Konrad Vrdoljiak

Jastima Ves'Tacha Nadja

Sat 01:08AM EST
When was the last time she saw sunlight? Other then that one nigt on the cliff, no night either. JUst bright. whit. light. Artificial. Hard on the eyes. Did hey ever turn it off? That would ruin the simplicity of the sheer white room then. . help cast shadows, which would ruin that motive. Her back healing slowly, and she moves now, if not quickly, with a return to the grace she normally possessed. Dancer Nadja. Fluid Nadja.

Beloved Nadja of the Waters.

So when Simon comes for her, she is still resolute. Silent for the Ragabash, at least having her dignity in going with him. Choose the fights you know you can win or at least have no option but to fight. Everything else take as best as you can. So following the Ragabash to. . .

The Cliff.

Why is she not surprised? Night's gentle folds fallen, and that same place once more. Air, Earth . . . child of the elements brought forth once more.


Konrad Vrdoljiak

Sat 01:15AM EST
The cliff. East-facing. From the position of the stars - if she knew the stars at all - the night was not young. Still, though, the horizon is dark, and so is the shadow beside the opening door, arms folded across his chest, thick fur rippling and reversing under the stiff breeze.

It's cold up here, thousands of feet above the plains floor. Snow has retreated to a higher still altitude, but rain still comes where they are (though it is clear tonight), and the ground is often crisp with frost.

Not that she would know.

"Thank you, Simon." Crinos, the voice is deeper, gravelly, and this is her first indication of his existence there. In retrospect, though, she had always felt his rage on her back as the moon waxes toward full (not that she could see that, either, with the moon behind the mountains already), and had heard the quiet slow rhythm of his breath.

After the door shuts, silence reigns. His yellow eyes are narrowed against the wind, cast over the plains.

"Where is your brother, Nadja?" His head cranes forward ever so slightly, nose sniffing the air for her scent before he raises his chin again, resetting his head at its original, imperious height. She is not a tall woman, and he is, in this shape, a very tall beast. "And your sister. They do not come."


Jastima Ves'Tacha Nadja

Sat 01:24AM EST
She can feel that Rage. Grow up with Garou and you learn to feel it, when the moon brings it high. . . because thats a dangerous time for anyoen, and in some cases, kin even more. She had had no doubt he was out here. . and confirme with his voice. Her turn to face him slow, fluid grace to face him, green flecked brown eyes large and blank. Her questions, confusions, and fears hidden inside. For now only wondering what new game, what new torment he wished to indulge in. . .

Simon leaves. Silence. Somewhere in all that silence was her family. Somewhere in all that silence was her death. When? Would it be here? By him? It no longer surprised her. . . and she sn't even sure she feared it.

"How should I know that? I've been enjoying your lovely white room."

Faintest bit of sarcasm. Fuel strength with anger, with righteousness. . . because without it? No, don't think about that. Facing him as always, eyes lifted to his face, where his eyes would meet hers if he faced them. . . bold and graceful Roma girl. Why are you locked from the world?

"I would think you would know that, with your much vaunted resource and wealth. Or have perhaps the Roma proved too wily?"


Konrad Vrdoljiak

Sat 01:33AM EST
The great wolven face: implacable, unreadable. Yellow eyes glint in the starlight as they move over her. He does not seem amused, nor angry - simply uncaring. He could be amused, or angry, but likely not uncaring.

Sudden motion, smooth and powerful: he straightens. Long corded arms unfold from a deep chest, the proportions not quite the same as those of a human. The arms are a notch longer, the clawtipped fingers trailing to his slightly bent knees. Below those knees, the stance is digitigrade, weight born by his toes, heels reared into the air: the classic appearance of "backbending" knees common to wolves, cats, and goats.

He could be the devil with shaggy goat legs.

