Konrad Vrdoljiak

Konrad Vrdoljiak

Tue 07:11PM EST
8pm, he said. It's actually 8:08pm when he rings the doorbell, but it's close enough. Attire? Semicasuals. Dark blazer, dark slacks, light shirt. No tie. Button up the collar and he'd fit right in at most nice restaurants. Leave it undone, and a short trip back to his place isn't out of the question.

God knows what she wanted to do, anyway. God knows what he wanted to do.
Let's hear it for Shadow Lord "romances".

When the door opens, he has one hand on the frame, one eyebrow up. "Ready?"


Edyta

Tue 07:18PM EST
Tonight she was poured into skin-tight black leather pants with criss-crossed lacings running all the way up sides of either leg that reveal a slit of olive flesh and it was more than obvious with such pants that underwear

Konrad Vrdoljiak

Tue 07:31PM EST
She might be gratified when the other eyebrow goes up at her attire. It, on the contrary, was not going to fit right in at most nice restaurants. That said, they manage to complement well enough, in some strange way.

No words as she passes, though you can betcher ass he looks at her. Inhales, too, of her scent and whatever perfume she might or might not wear. Good to know she didn't have any obvious physical flaws. Turning, he reaches into the flat, snags the door by the handle and pulls it shut with a quiet click. Catching up to her, "Eating out or staying in?"

How tactful.


Edyta

Tue 07:37PM EST
"Staying in," was her only reply as they came up to the elevator and she pressed the down button, crossing her arms around her as she stared straight ahead at the closed metal doors.

"Take away."

Restaurants, for the most part, meant people. People and her did not work well on a general level and ir probably explained her penchant for staying inside unless circumstance called for the situation to be otherwise. As for any scented perfume that may cling to her like an otherwordly haze, it was faint at best. Something expensive, something spicy and warm to the senses without being overburdening. Nothing so tacky as cheap cloying pretty pastel flower smells would ever be found coming from her little reality. She'd leave that sickly sweetness to the Coggies.


Konrad Vrdoljiak

Tue 07:53PM EST
A faint twitch of his mouth. "All right then." He keeps pace with her down the hall to the elevators, punches the button, rides down in silence. Crosses the small plush lobby and out the door to the street where his car's parked on the curb. Engine running.

BMW something or other, one of those imported models that aren't familiar on the american roads: fast and black and sleek and low, built for the autobahn.

He nods at her keys as he pauses by his ride, one hand on the passenger's door to open it for her if she wished. No boorish lout, Konrad. "Will you be driving yourself?"


Edyta

Tue 07:56PM EST
She stares at him very blank of expression for an appraising moment as if weighing up the pros and cons of having him drive. A roll of her shoulders in something akin to a shrug as she looks down at his hand on the passenger's door.

"No."


Konrad Vrdoljiak

Tue 08:01PM EST
Back to the near-muteness again, he noticed. He lets her have her silence, and opens the door for her in his. Shutting it in her wake with an expensive-sounding click-thud, the Shadow Lord circles around the front and climbs in the driver's side.

Interior: warm black leather. Stick shift. HID headlights gleam to life and he pulls away from the curb - a smooth, fast driver, but likely not safe enough for polite company. Then again, she was hardly dressed for polite company.

"Shall I make small talk?" A hint of that unkind amusement, quickly growing familiar. "Ask you about the weather, your favorite sports team, your day...where you bought that outfit? It's lovely on you, by the way. Or - " rounding a corner, shifting gears, slicing up the onramp to the interstate freeway, " - should we just get there and get to it?"


Edyta

Tue 08:08PM EST
She had been staring out the passenger side window for most of this pithy, almost snide commentary and questions. She slowly slides her eyes away from the passing morbid scenary of the concrete cemetary more often referred to as 'the city' and turns to look at him. Her gaze was heavy, bearing down with signs of emotional disconnection from the moral ethics of normal society. She studies his profile before turning to look out the windscreen at the oncoming world as the car slides through the traffic onto the freeway.

