Konrad Vrdoljiak

Faithe Browning

Sat 08:34PM EST
Three days. Three days had passed since the most unusual experience at the bench. Faithe had avoided the area, a highly uncharacteristic decision ... she made excuses and reasons she couldn't make the walk to the bench ... they'd been convincing enough to fool her at least.

She needed to get out. The drive home from the Museum was taxing, and after parking the car a block from her building she treaded up the stairs with slow steps. The shoulder strap of the briefcase bag stood in stark contrast against the white button up blouse she wore, and long naturally curly dark hair was held back carefully by a tie at the nape of her neck. Her keys jingled as she walked the few feet to the front of her apartment.


Konrad Vrdoljiak

Sat 08:43PM EST
...where she will no doubt be surprised (frightened?) to see the man from the bench sitting on the apartment's front stoop, wrists on knees, making no gesture to rise as she approaches. He's in a different coat, a different cut and color, but the overall effect is the same. Somber without being gothic; stylish without being ostentatious.

"I would've waited inside," he says with a smile (and she has no idea how far inside he could've waited), "but I had to be buzzed in." Tawny eyes sweep her in in one fell stroke. "Glad you see you've yet to be abducted by strangers."


Faithe Browning

Sat 08:51PM EST
A curl has eloped from it's brethren gathered behind her head and it falls to brush her cheek as she lifts her head only to see (you've got to be ...kidding me..) Konrad seated so easily where he should not be.

There is no breath, her chest does not move, and for a moment he might consider reminding her that breathing is a necessity she cannot afford to forget. The white blouse has been tugged carelessly from the waist of the dark wide legged slacks, setting her prim appearance askew.

"Oh..." She replies, which isn't really a reply, more like a noise that simply leaves the security of her lips for lack of anything better to say. "Lucky me..." she offers a smile as she fingers the set of keys in her hand, the suit jacket she wore to work today is draped over one arm, forgotten.

The remembrance of manners returns to the forefront of her thoughts at the moment and Faithe offers a smile as an afterthought, gotta keep up appearances ....


Konrad Vrdoljiak

Sat 08:59PM EST
"No doubt you're wondering what I'm doing here." It's not a question. He is damnably sure of certain things, and this is one of them. Worse, he doesn't seem inclined to explain what exactly he's doing here - yet. He casts a glance behind him at the door, and then it's back to her - "Would you like me to move aside? So you won't feel as though I might react out and snatch you up while you walk past, like something out of a horror movie."


Faithe Browning

Sat 09:05PM EST
There is a brief moment, when, she blinks and her long eyelashes place butterfly wing kisses along the uppermost portions of her high cheekbones. Shock washes over her expression and the young woman's face turns a slight rose hue from embarrassment.

"Well, yes ... I was wondering what you were doing here." A pause, a breath .. in and out... "But I most certainly do not think you will snatch me up and carry me off like some ravenous animal" There's a small (nervous...) laugh that follows her untruthful comment.

Two steps closer. Her fingers grip the keys tighter while her free hand lifts to straighten the strap on her shoulder. Her mouth is suddenly like cotton, drier than the Sahara, and she licks her lips in an attempt to moisten them, at least. The fine cotton of the shirt she wears is already snug against the swell of her chest, and the tension on the buttons becomes more noticeable as she takes a deep breath, filling her lungs with much needed air.


Konrad Vrdoljiak

Sat 09:12PM EST
"Oh." Another glance at the door, and back to her. Six short feet with the small matter on him sitting on the steps between. "Of course not."

And he gets to his feet, six feet and two inches of wolf in man's clothing. His tawny eyes look past her at the street, at his car parked there - something German, an imported Beemer designed for speeds far faster than those boasted on the New Jersey highways: low and muscular and black. And then to her, abruptly explaining, "I have a place here, myself, out in the suburbs. You could say I'm visiting a neighbor. A rather distant one, yes, but a neighbor nonetheless. Truth is, though, I'm curious about you. Would you like to know why?"


