iron hand still holding her skull fast to plaster, two inches higher than her head should normally be held, pulled taut, tilted up to his bestial tawny eyes. She might think he would force a kiss on her now, and more. It does occur to him: to fuck her up against the wall until she screamed, and screamed for more. She can see it in those eyes.
Which lower now; which half-lid, animal and sensual, sensing.
He inhales her scent. Her skin. He is very nearly pressed against her now. His clothes brush hers, and her skin where it is bare. Beneath, the heat of his body, and the heat of hers. Lover: adversary: mate.
(...not so cold after all.)
And he lets her down, centimeter by centimeter, steel grip loosening about her throat and smoothing down her neck, then her body. The back of his hand trails down between their bodies, slides over the skin revealed by the cut of the robe, slips briefly between the lapels, then skims the satin-covered arch of her abdomen and drops to his side. All the while his eyes follow the path of his hand and, after, rises to hers glittering like quartz. Resonant like amber.
You could almost call his tone warm. Certainly, as ever, you could call it gentle. Amused. Pitiless like a beast. "You should be more careful, Sona. You should choose well whom you bait and how."
Edyta
Sat 12:35AM EST
He could have throated her then and there.
Could have.
Didn't.
He'd had her by the throat, precariously lifted and slammed against the wall of her own home. From threatening to considering such nefarious actions. Wasn't it his right?
Slow deep breathing in and out, her ribcage rising and falling under the expansion and slow collapse of her lungs under each strained breath as she lifted a hand to her throat after he had lowered her and released that trembling (deadly) grip.
Her eyes closed as his hand trailed slowly down...
Down over satin.
Down over skin.
The rush of blood through veins; a scalding blaze of heat rising.
She ran the tip of her tongue over her bottom lip slowly and exhaled quietly through her nose.
"Life is risk."
Konrad Vrdoljiak
Sat 12:52AM EST
Her eyes have closed. He isn't surprised. Her eyes always close.
And now the right hand has curled about the knot in her robe. Dexter and sinister: right and left. Left to choke off her breath; left for violence. And the right...
He pulls, long and slow and steady. Pulls it apart. Lets it come undone, satin straps falling to trail about her knees, one side longer than the other. Satin folds of the morning-robe slipping slowly apart with every breath. And his back is to the room, and he stands crowding her to the wall: an inch or two between, no more, shadowed by his larger frame.
His hands on her waist, large and rough and warm. His hands slipping around her flanks. He pulls her forward - forward and up, and now she's on her tiptoes again, the mark of his hand on her throat, the brand of his heat on (bare) skin, through his shirt and his slacks. He's strong as some armageddon machine, and as relentless. Unstoppable. Unopposeable.
Life is risk?
"Then look at me."
Edyta
Sat 01:07AM EST
Her eyes open, a slow peel of lashes that come apart like unwilling lovers, to reveal the glacial cool (ocean deep) blues that swirled in a hypnotic dance of flecks and intertwining strands of her iris'. From darkness into the light that streamed down from the track lights that ran a line across the living room ceiling, her pupils flared out, expanding like the focus of one of her much beloved cameras.
Flared out and then bled...
Blackness weeped like an oil spill, through that cacophany of blues and threatening to dominate and conquer.
Artic Glacier.
Raging Inferno.
She balanced on the tips of her toes, dragged forward into her lover/mate/enemy's embrace...
Even then (the scales of height tipped)...
She needed to tilt her head back to stare (not gaze) up.
Blue to umber.
Woman to man.
Sociopath to Predator.
He held her and her own arms rose from her sides where they'd hung loosely, fingers curled into loose (waiting) fists. She encircled his waist, hands (fingertips) meeting at the strong curve of muscle at the base of his spine. Met, married and then splayed against the material (warmth bleeds to burn) before slowly the fingertips dug in, dragging slowly(deeply) across the press of muscles.
Look at me... he'd commanded.
. . . So she did.
Konrad Vrdoljiak
Sat 01:35AM EST
And so she did.
And in his eyes, the shifting gleam of hazel-tawny-amber-gold, metallic one moment and organic the next - in those eyes flashes something like satisfaction, gratification. Something like triumph.
Her pupils contract and flare like the lens of a camera: mechanical in its precision. There is much about her that is precise and nearly mechanical. The way she moves. The way she's poised. The way her arms encircle him -
- but not the way her fingertips dig in. Not that.
It darkens his eyes, that insistence of her fingers. And, sucking in a breath, he kisses her - not her mouth (which she would never allow) but her throat, her neck, beneath the arch of her jaw while he holds her nearly off the ground, pinned like a poisonous butterfly to him, one arm tight about her sleek waist while the other strips her of her robe in three. harsh. tugs.
Satin falls in a sleekly gleaming heap. He sets her down. He throws her down on the floor. He divests himself of his clothing in a fury of motion. Stripped bare there's nothing left that's civilized. He clothes himself in the trappings of society and man, but when he moves over her he moves like an animal. The human beast: smooth and powerful, earthy and without grace, forceful, dominating.
Coupling. Mating. Fucking.
And he doesn't release her eyes. Not this time. Not unless she looks away or shuts her eyes.
Amber to blue.
Man to woman.
Predator to sociopath.
Shadow Lord to his mate.
coils.
business and pleasure.
Rune
Thu 10:25PM EST
If rage is useful for nothing else, at least it clears one a place at the bar, most nights. Even when the moon is but a thin slivered crescent and the Ahroun's rage is far from full, fully half the human population mislikes being close to her. So it is tonight, as with all nights.
And so there she sits at the bar, lounging on a high barstool. Her body defines a long, sinuously curving line, from her long bare legs (the wicked shoes, strappy little sandal things with impossibly high heels) up the inverse curve of her lean torso, draped in a rich crimson dress, all the way to her sharp, arrogant features. The Glass Walker's red mouth is set into a half-drunken smirk; even her dark eyes (shadowed and smoked, smoked and shadowed) are glazed from something (probably not quite legal) and a drink - dark red, in a martini glass, with a curlicue of lemon rind - drifts idly in her hand.
Konrad Vrdoljiak
Thu 10:33PM EST
"All dolled up," this, as someone dares brave the wash of her rage to exit the faceless masses and slide up on the stool beside her, "and nowhere to go." Maybe she recognizes that voice. His is, after all, hard to forget. Smooth as good wine, rich and low like smoke from dark wood. The descriptions could go on, but he frankly didn't care to indulge himself. "What a pity. Who are you waiting for tonight, Walker? - Blanton's, straight, two. Thank you."
Rune
Thu 10:36PM EST
"Not you, that's for certain." The Glass Walker murmurs, when at last she deigns to fix Konrad with a supercilious stare. Despite the glazed eyes, her attention is sharp and focused, honed as a favored blade. The red mouth is curved into her ever-present smirk. The red drink rises in a vague gesture, bracelet shifting and spilling and catching the light as she moves. That thing cost a fortune. "Is there some reason you're bothering me?"
Konrad Vrdoljiak
Thu 10:40PM EST
"Certainly not." There are those dressed to the nines here, and there are those very nearly undressed. Konrad takes a casual medium, not at all standing out in fitted shortsleeves (a glorified t-shirt, really), slacks. Forest green, charcoal grey. On his sinewy forearm is the prerequisite Fossil watch, which he snaps off and tosses on the bartop. "I'm buying a familiar face a drink. Is that illegal?" Two bourbons set before him, straight up. He picks one up to sip and holds the other to her, large hand splayed over the top of the glass. "Cheers."
Rune
Thu 10:46PM EST
"In most states, yes." Amused, the curve of her smirk, settled easily, comfortably on the sharp planes of her face. Lashes fall, dark eyes lowering to the drink, and his hand splayed across the drink. Did she mis-speak? Did he hear the word Sept instead of state?
There's another vague gesture with her Cosmopolitan, accompanied by the flex and curve of her body. The dress is fitted to the hips like a second skin, and he can see the movement of long, sleek muscles beneath, like water. She places her half-finished Cosmo on the bar with a gentle clink, then accepts the bourbon from his hand. Dark eyes flash up to his features once more - and as she lifts the drink between them, he must wonder whether she means to toss it in his face, or drink it after all. "Cheers."
Konrad Vrdoljiak
Thu 10:49PM EST
A lift of a dark eyebrow salutes her as she takes her drink from him. "I'm afraid we're in a poor excuse for a state," sept? "right now."
Whether she tosses the drink or not, he drinks his, bourbon going down fiery smooth before he sets it down half-full (because life is his for the taking, and Konrad is an optimist [opportunist] about these things). "Tell me more about yourself," he invites, magnaminously commanding. "I barely learned your name before you ran off the other day."
Rune
Thu 10:54PM EST
"I did, didn't I?" She does not take toss the drink. She does little more than wet her lips with it, little more than bless the glass with the curve of her mouth, enough to leave behind the faint stain of her crimson lipstick. "I thought one of your ilk - " the faint, weaving texture of her smirk sharpens here. Biting. " - would be smart enough to take some semblance of meaning away from that experience."
Left elbow resting against the back of the chair, the Glass Walker resumes her lounge, starting alternately at the dark surface of her drink and the gaudy expanse of the dance floor. "Really, I'm fucking surprised that you didn't take the hint. I'm not sure I want you to know anything about me."