"Walk with me," amused, then, after all, as he turns to the sharp slope behind them, the rocky cliff-face edged in wildgrass and a few tenacious trees. His great curving claws find no difficulty in the climb, however, digging deep into crevasses. Muscles bunch and flex and roll beneath a glossy black pelt: the massive biceps, the broad sheets across the back, the twisting definition in the flanks and thighs and calves; the ridges flanking his spine - analogs to the same muscles he'd sunk his claws into to save her from the well. In a blink he's twenty feet up the rock face, and apparently expecting her to follow, wounded back and all.


Jastima Ves'Tacha Nadja

Sat 01:43AM EST
Of course he expects her to follow. She's shown that stubborn (will.not.break) pride on a number of occasions now. Besides, pain? Proved she was alive. . .fueled the anger, the strength. Everything he did that hurt her she would only strengthen the resolve to fight him. Vicious circle, that, but unlike him, she had limited time. Could only hold out so long, stave off the white room. . .~She'enedra!~ So while he makes his climb effortlessly, quickly, smuggly, she pulls herself up in much slower, less skilled a way. Hand over hand digging and fidnign purchase, biting her lip as she used legs and muscles in a way she had not since he has sunk his claws there. Pulling at healing skin and muscles painfully. nO sound form her, though she pales as sh goes, biting her lip, so hard it begins to tricles blood, but no sound. Her's is a stubborn will. Breath coming high and fast by the time she makes it to where he has, hands sore and abraded, back aflame again, and her lip bleeding but fury in those eyes. Would never give him an ounce of satisfaction if she could

Suffer in silence. . .

~She'enedra. . .please come soon. . .~ Straightening but not a word for him. Stone cold (pained) silence.


Konrad Vrdoljiak

Sat 01:49AM EST
It might be amusement in those eyes blazing down at her - like Helios, like flame - or there might be simple interest. Evaluation.

"Mm," a sound low in his chest, acknowledgment, rumbling. Then he turns and starts up the next leg of the trip. Twenty feet. Thirty. Forty. Fifty...the cliff seems to stretch forever, and the stars never seemed so far away before.

It's too high for her to climb. Unquestionably. It's too high for any human to climb barehanded in the dark - even skilled climbers, those who made it their business to conquer bare rock faces, much less a wounded dancer raised in the rolling Mediterranean foothills of southern Spain. Perhaps he's tormenting her again. Waiting for her to break. Waiting for her to fall. Perhaps this is his death sentence; perhaps he lacks the courage to strike fast and true, or perhaps he lacks merely the compassion.

On and on, upwards.


Jastima Ves'Tacha Nadja

Sat 01:57AM EST
He starts up. Her only reaction? One long lingering look upward after him. How mnay times now had she faced the impossible? She'd jumped into the well. She'd flshed in Sarrathian speed for his face, to stop minutely form it. Now? She takes a deep breath (be still my beating heart) and starts again. She can't do it. She knows this. Somewhere up that face she will slip, she will not find a grip, she will be too hurt to take th next pull upwards.

But. she. does. not. stop.

In the Greek Hades, the punished some with endless, futile tasks. One to roll the boulder up a hill for eternity. Another to be neck deep in a pool and be unbale to drink. Nadja's task within this Hades? To keep going. If he's testing her he is rigging them unfairly. But then, he is a monster. They don't play fair.

Hand over hand, foot pushign upwards, other moving up, until her hand begin to bleed too, and not even half way. Spanish Rose. They grow in soil, not on rocky mountain faces. And its then she finally meets the inevitable . . . cannot find a foot rest, and hands stinging, arms burning, back dying. . and she slips. . .

Fallen angel.


Konrad Vrdoljiak

Sat 02:09AM EST
He'd been stretched along the rock wall, three sets of claws dug firmly into crevasses, a fourth reaching up for a new handpawhold, when the sound of rocks slipping loose below swivels his ears around.

For a terrifying instant he simply turns and watches, yellow eyes unblinking.