"The weather is as drab as can be expected. I don't watch sports. The day was interrupted and quiet: a better way to spend the time. The outfit was tailor made." She answers all of the questions, save the last one, in the single reply without much changing resonance to her tone and expression.


Konrad Vrdoljiak

Wed 04:44PM EST
The traffic is still busy at this hour. No longer crowded, to be sure, but 8pm is early yet for this overworked overstressed east-coast society. The freeway is five lanes of red and five lanes of white. He glances over his shoulder and slashes across to the fast lane, then settles into the 80mph flow southbound.

It's his turn to study her profile, silent for a moment before turning, also, back to the blur of motion outside their soundproof airproof padded cell. He weighs his words for a long time; the one word he speaks is somehow more genuine than all the gentleness of his devastating good humor.

"Regrets?"
...about the situation, surely.


Edyta

Wed 04:54PM EST
"Regrets are better saved till after the war's over..." if there is an after... She watched the traffic as it passed and was passed, the uncoming lights from vehicles and streetlights bathing them both in a constant play of dripping then elogated shadows. She crosses her legs, stretching out as much as was possible in the confines of the passenger seat and splays her hands across the might leather wrapped around her thighs, the play of pale olive skin and blood crimson nails stark against the material.


Konrad Vrdoljiak

Wed 05:00PM EST
Another glance of his strange tawny eyes, judging.

Then, crisply, "Good." He lifts his right hand from the gearshift and gestures. "There's a cellular in the glove compartment. Speeddial three is an excellent little trattoria that delivers. Or try speeddial four if you're in the mood for something French. Five's Japanese. Order whatever you like, and order something for me, too.

"I have a place in Atlantic City. I expect the delivery will be there before we arrive. It'll save us the trouble of waiting for take-out."


Edyta

Wed 05:10PM EST
She leans forward, pulling against the restraint of the seat belt and removes the cellular from the glove compartment. An exhalation of a long breath before she dials three, waits for an answer and places an order (for both of them) to be delivered. She disconnects after the short, concise order placement and looks at the cell phone another moment before idly sliding it back into the compartment in which it had been extracted from. Jersey to Atlantic City: some distance to go for a take-away meal, at least from her perspective. Maybe she should have driven herself: not that it was much of an option now. Back to the long reign of silence from her end. Conversation obviously wasn't something she indulged in on a regular basis. That would require refined social skills and the actual want to communicate in general.


Konrad Vrdoljiak

Wed 05:30PM EST
This time, he lets the silence lapse as it will. His right hand has returned to curl on the gearshift, the easy loose grip as telltale of a comfortable familiarity with this car as is his posture, his thoughtless and minute adjustments of speed to slow for a sunday driver, and accelerate when the road is open. Eventually he fills the quiet with music (chillout: sleek melodies, meaningless lyrics, midtempo pulse of bass) at the touch of a button on the steering wheel: those Germans really did think of everything.

An hour later the BMW pulls off the freeway. It really is a long way to go for a delivery dinner. Then again, it was a long way to go to visit a strange taciturn kin.

A series of turns later, he pulls into the parking structure of a complex in the suburbs of glitzy ritzy Atlantic City. His place is something not unlike hers, though not high-rise: nice, overpriced, flawlessly manicured, guarded by overpaid underworked security. He takes her up the elevator and down the fifth-story hall to a corner flat, where they find the delivery boy impatiently waiting.

Money, tips and food exchange hands. Then Konrad unlocks the door and pushes it open for Edyta. "Light switch on your left."

The interior is, like the hallway, quiet, high-ceilinged, roomy. Furnishings are modern; decorations, sparse. Everything is in some shade of black, white or most likely grey, save a few touches of rich wood: a masculine, tasteful flat, though oddly devoid of presence and personality, as though he didn't spend much time here after all.

Behind her, he sets the takeout boxes on the table in the dining room, and rejoins her in the entryway to strip off his blazer. "Take your coat?"


