A Blind Date

[Torri]

Old buildings like these were not designed for mass stampedes. Thankfully, the library hall was not full to the rafters. Yet the few diners, selection of drink and food servers, and the like made for a bit of a confusion. Especially when low light situations were involved.

To aid, Torri pulled her Wallet from her clutch. The Med-issue device was built for rugged wear and tear. Such was one of the reasons it was outrageously expensive. Another reason why she got a butt-chewing upon debrief in Moscow. The rebels in DV took hers. It was worthless now, having been rendered defunct by the telemedicine department.

New one in hand, she pulled up a standard application flashlight function and used it to guide their way forward.

She looked up at Drayson. They were being ushered down the stairs. Apparently the fire in the kitchen was large enough to warrant an evacuation, but really, could they not have waited five more minutes? It was physically painful to leave their entrees behind.

She had no idea where their coat room was, but the host was not exactly waiting to take her ticket as she stepped out. So the cold Christmas air felt like a slap on the face. Immediately, ice prickled the inside of her nostrils. Her hair crinkled with ice shards as snow settled on her shoulders without melting. Drayson's jacket was more than welcome, but did little good. It was soaking wet as she. Stories of madmen jumping into frozen lakes came to mind. Her teeth chattered and she pulled her arms close to her chest.

She scoffed at the idea of catching a cold. That bloody old wives tale really drove her crazy. Being cold got nobody sick. But it might make you lose appendages to frostbite.

"A taxi, sure."
She wasn't sure if she was more irritated at the fact that she was shaking head to toe, had lost her coat to the restaurant, missed getting to eat a succulent meal, or disappointed in this disaster of a blind date. Drayson had been lovely company. Now, with her hair pasted to her cheeks, her mood soured, and his facing an hour on the metro, she assumed this would be the last she saw of him.

They were but two of a gathering of people on the walk between the restaurant and the street. Taxis were quickly being hailed and speeding away with their passengers, but there was not an abundance of options. Days before Christmas, traffic was heavy and taxis were in demand. She assumed that under normal circumstances, the typical wait would be 30 minutes or more in advance. She had a car service app on her Wallet, but her fingers were too numb to activate the Wallet screen and her hands too shaky to pull up the correct commands. Slush was being splashed on her ankles as people trampled by, and Torri stepped in close to Drayson. People tended to give him a wide berth.

She looked up at him and the directness of her gaze softened. Through clenched teeth she forced herself to speak clearly. "I'm sorry. Where are my manners. Come back with me. You can't sit in the metro for an hour in soaking wet clothes and shoes and without your coat. You'll be at risk of frostbite, particularly on your toes. At least come for tea. And we can order take out."
Her brows furrowed down, hopeful that he made a decision fast. She was painfully cold.

[Drayson]

Drayson made a point to be a calming and directive presence as they made their way out of the restaurant and into the unpleasantly chill night air. The manager had done his due diligence and called for cabs to take the Cafe's customers home, but Torri's observation was correct. It was nearly Christmas, and there were few to be had.

Naturally, firetrucks were on their way, but they too had to try and fight their way through traffic-clogged streets. The Cafe was in a high value neighborhood, meaning it was one of the areas which usually enjoyed record response times, but what would normally have been a matter of minutes would likely stretch out to dozens.

He had spent a few years in Dominance I already, and the Isle of Man was known for bitter winters, so he was well adjusted to the cold. There was little reaction as he moved outside into the chill night air. But in truth, wet as he was, it was just a show of bravado not to outwardly react. He had an image to maintain, after all. Shivering and complaining in the cold wasn't about to do any good for the rather irate people around them.

That was perhaps the worst of it; the sort of clientelle that frequented Cafe Pushkin were rich, important, and not known to do well with such unusual situations. Arguments broke out regularly over taxis, but in most cases the drivers, their patience already worn out from dealing with last minute shoppers, put an end to such things before they could get out of hand, boldly choosing one party or the other.

Academically at least, he understood that Victoria was to a class of her own compared to the women huddled and weeping as they waited for and loaded into taxis. She was used to hardship, and bore it with impressive calm. As such, he was actually surprised when she stepped in against his side, and it took him a moment to understand why.