But it doesn't take an eyeblink. Not even that. In the next instant he swivels as his ears did, an amazingly smooth twist on the rock face, clinging with feet and one handpaw, reaching down to catch her neatly by the forearm with the other. Jerked to a stop in freefall - again - she doubtlessly suffers pulled muscles along the arm, down the wounded back. His handpaw is large enough to close around a man's head the way a man's hand could close around a softball; it swallows her forearm entirely from wrist nearly to elbow, and in his huge palm her arm feels no thicker than the padded steering wheel of his much-beloved BMW.

Flesh and blood, though. Blood and bone - creaking - as he hauls her up alongside him, dwarfed, and indicates a foothold with a short nod of his head.

Then his head rears back; he looks down at what they've covered, up at the remaining distance. Fifty, sixty feet in either way. Half.

"Not inconsiderable," rumbled softly, where she may have instead expected scorn. Claws flex; rock cracks but does not give. The strained growling tones, "We will. Keep going. Hold on to me."


Jastima Ves'Tacha Nadja

Sat 02:24AM EST
Freefall.

That one terrifying instant when everything freezes to perfect clarity. The moment she knows she has lost her own personal battle with body too weak and odds too strong. Feels the rocks shift beneath foot searching for foothold and . .slip . . and then there is nothing holding her, she can't hold on. Ground below rushes upm air won' cradle, and not even time to think to scream (if she even would) and is jerked up short, head snapping painfully on slender neck, arm wrenched painfully all the way to her legs. . . another stroke against her back. The surprise is plainthough. . . that he had pushed her to the edgem she had taken the jump and he had saved her again. What game was he playing? PUlled up by that arm (by.paw.that.could.so.easily.crush) and she clings to the wall where he shows her. The next surprise . . hold onto me. Long stunned pause and then she complies because you choose the battles you can win and she had fought this one as far as she could. Not sure going high on a mountain in her best interests but better forward and hope for the best then fall into th past where she knew it wasn't. A nod, teeth gripping lip (poor.abused.lip.that.smeleled.sweetly.of.blood) in pain but still pushing herself. Holding onto him as tightly as she can manage.


Konrad Vrdoljiak

Sat 02:42AM EST
Piggybacking on a Crinos is difficult. The torso is too wide, as broad as a strong man's shoulders even at the narrowest point, the lean hips. It's impossible to lock the arms across the chest, and it may be difficult to get her knees around his waist. She likely has to settle for grabbing double handfuls of fur and clinging. He waits until she's settled as best she can, and then a long arm wraps behind his back, large handpaw scooping under her flank to hold her in place.

(Kinky.)

Or perhaps not. In the next breath he's climbing again, great muscles churning beneath thick, dense fur, propelling him upwards at speeds that make her realize he had deliberately kept the pace slow to accommodate her. This must be what it feels like to ride a sabertooth, or some other great beast of myth and legend.

Up, and up, and up, three-pawed, until his claws as scraping the lip of the summit, and his breathing comes with just the slightest hint of rasp. He shrugs massive shoulders as the hand beneath her gives her a push - "Up." - indicating she should scramble up onto the summit of this cliff.

She can see the moon from there, enormous, pregnant but not yet full, sinking into the west. Between there and the horizon are the ridges of moonlimned mountains even higher than this one, huge shadows crowned by silver and grey, moonlight and snow. The Rockies. Past that, the deserts; past that, the Sierra Nevadas, the central valley of California and the woodlands of Oregon; the coastal ranges. And beyond that, far beyond the horizon was the sea, the Pacific. Water. Her element and the greatest ocean in the world, large enough to swallow all the continents whole and more.

Behind her, the Plains stretching east, where the night has just barely begun to lighten toward dark blue. Sunrise is perhaps an hour, two hours away. Behind the sunrise is New Jersey, her kumpaniya.

A scratching of rock, and a sudden warm presence behind her: he too crests the summit and crouches on one knee, one elbow propped on the other, looking west. He does not seem inclined to speak. He waits for her to speak as long as he must.


Jastima Ves'Tacha Nadja

Sat 02:52AM EST
For every cruelty he does something that might have smacked at considerate, even compasionate, and still she looks for the ploy. th games. Would never admit she was grateful for the help up. Then again, she would never have had to be gratefl if he had not insisted on taking her, injured by him, up there. Quiet as he surged up the moutain, making that last manuever to the summit as he commanded, because what else could she do? And stares out over everything.

