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Vanja raised an eyebrow as Chasa put herself between him and the dark-haired young man. What was their relationship? Was she some sort of a bodyguard? An older sister perhaps? She certainly had an impressive physique for a woman, in fact up close she was better built than most men he had served with in the field. She even seemed to put his own personal trainers to shame and they were some of the best money could procure. It seemed like Gravette is where the Statsi dumped the East German Women Athletes after the Berlin Wall came down. Though, the woman did not appear to be suffering the side-effects that came with ingesting a cocktail of steroids on a daily basis. In sharp contrast to a genetic freak, the woman’s body seemed to have been carved from granite by some long-forgotten master; every muscle flowed seamlessly into the next and no area was dominant over the other. She was not your average fitness junkie to say the least; Vanja had a suspicion she was not human in the slightest. In a test of brute force this creature would undoubtedly be the victor, there was no doubt about this and if she had the chance, she could probably crush his head with relative ease. It would be foolish to engage her at close range, suppressive fire from a distance would be a preferable alternative if one did not want to needlessly commit suicide. He wondered if she was a killer; there was a stark difference between being able to take a life and doing so. Through his dark sunglasses he briefly studied her rather stoic expression. All it took to collapse a mighty dam was a single crack after all. The primary difference between someone like him and her was that she still had attachments; the way she moved to intercept him proved that she had more than a just working attachment to the whelp. Was this her crack? 
  
He snapped out of his current train of thought and turned his attention further down the sidewalk heading away from the bar, to find much to his surprise nothing…absolutely nothing. Well, that was not entirely true he felt and odd sensation when he fixated his piercing gaze upon the shadows cast by the buildings. It was hard to articulate, but it was almost like the abyss was leering at him.  He learned it was best in his line of work to listen to the strange feelings that one occasionally experienced; a healthy dose of paranoia went a long way. Adherence to one’s instincts usually meant the difference between life and death especially when there were supernatural beings possibly involved. He lowered his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose and stared back at the chasm of darkness pondering what it made of him. He wondered if it felt fear as it looked back upon his visage or perhaps it felt a tinge of understanding. Regardless, he would be on alert should he choose to head in that direction. 

He returned his glasses to their proper resting place as the young man finished his conversation with the beanie wearing girl. She seemed to be positively brimming in the afterglow of whatever happened at the establishment before his arrival; it could be that she was drawn to chaos. He internally mused if the man was actually in need of the cane or if it was a prop to get one to lower their guard around him; perhaps it was a little of both. Clever façade boy.  Much like his muscular companion subtle hints in his body language suggested that he too was on edge. Nothing was inherently was incriminating about this, distrust in others was a natural defensive mechanism. He presumed that the altercation with the group of ruffians he encountered could have something to do with their suspicions towards him, but in his experiences those of the paranormal bent seemed to be wary in general towards humans. Rightfully so. He still did not have an official target, but it would not surprise him if it were one of those congregated here today. 

[color=F0E68C]“A few blocks back a group of wayward gentlemen gamblers highly recommend this establishment. They just could not stop talking about this place and its patrons in very colorful language it if my memory serves me correct. Figured that if it left such an impression on them, being I figured I just had to check it out myself. Shame about the window, but I am sure that it is an occupational hazard in this line of work. I am sure this establishment has quite the storied history. Drinks, well if you are offering I woul…” [/color]The remainder of his sentence died in his throat as Simon interrupted.

Vanja was caught off guard by the sudden interjection, which was quite unlike himself. He was normally a master of his surroundings especially in this type of environment. There should have been no way the man should have approached him without him being aware of his presence. He felt his heart begin to race. Upon closer inspection the man in question seemed to be a quite the fastidious dresser, his choice in colors served to compliment his flawless skin and dyed blonde hair. It seemed that light itself bent to his will shining through his androgynous form like it was comprised of stained glass. He appeared to be a man who is as ruthless as he is gorgeous and as tender as he is cruel. As he continued to observe the beautiful man he felt his well-founded suspicions and defenses begin to erode. For a fleeting moment he thought if he opened himself up to the man, he would provide him with the nurture, guidance, and understanding that he craved. It would be too easy to give into these urges and cede control to someone else. Ever since he made the choice to leave Rakel he attempted to fill the ensuing hole in his heart with a plethora of different remedies. Homosexual attraction was not something new to him, there was Venice after all. From November 1999 to January 1, 2000 he managed to find love amongst the canals; the end of the world was supposedly fast approaching, and he decided to take a holiday in Venice after a particularly taxing mission abroad. There he met the bookish Claudio and they begin a passionate love affair. He was ready to throw it all away…quite literally as he planned on throwing the talisman into a canal because as far as he was concerned his secret search for Rakel and in extension his life as a mercenary was over. He found a chance to rekindle his happiness. However, the old adage of trying to get out only to get pulled back in again remained true. While, the world did not end in the year 2000 any chance of him escaping this existence did.  When he returned to the shared apartment only to find Roger Bonheur sitting on the steps outside, he knew what transpired. He did not need to see what happened to Claudio as the implication was clear enough. No attachments, No quitting.  Once he figured out how to find Rakel, he would tender his resonation with Bonheur in a manner of speaking. He had a special bullet set aside for such an occasion.  

A sharp, intense pain pulsated across his brain as he managed to break whatever hold real or imagined he was under for the last few moments. He felt the metallic taste of blood fill his mouth; he must have bit his tongue. He internally chided himself on his foolishness.  How could he let his guard down? This was definitely a hotbed for freaks alright.  He wordlessly accepted the cigarette the man offered. He felt his cheeks redden. It took all his willpower to look the man in his face without indulging in the throngs of fantasy yet again. He felt sickened in himself, he never let himself become shaken by a potential adversary. There was something about the man that reminded him of Rakel, he seemed also to possess the same inexplicable charisma. He places the cigarette in mouth and pulls a box of matches from his breast pocket. The fact that his father worked in a match factory might have contributed to his aversion to lighters. Striking a match, he lights his cigarette and greedily draws in smoke. The thought crossed his mind that the cigarette could be poisoned, but that would be sloppy. A good assassin would attempt to blend their killings with the others occurring in the city, it was a golden opportunity for that sort of thing. A poisoning on the other hand would draw undue attention. 

[color=F0E68C]“Josip. Josip Dragnov. Mergers and acquisitions specialist for Apex Capital Management. New York Branch. It is certainly a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”[/color] Vanja said as he extended his hand.
 
[color=F0E68C]“Figured that there was some type of altercation. Now that you mention it those bruisers did look a little roughed up. Classic Gravette, some folks are always starting something over nothing. No offense, you do not look like you are from around here Simon. You do not seem like type who is suffering in quiet desperation yearning to be free. In fact, there is something familiar about you. I would posit that you worked for Apex in some capacity, but that does not seem right. Perhaps, I met some relative of yours? Small world.”[/color] 
 
Vanja took another satisfying drag on the cigarette before Bo interjected herself into the conversation. Vanja sighed at the impatience of youth as he felt his head begin to pulsate once again. Despite her shoddy attire he could not help noticing that the cuffs of her sweatshirt were stained what appeared to be blood. He was almost certain that it was fresh blood. Now this was certainly intriguing. He once again let a mirthless smile envelope his face.
 
[color=F0E68C]“Tsk, Tsk. A little foolhardy to wear your misdeeds on your sleeves like you do. Though are you the type that likes to project their naughtiness to the world? Remnants from the fight perhaps? Hmm?”[/color]