<blockquote class="uncited"><div><div style="text-align: center;">This is a collaboration RP - A side-story for our <a class="postlink" href="https://creativefreedomrpg.com/viewtopic.php?f=19&amp;t=43316">Beyond an Unholy Resistance</a> Group RP<br/><br/>Purple: Girly2k<br/>grey: WildSpawn</div></div></blockquote><br/><br/><br/><br/><span style="font-family: Palatino Linotype;"><span style="color: #BF80FF"><br/><span style="text-decoration: underline"><span style="font-weight: bold">Germany, Munich</span></span><br/><span style="font-style: italic">Nazi Military Baracks</span><br/><br/><span style="font-weight: bold">18:00</span><br/><br/>Yvonne Wojcik, Commanding Officer of the Women's Battalion in Poland, a domestic regime, walked through the barracks of Munich. She was dressed in fine furs beneath thick, course fabrics of military standard for the field and entered a room with the key in hand, slipping in unseen. Where she stood was small but clean. A well-manicured bed next to the standing armoire, table with motel-like kitchenstand, a sink and a shitter. Certainly, it was a place meant for short stays and rollover personel, but it was enough for Officer Wojcik to call "home".<br/><br/>She removed her jacket and soaked the arm in the sink, immediately turning the water a muddy crimson. She didn't give it a second thought as she stripped what remained to the desk in a neat pile, prepared for a maids work with laundry, one of the Polish women who had learned quickly not to glare the way the others had. Officer Wojcik had nothing to regret. She was serving the Father in the Fatherland under one of his chosen sons, and if she could not see it, then it would be taken up with Him a her death. There was nothing for her to be ashamed of.<br/><br/>Yet, as she stared at the letter sitting beside her newly made pile, she found that guilt and shame were the exact emotions building in her gut. Her words repeated back to her "let me save you" like an echoing reminder of her deeds, her failures. The man she had failed to save had written her the night before his death in an attempt to do for her what she could not do for him, and what would have normally elicited frustration in her instead gave her pause. This Italian had been a distraction, from the night he was rendered unconscious, to the night she rode with him in the ambulance.<br/><br/>Shaking her head, Yvonne was reminded of her purpose. She had left someone behind that she knew to be a Daughter of God, though she did not behave it herself. That person had been severely injured, but could not yet be found. Yvonne would find her, needed to find her, and she was allowing herself to be distracted by this mission again by this ridiculous man even after his death. Thrusting open the doors of her armoire, she found her uniforms in pristine shape, pressed to sharp points worthy of weapons themselves, and boots polished to a shine only bested by His halo - cleanliness was next to godliness, and she wanted nothing more than to be next to God. Which made it all the more difficult when she selected a shimmering red and black thing from the back corner, loose and flowy in stark contrast.<br/><br/>Her lip wrinkled at it, but she slid it over her body and included her black fur jacket over. Her hair was still in place after her... work, and she simply smoothed the curls along the side of her face into that fashionable wave from a few years back - it was much cleaner than some of the trends she saw whipped about on the women at her mens' arms. She still maintained a victory curl above it, but it continued into the french roll at the back, every hair tucked into place. She added a crystaline thing where it parted to match her wrists and neck, then strode about the room until she was certain she could walk in the disastrous pumps without making a fool of herself - she'd just as soon wear the boots with this get-up.<br/><br/>She left the room in much the same fashion as she had entered it, needing no eyes for her ensemble or questions for her destination. The officer was taking care of personal business, and that was heavily regarded during wartime. Betraying her fuhrer was out of the question, despite admonishes in a note from beyond the grave to do so - one she remembered to tuck in a hidden compartment of her mothers diary to avoid eyes that were unattached to the processes of the brain which might absolve her of its words - a note from the very person whose grave would still be empty should he have followed his own advice for just a second!<br/><br/>The woman took a breath and washed the red from her cheeks with it. Entering the taxi which had awaited her, she gave him the directions to a hotel bar, which was expecting a notable guest star to perform. That wasn't the person Yvonne intended to see, but the brother of her fallen comrade. One Captain Luciano Isidor Grazzienelli. He had given her the letter per his brothers funeral requests, and she had to know if there were any others which might lead her to Isolde - his final mission - or Erlind, the demon who lead the man to his fall.