Freedom in an eyespan. Wind clean of taints. Not the artificial warm air of her room. Not the close, sterile air of the compound, but clean wind. The sister element to hers. Taking in the deatils around her, marking a tentative place in her mind of where she was.

A lingering glance towards New Jersey and where Gemile ad Ra'gon were last. They had to be coming. . . and as the silence grows she realizes he is waiting on her. . .but for what.

"Impressive, but I doubt you brought me all the way up here just to admire the view, Konrad."

Cut right to the chase, in her lovely accent, rolling into the wind. . ~Carry my words to ym she'enedra's ear little wind~


Konrad Vrdoljiak

Sat 03:13AM EST
Kneeling, he's eye to eye with her. The inhuman intelligence in those yellow eyes gleams out at her. After a long time, he shakes his head like a dog coming out of water, but slower, and as he does the battleform falls away and leaves the smaller, svelter homid form. The shake of the head becomes a roll of the shoulders as though to loosen them, and he gets to his feet.

The west slope is significantly milder than the east. It's a gradual downhill, the bare cliff receding into a treeline of sentinel pines standing tall. He looks toward them, frowning, getting his bearings before he points at a southwestern peak.

"Do you see that mountain?" His voice could nearly be intoxicating in this form, low and smooth, mahogany and oak, two hundred year old wine as found in the cellars of the Vrdoljiak family manor in the Czech mountains. Those mountains were not unlike these in the night... "Go straight toward it, ten miles or so, never waver, and you will come upon a road. Follow that road west for another five or six miles and you will find a small town. Motels, pay phones, a ranger station. If you go now, go fast, perhaps I can keep from following until it is too late."

A tattoo on his arm moves; drops suddenly off his skin and lands in his hand as his jacket - thick supple leather, beautifully tailored to his broad shoulders, muscular waist.

"It's cold before dawn." Goosebumps are standing on his skin. He folds the jacket over his arm and holds it out to her. "You'll need this. There are five hundred dollars in the left pocket, which should last you until your family comes for you. There's a knife in a sheathe sewn into the right pocket. Take care of it, if you will. It's been in my family for a very long time. My family ends here, though, and so there is little enough reason to keep it."


Jastima Ves'Tacha Nadja

Sat 03:27AM EST
Do you see that mountain?
A nod, looking where he pointed. Its not until he keeps speaking her eyes go ftom the mountain, to him, and stare. . . then let me go. . . Not now. Not any more than you can tell me your secrets. It would run counter to all that I am. . Green flecked brown eyes wide, unbelieveing, and only get wider as he hands her the jacket, listens to the instructions.

"If I go now and fast perhaps you can keep from following?"

Caught her offguard, completely. Hands accept the jacket, smooth it over her arm but she stands there with those words hanging between them. . . like she can't believe her ears, or perhaps min will not comprehend such a thought as him letting her go. . . after all this. . that he would acknowledge defeat in anyway, especially to her.


Konrad Vrdoljiak

Sat 03:29AM EST
Tawny eyes trace the jags of the mountain, the proud thrust to the sky, its peak crowned in stormclouds. "Go, Nadja," very softly.

A breath, and when she does not move, his eyes flicker to her. Trial by water in the well. Trial by air on the cliff. Trial by earth in the climb.

Trial by fire?
In his eyes.

"Go now."


Jastima Ves'Tacha Nadja

Sat 03:32AM EST
The Spanish Rose. The exotic romany flower i its new, chill garden of America. Rom, trapped many weeks in that awful room. Hurt, confused, and heart sick and the door is open. Who would not rush for it (move as quickly as she can as she is). Eyes flicker to him, half expecting some new ploy, some cruel game. Offer hope and fredom and snatch it away. . could she survive that?

No response. . .

She goes. Not as graceful for her newest pains suffered gettign this far nor so quickly as she might wish, but she goes. . .

