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Meeting Old Friends
Dorian ran his fingers through his hair as he disembarked the private plane that had brought him into Moscow. His father had insisted, as usual. Cruz was with him, he was here to check out Moscow University. Cruz would return home to Madrid on the plane when he decided if he would transfer next semester. Dorian thought it was funny that Cruz wanted to come with him. Maybe being his grandfather's choice for VP of RnD was grating on him, but Dorian didn't ask and Cruz didn't offer, he only informed his father he was coming to which Dorian gave him a flourished bow and a "As you wish"
before Cruz told Anastasia his intentions.

She looked at Dorian. Dorian shrugged, "I have nothing to do with this."

The memories were still fresh from the morning. Cruz had little to say on the trip down on the subject, but he was hardly quiet. He rattled on about Moscow University, and Dorian told him of his short lived time there. Before the calling Borovsky bestowed upon him. To hunt monsters. It was not an easy job and it was more complicated being in the Department, but it had it's advantages. He had a home unlike most hunters who rarely found a haven as such.

Sadly his reputation had pulled him to Moscow, but Dorian really was glad to be away from his father. He was happy that Cruz might come live in Moscow. Ana was not happy, but she'd deal with it, like everything else. It would give her plenty of time for Christian but also make it more difficult without Cruz as a buffer between her and Dorian's father. He sighed. Life sucked!

Cruz followed him down the stairs to the tarmac. "Dad, I'm going to head straight there. I have the address to the new house."

Dorian nodded and Cruz left with his own contingent of drivers and luggage handlers, the remainder looked at Dorian as if he were the only thing in the world. He smiled before he moved towards the car that awaited him. The driver opened the door and Dorian got into the back seat of the black SUV. His luggage was loaded, the rest would be driven there on trucks. It was a pain moving, but it would be worth it in the end.

The house was smaller than he preferred but it was just him so it didn't matter. His father had found it. Dorian of course purchased it, his father would never gift Dorian anything outside of Madrid, he already owned countless businesses and houses there all gifts from his father to persuade him to come home and remove himself from this dangerous life style. He knew what Dorian really did for a living, it turns out he'd been donating money to one of their charities for years. It was a medical thing he claimed, but he wasn't certain his father truly understood what it meant.

Dorian walked into the foray and frowned, it was dreadful inside. The decor, he didn't even want to think about it. A man with greyed hair in a black suit approached him, "I'm Pavlo, your butler among other functions of the household. Can I assist you in anything sir?"

Dorian frowned, "Yes, either call my wife and tell her I'm need of her expertise on this horrid decor or hire a better designer because I refuse to stay in this."
He waved his hand at the tacky wooden panels and the gold trimmed everything. He shuddered. "I do hope my bedroom is better. I'm going out for a drink. Please take this all down."
Dorian caught sight of a watercolor on the wall. He pointed, "Except that, put that in my room."

"Of course sir, I will call Mrs. Vega and see what she recommends."

Dorian nodded, "And if you call me Mr. Vega I'll have you fired. My name is Dorian."

Pavlo nodded, "Yes sir."

Dorian laughed, "Dor-ee-an""
He enunciated his words, "Not sir."

Pavlo sighed and nodded, "As you wish, si... Master Dorian."

Dorian sighed but smiled anyway, "We'll get along just fine, I think."

Dorian stalked out the front door with a sigh, it would of course be a horrid house his father picked out. All in the name of getting him home. He'd show him. He should leave it horrid but he shuddered, no, that was even beyond his own rebellion.

He could go to Manifesto but he was hardly dressed for such a place. He went someplace else, someplace a little more tame. Where was it Martin had taken him all those years ago... Chesterfields he thought was the name. So that's where he told the driver.

It was of course under new management and the beer and wine selections were far better, as well as the food. He smiled happily. The blonde at the hostess station smiled brightly at him he smiled back at her. No point being rude. The girl who waited on him however was covered in tattoos and green hair, he sighed. She too smiled at him, but Dorian only gave her a cursory smile and ordered their finest beer and whatever the special of the day was.