</span><br/><br/><br/><div style="text-align: center;">_____________________________________________</div><br/><br/><br/><span style="color: #BFBFBF"><span style="font-weight: bold">Germany, Munich</span><br/><span style="font-style: italic">The Charles Hotel</span><br/><br/><span style="font-weight: bold">19:35</span><br/><br/>Luciano wrinkled his lips tightly as he sucked the smoke out of his cigarette. He held this last between the middle and index finger and moved it away from his face by placing his left elbow on the armchair, giving it the</span> <a class="postlink" href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KZEjBnJ15Q0"><span style="color: #80BF80">piano playing</span></a> <span style="color: #BFBFBF">live in the background. He laughed, eyeing one of the men across from him. The man – of German origin - shook his head and laughed his head-off, his expression mimicking the Italian's amused one. <span style="font-style: italic">“So the man was treated by a psychiatrist because he thinks that he is a mouse, right?”</span> Luciano asked, another chuckle escaped his lips as he regarded the rest of the other males around the table – Japanese business-men. He brought his attention back to the German across from him and sipped his Whiskey. A few individuals in their unison around a game of Poker, representing the Axis power.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">How lovely.</span><br/> <br/><span style="font-style: italic">“Exactly! He did go through weeks of psychiatrist healing. The man truly believed he was a mouse. But at the end the counselling was beneficial enough that they allowed him to leave the Asylum ... supposedly 'he healed'.”</span> The German made quotation marks in the air and looked up at the Dealer as this one began to shuffle and distribute the cards face down, and one at a time, starting by Luciano to his left. Once the seven men had their five cards in their hands, the Dealer placed the deck in the center of the table.<br/> <br/><span style="font-style: italic">“So what happened next?”</span> Luciano asked collectedly and took a deep but subtle breath. He sucked the smoke out of his cigarette again as he crossed his legs and leaned back comfortably into his cool-toned red leather chair. Holding the stick in the same fashion as before, his thumb gently scratched the center of his chin as he stared through the smoke with a squint in his eye at the hand given to him. He got this.<br/><br/><br/>When the Polish female reached out to him through a simple phone call dialed from the Munich barracks about couple days ago, and requested a meeting with him, the Italian found himself unable to refuse the offer. One brief moment in time changed his brother's destiny forever. Even after long gone, his brother has recently found a way to bound himself to him by painting Luciano's reality through dreams and nightmares. Tonight, he was to meet this woman. She reminded him of a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside a Jack-in-the box, surprise box. Was his brother infatuated with her? Or were they simply comrades on the battlefield? As much as he was curious to know, he found little interest in wanting to pursue this curiosity. That was his brother's business and he did not feel like sticking his nose in it no more. What he wanted were answers, and he bet she'll have questions for him too.  They could make a deal and exchange valuable information. Wasn't that what the call was about? Business arrangements.<br/><br/><br/>The German guy resumed to telling his joke; an attempt to cheat the rest.<span style="font-style: italic"> “So, I see the guy walk out of the psychiatrist hospital. About fifty meters away the guy runs back in, screaming bloody murder. 'I'm scared, a cat, a cat! There is a cat on the street!'.”</span> A slew of masculine laughter emerged from the men around the table. Luciano gave it a soft chuckle in response. The men were providing exactly the right amount of distraction to one another, to keep the Italian focused. He used that to his advantage, and he wasn't falling to the German's foolish but smart ways of turning the men's focus away from the game. Cheap play - Luciano named it. That man was obviously cheating with that one card between his legs. He didn't like the German at all, but he remained civil. He had the potential to outsmart the cheater. This was no time for pleasantries. This was about money. A serious 'battlefield business'.<br/> <br/>He evaluated the strength of his hand and titled his head the moment long arms came to rest over his shoulders. A tone dripping with honey giggled in his ear. <span style="font-style: italic">“What's in it for me?”</span> The female whispered into his ear. Luciano responded with silence as he sipped his drink and eyed the men, studying their facial muscle-flexing of their expressions and body language. He placed the first bet. <span style="font-style: italic">“Five thousand RM, gentlemen!”</span> One of the men folded and surrendered his cards, some called, one raised.<br/> <br/><span style="font-style: italic">“So I tell the guy, 'I thought that you know now that you aren't a mouse.' So the poor dude looks up at me quizzically and says, 'I know I'm not a mouse, I understand that now, but does the cat know that too?'.”</span> More laughter ensued from the men as they started taking more turns, more rounds of betting, more raises. Luciano picked three cards and discarded them face down on the table. Two men folded as their hands were not worth the bet any longer. The Italian turned his attention to the remaining four, noticing sweat beginning to form on their foreheads. He re-adjusted his play-style to his opponents, trapping them in his spider-web. The younger of the four men raised his head and looked straight into the Italian's eyes, hand shaking. Luciano could not tell if the hand shaking was negative nervous or positive nervous. He responded to the intense stare with a neutral poker face expression, staring back directly into the other's eyes. The eyes give most away about one's game, and some simply failed to realize that. With another opening, the remaining ones exposed their hands, emotions clouding their judgement. Luciano turned his cards over while keeping them in his hand. <span style="font-style: italic">“Very well played gentlemen. Thank you for your company tonight.”