Edyta

Wed 05:39PM EST
Once within the void of the flat she slowly takes in the surroundings. Tasteful yet cold: atleast the boy knew how to pick up after himself, which was something of a bonus (relief) considering the mayhem that could often follow the modern day bachelor, more common even among his age-bracket. She slides out of the jacket and holds it out at his question without looking at him or replying with so much as a thank you. She slowly stalks through the sparse abode, running her finger tips across the line of the dining table and pausing long enough to turn and spare him a look.

"Nice," was her only comment before turning back to the apartment scene laid bare before her.


Konrad Vrdoljiak

Wed 05:52PM EST
He takes her coat with a wry smile, as though her distance (not-so-)secretly amused him. Instead of hanging it up, he pivots to toss it over the back of the nearest chair. "I'll pass your compliments on to the maid."

Could be worse. Her coat could be on the ground: hundreds of dollars cast to the floor. He makes a brief foray into the kitchen to retrieve a pair of plates, then comes to join her in the dining room, unwrapping the boxes. The dining table is a sheet of beveled smoked glass laid atop a stone arc. Modern art, or something of the like. Look carefully, and the arc is a full-moon glyph made three-dimensional.

"Birthday present," he explains, smirking. Then, later, "I confess," rich with amusement while he transfers food from box to plate, "I'm not finding this an orthodox first date. Do you drink? Merlot, verdot - or something a little heavier to soothe the nerves?"


Edyta

Wed 05:59PM EST
"Merlot," she replied as she folded her lithe dark clad form into one of the chairs, draping one arm over the back of it as she sat somewhat to the side of the cushioning while shetretched out long leather clad legs in front of her. The other hand, resting against the glass table top taps incessantly with long vermillion coated nails. Her lips catch with a slight smirk, curling at the corners slightly as the dining room light causes the lipstick to shimmer slightly at the movement.

"And what would be your definition an orthodox first date?"


Konrad Vrdoljiak

Wed 06:10PM EST
"Don't want to appear weak, do we?" and that smile rides the razor between patronizing and approving. "Are you sure? I've a bottle of Courvoisier somewhere."

Even while he speaks, he selects a merlot off the wine rack (nothing fancy: 1996, from some small vineyard in the south of france) and removes a pair of glasses from the cabinet beside: elegant in a way that almost makes one forget the massive biceps under the crisp sleeves, and the massive black beast under the human skin.

"Have a seat." Wine in one hand, glasses in the other, he gestures toward the end of the table and pulls the cork out with his teeth. Sets the glasses down side by side and pours, then takes the chair directly to her right in favor of the one at the head of the table. "An orthodox first date? Obviously, one that I'm not a part of. Nor you."


Edyta

Wed 06:20PM EST
"To be expected: we don't come from an 'orthodox' society."

She retrieves from one of the wine glasses, passing it under her nose for a brief smell of the contents before sipping slowly. She wets her tongue with the liquid, contemplative before stretching out a little further and tilting her hips forward to make reaching into the leather pants a little easier. She removes a rumpled soft pack (so few left) and the keys she had pocketed on the way out of her apartment and tosses them idly onto the table top (clink). Another sip of the wine as her eyes rove over him critically for a moment.

"Ahroun, yes?"


Konrad Vrdoljiak

Wed 06:25PM EST
The tawny eyes follow the arc of the soft pack onto the table. Curiosity sparks, but he doesn't reach of it, instead lifting his fork. "What's in it?" point fork at pack before beginning his meal. Pasta, red sauce, meat and a slice of garlic bread on the side: dinner.

A pause. A glance down at the imperfect stone circle beneath the darkened glass. A simple nod. "Does it make a difference?"


Edyta

Wed 06:33PM EST
She raises an eyebrow at the first question and shrugs, looking at the soft pack of cigarettes. "Cigarettes."

She picks up her own fork and begins to eat slowly in silence. She takes another sip of the merlot and then looks back at him.

"Not particularly. In the long run all the moons are much the same, save on just how badly you throw tantrums." Back to eating.


Konrad Vrdoljiak

Wed 06:38PM EST
A flash of his eyebrows, "Ah," and a smirk, "you're not half so exciting as I thought you might be."