Konrad Vrdoljiak
Thu 11:03PM EST
"Really," he murmurs, more laughing than not, "one would think one of your ilk would know enough about urban mating rituals to refrain from insulting the man who just bought you a drink."
Lashes shade over the tawniness of his eyes; he looks down, right, at his glass - lifts it, drinks, sets it down with a deliberate clink. "Let me be frank." Lashes unshade; eyes gleam like amber in the sun. "I always want to know about a woman who inspires the Glass Walker Don of Atlantic City to despair - he was utterly devastated after you left. Did you doubt it?" His tone hardens just a notch, just enough, a blade - "City life has made him soft." - and mellows, amused, as he flicks her a glance from head to toe. "I won't dare suggest the same of you."
And he looks out over the sandy dance floor. Christ. Who in this day and age pours sand on their dance floors? The word is almost subvocal, "Yet."
Rune
Thu 11:09PM EST
"Perhaps you should refine your thinking on the matter, hmmm?" Arrogant chin rising, she flickers a glance from the dance floor, back to her companion. The drink tips precariously forward, red nails clicking deliberately on the glass.
No. No. It doesn't quite spill, for all the liquid sloshes almost to the rim with the gesture, before she places it back - deliberate as he - on the bar. Clink. And takes her own martini glass in hand once more. "My ilk prefers not to engage in urban mating rituals with your ilk. And," the smooth twist of her wrist, lifting the drink in a mocking little toast. "I think it's the country life that makes one soft. All those damnable trees. All those ignorant yokels. They say the mind is the first thing to go."
Konrad Vrdoljiak
Thu 11:24PM EST
"And there she goes again." He settles back against the bar, narrow tawny eyes watching her, very nearly gleaming in the dim and flashflickering light. His gaze, while nowhere near hostile, is far from friendly. It's unwavering, impersonal, not even particularly critical. He has many ways of looking at a woman, and he turns perhaps the most scathing of them all on her: blatant disregard. "Attempting feeble insults."
His smile is still gentle; his gaze, still cuttingly perceptive and careless and merciless. His tone is low and amused, as pleasant as it is cutting, "What do you expect will come of this, Rune? Do you hope to inspire me to such rage that I storm off and never return? Lose an ally before you have even made one? Make an enemy before you even know him? Or do you hope I'll stoop to insult you in return? Sneer at your lack of breeding, scoff at your poor attempts to create an urban empire while you let your spirit bleed from your veins and replace it with electronics and drugs...start a feud, perhaps?" Eyebrows rise. Eyes leave hers deliberately, slide back. A soft prodding, "Hm?
"Or alternatively," suddenly warmer, though still quiet and beneath the ebb and flow of the music, "we can start on a better foot. I've asked around about you. They say you outrank me, that your pack has made many advances in the north. If that's so, I'm glad to offer the resources available to my family and my pack. All I ask in return is a little civility. A tenth of the courtesy I've thus far shown you."
Rune
Thu 11:33PM EST
Trucker girl: dressed to the nines, tonight, in a little red dress and strappy high heels that cost more than a month's rent, for most. The ensemble is - quite simply - wicked on her tall, sleek figure, and is topped off by something she rarely ever sports: jewelry. Bracelet, necklace, dancing little earbobs in platinum, set with rubies and diamonds.
"I prefer insults, Konrad, feeble or not. If you'd like to insult my breeding, my lack of spirit, my pitiful urban empire, please - " The low sweep of dark lashes over sparkling dark eyes, the extravagant gesture (turned on a whim, the curving twist of her wrist) with the extravagant crimson drink. "be. my. fucking. guest."
Her attention narrows, generous smirk flattening to a fine, dangerous line before spreading wicked-wide. Some easy movement of her shoulder shrugs the falling spaghetti strap back into place from where it had fallen against the curve of her upper arm. "Insults are honest, at least. You're a mite too fucking glib for my taste."
Jastima Gemile
Thu 11:39PM EST
Lifting to drain the Jack half way. Her cheeks swelling before swallowing it down. Perching herself before them. Their conversation, void from her ears. Not tonight. Tonight it took focus just to ~retain yourself child. And whatever you do, DONT turn around~.
Her lashes closed midway, lips parting in that practiced niecity. She glanced to the face of the one not known to her eyes, then turned to gaze... from shoe to face... of the, "I do hate to interupt...".
Konrad Vrdoljiak
Thu 11:43PM EST
"No," he disagrees, and flatly, and completely, and with such finality that the eye can barely help but be drawn. The moment stretches - then, quieter, "No. Insults are not honest. Insults are a weapon, just like anything else. A very good one, if wielded right.
"But in case you failed the hear me the first time, or in case I wasn't clear enough: I didn't come to make an enemy. I didn't come to fight. I came to offer the assistance of my pack and my family, should you ever want it. We - "
And then Jastima approaches, and like that he breaks off, glancing curiously to the newcomer with a polite smile before lifting his drink again.
Rune
Thu 11:48PM EST
"Shame." The Glass Walker murmurs, half-turning, then reaching back to slide a cigarette - utter crimson, as everything else is with her, tonight - from the colorful pack of French cigarettes resting on the bar. Now, of course, her hands are full. She lifts a brow at Konrad and tips her head in the direction of the lighter as she holds the golden filter to her mouth. "I was having fun, too."
Dark eyes swing back to Jastima, then, and the Glass Walker's pale, rounded shoulders rise in a lilting shrug. "...but you're going to anyway." Amused, the smirk that crawls across her mouth. "Go on?"
Jastima Gemile
Thu 11:54PM EST
Full Moons were something to fear most of the time, even moreso on their 'cycle' like...Aunt Flow or something visiting. Wellllll...'No Moons' were worse. Their hatreds, plots, pranks and worse knew little bounds of horrible circumstance when given to their own visiting aunt. ~Oh my god, calm down, ok... blood guts, entrails, smartass, whatever!~
Takes a breath, a smile placating her lips to match the Trucker's wife, "Your so kind. I was curious if you were... perhaps.. the" fluttering lashes ~Control!!!~ voice lowering to a whisper, "Urban farmer called Rune?"
Konrad Vrdoljiak
Thu 11:56PM EST
Strange tawny eyes, animal, flicker along the line of sight she sketches with a nod. His (angry) intensity of a moment past crumbles and fades like ice in the thaw. He laughs suddenly, perhaps a little grudgingly, and instead takes his own lighter out: plain brushed steel, sparsely modern and built to last. Extending a long and muscled arm, he flicks the lighter on with a practiced clip of his wrist beneath her cigarette.
"Sorry." His hand is machine-steady as he touches flame to the tip, and his eyes flash up to catch the flame and catch her gaze in one sweep. "I follow the old cliche. Never mix business and pleasure."
Click. Lighter closes and is swallowed in the palm of his large hand as that hand curls into a loose fist and props upon his arching cheekbone. Relaxed on the barstool, he turns his keen, eavesdropping attention on Jastima.
Jastima Gemile
Fri 12:06AM EST
Her wide hazel eyes flicker at the glimmer of light dancing upon Rune's face. She was fetching, truely. Gaze momentarily focused upon her lips, she purses her own, taking a quick breath as a free hand flitters to her back pocket.
"Consider yourself...." other hand, holding the lowball glass of amber liquid, the same arm used as a coat rack.... she took a swallow of the Jack, "Served." Her left hand branishing a lone piece of folded white paper towards the Trucker's wife.
Rune
Fri 12:12AM EST
Both hands are full. In one, the crimson cigarette with the golden filter. In the other, the Cosmopolitan gleaming in its little martini glass. The liquid now fills less than a quarter of the wide-mouthed glass, and shines like a ruby in the uncertain light. The twist of lemon rind is the only flaw in the jewel.
Rune sets the martini glass aside, perfectly plucked, arched brows rising in a higher arch. The curve of her smirk widens and deepens as she stretches her hand to take the paper between thumb and forefinger. The paper rustles as she flicks it open, casting a brief glance across the numbers scrawled therein. "Then served I am." Dark eyes rise to settle on Jastima's. Glazed as they are, they gleam in the light, rather like polished mahoghany. "Who is serving me? And from whom does this missive come?"
Konrad Vrdoljiak
Fri 12:13AM EST
When the cigarette catches, the lighter snaps shut with a reverse-twist of his wrist. He too leans back, laughing low beneath his breath. "Evidently," is his only response. Curious tawny eyes follow the path of the folded white paper.
Rune
Fri 12:28AM EST
Dark eyes flash - the full moon in them, humor leeching away - as the Glass Walker's irritation rises. Fine brows draw together in a narrow, narrowed crease.
Rune remains still as Jastima leans in to whisper to her, and still again as she speaks. More still, yet, utterly un-fucking-moving except for the lowered quirk of her flagrant smirk. "You know, I didn't understand a word you just fucking said." Apparently, you can dress her up, but you cannot take her out. "If you want to rephrase that in English - " lips parting for another drag, she folds the paper one-handedly and twists to slip it into the pack of cigarettes resting on the bar. " - I'm all fucking ears. Are you trying to tell me that you wrote it, or... ?"
Ruv Ra'gon
Fri 12:29AM EST
Dodging the undulations coming from the dance floor, he bumps right into Konrad. "Sorry Gov.." ~oh shit..starting to peek~ A huge grin begins to plasture upon his face as his eyes go wide recognizing the Lord. His arms open wide and suddenly the Lord finds himself in the embrace of Ra'gons arms, his head upon his shoulder "Hiiiiiiiii man..how R! you?"