</span> He offered the men his most charming white smile and slowly rose from his seat while the 60k winning pot was been awarded to him on his winning hand. The German began to curse, calling it unfair play.<br/> <br/>With a graceful flick of his wrist, the cards went flying into the ceiling as he shrugged his shoulders and walked around the table to the German. He began to button up his vest and raised his chin and glared at the German with a smile showing his teeth.<span style="font-style: italic"> “You sniff your armpits for fun. Why must you be such a disreputable, hypocritical, cheap whimpering piglet. I saw what you did there. Such a failure.”</span> The Italian locked his eyes on the German for two more seconds and turned away on his heels to get himself ready for that one Yvonne.<br/><br/>The woman in his company attempted to entwine her arm with his, <span style="font-style: italic">“Over here, where do you think you're going, Captain?”</span> She smiled, invitingly. <span style="font-style: italic">“Not tonight, Emilia..”</span> Luciano answered blocking her with a stiff right arm and pushing her to the side, his eyes searching for the exit from the gambling facility. The woman stopped short in front of him and cupped his neck with her hand, pulling him closer. An enticing tongue brushed up against his own the moment she pressed a plaintive kiss to his lips, hands teasingly stroking his chest. The man returned the favor but with a kiss which lacked all emotions before pulling away, irritated. <span style="font-style: italic">“Not tonight, I said. Have some dignity, will you?”</span> Although his body craved sex, his all too recent excessive drinking led to a lot of stress. He pushed the gold-digger away gently and with a handkerchief he wiped the unpleasant chemical taste of her lipstick from his mouth as he hurried his way to his room in order to get showered and changed. Emilia's approach was more than enough to send him over the edge. It reminded him of that one night with that one bold woman - Darcy - and that one strange man in the restrooms of the corner pub. Luciano hasn't been the same since.<br/><br/><br/><span style="font-weight: bold">21:30</span><br/><br/>He studied himself in the mirror as he slid his arms into the single-button blazer which he left open. He needed some type of closure, a closure he could not yet find, and not unless he figured out what exactly happened to his twin. On his way out of the room couple hours after his Poker game, his fingers waved over a golden chain on the large surface of an over-the-bed table. Reluctant, he eyed the crucifix pendant necklace he had always worn around his neck and blinked uncertainly. A change of heart led his feet away from the necklace and towards the exit door.<br/><br/>While finding business suits more preferable and presentable for business meetings such as the one he shall have with the Polish female, Luciano made an exception for once. He tried his hands on a different taste, adding a 'cool' kick to his outfit for a more laid-back, younger look fit for those semi-formal night outs. His tall frame was clothed in a</span> <a class="postlink" href="http://oi58.tinypic.com/zmxnqp.jpg"><span style="color: #80BF80">dark-hued Emerald green</span></a><span style="color: #BFBFBF"><span style="font-style: italic">Dormeuil Vanquish II</span> suit, with a silvery and gold shine finish to it. The combination of a British and French cut was precision-tailored to fit his body. A solid-black shirt slimmer in style and worn with no tie, hugged his chest. The first three buttons starting from the rigid collar down were left open. The approach to wearing a shirt without a tie while leaving a few buttons open was a new bonus touch Italians just seemed to add to a casual meeting. Some even liked to go with a five-buttons open hairy chests and two gold chains look.<br/><br/>As he headed towards the Hotel's reception to leave a note about his guest Yvonne, the man subconsciously sent off all of his sexual signals, his projection of fearless confrontation and a portrayal of true self-control and confidence through the way he smoothly carried his upper body in combo with his lower body. But even in his dominant body movements that reflected in his large steps and the hands hanging down by his sides, the male walked humbly when it came to his God. His true values were laying in the Lord's eyes, not in the eyes of the aristocratic Nazi scums in proximity.<br/><br/><br/>Luciano paused in the red-carpeted hallway right outside the Hotel's Cabaret where he was to meet with Yvonne. The Hotel's lounge was expecting a notable guest star to perform and was newly revamped for that occasion with a dark, intimate atmosphere. The Italian observed couple people serving themselves some cocktail which was served on a table outside the bar. He listened to the</span> <a class="postlink" href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YGURYe7coRU"><span style="color: #80BF80">smooth Jazz</span></a> <span style="color: #BFBFBF">playing in the background and began to think about the whole thing - his situation - as if it was some sort of a movie displaying in black and white through his eyes, projecting on the carpeted floor. Just when the first music ended, he looked away and narrowed his eyes into full laser contact and surveyed the target approaching him. <br/><br/>For one brief moment, Luciano froze in his tracks, tongue-tied, his eyes changed color to one of the lightest shades of brown, and then back to their natural gunmetal blue once more. <span style="font-style: italic">Screw it</span>, he thought, <span style="font-style: italic">but damn did she look fine!