Free


Konrad Vrdoljiak

Sat 03:40AM EST
He lowers his head, chin nearly touching his chest, hands lax, exhaling a slow breath. Her footsteps away, crunching over frost, ring clear in his ears.

Inhale: raise head: and what she doubtlessly fears to hear.

"Nadja."

His has always been a voice that could command thousands. Something in it - quiet as her name is spoken - compels her to stop. Perhaps even to turn. And if she does turn, by then he's caught up to her, and as the east behind them lightens toward a paler blue, another sunrise is recalled and his hands are on her shoulders, on her upper arms, and he is pulling her forward and up into his kiss.


Jastima Ves'Tacha Nadja

Sat 03:46AM EST
Yes, she does. So strong the entire time, and its that one word that makes her tremble. If he had wante to, right then was the moment to strike. . she would have broken, shattered to a thousand pieces. . .or maybe not. Deep wells of resolve in her, but he whispers her name and a trembling stop, a hesitant turn, and . .

Shock.

She had been stunned before by his words, now her mind refused to comprehend what was going on. Completely refused to work. . . strung out to that near breaking point in endurance. Mind strained by the fear and his room. . body strained by her injuries and his tests. . .and now that edge she's pushed over.

Did. not. jump. this. time. . .


Konrad Vrdoljiak

Sat 04:01AM EST
A beat later, he draws back just a notch, half an inch, less. The tawny eyes are shut; his breath comes quick across her mouth. By degree, his hands loosen on her upper arms, though he maintains a hold.

"Don't be so surprised, Nadja," spoken between breaths, even as he quivers with restraint, "don't act so surprised. From the day you refused to cave...chose death over defeat...you knew this would happen."

An exhale over her lips. His eyes remain closed, as though by not seeing, he would feel her nearness better. "Don't be so surprised."


Jastima Ves'Tacha Nadja

Sat 04:10AM EST
A beat later
Eternity
Immortal moment spun across the head of a pin

Draws back, allows space, bare as it is, to think, and can't. Her eyes wide in shock staring at him like she didn't know him, could not fathom the creature (man) before her. Breath coming in short, shallow breaths, high in her lungs. Blink. blinkblink. . . had expected him to stop her, grab her, hurt her more. Had been prepared for it, steeled, resolved. . .

And he threw her a curve ball instead. . .

What game was this? God, let it be a game. . . she could understand that, expected that.

London Bridge is flalign down, my fair lady
Take the keys and lock her up, my fair lady.

"Why?"

Not no, not unhand me, not a scream, a cry a protest. . . a question. She had been so resolute, that he would not break her. . and then lightning from clear skies. . adn trying to gather up the shreds of courage, self contorl, and willpower to maintain her battle.


Konrad Vrdoljiak

Sat 04:19AM EST
"...why?"

He gathers himself as she draws back. The sky behind him is going from pale blue to pale grey. Silver. His eyes open. Gold.

"Why?" again, a note of incredulity now, as though he held such truths to be self-evident. "You're no shrinking violet, Nadja. You need no flattery. You know well your charms."

But he doesn't name her beauty among them. Her grace. Her flirtatious ways. Her beautiful deceits.

"Your nobility. Your will. Your wildness. Your..." a frown; a moment's thought. His right hand, the sword hand, moves from her shoulder to touch her cheek - ever so lightly - as though she might jerk away from his touch any moment. And if she tried, she could. His grip is strong, but not unshakable. He finds the word at last, "...strength."

Another slow ragged breath out. In the gray false dawn, he's dark hair dark clothes, swarthy skin and eyes like candles' hearts.

"I recognize you. I know you, beneath your temptress' mask. And you know me too."


Jastima Ves'Tacha Nadja

Sat 04:29AM EST
Used to many things. Nadja the teptress. Nadja the dervish of trouble. Nadja the tease. Nadja the marhime. Nadja the liar, with a carefully painted face adn carefully choreographed song and dance to lead everyone on. . . and in weeks he has peeled it away to the sheer, iron, hard center. The indomitable will and strength of being persecuted as a people through time and bearing secrets beyond compare. Being more then kin. . . and less then Garou. . and always Rom. All the balls she juggled with ease and efficiency and in this one moment she is none if but Nadja.