Konrad Vrdoljiak
Fri 12:34AM EST
...and his eavesdropping comes to an end as Ra'gon yanks him into an unexpected embrace. Konrad, surprised to say the least, raises his arms with a suddenness that suggests he might be able to shove Ra'gon back a foot or ten but, catching himself, returns the embrace lightly, politely, and with that 'there you go then' pat on the back as he extricates himself.
Reseating himself on the stool, "Not bad. Thanks. Pardon, do I know you?" He had only seen Ra'gon in the Crinos-form, after all, and this place, this form he wears, is hardly conductive to recognizing scents.
Ruv Ra'gon
Fri 12:38AM EST
Ra'gons head pulls back suddenly, eyes narrow ~huh..why you~ and as per the roll...laughs "YES!!!" Patting Konrad on the shoulder, giving the bartender two fingers...for what? who the fuck knows...he think he does...~two jack and cokes~ thinking it and saying it are two completely different things right? Glancing back to Konrad as much as his now fluttering eyes would allow. Focus was beyond him it seemed at this time as wave after wave took him. "Outside...graveyard...Ra'gon..." shaking his head "What are you doing here?"
Ruv Ra'gon
Fri 12:38AM EST
Ra'gons head pulls back suddenly, eyes narrow ~huh..why you~ and as per the roll...laughs "YES!!!" Patting Konrad on the shoulder, giving the bartender two fingers...for what? who the fuck knows...he think he does...~two jack and cokes~ thinking it and saying it are two completely different things right? Glancing back to Konrad as much as his now fluttering eyes would allow. Focus was beyond him it seemed at this time as wave after wave took him. "Outside...graveyard...Ra'gon..." shaking his head "What are you doing here?"
Jastima Gemile
Fri 12:39AM EST
She pulled away from the jeweled ear, as slowly as she came. For the benefit of the Urban Farmer's, or for her own, who was to know... or care for that matter? ~Easy.... Eight, seven... Eyes, knives, bind her to..... five! Just breath!! Fou...~
Gaze flickering as she turned to face them all... All???! She slowly turned to face the one unknown to her... being caressed by.. Ra'gon?!
Head tilting off skew. Brow arching high. ~This is.... not..... what is he...~ Fluttering lashes contrast the confusion pressing her thin brows together. She cleared her throat ~Concentrate!!~ looking to Rune.
"Allow me to undo the enigma which perplexes. I am the hand that gives you the paper. The number is for you to" hand raising, a thumb and pinky extending only in the universal (call me) signal "call. And from there, well hun you are on your own. Fed Ex has its limitations you see." Flashing a grin ment for sarcasm more than pleasantries, she turns her eyes back to her prala. Extending the ice filled glass before his eyes, she rattles it.
Konrad Vrdoljiak
Fri 12:43AM EST
Outside...graveyard...Ra'gon...oh. Recognition comes in an animal manner, flickering through his tawny eyes before it settles his features into an easy grin. Whether or not the grin touches his eyes - whether or not any amusement ever shows there except that of the most predatory, merciless sort - is up for grabs.
"What does it look like?" replies Konrad, reaching back to rattle his bourbon, straight-up. "Getting smashed. What are you doing here?"
Ruv Ra'gon
Fri 12:47AM EST
Chuckling every few breaths, each breath becoming faster and faster. Eyes desperately trying to focus. His hand grasps Konrad's shoulder. Occassionally squeezing tightly as each wave begins to hit him harder and harder. "Ooooooo...huh?" laughing "No wait..I...I" Eyes fluttering around as he desperately tries to gaze around the bar...finally landing upon Gemile "Followed her.." laughs again as the bartender asks him 'what was that?'; shoving his hand that was once upon Konrad's shoulder towards the bartender "TWO JACK N COKES!"
Konrad Vrdoljiak
Fri 12:51AM EST
Konrad sets the bourbon back down. "I think," standing, and nudging Ra'gon's spasmodically squeezing hand off his shoulder while taking the other by his shoulders, "you should sit down." A glance shot at Jastima - what did you give him?! - before he turns Ra'gon about toward the stool he'd just vacated.
Rune
Fri 12:51AM EST
"Thank you." Sarcasm for sarcasm (it is, after all, the language she speaks best), the Glass Walker flashes Jastima another of her patented smirks. "Everything is clear now."
One deft hand - long fingered and fine - curls around the stem of her martini glass. In a wink, the Glass Walker has tossed it back, swallowing the remnants of the ruby drink in one long, sweeping motion. Red nails click thrice upon the bar, then peel a twenty out from within the cigarette pack, sliding it beneath the the base of then glass. She leans over to stub out her cigarette in the ashtray behind Konrad, and slides from the barstool in a sleek, easy motion that bespeaks supreme physical confidence, the understated, unconscious, unknowable kind of physical confidence possessed by all predators.
And confident she should be. In the heels, she's well over six feet tall, and the clinging dress reveals a lean, athletic figure (no anorexics here) as graceful (more) as it is strong. Her hand curls around the pack of Sobrainies before she turns to go.
"Maybe I'll see what's on the other end." Offered to Jastima as she slides around the smaller woman and heads off toward the dance floor, and thence the door. Then, over her pale shoulder (spaghetti strap riding down over the muscled curve of her upper arm), to Konrad and Ra'gon. "Ciao."
Jastima Gemile
Fri 12:53AM EST
Tip of her tounge jutting out to wet her chapped pouchy lips, yet again. Creases between her brows deepen as her attention turns to the two men (Ra'gon and Konrad). Like a bird, her head tilts one way then the other. ~Oh dear lord he has lost his damn mind! And who the hell is this? Yet another damned gaje he keeps secretive knowledge from moi? Yooooooooooooou suck you know that Peiter... I mean, Prala. Jezzzus... this isn't even Prala. OR Peiter. What is he... hold on now...~
Leaning over Rune, "So sorry.." to place her empty drink upon the bartop and to lay her coat down. She turns around to Ra'gon, both hands raising to clasp either side of his face and pull him towards her. Head tilting, lips parting, she embraces him hard, suckling upon his lips...tounge ~Taste... tart.... asprin?? Sodium.... oh fuck!~ Pushing off of him suddenly, her face puckering up. ~XTC! You can't ha...Oh fuck..~
Konrad Vrdoljiak
Fri 12:56AM EST
All right. He's a Strider. And she's a Strider - he can feel the latent Rage. And she just sucked his face and...
(Konrad will remember that.)
Politely though, to Gemile, "Perhaps this is a bad time."
Ruv Ra'gon
Fri 01:01AM EST
The kiss was...well shocking...but yet inviting. ~oh..wait..what? Oh shut up!!~ his tongue dancing back upon her own. ~ooooooo~ Blinking when she let go of her suckle upon him, his tongue darting out to lick over the moistness of his lips. Slowly his grin cracks into a smile "Hey there sexy..." again licking his lips..his left hand reaching round to touch Konrad "You met him yet? I have..."
Ruv Ra'gon
Fri 01:02AM EST
Whispering! AS IF..in other words covering his mouth as he yelled. "He reminds me of you know who" Giving her a saucy wink
Jastima Gemile
Fri 01:03AM EST
She grins wide looking to (Konrad), one shoulder rounding as she takes the now empty seat across from him, "Do no sit there and tell me you do not harbor ALL of your senses." Brows arching, she looks to the barkeep and once more winces to pull a few bucks from her pocket to pay him what is due for the two Jacks.
"Nope..." her answer came with the quip of gaze towards the two men, "I have not met him... your going to introduce us Prala?" The blacks of her eyes widening, focusing past Ra'gon, past Konrad, over his shoulder to the other...
Ruv Ra'gon
Fri 01:07AM EST
"Uhhh..." Laughing as the two Jack n Cokes come to him from the bartender "Neighbor meet my sister. Pena..meet our neighbor" chuckling as he leans over the bar hearing the amount the keep was telling him that he owed. "What? How much?" chuckling
Konrad Vrdoljiak
Fri 01:07AM EST
"Konrad Vrdoljiak," Konrad introduces himself with a returned flickerflash grin, holding out his hand. Dark of hair, tawny of eye, and east-european of feature, his blood bespeaks his Shadow Lord ancestry. "His neighbor to the (whatever direction it was, heh)." Then, standing, he takes his watch off the bartop, clicks it on, and points half-sheepishly at the departed Glass Walker. "Excuse me, please...she ran off before I'd quite said my piece. Do stop by for lunch someday, hm?"
Maybe the gaje had a habit of quick exits. With that, Konrad grabs the jack 'n coke off the bar, downs half, thanks Ra'gon for the drink, and starts after Rune, catching her halfway to the door.
"Leaving so soon? I'm not finished."
Ruv Ra'gon
Fri 01:11AM EST
Brows furrow as Konrad unexplicatidly runs away. Having heard not a word the Lord had gave. His eyes narrow upon Gemile, though anger was far from them, more of a ~you bitch~ sorta glare he was giving her. "Well way to go Pena..just run him off before we even get to say hello. And why do I bring you around?" Nodding his head towards the baretender "Oh..pay em"
Jastima Gemile
Fri 01:12AM EST
She watches him.. steadily. ~He reminds me of you know who..wink wink....OH.. Ohhhh!~
Brow once more quirking as he makes an introduction. ~ShadowLord~(silent thought)
Flickering gaze mimiacing her quivering lips. No introduction for herself tonight. No, the Lord is entertained, bewitched by the Farmer. Her mouth quirks in a grin, she turns to her Prala.