He eats the way his mother used to scold him on: meat first, then everything else. After he Changed, the scolding stopped. Sips of wine are interspersed, and it's during one that he replies, smiling, "Quite badly, I'm afraid. Try not to anger me."


Edyta

Wed 06:49PM EST
"I didn't think I was here to excite you based on my extracuricular activities."

Scolding someone with the temper control of a child that could turn into a proverbial shredding machine was not high on most Kin's list of 'Fun Things To Do To Pass Time.' She ate slowly but steadily without much comment to break the ice for some time to follow. Finally she set her fork down, picking up the half-full wine glass and leaned back in her chair, cradling the glass in one hand as she watched him in that all too familiar silence. Conversation: not her forte in the least.


Konrad Vrdoljiak

Wed 06:57PM EST
"No, I didn't think so either."

By the time she's finished, he's been done for some time, nothing left but a crust of bread and a few straggling bits of pasta that he didn't care to chase down. The plate is pushed away. His wine has been emptied and refilled twice; he's on his third glass now, head propped on one hand pushed into his hair.

The moments pass. Then he straightens, lifts the glass, drains it at once go. Sets it down. There's something expectant in the air.

"That was enjoyable," he lies blandly. Then, with no intention whatsoever of making good on his offer, "Should I take you home now?"

He'll call her a cab if she said yes. Maybe.


Edyta

Wed 07:04PM EST
"Bad attempts at lying don't become you," she replied before finishing off her wine, eyes leveled on him over the rim of the glass. She places it back down on the table top and unfolds her svelte figure from the chair she'd been occupying with a slow rippled of almost feline grace. She closes the distance between them, one hand sliding up a long sleeve of the turtleneck and the other doing the same on the other side. She looks down at him from her vantage point, standing mere inches from his side.

"Do you have a pack?"


Konrad Vrdoljiak

Wed 07:16PM EST
A small smirk. "I was attempting to be polite."

And he leans back against the chair now, fingertips of the hand closer to her resting light upon the base of his wineglass. "Pack?" Deliberate misunderstanding. "Of cigarettes? Plenty. Want one?

"Or did you mean packmates. Of those I have none." And it was a lack that was deeply felt, no matter what he might say or think. "And at the moment, need none."


Edyta

Wed 07:29PM EST
"All Garou need a pack: it's in your natures," she replies, ignoring prior statement of his deliberate misunderstanding. If she'd meant cigarettes she would have obviously have gone for her own pack strewn on the tabletop. She, herself, may carry the genetic make-up to produce future 'litters' of Garou offspring, but the pull of the commadre and social structure inherent in canines wasn't so much of a probelm for her, not being a Full Blood. Her loner demeanor was entirely self-imposed and something she was more than readily comfortable with. It was easier for there to be loner kin that to find a lone wolves: it was why being ostracized from the Nation was so hard on Ronin.

She lifts a hand and slides it into his hair loosely, flicking some of the strands idly with her fingers while she cants her head to one side, slightly, in a contemplative gesture.


Konrad Vrdoljiak

Wed 07:38PM EST
"So the Galliards say." Still low, still smooth, his voice, but there's a hint of distraction to it. A touch of what might be impatience. "Do you always lecture on the nature of wolf and man after dinner?"


Edyta

Wed 07:48PM EST
"Actually," a droll tone as a sardonic smirk plays across her lushly red lips for a bare moment,"After dinner is when I generally start to ignore Mark's attempts at conversation."

They had very little in common, she and her human partner, but he accepted her silences without much comment. She paid lip-service, so to speak, when he rambled on about his work and all the nuances associated with, but when she looked too bored he normally gave up. However, each of them suited certain purposes that the other required of them and, it seemed, that was enough.

She finally leaned across the table, reaching for the soft pack of cigarettes and snared it with one hand. Straighetning again she tapped the end of the pack til one slid out of the foil and paper torn corner. She runs her fingers along the length before capturing it between two fingers and holding it, unlit.


Konrad Vrdoljiak

Wed 07:52PM EST
And Konrad gets to his feet: a surge sudden enough that the unprepared might take it for an imminent assault.