Heartsick, confused, youfn Nadja. Buffered by courgae and self. No family here to help her. No friends. Just herself, for the first time. And when he touches her. . she does not flich away. She's still peering at him with those swirled eyes for an answer, a truth, something she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt. Lips part, as if she searched for words. . and nothig emerges except warm fast breaths. Speechless, and thoruoughly confused. Duid not thinkt could happen. . . but it has. .

The card have been dealt . . and the third hand goes to him. . .

"I. . I don't know what to say. . " so quiet, so exotic. . but no special inflection, no coy. Nadja, speaking as Nadja. . .


Konrad Vrdoljiak

Sat 04:45AM EST
The moon has set, pulling the tides of the world with her. The sun is nearing the horizon; threaded through the pale grey is the first tentative hint of rose, and by the lifting light he can see, now, that same hint of rose reflected in her dusky cheek, parted lips.

When she does not flinch away, he dares to lay a second hand on her cheeks. Before the sunrise there is the sun: held in his eyes, liquid molten amber, tawny like a lion's, a brighter bolder more animal rendition of her own hazel irises.

Perhaps they took on flecks of green when she wore a garment of that color. Konrad, though, likely would not live to find that out. Their time together, strange as it was, was almost at an end. His time was almost at an end, and he knew it.

He has a plan for everything. A contingency for every plan. He is never surprised, never caught off guard - except once. Except now, this, all this. Nobility, will, wildness and strength: traits most prized by he and his, found in one that was neither him, nor his kin.

Nadja the temptress. Nadja the dervish. Nadja the tease. Nadja the marhime. Nadja the liar. Nadja the lone. Nadja the lost. Nadja the confused. Nadja the wounded. Nadja the courageous. Nadja the strong.

Nadja of the Water.
Beloved Nadja of the Water.

"You don't need to say anything," he murmurs, and his thumb traces her lower lip once before he, once again, tentatively this time, replaces his touch with his mouth.


Jastima Ves'Tacha Nadja

Sat 04:53AM EST
Not hours earlier she would have begged for silver to gut him with. Not days ago she was sure he was driving her amd in her tiny prison. Not weeks ago she could barely recognize her surroundsings for the drugs he gave her. That and so many more, things, eacha twist, a tear, and pull at her somewhere or even if they weren't meant in cruelty, they were seen as such, grouped with everything else.

She does not move when the second hand comes up. Was she mad? Thumb, so intimate, so light along her lip. . . and he kisses her again. . and she. . . returns it?!

She was mad. . . had to have lost her mind. . . but for the first time in weeks, something that doesn't come limned in pain. Something that could break her yet. . . she kisses him back.


Konrad Vrdoljiak

Sat 05:13AM EST
She kisses him back: wild Spanish rose, she and all her thorns.
She kisses him back: and there's sudden breathing confidence in him, his touch on her.
She kisses him back: madness. She's worn nothing but white for days. She'll wear nothing but black for weeks, months.

She. kisses. him. back.

Was she mad? Was he mad? Did it matter? (His hand on her neck.) The sun was nearing the horizon. Pinks glow to livid red. Gold and orange stain the east. Colors like blood and sin and passion and pride. (His hand on her breast.) Colors as bright as she tastes, and he's taking his coat back from her to toss upon the summit earth, beyond the ring of trees, upon dirt and rock, surrounded by sky. (His mouth on her throat.) She of the water and he of the fiery eyes. It all came full circle somewhere.

His hand on the fastenings of her clothes. Goosebumps rippling over exposed skin. His mouth on her skin. Leather at her back, and his hand covering the wound, protecting it from abrasion. Leather at her back and the ground, and he above her, now, in the crisp and dawning light.

It's madness. It didn't matter.