Faithe Browning

Sat 09:20PM EST
Faithe is caught off guard by his forthrightness, and immediate defenses are made in pose. "Why?" she asks without thought at the words leaving her glistening lips; no longer meeting his eyes with her own. It is easier, safer, for her to look down and away, finding solace away from his scrutinizing gaze. Her hands busy themselves with the keys and the brushing back of the long anarch curl lying so defiantly along her jaw. She drinks small mouthfuls of air and forces herself to smile. A cant of her head and a nod are given. She collects her thoughts, and a glance over one delicate shoulder at the car affords her a moment to gather her thoughts as he speaks. There are too many questions ... so many she can't catalog them all into coherent thoughts so that she might ask him....


Konrad Vrdoljiak

Sat 09:23PM EST
"Why don't you invite me in, first."

Again, it's not a question. It's not a statement, either: it's a command, pure and simple. Nor is it delivered with the fanatical imperiousness of one new to his position, hellbent on whipping everyone into submission. No; this is a command spoken gently, backed with the understated arrogance of one born to privilege, bred to the throne, steeped in power.

"Then, we can talk. And perhaps you can learn to voice those questions you seem to have."


Faithe Browning

Sat 09:31PM EST
Konrad resumes speaking and her attention is drawn from whatever trivial thought or item had hold of it, and it becomes his completely. Slender, nice hands shake for a moment, but Faithe manages to convince herself (you've been doing that a lot lately Faithe...) that Konrad is fine, and that this is good, and all is well.

His command, the words spoken so softly from royal lips, is the force that propels her feet to move. "Of course..." she replies, as if the thought to welcome him in had always been present. The heels she wears click click click softly as she moves towards the steps, and thusly the door of her building.

Passing him, she shifts her body so that not one part of her or her belongings is left to touch Konrad. Nothing. Fussing with the keys in nervous anticipation (this is like a bad horror movie...) she finally manages to get the proper one in the lock and with a soft audible click the door swings open and Faithe steps slowly inside.

Welcome to the rabbits hole ... wolf.


Konrad Vrdoljiak

Sat 09:42PM EST
Rabbits hole.

And, perhaps contrary to her instinctive expectations, he doesn't fall on her and eat her up (take whichever interpretation of that you like...) the minute the door closes. In fact, he'd stepped aside so she could get past him easier without touching him, and without flattening herself into a pancake to do so. And when the door does shut, he takes the time to strip his gloves off, place them in the pocket of his overcoat, and hang his overcoat by the door (provided there's something to hang it on).

With that done, he looks for someplace to sit. A chair, a couch, the floor, it matters not. Anywhere is fine; anything can serve as throne to this Lord. Seating himself, he answers her as though no time had passed at all.

"It's a riddle, you see. Who works in a museum," has he been following her all day? --no, he points at some small indication of her job - a nametag, a pin, a sticker, perhaps nothing more than her prim and proper dress that shouts (or whispers, as it were) librarian, museum curator, guardian of knowledge. Something of the sort, "reads staggering tomes of knowledge at an abandoned bus stop at one a.m., suppresses terror and all common sense, and invites what could very well be a serial killer, a rapist, something of the sort into her home - alone?"

That hangs in the air a moment. Then he laughs unexpectedly and adds, "Let me put it another way. You've made me curious. And I was very bored."


Faithe Browning

Sat 09:55PM EST
The apartment is not what most would call cozy. It is sterile and plain, no pictures of her family ... no traces of anyone in her life what so ever past or present. There is most certainly a coat rack affixed to the wall where he might hang his coat, and there is a very comfortable looking couch of earth tones, plush and cozy, with a high backed matching chair as well.

The whole apartment, what he can see at least, is done in those very same earth tones - dark browns, charcoal, brick red. There are no small womanly items displayed all over, no knick knacks of dogs or cats or angels. She has chosen, for whatever reason, to place old masks upon her walls. Hand painted and crafted tribal masks from Africa ... there's a framed original print from a 1802 Newspaper. The apartment is dark until she flips on a light, and she slowly begins the ritual of hanging up the jacket hanging so carelessly over one arm ... followed by the brief case of worn black leather, and finally the keys are removed and placed in a ceramic dish on a table near the door.

The message light on her answering machine sits dark, no messages.