"Wha??" words fumbling, her olive complexion flushing deeper, "I'm not the one who... oh fark off! I already payed em.." Waving a dismissive hand as she took the drink away from Ra'gon's hand.
Rune
Fri 01:13AM EST
The Glass Walker turns on the edge of the dance floor, fine grains of scattered sand crunching beneath her feet. She half-turns, an easy pivot that belongs on a runway rather than a dance floor, and fixes Konrad with her dark, smirking gaze.
"How surprising." The hand clasping her cigarettes rests desultorily against the curve of her hip. "I mean, of course, that we don't think alike. I was done." Some faint, remnant challenge lingers in her glazed eyes as her free hand lifts to run riot through inky dark hair. "So - " the arm falls, wrist twisting in an impatient gesture - get on with it - " - what else did you have to say?"
Konrad Vrdoljiak
Fri 01:19AM EST
An eyebrow quirks. "Must I repeat myself yet again?" And, standing there at the edge of the dance floor with young people in love or lust streaming on and off on either side, he catches her falling hand, turns it palm-up, and jots yet another phone number on her palm without looking. Don't ask us where he produced the pen from; we don't know.
"You know what I want." An alliance. Or one would hope. "I know you won't give me your number." He finishes the phone number, scrawls his name under it, slaps the pen into her palm. "Call me if you're interested. We'll discuss it over dinner."
Maybe he is bewitched.
Rune
Fri 01:25AM EST
His eyebrow quirks. Both hers are already arched, but as he grasps her hand and jots his number across her palm, they rise impossibly high. Amused - some ineffable self-mocking tinge to the curve of her red mouth - the Glass Walker folds her hand around the pen.
"We'll see." Brows fall, and her smirk crawls wide. She steps forward - into his space - and reaches around him to tuck the pen inside the back pocket of his jeans. "Goodnight."
There's a ring of finality to the word, harder-edged than any others she has spoken. It's emphasized by the faint clack of her white teeth together as her jaw closes and she turns away. Sauntering through the dance floor - slipping easily in and around the crowded space - she strolls toward the door. Soon enough, she's gone.
Alexis Petrovna
Fri 01:41AM EST
Taiga. At the edges of the Tundra in the farthest north, they lay a forest that is chistened in shimmering ice along thin, leafless trees. Frost dances in the very air that is breathed, artic cold pulled deep into lungs and crystalizing there. There is no margin for error, there is no soft warmth and shadowed days. There is only Taiga.
Just as now, there is only Alexis.
How long she has been there is anyone's guess, how long she has been watching is anyone's suggestion, something that would be marked only but cooly lifted brow. And now? That slow smirk slides over lips, as she murmurs just behind his left shoulder.. "Left standing at the edge of the dance floor... how very.. droll."
A slow smirk slides over lips, weight flows from hips, pulling lean body around Kondrad's and toward the bar. Almost an afterthought thrown over shoulder.. "Buy me a drink." a slow melt of flesh from her path to free the way over sand that crushes under her feet. A hand swings free at her side, the other tucked into the pocket leather jacket. Dark eyes under darker hair that is uplled back into a single braid to hang down midback. Strong jawline, high cheekbones.... one word describes her motion and being.
Royalty.
Konrad Vrdoljiak
Fri 01:47AM EST
Though he doesn't turn, the proud line of his back and the set of his powerful shoulders ...relaxes, somehow, with the presence of his packmate. A long chuckle rolls soft out of the Knife's chest. "Give me time," he replies - and for what was anybody's guess. He watches her slither about and toward the bar. Russian royalty always was easy on the eyes. Belatedly, and more or less to himself as she's far enough for him to be inaudible now, "Certainly."
And he goes to buy her a drink.
Alexis Petrovna
Fri 01:55AM EST
She knows. She always does. Her slow walk toward the bar gives plenty of time for a stool to be vacated, though the steady unerring line seems to suggest she knew all along which one would be.
Slender form settles to sit on the barstool, dark laquered nail tapping the bartop as if she expected a drink to be waiting as well. But Konrad is slow this evening it seems, and is presented with the long line of her back as she waits, before he is treated to the kiss of flesh over silk as leather is removed, and halter of a deep maroon revealed. Only then does she turn her head, slow smirk still teasing over burgandy lips, and arches a brow slightly... waiting.
Konrad Vrdoljiak
Fri 02:15AM EST
Half-smiling, bemused, he follows the Philodox to the bar and slides up beside her, elbows on the bartop, narrowing his eyes at the selection before turning to her.
"Well," he prompts, "you'll have to tell me what you want."
Alexis Petrovna
Fri 02:22AM EST
Leather is draped over her thighs as slender legs cross, and she keeps her gaze on him as he leans up next to her. Brow creeps just a notch higher "Perhaps that is why she ran away... so few men nowdays know what we wnat..." Almost. a tease. except its still surrounded by knowing smirk. A crooked nail brings bartender over, and single glass of the most expensive wine is ordered. (What, you expected Vodka?)
Konrad Vrdoljiak
Fri 02:28AM EST
A single shake of his head as he holds up two fingers to double it, and shells out the cold hard cash for both. "Perhaps you know what you want. But so few women know what it is they need." As both glasses are served up, he lifts his and touches the lip to hers in a silent toast, adding, "The woman was a Glass Walker. I saw her speaking to the Don of A.C a few weeks ago. She refused him something and he nearly wept. I want to know what she has that's so damn good, and I want a piece of it."
Alexis Petrovna
Fri 02:36AM EST
She lifts her glass, and a slight nod as her's touches his with a murmured Russian word. The first sip is taken, savored as it slides over pallatte and is swallowed away as his words continue somewhat over her. Back still ramrod straight, her posture impeccable, hands folded lightly in her lap as she listens. "Interesting... he nearly wept?" Something of disbelief, yet for the prowess of the wlker, not the validity of the tale.
Konrad Vrdoljiak
Fri 02:41AM EST
The neighbor to his right gets up abruptly and moves away. Even on the best of days, even with the strongest of wills, two Garou's rage is an overwhelming thing. All the better for Konrad, who promptly tugs the stool over and slides on. Where Alexis sits prim and poised, arched like a dancer, Konrad spreads himself into a lean, languid sprawl, nearly leonine in his lazy strength. A nod confirms her question. "She's only Fostern, but apparently a very well-connected Fostern. That makes it all the more remarkable. Close enough to be an ally, not an elder to beg favors from. And that," sipping, "is always a good thing."
He extends his arm to set the glass down on the bartop behind him, then, sweeping her in with a glance. "Enough of that. How have you been? And why do you sit so straight? Like a femme fatale from the KGB, you," gently teasing. "The Union fell years ago, you know."
Alexis Petrovna
Fri 02:51AM EST
The neighbor gets a flick of dark gaze, a quirk of lip in something like amusement, but then it settles back on Konrad and his (uncultured) sprawl. A nod, slight but there. "Always." Murmured in agreement.
Glass is lifted again, another careful sip taken in the kiss of burgandy against glass, and soft chuckle follows swallow. "Because I am not uncultured, Konrad. Femme fatale I may be.. however, there are times and places for... sprawling..... I do not yet see that this is such a place, or time..." and then smile turns wicked, and she leans in slow melt toward his form, her voice a mere purr in his ear.. "...or proper companion for such things..." abdominal muscles pull lean body upwards again, and former posture is resumed.
Konrad Vrdoljiak
Fri 02:55AM EST
"Ha!" without so much as moving from his sprawl. "You're in America now. Unculture is culture." And listening to her murmur, his lips curl up as his tawny wild eyes ride the surf of the crowd. "A roomful of hopefuls, and you can't find a single one? Tsk...have another drink, Alexis. They'll begin to look better with every glass, I promise."
Alexis Petrovna
Fri 03:00AM EST
This brings another chuckle as gaze slides from him finally to sweep the room in something akin to disinterest. A shake of her head and thickly accented English – although perfect in form, and function slides free. “A room for of hopefuls, yet none worthy. Not even drink can improve those unworthy. I did not come trolling for some midnight roll in the hay, Konrad. Simply to taste this American Culture you so enjoy. I find it…. Interesting. Nothing more.”
Konrad Vrdoljiak
Fri 03:05AM EST
"Ah, well," softly, and perhaps more introspectively than one would expect, "it's no Prague, no Istanbul, no Moscow, but it's something nonetheless." A flicker of a grin, as the Ahroun - relaxed after two or three drinks on a crescent-moon night - pulls himself straighter and reaches back to finish his drink. "You and Simon - growing restless, yes?"
Alexis Petrovna
Fri 03:09AM EST
"Something, indeed." He pulls himself straighter, and smirk slides into smile, though it fades easily enough to former expression. She is comfortable in who she is, what she is, and though she still sits as proper as before, there is an ease about her that speaks of confidence.
The last is punctuated with a swallow of wine, glass replaced on the bar, fingers remain light on the stem, nails tapping against glass absently. "I cannot speak for Simon, but only for myself. Yes."