Certainly, she was cold; her gown was lovely, but even dry it likely did not afford much protection against the chill Moscow air. Soaked to the bone, it did even less, and the slush-choked sidewalk had left his shoes filthy. Her ankles fared no better as slush splashed with each step, save for the small pocket of space he was afforded. Few felt comfortable crowding in around the Chief Inspector; even if they didn't know who he was, they knew that he was a very large, very intimidating looking sort of fellow.

He carefully wrapped his arms around her shoulders, trying to leave little doubt the intent; they were both cold, and it would afford them both at least some degree of warmth. He slowly jockey'd their way to the front of the line till they were standing on the curb while trying not to openly shiver too much.

Drayson blinked in surprise at her sudden statement, and looked down to see her peering up at him. With her teeth clenched to prevent chattering, the way her hair wet (and slowly freezing) hair clung to her features, and apparently barely contained frustration with the situation and, likely, at his delayed response, she was damnably adorable looking. He couldn't help but study her expression for a moment before he let out a chuckle and nodded in agreement. It was rare for him to find someone with whom he could enjoy an honest conversation that wasn't work related.

A taxi pulled up then, and he finally pulled an arm from around her to open the door, stepping into the slush-filled gutter to help her step across into the waiting vehicle without having to dip her own foot into the wet snow. "A cup of tea would be nice. Alright."

[Torri]

Torri didn't need a beheamoth like Drayson to fight her way through a crowd, but that didn't mean she didn't mind him doing her dirty work. Soon enough they were next in line for a taxi, and Torri was ready to crawl inside. The snow was piling on both their heads, and in Torri's case, stinking giant wads of white to her hair. She likely looked like a drowned rat.

Thank God Drayson agreed to come along. She'd have been extremely put out to fulfill the obligation to spend an hour in misery just to match him. She couldn't very well go home and enjoy a hot cup of tea knowing he had an hour's commute ahead of him.

The driver scowled when the two soggy passengers climbed in the back. Torri's face was flat. Thankfully the taxi had back seat warmers. She immediately shoved her hands under her legs. The backs of her thighs were freezing wet, but at least her fingertips could soak up the heat.

The address she gave was only a few kilometers to the east in Kitay-Gorod, the oldest area of Moscow, discounting the Kremlin. Torri had nothing to do with the selection of her residence. Supposedly the building she lived in was owned by the government, or someone in government, which was as good as the same thing.

The taxi merged into traffic, but an actual drowned rat might make it to her place before them. However once they made it to a major thoroughfare, they gained some speed. Torri's hands were warming under her legs and she pulled them out in time to offer payment to the taxi driver just as they pulled in front of an otherwise unremarkable building. It was a side street about half a kilometer from the Kremlin that was lined with old buildings three or four floors in height. Hers had a flat front, small windows and nice paint. She had to swipe security access to get in the front gate, but once there she turned to Drayson apologetically. "Top floor, I'm afraid. No elevator."


She rung out her hair before she lead them up a flight of narrow stairs, her heels clicking on the cement steps as they climbed. She preferred flat footed shoes to heels, but these were usually comfortable. However, by now, the wet, muck and cold had seeped inside and rubbed against her heel. She was very much looking forward to kicking them off as soon as possible. Assuming she didn't just toss them in the trash. She sighed as they reached the top floor. Trashing them was probably too hasty. They were functional shoes after all.

"Here."
She didn't sound out of breath, but she was exasperated none the less. The long, narrow hall was almost as cold as outside. A few doors branched off it, and she led them to one that seemed no different from the others.

She used her Wallet, passcodes, and identification to gain access. The locking mechanisms behind the wall clicked off and the door shifted from its typical greenish-brown to a soothing blue color. It would transform to its locked state as soon as they were inside. The electrically charged ionic paint was just another visual reminder to not leave your place unprotected.

There was no welcome mat on the inside, but a light-wood parquet floor was ready to adopt their wet belongings. Torri slipped her shoes from her feet and left them by the door while she attended the pale glow of the flat's control panel on the wall alongside. First, the door locked itself after they were safely inside. Then she huffed on her fingertip and slid the thermostat dial upward a few extra degrees. The sounds of central heating system hummed on in response. She tended to the lighting system as well. The entranceway was on a motion sensor, but her commands resulted in undercabinet lighting to illuminate a wall of kitchen counter off to the left. On the right the sparsely arranged furniture was revealed by pocket lights easy on the eye. After a few more dabs on the master control panel, the hiss of slowly steaming water came from the kitchen. "Water should be hot in ninty seconds or so."