Books line one whole wall, they have spilled over and she's put them in boxes marked with black marker "Theological" "British Empire History" "Native Languages" and finally, "Shakespeare". The book she'd carried with her, the item she'd clung so tightly too is sitting on the heavy mahogany coffee table, the cover is worn .... not from age, but rather the oils from her fingers and the rigors of being handled far too much.
His words bring her eyes right around to fix upon his face, and there is a moment, when, he might think she'd gotten up the nerve to cuss him out and give him what for....but that expression (and thought) pass quickly enough ... and she slowly walks to the couch, gathering the blanket up that had been strewn unbidden there, she folds it as she speaks.

"I've had trouble sleeping lately. I like to go to the Boardwalk ... I enjoy watching the people." She counters to his observations of her behavior. The kitchen is dark ... only the faint indiglo light from the clock on the microwave can be seen. Blanket folded she picks up the pillow that had been lain there as well, and she starts off down the narrow hall towards the bedroom with both items in tow.


Konrad Vrdoljiak

Sat 10:05PM EST
He watches her, and she gets the feeling that lights on or off, he sees her just as well. It's not true, of course, but the impression is there. That, and the sensation of intense scrutiny. He doesn't stare - but he is watching, and his perception cuts deep.

Suddenly, doubtlessly having noticed the brief flicker of courage gutter and die - "Why are you so damned polite?"

What a question to ask. And on its tail, "And what do you see in the people on the boardwalk?"


Faithe Browning

Sat 10:16PM EST
The blanket and pillow are placed at the foot of her bed, and without flipping the lights on in there she starts back into the living room, long fingers brushing the soft dark brown curl from her face. Faithe is flustered. She comes back into the living room with a huff, arms hanging limp at her sides, as if exasperated. With the slights tilt of her head she peers at Konrad with soulful deep wells of brown that are so dark they seem almost black bottomless pits of turbulent emotion.

She's mad.

She's frustrated.

And all the while the calm and demure demeanor is omnipresent.

"Why shouldn't I be polite? Would you think more of me if I cursed at you and tossed you out?" A well manicured brow arches and while he's considering that, she continues. "Potential ..." The full flesh of her lips tugs outward gently as the corners raise into the smallest semblance of a smile. Her hand brushes the wrinkled hem of her shirt (embarrassed ...) which appears to be tailor made as the sides hug her slim form exquisitely, just the way the upper portion gripped tight her chest when she would breath so deeply from frustration and ......fear.

"My name is Faithe. Would you like something to drink?" She offers, one hand moving slowly until it is anchored on her hip. She waits for his question (potential ? ...the hell) to come, she's sure it will ... and if it is not in regard to her latter statement, it will be another question, she's confident.


Konrad Vrdoljiak

Sat 10:24PM EST
She's mad. She's frustrated. All under her facade of politeness and calm. He? He's calm. He's polite. All over his core of primal urges: rage, rise, rule the world with claw and tooth.

"Actually? Yes."

And while she's considering that, "Potential," he repeats, and laughs. "I see..." pawns for the pushing. Tools for the using. Game for the playing, "...well. I'm afraid I don't see quite such an optimistic picture.

"Yes," again. "Anything you have would be fine."


Faithe Browning

Sat 10:36PM EST
"I didn't think you would ..." There's the slightest hint of a shrug as she turns and walks to the kitchen. She's still wearing those 2 and a half inch heels and each step she takes can be traced precisely with his keen hearing. There's a stuttering flare of light from the area she's in now as the overhead kitchen light flickers on. Noises (water ... glass from the cupboard....jar opened...) from the kitchen express that she's making Coffee. After a few moments the sound of it brewing and the sweet smell of java fills the kitchen and drifts throughout.

The strength of his presence is not lost on Faithe, it is expressed clearly in her submissive demeanor, and her seeming inability to meet his gaze for longer than a fleeting moment. "Coffee is brewing..." She states, her path leading her towards the couch, assuming he sat in the chair (throne). One long leg crosses over the other at the knee, and she folds her hands neatly in her lap.