Konrad Vrdoljiak
Fri 03:16AM EST
"Good. I like my pack a little lean and hungry." Unlike her with her civilized little sips, he's at the bottom of his glass already (again), and catching the bartender's eye for a refill. "Keeps them sharp. Be ready. We move soon, and there won't be much warning."
Alexis Petrovna
Fri 03:20AM EST
Her laughter falls and she nods. Of course he does. But her only reply is a simple. "I am always ready." Taiga does not pause to take prisoners, Taiga does not reward those who hesitate. There are many reasons for her name, are there not?
Civilized next to uncultured, composure next to sprawl, oil and water. pack.. They will find the ways each compliments the other soon enough.
Simon
Fri 03:24AM EST
He steps up to the bar. A man simply not there before. Leans on it and raises his hand pointing to the port. He looks around. Pale green eyes making contact once.
River
Fri 03:31AM EST
*His crystal green eyes suddenly seem to glow. He begins to walk quickly to the mouth of the alley and looks at the entrance of the club.*
JT
Fri 03:32AM EST
He shivers a bit as a trill of recognition rolls down his borrowed spine. He turns, and looks down the alley next to the club, stepping over a used condom, and a broken syringe to do so.
"Hello"
His voice almost supernaturally smooth as the other walks into view.
River
Fri 03:33AM EST
*His hands in pocket he eyes JT.*"Hello"
JT
Fri 03:34AM EST
His deep brown eyes lock with those of River, and recognition shoots through him. Not nessecarily for that man in particular, but for something else. Memories... Soo many memories.
The tall, muscular black man makes no move, but to nod back into the alley.
Simon
Fri 03:34AM EST
Taking his port he smiles and sips it. He's dressed in black tonight. All neo-nongoth-gothlike. Black slacks, button up shirt under a black european style long coat. He nods. He sips and looks around the club.
Konrad Vrdoljiak
Fri 03:44AM EST
"Simon," acknowledges Konrad, setting the emptied wineglass down. "I assume you've heard everything."
River
Fri 03:45AM EST
"Besides I think we can speak without these,,,"*Waving a hand towards the traffic outside the club.*"Knowing what the hell we are talking about."
JT
Fri 03:45AM EST
He nods, and turns around to lean against the wall, this being the thing that JT's memories tell him to do. Then, not seeming to speak at all, to the mortals that surround them, he says to the other Fallen, "I am Demandrel, Sower of Bright Songs, Knight of the House of the Dawn. You may remember me."
Alexis Petrovna
Fri 03:47AM EST
Dark gaze slides, meeting Simon's for just a moment, a slight nod of anknowledgement as she finishes off her wine, finally, and sets empty glass on the bar with a clink.
Dressed much the same as before, though silken halter replaces the blouse of before, her bearing still the same - as Konrad would put it, prim and proper, with an extreme dose of confidence thrown in. "Good evening, Simon."
Simon
Fri 03:47AM EST
He smiles "Why, I just arrived."
Konrad Vrdoljiak
Fri 03:52AM EST
Konrad, somewhat uncharacteristically, snorts. "Somehow, I find that hard to believe. And if it is true, then you're slipping, No-Moon." With that, the Knife dismounts his stool, taking his pen out of his back pocket where the Glass Walker had placed it, replacing it elsewhere. Raising tawny eyes to his packmates, then, "I'm ready to leave."
Simon
Fri 03:52AM EST
He nods to ALexis "Good evening."
Simon
Fri 03:53AM EST
He flashes a "What me? sneak aournd??? Never" look
Alexis Petrovna
Fri 03:54AM EST
Before he has even fully regained his feet, the moment sprawl begin to ripple though his form, the leather is slid from her thighs and again coat is slide into place, rolled unto slender shoulders and she slides from stool to her feet merely half as second behind Konrad. "I've enough 'culture' for this evening, as well."
Konrad Vrdoljiak
Fri 03:58AM EST
No coat for Konrad. Just a fitted short-sleeve (a t-shirt by any other names...), slacks. Not quite the ostentatious dress of some; not quite the near-nudity of others. Still, given the outside temperature, he must not have parked far. As Alexis slides to her feet, he tosses a few bills on the bartop to cover his refill, folds his wallet into his pocket, and starts across the dance floor.
Simon
Fri 04:00AM EST
He mearly leans away from the bar. He'd never taken a seat. His port finished he flips his wrist sending the glass twords the tender. If he catches it is of little conquience to him.
Alexis Petrovna
Fri 04:03AM EST
A hand slides into a pocket, the other swings free on her side, the easy grace that claims every movement spoken in the flex and curl of muscle, the animalistic prowl of royalty as she moves behind Konrad, following his path cut through the dance floor.
Konrad Vrdoljiak
Fri 04:06AM EST
There is, unsurprisingly, a crash! of breaking glass behind the trio as they move across the dance floor: Simon in his gothic black; Alexis in her sleek citygear; Konrad in ...his own style and skin. Some trinity of the Grandfather. Some triad of the dark side of the light. Something like that...
Twenty feet from the club door, Konrad stops. dead. Like hitting a wall. The tall Lord lifts his head, tawny eyes narrowed and scanning, head cocked as though listening. As though hearing.
"Do you feel...?"
Yes, they did.
Simon
Fri 04:07AM EST
As he(( konny)) stops the man in black is obscured by a passing bouncer. He's not overly big. and is seemingly gone. Oh he felt it. but he wasn't staying visable to get seen by IT
JT
Fri 04:07AM EST
"Open any books? Of course. I've read quite alot. I don't sleep much, simply because there's too much to do. War and Peace, Tolstoy. A Complete History of the World... The Necronomicon... Laughable. I've also cemented 3 pacts, and met another of the Unholy Host. Why do you ask, Member of the Lowest House?"
His voice still almost inaudible to the mortals flowing past them like cattle.
River
Fri 04:10AM EST
*His eyes flame at 'lowest house'. He slowly calms.*"Then you know of those before us and the storm that is in the city,,only so many souls for so many Gods."
JT
Fri 04:11AM EST
"Bah."
He shakes his head at the thought, "The potential of humanity is endless... And we are not Gods my friend. They are. it's what we were fighting for to begin with."
River
Fri 04:14AM EST
"I'm sorry to speak over your head,,just using what is known as metaphor's. I should spell it out as is common with your house as it takes a hit over the head to understand a point. Besides the first of course."
JT
Fri 04:15AM EST
"If Lucifer showed himself tomorrow, I might follow him. If he continued to make as much sense as he did before the War. I don't see why he wouldn't, but, let's face it. He's not around. He either doesn't care, or is too busy dealing with other things to worry about us."
He reaches for a pack of smokes, "I follow no one but my own heart. Which is what we should have been doing all along."
River
Fri 04:17AM EST
"So you have read books and I assume even your house can put two and two together,,,,when the dukes 'dissappeared they came here and began building power. Of course you can figure the power went up and down over the ages,,but if we are this powerful just after a few weeks or a few months,,,,few years,,thier power is great,,,do you think they want us to be release to roam around to take the faith from mortals that they could? Hence a 'side'."
JT
Fri 04:17AM EST
He chuckles at the little Halaku's anger, "Sorry to offend you, Oh Reaping One. it's really too bad that he doesn't care anymore. Maybe he would pat you on the head and tell you it's okay if he did."
A chuckle as he looks back at the door, watching his hopes and dreams filter through it with longing.
JT
Fri 04:18AM EST
"Oh, the Earthbound. Why didn't you just say so. Of course I don't follow those mad fools."
River
Fri 04:18AM EST
"Thats the reason my friend we must find him,,otherwise we are lost,,with no hope of reconcilation or even a stale-mate."
Simon
Fri 04:20AM EST
Unseen to surrounding eyes he edges forward. nearing the door. cloaked from sight.
Alexis Petrovna
Fri 04:21AM EST
Gothic. City. Style. The slide of dark through light, light through dark, poetically executed as a simple stroll.
Konrad Stops.
Simon Disappears.
Alexis frowns...
Again, half a second behind the (her) leader, she halts, fine turned to following and following well, dark eyes narrow slightly (do you? of course they do...) and search around them, her voice a simple acknowledgement. "Da."
JT
Fri 04:23AM EST
"This is no new world, Wisdom. This is the same world we were barred away from. The same world Lucifer never left. This is the same world he sat in, while we burned in the Fires of our own Hate."
He shrugs, "I apologize, my friend. I have been a bit on edge lately. I too sense something strange in the world. People, humans are having strage, somewhat prophetic dreams... I saw a posting on a bulletin board about it. It has me rattled. My apologies. I have nothing but repect for your House."
River
Fri 04:26AM EST
"Half stunned at that,,,he shakes his head. Not believing it,but hoping he believes in what he said about the mortals.*"Yes even my hoste had dreams about it,,,the church,,even if we don't agree,,we need to figure this one out or even I feel we maybe cast back into the pit."
Konrad Vrdoljiak
Fri 04:27AM EST
"Where? Outside?" As Simon gives the nod, Konrad returns it.
Low now, soft as the falling snow, killing blow, "Step light. Follow close. Let the No-Moon strike first, from ambush. Then take the warform to protect the Veil..."
...nothing they don't know already, hopefully.
JT
Fri 04:27AM EST
A nod. "The Earthbound know we're here. We must protect the Mortals from them and protect ourselves."