She led him on in. There were two stools positioned at a bar that separated the space between living area and kitchen. The counter was a standard induction, so as soon as she placed two tea cups on its surface, the counter responded and little red circles appeared beneath as means to keep them warm. It wouldn't be warm to the touch, of course, but Drayson would know that. Her apartment was standard and up to date, but there was nothing flashy or dramatic about the space. Except the previous resident had painted the inside a blush pink that Torri hated. Yet she was hardly home enough to redo the job herself.

"Let me get you a towel,"
she gestured that he follow her to the restroom. The apartment only had one, after all, but it was obsessively clean, bright and - once more - sparse. Given that she was still wearing his fine tweed coat, which looked ridiculously oversized on her, she slid out of it and draped it over the glass shower door to drip dry, meanwhile.

By then the water had come up to temperature, and they returned to the kitchen area. Technically it was all one space, except the bedroom, presumably behind a closed door off to the right, and the bathroom they just departed.

On the other side of the bar, she wrapped her hands around the warm cup while the leaves steeped and just silently looked at Drayson. He was soaked clean through and his shirt and tie was pasted to his chest. She hoped his fine shoes and leather belt had been waterproofed, but they would likely be fine. His dark skin glistened still, but somehow his expression was not tainted with anger.

And then Torri just started laughing from somewhere deep in her gut that didn't know she could find this so humourous. Yet for some strange, morbid reason, it was the funniest thing in her life. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't laugh, but this is -- "
she said between smiles.

Hands promptly warmed, she returned the cup to the counter. The faint red ring glowed beneath the white porcelain.

Edited by Torri, Aug 18 2014, 05:37 PM.

[Drayson]

Once out of sight of the crowd of pampered patrons, alone in the cab with Victoria and the cabby, Drayson's strong front was finally allowed to slip a little. He settled into the warm seat eagerly and brought chill fingers to his mouth for a few puffs of warm breath to ward off the chill that had been settling in. He was content to ride in silence, and by the time they arrived at her building most of the chill had seeped out of his bones.

The security at the front door was about what he expected; most of the people living in the building worked in the Kremlin's various offices and departments, and he was well aware how regularly the neighborhood was patrolled by the CDPS. He'd overseen the schedules himself, and made sure they changed regularly. Patterns, after all, were easily defeated by the sorts of people interested in causing trouble in such an area.

The lack of elevator wasn't an issue for him; he was fit enough to climb a few flights of stairs without tiring himself out, and the added bit of exertion would help get his blood flowing and fight off the rest of the chill night air. He did take a moment to shake a bit of the excess water from his clothes while she rung out her hair, then moved to follow her up the stairs. His coat was large enough on her that he wasn't dangerous distracted by her leading the way up the steps, although the turn of her stockings-clad calves were impressive.

While the security at the entrance was about what he had expected, and the rather unimaginative interior decoration of the place, but the security at her door? And in extension, all the doors, certainly seemed a bit much. They even changed colour to indicated their status. He knew about such systems, had seen them in the Kremlin, but his building was not nearly so recently renovated as this.

Once inside, he sunk to a knee and untied his soaked leather dress shoes and set them neatly to one side, the laces carefully folded along the surface of the tongue to assure they dried out evenly, then followed as she led the way through her apartment. It was small; his was larger, but she had the benefit of location and modern amenities. For instance, he was not so lucky as to be able to get a pot on the boil from the door.

Her apartment wasn't quite how he had pictured it; she seemed more the type for dark wooden bookshelves and red brick fireplace. Certainly not...bluish pink? On the other hand, it was neat, functional, and he suspected she spent even less time at home then he did.

Despite how everything had turned out thus far, he had no complaints about the evening. Perhaps the only heartache that would come out of it all was putting up with Francis' gloating, a thought with caused him to smile ruefully. The man was insufferable at times, but his heart was in the right place.