"So you know that my name is Faithe ... and you know I work at the Museum...." there's a pause and a hesitant breath is drawn in .1..2..3.. " What's your name?" She inquires, uncertain if he mentioned it ... it's likely been forgotten if he did in the haste of her fear.


Konrad Vrdoljiak

Sat 10:47PM EST
"Oh?" he asks as she returns, coffeescent trailing in her wake. Relaxed in his chair, he only turns his head to watch her progress around the room, and it's ironic that he should be seated and she standing when it was her living room that they occupied. "Why not? Don't I seem the optimistic type? Glass half full, head half empty...?"

His name: he hadn't mentioned it. What's in a name? It meant little (everything) to him. "Konrad," he replies, then. A brief smile flits across his mouth. "With a K. What do you do in the museum, Faithe?" - and the questions start again.


Faithe Browning

Sat 11:18PM EST
"hmmm" The sound is half way sighed from her lips and she stands then ,eyes wandering over the boxes and shelves of books. Turning so that her leg misses the side of the couch as she moves around it, towards the kitchen she speaks from the other room loud enough for him to hear. "I'm a history buff. The ring was a gift...it's handmade from Scotland." She pours them both a cup of steaming Coffee and then walks it back into him. She does not hand him the coffee cup. Rather, she sits it down on the table before him as if she were a servant of some sort ... rather than a host serving her guest. Back to her seat at the far end of the couch, she eases back down, Coffee in hand.

"I enjoy Shakespeare...a lot of those books are for work." She doesn't attempt to partake of the hot liquid just yet, she holds it, and lets the heat warm her always cold hands. "Czechoslovakian? That's interesting ... were you born here in America, Konrad?" Her voice is quiet, and she seems to have relaxed perhaps a slight bit .... the noticeable tension in her shoulders has relaxed slightly ... but the tumultuous swirling of wary eyes remains. "You know, I'm not sure if I should be offended or thankful that you only stopped by here out of boredom ... but then that raises the question of how you even knew I lived here...at all...." her expression is slightly abashed at her boldness, and her eyes wander elsewhere .. leaving his vicinity completely.


Konrad Vrdoljiak

Sat 11:34PM EST
"No, Czech. Slovakians are another ethnic group altogether." A quirk of a dark eyebrow. He laughs, but the only amusement that ever seems to reach his eyes is at her expense. "A woman who works in a museum should know better."

He reaches forward to lift the steaming mug, sipping. Black coffee. Somehow, it seemed appropriate to her; he preferred alcohol from the bottle, expensive and unmixed: brandies and bourbons, cognacs and red wines. Yet when he did drink coffee, this is how he would choose to drink it.

"Yes, I was. My family," the way he says it somehow implies an entire dynasty, "has a place in upstate New York. I spent quite a few years of my childhood in the Czech Republic, though." A warming smile, "It was still Czechoslovakia back then."

And, setting the coffee down, he shrugs. His pullover shirt is fitted and tailored, expensive materials woven so finely that it hangs heavy and sleek to his lean hips. Its is a slimming effect - it's not royal, after all, to have muscles that could only have come from hard physical labor - but nonetheless, the thickness and width of his shoulders and chest are evident when he moves.

"I followed you home, of course." The way he says it makes it seem normal and obvious. "I did warn you it might happen."


Faithe Browning

Sat 11:44PM EST
Her cheeks flush brilliantly as he corrects her, and when he thinks she might just tell him off ... that she might just be to that point, the anger flows from her pours like salty sweat and she sighs heavily, offering him a timid, gentle smile that speaks volumes of her apparent personality.

"Yes ... you did." She nods in agreement to her own words, long lashes cover her dark eyes as she peers deeply into the dark coffee as if it might offer up some secret she questioned. Long well manicured nails shimmer a soft lilac color and she slowly lifts the coffee to her lips and sips of it languidly. A look of quiet pleasure washes over her face and the dynamics of her features change completely by that gentle enlightening.