Dorian sent Martin a text. "I have a new job. Figured might like to know. A new task force in the CCDPD. Apparently my reputation has caught up with me, and I've been asked to come join this new special terrorist task force. At Chesterfields getting a bite to eat, come join me oh Metatron. Smile" Dorian laughed as he sent the text.

Edited by Dorian, Mar 20 2015, 12:42 PM.
It was the first time Torri crawled out of the Facility in weeks. Their quarters were fine enough, complete with comfortable bunks and decent pillows, but she welcomed a return to her own bed. Being alone in an empty apartment was wonderful, but after a few hours sleep, a shower, and being able to walk around in a bath towel without feeling immodest, she actually wanted a chance to interact with civilian civilization. Or at least see them up close.

Thus, a quick restaurant search turned up this random place within decent distance. Upon entering, she temporarily reconsidered the choice based on smell and decor alone, but she wasn't so snobby as to have to find a replacement, so she shook out her coat and found an empty table.

Coat draped on the back of her chair, she was otherwise dressed in civilian clothing: a cashmere sweater, jeans and boots. Her hair was down but tucked behind her ears,and otherwise mussed from wearing the stocking cap now stuffed away in a coat pocket.

"Tea, please,"
she requested upon a waitress probing for a drink request. It was likely to be atrocious, but she was otherwise chilled to the bone. She could always hold the cup for warmth. Meanwhile, she browsed the menu.

Martin had been highly surprised by Dorian's reassignment. The man was good at his job in Spain, having filed quite a few reports on monsters causing mayhem in Madrid and even some smaller cases outside of the city proper that were technically out of his district. He would be perfect for this so called Monster Squad in the CCDPD here in Moscow. AND to top it all off Dorian was his man to the core. That made Martin happier than having assets in this new anti-terrorist group.

Once long ago Martin had asked Dorian to meet him at this very same bar and grill, and it had changed over the years, but it had only gotten better. Though by Dorian's standards it was probably still pretty drab. He was a man of fine tastes. Martin rolled his eyes at no one in particular, it was his default reaction to Dorian's seemingly impoverished life style when away from Madrid.

He went into place, it wasn't booming, it was still rather empty for the time of day. Other than Dorian with whom he saw right away, a woman sat alone. Martin put on his best smiled, straightened the navy blue blazer over the blue t-shirt and jeans and stopped next to her table. "No woman should eat alone. Please join us."

Martin waved his hands in the general direction of the table Dorian sat at, "So if you find yourself still alone, my friend and I would have you join us."

He left with a smile and sat across from Dorian. "No one should eat alone especially a pretty lady like that. I'm surprised you let her. Where are those devilishly proper manners of yours."

Torri was browsing the restaurant's stews when someone new came inside. She had previously ignored the other patron beyond a passing glance. This new individual, however, earned more than the former's cursory examination. The way he carried himself, militant in his presence, rose red flags in her mind. Nothing warranted action, but a lifetime of awareness of her surroundings suggested she keep an eye on him.

Thus, upon returning her inspection of the menu, she was startled that he came and stood over her. There were plenty of tables, lots of room, and her sense of social space felt infringed upon.

She lowered the menu and her posture straightened, not overly suspicious or threatened, but wary. His accent immediately identified him as Russian, and the friendly invitation seemed out of character for these usually cold, sterile people. Her brow furrowed slightly like she had trouble understanding him, but it wasn't his words she didn't comprehend.

"I'm fine. Thank you."
A woman shouldn't eat alone? Were they a hundred years in the past? Her feathers were slightly ruffled in that he assumed she was alone, or for that matter, was incapable of eating alone. She wanted to immerse herself in civilization, sure, but his forwardness was disturbing. Then there was the warning in the back of her mind. He's dangerous.

He retreated to his companion, and meanwhile, Torri dug out her Wallet.

She sent Drayson a message.

"Any chance you're out and about? If so, stop in for a cup of tea, if you have time." Along with the message, she included her location.