Simon
Fri 04:29AM EST
He comes back a shisper spoken in their ears "There are two, speaking in tongues of power. WOrds with weight on the aire. One is black and large. has an oily feel The other seems to be a lessor if terms of submission hold true..."
Alexis Petrovna
Fri 04:31AM EST
A nod, slight. It is not anything she does not know. A roll of shoulders loosens any tension that she would not show as felt anyway. Silent, she follows the Alpha without hesitation.
River
Fri 04:33AM EST
*He smiles*"Like I said,,for now,until we see what the hell is going on,,,I would be more interrested in making friends,,,I'm a loyalist,,so I recongize the rank of order,,but even back then,,didnt mean total disrespect."
Konrad Vrdoljiak
Fri 04:34AM EST
Simple, the reply, as he continues toward the door. "Choose your target, Simon."
JT
Fri 04:34AM EST
"I am not loyal to Lucifer as of yet. That remains to be seen for tomorrow, if he were to show himself, and have a plan. So, friends we are then?"
River
Fri 04:35AM EST
"Of course"*Putting out his hand.*"If wish to be eniemies,,lets do it after the mortals are gone."
JT
Fri 04:37AM EST
"Nay, Halaku, Brother in Death. We are friends for now. We simply disagree on some issues, Good?"
He takes the Slayer's hand unaware that the Wolves approach.
Alexis Petrovna
Fri 04:37AM EST
She remains silent, waiting. Command was given, she, as promised, is ready.
River
Fri 04:38AM EST
"Brothers we are all we got."
Simon
Fri 04:39AM EST
"I'll take the big un"
Konrad Vrdoljiak
Fri 04:47AM EST
"Then Alexis will move to flank the big one as Simon moves into place. I'll flank the other. The moment we step outside, we don't know each other. Walk separate ways, get into position. If Simon times himself right, we'll be flanking them the minute he strikes. No wait time. Nothing suspicious.
"Now let's move."
Simon
Fri 05:26AM EST
"Whind blows. a shadow shifts and suddenly jts guts spray all over river from behind. NOTHING is there seen to do it. One moment he's yacking about Lucifer and talking down to the lessor anger and the next his intrails splatter her face and chest*
JT
Fri 06:02AM EST
With a spurt of blood, claws erupt through Demandrel, the black demon's body. A scream of pain erupts from him, causing the humans in the area to turn and look. They see the young attactive Goth in front of them suddenly transform into the very visage of the reaper, as two massive wolves, one black as midnight charge out of the crowd to attack. One heading for the rapidly descending black man, and the other for the now revealed angel of death.
JT
Fri 06:03AM EST
Many of the mortals fall to the ground and cower in fear, others run screaming. One even opens his arms and screams to the heavens, "Take me Lord!"
The Lord doesn't seem to care as the Reaper reaches out to slash his bony fingers at the lead charging black wolf.
JT
Fri 06:11AM EST
Then, with a howl of anger, the Slayer snatches back his hand and the weft and warp of reality seems to fold, as he gathers his alabaster legs beneath him and jumps.
JT
Fri 06:14AM EST
The Weft and Warp of reality, of God's creation snaps back into focus, and the Halaku jumps into the air, so high he actually disappears from sight, arching over Cymaa, and into the night. As he does so, the massive black wolf (Dog, it's only a crazy dog) barrels through the spot where he once was, snapping his huge pre-historic fangs at the empty air.
JT
Fri 06:18AM EST
With a snarl of frustration at the disappearance of her pack leader's prey, the she wolf (DOG DAMMIT) rips into the body that's finally hit the ground, tearing it apart, limb from black limb. As she does so, an apparition appears above the body. My god. It's the devil. Or at least 'A' devil. Humans scream again. It looks with it's horned head up at the rapidly disappearing Halaku and screams in silent anger, then it's gone streaking over the city, trying to find a new host.
Simon
Fri 06:23AM EST
He Growls looking down at Alexis all over the guy he fell. That was HIS. He shakes his head and still shimmery invisable he whispers in high tongue "We leave now."
Konrad Vrdoljiak
Fri 06:25AM EST
No. The black hispo's head snaps down from staring after the disappeared one. Crinos-form, first. Protect the Veil, and, so speaking, shifts into the massive warform.
And yes, once again, mortals scream.
River
Fri 06:27AM EST
*He floats above,,,catching the thermals,,,,so the first war is drawn,,,I death,,wait till you see what I reap upon your beloved woods,,,,Brother I Shall Not Forget.""Shifters,,changelings,,,eniemies."
River
Fri 06:27AM EST
*Gone*
Simon
Fri 06:28AM EST
He's invisable. He shifts back to himid and ducks into the shadows. Noone had seen him and among them he was the sacracant. THe unseen. Undetected. He was, is, forever. Assassin. muahahhhah...
Alexis Petrovna
Fri 06:30AM EST
She snarls in Simon's direction. It was his -but he could not finish it even hidden. She followed orders. Perfectly. As she always does.
Alpha speaks, and the shift to Crinos is instant, and the mortals scream.
Konrad Vrdoljiak
Fri 06:32AM EST
And as the invisible one slips away, the Knife takes Alexis by the shoulder and slides across the Gauntlet.
Seconds later the area is empty, save the dead host of one, and a splash of blood.
Simon
Fri 06:33AM EST
Seing them cross over he does so as well.
Alexis Petrovna
Fri 06:36AM EST
The shoulder under his hand stiffens, muscles coiling a mere second before she is pulled across the Gauntlet by Konrad's touch.
Simon
Fri 06:37AM EST
He is there.In homid and looks around just to make sure there isin't any creepy crawlys.then decloaks
Konrad Vrdoljiak
Fri 06:39AM EST
On the other side, the Knife is homid-formed again, arms folded, head down. As Simon appears he looks up, brow furrowed. A moment passes.
"What in Gaia's name was that?"
Alexis Petrovna
Fri 06:41AM EST
Homid, again, hands tuck hair back over her ears, the pristine Russian KGB femme fatale, looking a mite ruffled by the events. She shakes her head, Russian thick in her voice, heavily accented English. "I have never seen anything like it..."
Simon
Fri 06:41AM EST
He srugs and shakes the blood from his hand "It died when I hit it... then it's spirit flew away. I hate it when that happens. Clearly wyrmy though."
Ian Conklin
Fri 06:43AM EST
**walks towards the calm at the center of the ruckus occassionally repeating** "What the hell happened?"
Konrad Vrdoljiak
Fri 06:47AM EST
"The other leapt up and flew away. I watched it. It was winged, but not like anything of the shifting blood."
Another moment passes. Then Konrad inhales, regrouping himself, noting absently that his watch had snapped off during the shift and was now likely trampled to so much broken glass and twisted metal under the feet of the stampeding human crowd. "I will confer with our tribe's elders...they may know more than we. Be on your guard. One escaped; the other's spirit, at least, did. If they're anything like us, they will want vengeance...and they may not strike directly at us this time. Beware for those under your care. Your families, your possessions."
Simon
Fri 06:50AM EST
He nods and pulls a hankie and wipes off his arm "It most certinly did NOT have wings when I chose to kill the big one. I apoligise alpha... next time I'll slaughter the small ones first as to knowmy place...
Alexis Petrovna
Fri 06:50AM EST
There's a slight smirk at that. Just a little one and its quickly gone. She was sent here for the family - she is the only here. Posessions she has, however all it gets is a nod of agreement.
Konrad Vrdoljiak
Fri 06:57AM EST
A slight shake of his head. "The small one barely seemed to pose a threat. But obviously appearances deceive with these Wyrmspawn. We'll learn to anticipate better next time." Whatever they are... he tacks on silently. Last he heard, fomori didn't have spirits that fled into the night. They had banes that were shredded with their flesh.
"No matter," he adds. "You did well, packmates. We worked in concert even without the totem bond. I'm going to speak to our elders. I will be back by the new moon, if not before. We will claim our totem then and hunt the target after - if we have time. This ...new threat isn't something to be ignored for fun and games.
"Until I return, watch your backs."
Simon
Fri 06:57AM EST
He smiles and nods "And yours..."
Alexis Petrovna
Fri 07:01AM EST
Again, a simple nod of agreement, an echo of Simon's statement in accented English.
Simon
Fri 07:03AM EST
He nods to Alexis. "You struck with out fear. Nice. I like you. " He keeps an eye on the roofs "They didn't see me, so I can still scout in the future for anoter pre-emptive attack if needed."
Alexis Petrovna
Fri 07:05AM EST
She chuckles softly, and nods. "I was trained to follow orders without question, without fear. Thank you on their behalf."
Konrad Vrdoljiak
Fri 07:05AM EST
Two simple nods, and one returned from Konrad. Then the large man becomes an even larger wolf, padding away under the looming Penumbral moon.
Simon
Fri 07:07AM EST
He nods and smiles his form becming milky and then cloaked from sight. He leaves, unseen. By a different route.
Alexis Petrovna
Fri 07:08AM EST
And she, when they have gone, turns, shifts sleek woman become sleeker wolf, and leaves by still a third direction.
wolf and rabbit.
Faithe Browning
Wed 11:40PM EST
Her cold, pink finger tips open the book at the placemark and she sighs settling the spine on her knee. There is a frown that appears quite unexpectedly upon her lips. An ash of some sort had managed to land on the open pages, in some places she thought it's glowing embers would burn away at the old pages.