But it's not. He simply stands facing her, closing ten inches to five. The plates and wineglasses and opened bottle of wine are left where they are for the maid to pick up in the morning...or whenever it is she came by, usually. He was never here. He hardly ever came here.

"Do you want me to light that?" he asks, and makes no movement toward his lighter.


Edyta

Wed 08:00PM EST
At the sudeen surge of his presence (and muscled Ahroun bulk) to his feet she did take a half-step backwards from him. Her weight moved very percisely to the balls of her feet, her stance slightly crouched and prepared for a percieved threat. It was instinctual in her, the quick shift of outward demeanor into that prepared almost- fighting stance. She hated it when they threw their weight around, if only because their temprement were so volatile. One moment they could be as placid as a still lake and the next they were a torrent of fury. She slides back into a slightly more relaxed state, although her weight was still spread proportionally to keep balance as anyone familiar with the nuances of combat would do so. Her eyes drain of any flicker of emotion, moving into that dead place where there was little connection with the pulse of life surrounding before she dropped her eyes down and to the side staring at the ground for several long heartbeats. She breaks the tense silence, vaguely shaking out the curled fingers of her free hand.

"Sure."


Konrad Vrdoljiak

Wed 08:10PM EST
And all the while those not-quite-civilized eyes watch her, studying every nuance, every strain of tension-relaxation-wariness.

"You remind me of a cat," he says to her, gentle as poison, matching her half-step back with a full step forward. "Half-domesticated at best. Sleek and pretty and quick. Quick to run and, I think, quick to fight."

He touches her hand: the free one that she had shaken out. Lifts it and looks at it, long and slow - "...but no claws." - before letting it slip from his strong grasp.

A glint of some hardness in his tawny eyes, transient, replaced by amusement. "Maybe you should humor me with an answer to my proposal, first."


Edyta

Wed 08:22PM EST
"Visible claws don't make the beast," the tone of her reply, at best, very bland seeming, but just as toxic as his own. She was still looking down and to the side at this point, but after the statement she lifts them and for, perhaps, the first time since they'd met she levels that gaze on his not-quite-civilized, almost inhuman eyes. There was a remote coldness in those eyes, the lack of empathic connection that was too often found in the deep dark recesses of the those people that committed the atrocious crimes that no one ever wanted to know the details of. Whatever conscience Gaia may have granted her at birth had been long since successfully beaten out of her by the tribe for the 'greater good' of the Nation. Drown within...

"I agree to your terms," very carefully, nuetrally, stated. Choice was very rarely something that was given to those who were the stock of the Lords; give them an inch, they'll take a mile. They were seen, after all, as property. In the long run, this situation would no doubt have come around and it could have been with less 'amiable' conditions as this 'contract' had been submitted with. The lesser of two evils...


Konrad Vrdoljiak

Wed 08:50PM EST
He looks into her cold cold eyes for what seems like an eternity. No lovestruck moment this, though. His gaze is as detached as hers, nearly clinical, though a fire burns behind those strange eyes that can never quite be labeled cold.

"I quite agree," he murmurs. "Claws don't make the beast."

Then he curves his hands to her cheeks, draws her forward those last few inches, and kisses her - on the brow. Purely symbolic, is all: an invisible mark, a brand. Mine, now. For better or for worse, in sickness and in health - isn't that what they say?

"I'll call you a cab."


Edyta

Wed 08:59PM EST
Minus the 'to love and cherish' and any semblance of the act of fidelity, it was close enough to what was often said. For better or for worse; the claim was set and among their ilk they may as well have had shackles slapped on and a chain binding them together. When word traveled back to family and elders it would no doubt cause some mutterings and a stir of confusion. This would be seen as a very strange act on her behalf and at least a few of her brethren would no doubt be suspicious. But, all in all, he was a Full Blood and that, among other nefarious deeds, would quell some of the rumors. He'd said he'd call her a cab and to that she merely inclined her head vaguely in what could be taken as silent agreemet.