A Blind Date

[Torri]

Torri couldn't imagine carving another evening out of her life to devote to a dinner, but the idea was charming. She'd do her damndest to make it happen. If Drayson asked, specifically, of course. "Yes, maybe. Assuming that the place is no longer a fire hazard."
Her smile diffused the harshness of the statement. She was only kidding.

He undid his tie and opened up his collar, and Torri had to specifically put her eyes elsewhere to avoid watching too closely. Although the idea of Drayson telling her his eyes were 'up here' would be abundantly amusing.

She didn't have to think long, though. "No where really. I guess I think of home is being where ever my parents are. I was an only child, and I didn't know my extended family overly well. Not enough to think London is home."
She dipped a shoulder in casual shrug and looked around them. "I suppose this is also home. Upload pictures to the walls, skychat with friends, and eat some decent food and its good enough. Its not like I want the white picket fence and a dog in the back yard. Some place private to unwind."
That was probably the crux of the matter in the end. Army life didn't necessarily make privacy a high priority. Then again she had it better in MEDCOM than most.

"I hope to get settled someplace after the next advancement. I'll have done my tours and finished residency."
She assumed advancement would come eventually. It was fairly standard for physicians to make Major upon completion of residency. She only hoped her time at the Facility counted toward her promotion.

[Drayson]

He chuckled quietly and nodded agreement, "Yes, quite."
The Cafe's reputation would have taken a serious blow, considering the number of high-profile guests that had been left standing in the cold streets hailing cabs or summoning their drivers. How many jackets had been left in the coat check? How many dry-cleaning bills would they be sent? Of course they would get nothing of the sort from himself. He could let the 'insult' slide without recompense.

He wasn't certain he was right on the matter, but it seemed to him that she had been rather pointedly directing her attention elsewhere as he popped his collar. If that were true, then it was only fair; the teasing glint of earrings and necklace kept threatening to draw his eye. Luckily, seated on the couch, he could divert his attention before they drew his eye too blatantly.

"You should put some roots down here. It may not be where you plan to stay, but that air of the familiar marks this place as your own, not some government-supplied quarters. It removes the connection to work and responsibilities. Pictures to remind you of friends and family."
He had spoken with an interior decorator once; work related, he had been the victim of a case early in his career. "Also, you should paint. Because this..."
he knocked a knuckle against the wall behind the couch, smiling at her warmly as he did, "...is a terrible colour. I should think you spend enough time in brightly lit white-walled places already."


He could commiserate with the lack of interest in the white-picket fence American Dream home. A dog would have been nice though, but he simply hadn't the time to entertain the thought of having one. He had progressed about as far in his career as he was ever likely to go, and equally so wasn't likely to be transferred again. He was in Moscow for the long haul, and unless he was found lacking as a Chief Inspector, he wasn't likely to be moved again. It wasn't a position he would give up lightly though.

[Torri]

Torri mocked him his lack of familiarity with the times. Just to show off, she twisted around, unconscious of the gaping between shirt buttons, and reached for a small panel built in the side panel. There was a pleasant hum noise and the wall across from the sofa came to life.

It was of course what functioned as a modern day entertainment system. The home screen rippled like gently moving water as per Torri's setting-preference - it was soothing - until she transitioned the view to her favorite art collection. Wide, canvas-like textures displayed famous works of expressionism, art that stressed emotion of the artist rather than depicting the exact representation of nature. Saturated, vibrant colors suddenly flooded the room with a vibrancy it lacked before. There were similar rotations of personal photos, of course.

Now that they had something else to look at besides salmon pink walls, she turned back to him. "You're probably right about the colour, though, but if you think this is bad, you should see the wallpaper in the bedroom!"
As soon as she said it she clamped her mouth shut. Hopefully he didn't mistake her phrasing, but the wallpaper really was awful. She took a sip of tea. "Delivery should be here soon."

[Drayson]

He looked at her when she suddenly shifted to play with some buttons, and he became distinctly aware of just how the movement had played with the fabric of her shirt. The damnable necklace struck again, drawing his eye to the stretched gaps in the cloth, but he was saved by the sudden appearance of colour and pattern on the walls.

It finally gave a bit of an insight to what she liked. He had little doubt he still had at least one foot firmly planted in the past. Tricks of technology, while incredibly convenient, simply did not have the same feel physical copies. But on the other hand, he could never justify spending the money on original, classical works. Most of what he had was work by unknown artists, most of whom still drew breath.

He studied the various images that were displayed, nodding in approval. It was a far cry better then the walls, and would help keep him from staring at her all night. Not that he was opposed to the idea, but it was entirely inappropriate, especially for a first date.

Her comment of the bedroom's wallpaper, and the awkward silence that followed it was met with a quiet laugh and understanding nod, "Considering what they felt was appropriate for the living room, I can imagine the bedroom is much worse."
It was a dangerous topic, but he wouldn't read any further into it. He wasn't the type to expect a first date to end there. A kiss on the doorstep was the universal standard.

"My loft doesn't have anything quite this impressive. Truth be told, I doubt I would know what to do with it."
He smiled and glanced at her, waving at the wall, "It's amazing I can use my Wallet without looking a total fool."

[Torri]

Torri agreed the flat was outdated, but she'd prefer a smaller, older place well within walking distance than a glamorous lifestyle in the suburbs. Surprising then that Drayson mentioned a loft. She instantly pictured him going about his daily life beneath the open vents and lofty ceilings of an industrial turned residential space.