He accepted the towel graciously and used it to dry most of the water from his head by the time they had returned to the kitchen and waiting cups of tea. He let the towel hang around his shoulders for the moment, and carefully plucked at his grey vertically striped dress shirt. The way it, and the undershirt beneath, was clinging to his chest was cold and clammy and all around unpleasant, but at least she had cranked the thermostat a bit; it would probably start drying out in no time.

It was while he was loosening his tie that she suddenly started laughing, and he glanced up at her with a look of amused surprise; what had her so bursting with energy all of a sudden? He watched her a moment, admiring the flush of colour the laughter brought to her skin, the honest emotion behind it, but her apologetic explanation was met with a belt of hearty laughter of his own.

"No no, you're right. This has been the most interesting date I've been on in a long time. Best laid schemes of mice and men, as they say."
He smiled warmly, hands resting on his hips as he let the tea finish steeping. Hands rested as they were, ti helped lift his wet shirt a bit from his sides, and in turn allowed it to air out a bit more.

[Torri]

Her humour seemed to infect Drayson. His stoic features broke apart as they shared the moment of absurdity. Torri's amusement faded to wry grinning as she rubbed her forehead and sighed.

She drew her finger across the counter again. This time a menu screen appeared. "Alright, well, I probably know no more about the local take-out scene than you, but this place was fine last time I ordered."


After a few more entries, the program recognized her location and previous order - stamped only a few days ago. Apparently stamped as the day after she returned from DV. She didn't explain, but she'd holed herself up in her apartment for a good twenty-four hours after coming home. Technically, after she went to the Facility and then came home.

She left Drayson to browse the menu. It was typical Chinese food fare of the sort to be expected in late-night delivery options. Her previous order was a hearty noodle dish made with slivers of beef and vegetables.

"If you don't mind, I'm going to change clothes."
There was still a sleight smile on her face as she crossed to the bedroom door, but she paused and turned back to him before disappearing behind it. "I'd offer one of my shirts, but something tells me they'd not fit. Unless you like bare midriffs?"
She was teasing of course. Drayson was easily twice the size in the torso she was despite her current fitness level.

"I'll be right back. Press submit when your selection is ready. Payment will go through automatically."
She waited a moment longer and slipped into the confines of a quaint bedroom.

[Drayson]

As she pulled up the menu, Drayson loosened his tie and untucked his shirt; there was no point leaving it tucked proper like when he was soaked through and shoeless. Despite how much of his time his job took from him, he'd yet to actually order take-out. More often he just went to a local diner; no matter how worn down he was, he had never been fond of eating alone. An influence of having so many brothers, he supposed. No matter how bare the table was, his mother always made sure they were all sat down together to eat. At least at a diner there were other people around, if not sharing his table.

He did note the date, although he did not read so much into it. Likely she had not been in the mood to cook; understandable, after what she had gone through and what had surely been a long flight and what probably seemed an even longer debrief. Some time alone made sense.

He was perusing the menu when she spoke up, leaning on a forearm to study the options, and glanced up at her. He grinned warmly and stood, lifting the hem of his shirt to look at his bare stomach as if seriously entertaining her offer. There was little doubt that he was no stranger to the gym. "Probably a bad idea. Don't want to scare the delivery boy."


He dropped his shirt and waved her off to get changed, grinning all the while; the poor woman was soaked and some warm clothes would do her good. It didn't take him long to place his own order, easily enough to feed two. He'd skipped lunch, having been intent to enjoy that poor, abandoned, steak. Order placed, he took up his cup of tea and stepped into the living room area and the windows to enjoy the view.

[Torri]

Torri leaned against the door after she closed it behind her. Images of Drayson's near-impish grin and flip of his shirt knit jitters into her stomach.

It took a moment to return to earth as she rolled her eyes at her girlish reaction. She shoved off to go about the process of making herself presentable. Or at the very least .. dry.

She wasn't gone long. Even at her finest Torri didn't dawdle in front of the mirror. She changed into black, comfortable pants and a button down white shirt. She wrapped her damp hair into a bun and tied it up at the neck. A quick glance in the mirror confirmed her makeup wasn't running or smeared about obscenely and that was about the extent of attention she devoted to herself. She did spare a look around the room to make sure everything was in order. She didn't expect to be giving her guest a tour any time soon, but her mother's voice resounded the expectation anyway.