The ash seems far to copious for cigarette tapings....and as the mystery slowly dawned over her expression the young woman lifts her head to peer up at the angry dark heavens, and then behind her ... while those hazel eyes reflect the frown painted on her lips.
Konrad Vrdoljiak
Wed 11:54PM EST
When Faithe turns to look around, there's someone standing there that hadn't been there when she sat. There's nothing supernatural about it, though. Just a pair of feet and penchant for quiet. His footsteps lead back through the snow, soon to be covered.
The man himself, then. Two inches over six feet, which is not unimpressive in its own right. His bearing makes him seem taller, though, as though his blood were royal, as though his family has known the trappings of power for many generations. Nouveau riche never get this particular aura: it's something developed only when one has been steeped in privilege since before the womb. His clothing is, however, unremarkable. Though the fabrics are of high quality, he wears a simple greatcoat, slacks, a scarf and gloves. All dark. His hair is similarly dark, though under the right light it might have a goldish sheen. It's his eyes which are unusual - a tawny hazel hue so light it's very nearly ambertoned.
"Snow," he states the obvious to the woman with the book, with a small smile. His eyes flicker up to the sky, pointing, and are back to her. "Are you waiting for the bus?" It seems the bench is a busstop.
Faithe Browning
Thu 12:02AM EST
There's a moment of quiet confusion that settles over her expression. Silent question echoes through out her eyes and it is with quiet regard that she peers over her shoulder at the stranger. Faithe silently offers a small to the stranger, it is a polite offer .. nothing more nothing less.
She turns, the thick head of hair spilling in a messy brown sheen over the back of the bench, her bare fingers wipe at the pages of her book, just to be certain that none of the ashes that once seemed to glow so brilliantly, have burned away the text she so eagerly observes.
There is a quiet moment when she considers speaking. Offering a timid hello ... how are you ...what the fuck are you looking at....but she says nothing ... instead.
Konrad Vrdoljiak
Thu 12:10AM EST
The smile is a polite offer. His? May have been even less. There's something about him: the gentle smile; the voice low and smooth, like well-aged wine, like dark wood; the manner easy and amused - that could easily intimidate rather than soothe, if he wielded it just right. The gentleness of his manner, one senses, comes not from some caring nature but from a sort of confidence that he has nothing to fear, and so needs not be hostile. It's the sort of gentleness that could very easily swerve.
But we digress. As he receives no reply (do you blame her? No one speaks to strangers in this day and age anymore), he doesn't press the matter. Leaning back against the wall of the building behind the busstop, he tugs his gloves higher, his sleeve lower. Many minutes pass and no bus comes. He's not the type you'd expect to take public transportation, but here he is nonetheless. Appearances deceive, or so they say.
Quite some time later, he speaks up again. "Have you got the time?"
Faithe Browning
Thu 12:18AM EST
There are small glances over her shoulder as she brushes her hair back .. or scratches and itch....little movements that are no more than feeble attempts to hide her peeks at the strange man. She comes here every night to read this book. It doesn't matter that she's read it a hundred times. She'll likely read it a hundred more. But Konrad's presence behind her makes her flesh crawl and the hairs along the back of her neck lift to nervous attention.
When he speaks, tense muscles flex and she jumps, her eyes closing slowly as she mentally tries to slow the quick beating of her heart. There are not many that care if their actions offend others these days, yet Faithe does. If she stood and left, that would be rude. He would think she left because of him, and she cannot bring herself to be so mean.
"Yeah ..." She replies, pushing up the fat sleeve of her coat to peer at the sports watch on her arm. The fat black band holds more gadgets and buttons than a PDA. "20 after midnight ..." Turning slightly she offers Konrad another polite smile as her mind attempts to figure out why this man makes her skin rise with goose flesh.
Konrad Vrdoljiak
Thu 12:24AM EST
"Thank you," replies the stranger, courteously enough. Old World manners if you will, but really it's just a matter of remembering what ever schoolboy is taught in kindergarten. Or by hosts of private tutors, as it were.
A beat later, "Nice watch."
If he notices her discomfort, he is polite enough to ignore it. It's hard to say what it is that disconcerts her so. No glaring deformities, no frothing at the mouth. He stands quietly, keeping to himself, but still those eyes sheen with the gleam of a predator's when he glances down the road to check for the bus.
Faithe Browning
Thu 12:31AM EST
And that was it. Swallowing the knot forming quite quickly in the middle of her throat, Faithe realized that it was the way the man looked at her that set her on edge so. Like prey. He looked at her like she was no better than a rabbit, and he the cunning Wolf. There's another polite smile, however the faint glimmer of that expression does not touch her eyes this time.
"Hmm? Oh, the watch ...thank you...it does everything." She offers, her head and eyes dropping in a rather submissive manner, allowing thick portions of chestnut hair to fall forward against the sharp angles of her jaw and chin. Independent to the point of being irritating, it was not in her nature to dip her head to a man, or to behave so .... demurely. Yet, there it was ....shifting her weight in the suddenly icy feeling bench seat she closes her book. "I'm not sure how late the busses run around here..."
Konrad Vrdoljiak
Thu 12:37AM EST
"One a.m.," he replies - that quiet confidence that he was, is, and will be correct. His attention is still somewhere down the road, at the corner where the bus would turn when it came. In profile, his face is strong, the nose aquiline, the jaw arrogant and firm. There is much of East Europe in his broad, high cheekbones, but there is no accent to his voice, save perhaps the faintest trace of Great Britain. Received Pronunciation, at that. Private tutors. A faint frown, thoughtful, as he adds, "There should be one more 17-bus tonight, if the schedule is accurate."
Then his attention shifts; it goes back to her. The wolf is watching the rabbit again, keenly, and the slightest of smiles touching the edges of his mouth. "It's rather late for you to be out here alone."
Faithe Browning
Thu 12:44AM EST
The rubber soles of her boots touch the ground as she gathers herself to stand. Her knees are weak, and it takes a moment to steady them. His words strike a fearful chord deep in her psyche that she is unaware of. However, she feels it none the less. Fingerless gloves hold tight to her book and she backs up a step or two from the bench she recently vacated, her balance lost for just a moment as the heel of her foot looses its place on the curb.
"I like to read here. I don't live far" She regrets her words the moment she hears them spoken. The rabbit has ducked into it's burrow, with the wolf only a few strides behind. The wind tosses long bits of her hair around her face and without lifting her hands she struggles to free it from her eyes with slight movements of her head.
Konrad Vrdoljiak
Thu 12:56AM EST
His eyes track her as she stands, flashing over the length of her form as though he could read the weakness in her joints from the way she moves - the careful placement of feet, the barest hints of unsteadiness here and there, and there again. His people knew a trick to profit off of those weaknesses...then again, his people were often all about strengthening themselves from another's weakness.
"And that," laughing softly, "is not something you should ever tell a stranger. He might be tempted to follow you home, and not simply to be sure you get there in one piece, hm? - ah, there's the bus."
Laugh subsides to a smile, gentle, merciless as only an predator-animal's, to which death is natural and life is a war, could be. He turns down the road again. Twin headlights set wide apart are turning around the corner, and over them is the glowing route-panel listing the bus line number and the terminal destination. Konrad straightens from the wall, arms coming unfolded to hang loose at his sides. Though the greatcoat covers nearly everything, there is an impression of great strength and agility about him as he steps past her, taking his wallet from his pocket. From the fold he strips two one-dollar bills, and speaks without looking up.
"Thanks again for the time." The bus hisses to a stop before him and the doors open wide. He turns to give her a surprising quick flash of a grin, "Have a safe journey home."
Faithe Browning
Thu 01:01AM EST
By the time he's ready to step on the bus, she's more than ready to be gone from there.....that's never been the case before. His words reach her ears and send a chain reaction of shaking throughout her whole body. It's as if she's chilled, and cannot warm herself.
This time, there is no polite smile. A simple nod is given, and a quiet reply that is nearly drowned out by the hissing and grunting off the behemoth bus. "I realize that now. Have a good day." Her book is clutched so tightly to her chest that the knuckles of her long slender fingers are white from the lack of blood. She starts off home, then, her booted feet hurrying quickly. And when she gets there ... she'll push the chair in front of the door, and lock everything twice and three times ..
Just in case...
later.
Edyta
She arrived, the purr of the BMW engine whisphering through the dawn dewed fauna, just as the sun have opened an eye and blinked lazily like a waking cat to peak over the horizon and start the morning ascent. Early enough that the streets had been quiet all the way down into the Barrens area where the roads quality disintigrated somewhat with the crumbling edges of the asphalt and pot holes every once in awhile... She pulled up outside the cabin that he had claimed as his own and slid from the vehicle, a quite feline approach in line for the porch.
Konrad Vrdoljiak
Konrad? Quite nocturnal.
Dawn? Bedtime.
The cabin, as before, is quiet. The windows are dark. There's no shape hulking under the table, though. No smoke rises from the chimney, and silence reigns supreme.
Edyta
Silence... she liked silence, the quiet stillness in that moment that blinked by just before the people awoke and rose to their daily business. She quietly took to the porch steps with steel-capped boots barefully placed on each wood plank slick with overnight tempretures and a fine mist of rain the previous night. At the door she checks to see if it was locked.