"Is your loft one of those gargantuan single rooms with a bed overlooking the kitchen or something?"
The teasing continued, of course. "I assume the building is haunted, too. Likely from some terrible turn-of-the-century conveyor belt accident or something?"

[Drayson]

He shook his head ruefully at her questions about his place. "Sadly no. Hardly deserves the name these days, but they still claim it. The building was a warehouse once. But has long since been renovated into small condos, built to mimic the fashion. Old red brick, dark hardwood floor. A key lock. Granite counter, not computer."
He chuckled quietly; his place was decidedly not what one would expect of someone of his station and income.

But while it may not have suited someone of his station, it did suit him perfectly. Nice but low key; an inconvenient location for someone that worked at the CDPS headquarters. But then again, he spent as little time there as he could. Parking was atrocious, but he didn't have his own car. Nor did he have a driver, unless he knew there was a squad car headed his way.

He finished his tea and set the empty cup aside, on a coaster of course. "And I would not be surprised if there were a ghost story or two about the place. It was built in the '50s, and a miracle it is still standing. Moscow back then was a very different place from today."
Most likely would not think him the type to believe in ghosts, but he was far more open to the idea then most. After all, he had lost two good friends to one many years ago.

[Torri]

"The nineteen-fifties?"
Torri looked impressed. The building was not only still standing, but had been restored and repurposed into homes. "Sounds like the embodiment of 'vintage'."
She could only imagine the marketing campaign that drove the cost all the higher.

Speaking of costs, an alert chimed a few moments before the request to enter the building was punched into the downstairs keycode. Their delivery was here, apparently. Torri went to check the wall panel. She buzzed the man into the building despite the fact video didn't show his face. The hood of his raincoat obscured it. But he carried a bag vaguely shaped like take-out containers. It was probably legit. Or they were about to be shot by a wandering serial killer.

She returned to the kitchen. "What would you like to drink to go with it? I'm afraid all I have is water or beer."
To illustrate, she placed a pitcher of water on the counter and subsequently plopped a cold bottle of hefeweizen next to it. She tapped the glass with a knuckle, "Started drinking these when I was in Berlin."

[Drayson]

Drayson chuckled quietly at her outburst about his living arrangements. Vintage was a fairly accurate statement; there was little about the building that was 'modern' aside the front door's security and the wiring. It was in a quiet, old neighborhood, and most importantly his favorite pub was just around the corner. Not that he went there often, but surely more often then anywhere else he may have gone on his off-time. He followed her to the kitchen, and popped the buttons on his sleeves, rolling them up past his elbows neatly. They resulting folds were completed with practiced ease, and were symmetrical and squared off, revealing thick forearms and hinting at the biceps still hidden beneath the rest of the sleeve.

Drayson offered a sarcastic grimace at her choice of beer; he preferred dark beers over the lighter stuff, but he would make do. "An insult to my taste buds, but I'll take a beer."


The buzzing of the delivery guy reminded him of how little he had had to eat that day. The appetizer at the cafe had been delicious of course, but had done little to satisfy him. "I hope to make it out that way one of these days. Try a few of the local breweries...although I suppose I could just order some. But that's just not the same as being in the local pub trying their home brew."

[Torri]

The delivery guy dropped off their food and Torri and Drayson divvied up the boxes between themselves. Soon, the counter was a veritable buffet of choices. Torri opted to use her own utensils, but only to dig out bites from their boxed homes. She was ravenous, and ate like it. There were hints in the scooping and plucking of mouthfuls that the polite little flower at the restaurant was only a façade, but she was a born and bred Brit whether she claimed to be or not. Her mother's voice was always in the back of her mind, and while she ate quickly, another habit adopted rather than inherited by her lifestyle, she managed to do so with some sense of decorum.

They each had a beer. The brew was a Berlin brand, as she said before, and while she knew it didn't live up to Drayson's proper pub standards, she did enjoy analyzing the look on his face when he had his first sip. She secretly hoped he'd be fond of the flavor. If only to make her feel less silly for buying it.

She had to assume he'd be ready to leave after the meal. There was nothing she could offer as entertainment other than random television viewing. They could keep talking about parts of the world they would prefer being in than Moscow. A slightly depressing topic, but at least it was something they had in common. That and libraries. She did enjoy seeing stack upon stack of old print books.

[Drayson]

The arrival of the food was well received by Drayson. The smell of it quickly filled the room, reminding him of how little he had eaten that day, and of the meal he had missed out on at the restaurant. The food was split between the two of them, and Drayson was just about to start digging in when he caught sight of Victoria setting upon her food with zeal.

He set upon his meal with equal enthusiasm, packing away every scrap of food that made up his half of the table with ease. He was a large man, after all. Her choice of late night delivery was excellent, and probably a sign that she ordered out regularly. He rarely ordered out, but that was only because he was more likely to eat out. The pub near where he lived was his main source of late-day meal.

He sipped the beer throughout, approving of the taste. It was served a bit more chilled then what he usually drank, but the German beer was brewed differently then traditional British fair. Served chilled worked for the more flavourable brew. The last sip was taken to wash down the his last bite of food, and he held the bottle up to eye the label a moment before setting it aside, "You are a marvelous cook, Victoria."


He cast her a teasing grin, then began schooling the various empty boxes of food together to help minimize the mess, then stood to deliver them to the garbage, waving for her to remain seated. "You cooked, I shall clean."


The dishes were set into the sink, and he rinsed out his empty bottle of beer before setting it aside. He would probably excuse himself for the evening after the dishes were done; he didn't want to overstay his welcome, and it was getting late. After everything she had been through recently, she would probably want to get some rest, after all.