As she put the phone aside, she realized something odd. The message had been sent to Drayson, but she would have preferred Michael's company. Despite everything, despite her own intuition, she trusted him.

But she dismissed the notion. It was only from spending so much time around him lately, and she'd barely seen Drayson all this time. He was the logical choice. Hopefully he would come.

Martin showed up and accused him of having bad manners when by the way the woman had reacted she was rather offended. Sometimes Martin wasn't very swift for being a typial male. When the waitress stopped back to take Martin's order Dorian asked for a peice of paper and a pen. She looked at him strangely but brought him it back when she returned.

Dorian penned in neat script a note.


Dr. Weston, Please excuse my friend, he's rather a brute at the best of times. My father is a fan of your work.

- Dorian Vega


Dorian folded the paper in half and handed it to the waitress with green hair, "Please give this to the good Doctor. And send my regards."

Dorian glared at his friend, "You are an archaic brute."

Martin laughed, "Perhaps. How do you know she's a doctor? No wait, your father drilling you with important people."

Dorian smiled, "One of many facts to impress him, yes. And today it seems to have come in handy."

Martin shook his head, "Why you pretend to be what your father wants is beyond me. Tell me of this transfer."

Dorian smiled, "I don't expect you to understand, Martin. My work in strange cases seems to have drawn attention despite the obvious facts. I will be in Moscow for the inforseeable future. Cruz might even come to school here."

Martin laughed, "Oh the irony. And Ana?"

Dorian smiled, "She will remain in Madrid, though I have had my new man call her to come redecorate the horrid house my father suggested I purchase. I should have known better."

Jensen parked the bike in a wedge of a parking spot near the restaurant. It was still winter, so he had on his warmest bike suit, but the materials were top of the line, thanks to his generous benefactor, so they weren't bulky. In fact, the slick pants and fitted jacket made him feel rather sleek.

Helmet tucked under one arm, he unzipped the jacket as soon as he was inside. The warmth was stifling after being used to the outside temperatures. He showed himself to a table after a quick glance for available spots - which seemed to be most of them. He nodded, politely smiling at a woman seated alone, and glanced at a pair of men chatting across the way.

The helmet went onto the seat of a spare chair at his table, and he lounged in his own seat, glad for the moment of rest. The waitress, with her green hair and distant eyes, earned a look of gentle consideration from Jensen as he briefly wondered what her home life was like. In his experience, young ladies that put up such loud exteriors were usually yearning for fulfillment on the inside. He said nothing about it, however and asked for coffee and whether or not they were cooking any breakfast foods at this time of day.

Connor had the afternoon to himself. Ayden was out with Emily shopping for wedding dresses. He rolled his eyes. God forbid he see her in hers before the the wedding. Still, this wasn't about him. He'd done this once before. It was about her, about letting her know how special she was. This was going to be her day. So whatever she wanted she'd get. For the most part. The minute she asked him to where a baby-blue tux with a frilled shirt was the day she was gonna get an earful. He laughed at the thought. She was a fiery one. But that was one of the things he loved about her. She was a strong woman. He'd always loved strong women. They were the ones who were worth it, who were always interesting.

So, what to do, what to do. He thought about calling some guys from work to go out. Nah. They'd probably try to rope him into doing something bachelor party-like. Still, going out to a bar might be fun. But not alone. He pulled out his wallet and scrolled through it. He smiled at a name. Yeah, that'd be cool. Text sent, he threw on his coat and headed down to Chesterfields. It was his usual haunt, obviously.

Sasha greeted him at the door. "Where's Adyen? He smiled at her.

"She's out with a friend tonight."

She got a strange look in her eyes. "So you're out by yourself? she said scandalized. He rolled his eyes. She wasn't very bright. Pretty- and with a backside on her that, if he wasn't with Ayden, he'd have a very hard time not staring at. Heh. Good thing he didn't notice stuff like that, being taken and all. Because it was something...He gave his head a little shake. Where was he again? Oh yeah. Not too bright.