Konrad Vrdoljiak
Which it isn't. It opens quite easily, in fact, if she simply turns the handle and pushes...
Edyta
Unlocked... a simple turn of the handle and the door slides inwards, revealing the interior and allowing a gust of chilled morning air into the cabin. Then again, you're a monster, why would you need to lock doors, right? Burglars = Midnight Snacks.
Konrad Vrdoljiak
And just like that, chill metal hisses through air and lays against the side of her neck, the point of a sword pressing motionless and gentle into her skin. His voice is warm with his particular, cruel amusement. "You should really call before you come."
There's no phone.
Edyta
She stood motionless, a statue bathed in the cool warmth of the dawn's rising colors, for a moment as he spoke before pressing against the sword gently with the side of her neck. A hand rose slowly and pushed against the sword shaft as she stepped to one side away from the weapon threat. She stared at him, the silence that had reigned previously turning frigid as if someone had thrown a switch. She actually stared... in his eyes. Of her own volition.
Konrad Vrdoljiak
Looking back at her, there's only the faintest of smiles curving the edges of his mouth. It's a mouth that one woman might call sensual and another cruel and, in truth, is something of both. Twelve or twenty-four hours of beard growth shadows his jaw, and he's obviously dressed for bed - soft-fabric pajama bottoms slung low on his hips, drawstring untied, and nothing else.
Abruptly, Konrad laughs. His free hand rubs across his face, scrubbing sleep from his eyes, and he lifts the sword away - lifts it high, stabs it down into the ground. Thokk-- a thick, heavy double-edged thing, the blade sinks two inches into the rough wood floor of his cabin and stays there, gently swaying as he removes his hand. Light scatters in concentric, imperfect circles from honed steel. He circles to stand before her, where she could look at him without craning her neck about. "You really pick the most awful times, do you know that?"
Edyta
He circles to stand before her and she turns her head to follow the movement before she softly cants her head to one side and continues to watch him, a mask of indifference in her expression. A whisper of sounds as she moves out of the way of the door and nudges it closed with her heel. A soft susurration of material and fainter creaks of the leather trousers that she'd poured herself into like a second skin. Her scent was wreathed in spicy smell of that new leather, overlaid with the the crisp dew dampness of the winter morning. She'd roped her hair thickly and twisted it up, secured at the crown of her head with a silence clasp. It had the smell of dampess and the lingering tinge of scented shampoo. She'd bathed very recently, then. She stares into his eyes still and lets the silence draw out before breaking it with a quiet, nuetral, "I consider it a talent."
Konrad Vrdoljiak
"Could've gotten you killed." Spoken lightly, this, because there was little love lost between them, and he made no pretense. "Probably will get you killed one day." Laughing again, he reaches forward to touch the back of his hands to her cheek. "Learn to knock, Edyta, if you value your life - hm? Though, I do love surprises."
A step closer, and another, bending to her until she might think he would try to kiss her. He doesn't, though. That much is an unspoken agreement between them. He pauses mere inches from her and inhaaaales, straightening at last on the slow, languid exhale. The corners of his mouth curl again.
Edyta
She snaked out a hand towards his abdomen, hooking a finger under the waist of the low-slung pyjama bottoms and pulled lightly. She slowly inclined her head to look down as she slid her finger one way and then the other on the inside of the waistband and gives a slight rise and fall of her shoulders, looking up after a moment, "Soft." That was all she said, perhaps just ignoring his last mocking comment. When wasn't his mocking? She also had no reply to the stating of the the fact that one day something like this could get her killed. It was true and she accepted it. She then released the pyjama material and stepped away from him, walking around him and into the living room, reaching up to release the coiled hair from the silver clip. It fell as a pale gold waterfall down around her shoulders and face, patches of it still damp.
Konrad Vrdoljiak
When wasn't he mocking, indeed? Once...maybe twice, if those weren't tricks of the mind, nothing more. His gaze follows hers to the fabric of his pajama bottoms, flicker up: his eyes sheen gold as her hair (slipsliding sleek from its stay) in the morning sun. The cool brush of her touch tautens the skin of his abdomen, but other than that, he betrays little enough response.
"Yes," Konrad replies, always amused by her as he reaches out to take the clasp from her and turn it in the light. "A pretty thing," he decides, and holds it out to her. "Silver, isn't it?"
Edyta
"Yes," was her only answer as she takes the clip back from his hand and slides into one of the side pockets of the hooded sweater that fell in soft folds around her torso. She slides a hand through her hair, fingers combing through several snags of the damp length.
Konrad Vrdoljiak
"Insurance?" his only answer back to her, turning about to prowl looselimbed and straightspined back to the sword thrust into the ground. Muscles bunch and jerk as he yanks it back out with a squeal of metal on wood, and there's something pantherine, leonine, about his barechested form as he crosses the room to slam the sword into an ugly scabbard laid on the ground of the hallway leading into what is, presumably, the only bedroom in the cabin.
Edyta
"Fashion," she replied, again with a singular word. Miss Communicative this morning, wasn't she? She crossed to the sofa and seated herself against the edge of it, crossing her arms, pale long boned fingers wrapping around each of her upper arms. She watched him prowl from sword to scabbard without any additional commentary.
Edyta
"Fashion," she replied, again with a singular word. Miss Communicative this morning, wasn't she? She crossed to the sofa and seated herself against the edge of it, crossing her arms, pale long boned fingers wrapping around each of her upper arms. She watched his prowl from sword to scabbard without any additional commentary.
Konrad Vrdoljiak
A soft laugh. "Of course." That little bit of housekeeping done, he sets the sword in a corner and looks at her, expectant. "So. Edyta. Did you want something? Hiding out from an irate Garou, perhaps?" Gentle, gentle, and bladedly, assuredly amused - "Will I be called upon to perform my duty any moment now? Protect my ...beloved mate?"
Edyta
She stared at him for a long moment in silence, a slither of glacial coolness entering the indifference of her expression. "Fuck you, mate," she then exclaimed smoothly, tone gelid, and it didn't sound like it was an offer of doing so, either. She pushed off the edge of the couch then, arms still crossed, and headed into his kitchen, movements like a feline on the prowl.
Konrad Vrdoljiak
Eyebrows rise. To think, he'd been ready to go to bed and sleep, too - but some sport is too interesting to turn down. He follows her into his kitchen, overtaking her, slipping around her to stand in her path.
"What was that?" Soft and smooth and - yes - mocking; but perhaps with a touch of genuine interest. Curiosity. "A show of emotion, was it?"
Edyta
He steps into her path and she doesn't stop her movement forward until their personal space clashed and battled and he ended up with her so flush up against him that the material of her clothes tickled across his bare chest. She leans forward the last distance, forehead brushing against his chest with a feather wisp of her hair tickling as she turned her face and ran the line of her cheekbone against the same skin before turning her face upwards to look at him, or perhaps at his throat. She said nothing as she then leaned back and stepped around him once more so that he was no longer in her path as she headed for the fridge.
Konrad Vrdoljiak
He doesn't raise his arms to touch her, embrace her, cage her. She has a strange and eldritch way; when she moves away, around, he turns to keep her in his predator's sight. A single word that is a question - "Sona?"
Edyta
"Yes?" was her soft sigh of a reply as she grasps the handle of the fridge and pulled it open. She leaned down slightly, one hand still holding the fridge door open and the other on her thigh, fingers splayed, creating a triangle between arm, torso and thigh. Her eyes look in the predominant contents of the cool box: meat and milk. Just what every growing boy needs... She doesn't remove anything, just straights slowly and closed the door softly. She turns to him after a moment and leans against the length of the fridge with arms crossed and an eyebrow slightly raised.
Konrad Vrdoljiak
It's his turn to be silent; it's his turn to stare at her, intent as an unfed animal. There is light slanting in from a window. It pools at his feet and reflects up, dimly glowing on the underside of his nose and jaw, and along the taut lower curves of his musculature. Most of all, it lingers coiled in his eyes, malleable.
Finally, a small movement - an inclination of his chin, a curve of his mouth. "Simply testing, is all," he tells her, and gestures at the fridge. "Help yourself. I'm going back to bed."
Edyta
She breaths in deeply, closing her eyes as she leans against the fridge. As she exhales slowly she opens her eyes slightly and watches him through a criss-cross of lowered lashes, the deep blue of her eyes the only slash of a color visible. She straightens up as she pushes off the fridge door with a flick of one hip and pads across the distance seperating them. Their personal spaces arch with unseen sparks of their clashing auras; coiled rage vs glacial stillness. She places a hand against each of his upper arms, cupping his shoulders with the warm press of skin before sliding her hands down his arms to his forearms before they wrap around his wrists, encircling either with a ring of fingers. She looks at him, a slow lift of her chin as she tilts her head upwards, before her head tilted to one side.
Konrad Vrdoljiak
He looks down at her, a smile on his mouth, laughter in his eyes. His amusement is an animal thing, devoid of human compassion. His wrists turn in the bracelets of her hand, and he enwraps her wrists as she does his, brings her hands to his lips, and kisses the knuckles.
"Later, Edyta." It's Edyta, again; he flexes forward and drops a kiss on her pale golden hair. "I'm tired, and you're freshly washed. It would be a crying shame to get you all messy, again."
With that he extricates himself, turns, and heads for the bedroom.