When she returned, she felt almost as fresh as she looked. She was tired, still, but the prospect of tea lured her almost as eagerly as the prospect of Drayson's company.

She smiled when she returned and saw him before the windows. They were on the top floor, and the view gave her flat a meager horizon. Most of the buildings were of similar height, but many were lower and the sparkle of city lights could be seen in multiple directions. Unfortunately, there was no sights of the Kremlin or anything else particularly Moscovian.

She indicated the change of attire. Her hair was pulled back, but the earrings and slender necklace she wore at dinner were visible at her ears and beneath the button rows. "I hope you don't mind, but that was my only black dress."


She grabbed her own cup of tea, now properly steeped. Curls of steam whisked at her upper lip as she took a sip. The warmth flooded down her chest as she swallowed contentedly.

[Drayson]

For a Soviet era governmental district, the view was exactly as one might expect. On the other hand, he was somewhat surprised that the economic rebirth of Moscow under the CCD hadn't seen major renovations to the area around the Kremlin. He watched a CDPS squad car drive by below, and glanced at his watch with an approving smile.

Part of what made him well liked among the city's various precincts was that he took a personal role in the day-to-day of the men and women of the CDPS. He was a known as more then just a face on the wall. He walked through the departments and visited even the more rural precincts whenever he could. He walked with the detectives, spoke with the officers and heard their complaints. Although technically not true, they were his people.

He heard the door and her approach, but didn't look away from the window until the squad car was out of sight, off to continue their rounds. "I believe it's an unwritten law that every woman needs one black dress. Hopefully, yours..."


He turned from the window to look at her; standing as he was, his body blocked him from catch her reflection against the glass, so he was caught off guard when he saw her. There was something to be said about a woman dressed to her comfort. To say she was more beautiful as she was or had been was like trying to compare a red rose to a white. Both were beautiful in their own way. A comfortable pair of pants, a simple button-down shirt, wet hair up in a simple bun. A glimpse of how a woman liked to dress when relaxed spoke volumes. Although he doubted the jewelry were a common accessory, although still did wonders to draw the eye.

He cleared his throat and offered an abashed smile, "Hopefully it is salvageable?"

[Torri]

Stunned speechless? Drayson? Torri might have felt a little embarrassed if her date's shirt wasn't sticking to his chest. Damn! He was built like a brickhouse.

She turned away. "I think it'll be fine,"
she replied and gathered her teacup. Drayson was quiet, and so was she, but only because she wasn't sure what to say next. This was absolutely not how she imagined the night to go. Yet somehow, it was already so much better.

She spared a glance at the food's ETA and decided they were going to have to find a way to fill the time. She sat on one end of a plain gray sofa, feet curled up beneath her as she sat to face the other end. The cup she balanced against her knee. The tea was still quite warm, and already the chill was leaving her bones. For the first time all evening, Torri felt truly relaxed.

"Looks like food will be a while. At least we made it through appetizers, but I do regret missing out on that duck breast."
She hoped he would join her. It'd be awkward to chat with one of them standing.

"Its been all this time, do you consider Moscow your home now?"

[Drayson]

He watched her move to the table, and took the moment to rub his eyes and quietly chastise himself. Had he really grown so bloody awkward around women already? His last date hadn't been that long ago damn it.

He was content to watch her take up her post on the couch, and after a moment he crossed over to join her, draping the towel she'd given him over the seat as best he could before he sat; he wasn't dripping wet, but was still damp enough to warrant wanting to put the towel down first.

It was already proving to be one of the best nights he had had in a long while. An actual chance to relax, loosen his tie and put his feet up. Not that he would actually do that of course; it was rather uncouth to put your feet up on someone else's furniture after all. "Well, maybe we could go again when they reopen? Although that will probably take a few weeks."


He frowned in thought at her question. It was a good one; did he consider Moscow his home? "I suppose I do. I could have tried harder to go back to the Isle for Christmas. But work kept me here, and I honestly don't mind. So...yes, it is home. Although don't tell my mother that."


He chuckled and grinned at her, before finally removing his tie and loosening the top two buttons of his shirt, before taking another sip of his tea. "What about you? You've moved around quite a bit from what I can gather."