"I do know how to go out on my on, Sasha,"
he said only half-jokingly. "Actually, I'm meeting a friend. When he asks for me can you send him my way?"
She laughed that silly little giggle that some dolt must have told her was entrancing, and let him go.

He was headed to the bar and noted the few people this early in the afternoon. Couple guys, cute girl....What the.... His face split into a grin and he walked over and clapped Jensen on the shoulder. "Hey Jensen! How's it going man?"
He looked at the empty seat with the helmut. "You here alone?"
The woman dismissed him in a huff, he didn't blame her. But such was life. It did not surprise Martin in the least bit that Dorian sent the woman an apology, everything proper and everything in it's place, that was Dorian Vega. Martin had seen him no other way but surely he wasn't like this ALL the time. There had to be a time or two where there was even a hair out of place, or a wrinkle in his clothes. But even on a hunt, he was always perfect. It was a facade, but one Dorian had wielded far too long and far too well. He would have to see about breaking his friend.

A man in a bikers outfit strolled in and took a seat, the place was picking up, it was still rather empty but such was life. And another gentleman walked in, he apparently knew the hostess and was chit chatting with her.

Martin's soup arrived and Martin carefully rolled up his sleeves, he had to sigh at himself, he had picked up too many habits from his friend, things he didn't do when he wasn't around. It had been nearly 5 years since they'd dinned together and his manners had probably improved 100%. Martin looked up from the spoon he was about to put in his mouth and found Dorian chuckling at him.

Martin sat up straight and put the spoon back in the bowl, "What now?"

Dorian shook his head, "You go from insulting the lady, to rolling your sleeves up so you don't drag them through your food all in the matter of minutes. Martin, my friend, you need to get out more. This whole business has you coiled too tightly. You need to get laid and get out and have some fun."

Martin's jaw nearly dropped at the bluntness of his friend. He was stunned into silence. "And I imagine you are offering."

Dorian laughed, "For the latter yes. The former, well not that I'd be displeased but I don't think I'm your type. But for the fun I'm sure we can manage something. Friday night provided I'm not on a case and you've no pressing business, you and I will find something our adult selves will hate, but the youth in us would love. We'll even drag Cruz along for the fun of it. Maybe he can show you how to have a good time."

Martin looked down and spooned soup into his mouth to keep himself from blurting out an apology, he had been surprised by his own words, but Dorian had never even tried with him ever. He'd been insulted when he was younger, but no he was grateful, and he shouldn't have said what he did. But Dorian knew he felt bad when he looked up there was an apologetic smile on his face as well. "Sounds like a plan. How old is Cruz anyway?"

Humming to himself, Jensen really wasn't paying attention to anything besides the menu until a shadow passed his table. He looked up just as a familiar face came near.

He exclaimed, mood lightening as he stood to greet the other man. Likewise, he clapped him on the shoulder. "It's good to see you. You look well."
Drawling accent as thick as ever, he smiled.

He couldn't say why he'd never talked to Connor again after that fateful night so long ago. Seeing the man now, a stab of guilt rattled his chest, but it did nothing to thwart his suddenly risen mood.

"Would you care to join me? If it will not disrupt your own party, of course. I am sorry I haven't called you before this. I don't know why I haven't. I was embarrassed, I think."
To that end, he pulled out a spare seat in offering.

There was a rare day when Drayson considered himself not to be terribly busy. Most Chief Inspectors had ten years in age on him, and were quite married to their desks most of the time, siting the need to study reports or prepare public statements on cases as a reason to stay in their office. But modern technology made such excuses pointedly flimsy. His Wallet allowed him to do all of that while on the move.

His morning had been split between a visit to a hospital to check in on a shop clerk that had taken a bullet to the shoulder when he leapt between an armed robber and a coworker, to nearby police station where the shooter was being held, and an impromptu stop at the clerk's parents house. It was, at first glance, a decidedly mundane case for someone like the Chief Inspector to have taken interest in, but the shooter was believed linked to a gang that was the focus on an ongoing investigation.