Faithe is quite attractive, really. Which, perhaps, makes her simple life all the more odd seeming. No pictures of boyfriends, or girlfriends .. of mother or fathers or siblings. Nothing. Her features are fine and delicate, her lips full and always smiling, she's petite ... small ... the sort of woman that could be broken with too much force behind a playful push. Yet, she manages to carry herself with a grace that is bred in ones blood, a grace that cannot be learned. Faithe is a lesson in opposites. Intriguing and secretive, yet open and honest, optimistic and hopeful .... yet cynical and jaded in ways Konrad has yet to see expressed.

"You're here alone, then...?" The questions flows from her lips with her breath, unconsciously.


Konrad Vrdoljiak

Sat 11:58PM EST
Fire there, somewhere, buried beneath a timid and gentle exterior. Polite above all else. It speaks volumes, enough to fill all her shelves and more, to the careful observer. And he is a careful observer.

"Alone?" he echoes, one edge of his mouth quirking higher than the other. It's a cynical, wry expression; he leans back in his seat and folds his hands behind his head, regarding her with eyes which are not entirely human. "No one's ever alone. No man is an island - who said that? Anyway, I agree. Everyone has friends, family...colleagues, something. So no, I'm not alone. I have friends in the area, family in upstate New York still, colleagues."

He falls silent for a moment, one ankle crossing over the other knee, lazy and nearly leonine, spreading his essence through the room, making it his though it was hers. Then, alarmingly direct as ever, "Or are you asking if I've a significant other?"


Faithe Browning

Sun 12:09AM EST
She very nearly spews her coffee all over her nice, crisp white shirt through her nose and mouth at his final question. The thought hadn't entered her mind, really, and when he brings it up she chokes .. and once she's gathered herself again -and even before that- she's shaking her head no in quick movements, her hand following suit ... no no no no no ...seems to be the recurring theme to her reaction.

"No.." she manages, finally, a few more strands of hair have taken up residence around her face, framing her jaws with naturally curly tresses. "No, I wasn't asking that ... I just....well I was just wondering if your family came with you ... outside of your relations in upstate New York..." She over explains the situation and that fact alone brings the red blush creeping back into the hollow of her cheeks ..... yet again.

"No man is an island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main...." She rattles off, flustered by the odd man, yet again. "It's a quote from Hemingway's For Whom The Bell Tolls...." A fount of useless knowledge, she offers a quiet smile and pushes the silky seeming curls from her face. She nods towards her many books and smiles almost shyly.." I like to read..."


Konrad Vrdoljiak

Sun 12:23AM EST
No? She doesn't ask, he doesn't answer. Instead, he reaches forward for his coffee, draining it nearly to the bottom in one pull.

"Evidently," he remarks, his eyes following hers to the books all about before returning to her as he sets his finished coffee down. "You should get out more, pretty girl like you. Thanks for the coffee."

On that note he rises, going to the door to take his coat off the rack, slide it on.


Faithe Browning

Sun 12:26AM EST
She stands as he does, her hand gently setting the coffee cup on the table. "I get out Konrad, plenty ... " She counters, walking him to the door for whatever reason she feels necessary. Her hands fuss with the shirt and her hair, straightening them as best she can without a mirror. Faithe keeps a few feet between them, and she's not sure -again- if she should thank him for the compliment or curse him for the insult. "It was nice talking with you ..." She offers, manners never forgotten no matter the situation.


Konrad Vrdoljiak

Sun 12:30AM EST
At the door he turns, buttoning up the overcoat. That mobile eyebrow arcs its way up again. "Of course you do." - a counter for a counter, parry for a riposte.

Then, a sudden flicker of a grin, unexpected as ever in his strongboned, noble (dark.) countenance. "Was it? You're a better liar than I thought. Goodnight, Faithe. Maybe I'll follow you home again."


Faithe Browning

Sun 12:33AM EST
Chilled, she toys with her ring again, turning it over and over on her finger and offering him a rather sedate smile again. "Anytime Konrad ... I'm sure you know what time I get home ...Have a good night" The quip is offered on the heels of his own words and she cocks her head watching him as one hand lifts to rest on the side of the door .... holding it open until he's out of it and down the stairs .... she wasn't sure if even triple locking the door and nailing the windows shut would keep out the feelings of uncertainty and fear Konrad carried with him.