In between each stop, he skimmed reports from throughout DI and its surrounding regions, signed off on requests for warrants or stamped for approval expense requests for equipment acquisition or training. He spoke with department heads, politicians, lawyers.

And then his Wallet made an unusual sound. There was a very tiny list of contacts that had a different beep then the usual work-related stuff that was constantly barraging the small communication device. His mother and brothers. A few old friends from past postings, most of whom were retired. A few numbers of women he had gone on a date with in the past and had never gotten around to deleting when it became obvious that a relationship wouldn't pan out. Victoria was somewhere between friend and failed relationship; how long ago had that dinner been?

He stared at her message for a long moment, ignoring the emotionless beep his Wallet made to announce the arrival of another work related message. He had eaten breakfast before leaving for work that morning, but that had easily been six hours ago. The restaurant wasn't far, and equally not far from the office either...scant minutes after Victoria had messaged him, he responded in the affirmative, and updated the officer tasked to drive him around that day.

He often used officers recovering from stress related illnesses to drive him around. It gave the a chance to feel useful, and at the same time gave him a chance to speak with and assess them. Knowing that their boss's boss took an interest in them often helped in their recovery.

It didn't take long for him to arrive at Chesterfields. He stepped out of the squad car after a brief conversation with the driver. He would take the metro back to the office after he was done lunch; another thing that set him well apart from other people who held his office.

He was dressed as he usually was; a nice albeit inexpensive suit, and wore a similarly matched trench coat to ward off the chill winter air, a scarf hanging unwrapped from his shoulders. A brief word of greeting with Sasha, the hostess, then he made his way into the restaurant proper. Despite the importance and power of his position, or the amount of time he spent speaking to reporters, his was not an immediately recognized face to most regular folk. Just another politician type on the television.

A brief scan of the room turned up a few interesting details. A familiar face in the form of a newly assigned police officer for the Domovoi task force; Moscow was not a small city, but coincidences happened. The man, Dorian Vega, had an interesting file. One of the few that knew how to deal with the weirder things an officer could run into, and how to doctor a report so he didn't end up being investigated for lunacy. Hence his transfer to Moscow and new assignment. Born of money, making his career in law enforcement (or anything in which one could break a sweat) unusual. The men and women that Drayson had gathered for Domovoi would fine-tune the unit, then be moved to help stand up similar ones in other cities throughout the CCD, should it prove to be a functional model.

The man sharing Dorian's table was Russian. Martial in appearance and stature. An old acquaintance, Drayson assumed. Such men were not exactly rare in the CCD, especially considering the man's age. Probably had served in the Russian military for a time before the reforms.

The man in biker's leathers was an odd one. The city's streets were kept perpetually clean of snow and ice; Moscow was the richest city in the world, after all, and as such there were always those crazy few who embraced those clear roads to run a motorcycle at any time of year. Or maybe it was just a fashion statement. Moscow was, again, the richest city in the world. Maybe the biker look was in.

Seated with the out-of-season biker was another man. One that was more sensibly dressed. Drayson had little trouble understanding the love of riding a motorcycle, but he was simply too practical a man for it to truly appeal to him. They were convenient for moving around in a city of course, but the city's metro and bus system were impressively efficient, and he had no trouble getting around without a vehicle at all, let alone one on which he could carry so little with him.

He opted to give Dorian his space, at least for the moment; the man had only recently arrived in the city after all. That very day, if Drayson remembered correctly, and wasn't due to report at the Domovoi offices for a few more days, allowing the man time to settle in. Besides, he had something far more interesting to occupy his attention.

He approached her table and smiled warmly in greeting; he had thought of contacting her to try for another date, but had always grown side-tracked by work. There was no shortage of things awaiting his attention, many of which were dangerously time sensitive, and he was not one to let personal pleasures distract him from that responsibility often. That he was so willing to 'drop everything' so to speak was a sure sign of how intriguing Victoria was. "Good afternoon, Victoria."

Edited by Drayson, Mar 27 2015, 10:49 PM.

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