</span> He walked up to the woman he recognized as Yvonne and closed the distance. <span style="font-style: italic">"Good evening, Frau Wójcik!"</span> He greeted her with a curt nod and a smile welcoming and friendly enough so that she feels comfortable in his presence. He looked away from her and gestured a hand down the carpeted pathway which lead to the Cabaret as he began to lead the way. After she had refused the hand shake during their last meeting at the Church, Luciano decided tonight to pull back from any attempts at contact at all. It was not out of trying to prove superiority that reeked of conceit and arrogance, but he wanted to preserve a certain degree of dignity and self-worth. Yet he approached her in his own way as to not make her feel unwelcome. It was a unique way that stood out of the ordinary for she was no woman who simply happened to be walking by. She was somebody who sought him, and he sought her. Mutual respect must be demonstrated somehow for this 'business' rendez-vous.<br/><br/>As they marched down the hall to the destination, Luciano shifted his attention to the woman to look at her out of the corner of his eyes, and he initiated their first conversation. A smile occupied his lips as a brow arched above his left eye, turning his gaze away.<span style="font-style: italic">"How is your evening so far, Frau Wójcik? I have taken the necessary arrangements to reserve our very own private booth, in the VIP lounge. I hope it is to your liking tonight."</span> The hostess greeted them at the front entrance, her form bathed in faint blue and purple light. She escorted them through the dim-lit environment of the Cabaret, past the bar, and towards one of the secluded large booths, elevated above the main ground. The booth was room-width, close enough for a clear view of the musicians or dancers, but far away enough from the crowded floors. For more privacy, one could simply use the tinted sliding glass doors which were open by default. Two low-level rectangular tables awaited them with candle holders and a round of complimentary shots to get their evening started. Their night bottle service would ensure that their glasses were always full ... throughout their stay.<br/></span><br/><br/><div style="text-align: center;">_____________________________________________</div><br/><br/><span style="color: #8080BF">The music drifted through the entrance with little resistance from the glass doorways reflective of French architecture. A pair of doorman opened the way for her, indicating the sort of occasion this was clear to be, and the other patrons around her gave it confirmation. Beautiful men and women in pairs. Dresses of luxury and suits of repute. Large smiles and boasting laughter. It was a social gathering with which was expected the joviality of laughter and the distraction from war, likely intended for the celebration of ego and lubrication of funds. It gave the blonde officer a distinct image of sin and lascivious temptation for the sake of the vain. These were waters in which the warrior knew how to walk.<br/><br/>Yvonne smiled to her ephemeral companions, nodding once so her eyes fell on the staircase as she walked up them, heels careful on the velveteen carpet matching them. She was without a partner of her own, but it wasn't without choice. Just entering the building she was offered escort, which she politely declined, using the man she was to meet as excuse; she only hoped he was waiting inside like she claimed, or be forced to dance sooner than later. It was something of suspect, but she handled herself with enough humility, full lashes fluttering low, so as not to insult such honorable men. Disgusting pigs.<br/><br/>The soft path led inside and cut the room directly in half, tables branching out from the rounded stage as its juxtaposed second half so the dance floor was immediately upon you. Luckily it was early enough that the capacity lingered toward the walls and libations. Unaware to the woman herself, the angel hybrid walked in with the confidence of someone unburdened by a concept of value based on beauty or money or status. It wasn't that she lacked any of these qualities, nor disregarded them, she simply belonged of her own accord. Confidence on its own behalf, without consideration to other expectation.<br/><br/>She saw the man almost directly across for the entryway and made her way to him, directing polite smiles to the sparse crowd as it filled behind her, sublimating her entrance into something illusory, a filmy memory in the night to be forgotten like the rest. It was easy enough to do, and easier still to desire. The woman wanted little to be there, so she would be as non-existant as her physical presence allowed her. Looking up toward her affiliate, she realized it might be a little more impossible than most excursions she made of the sort, mostly because one was only there on the expectation of the other, but also from the expression of his taking her in. She felt a slight heat rise at her jawline and threaten to burn her cheeks, but she withheld it and rethought her instinct for the circumstance, but it was too late, and she was, indeed, here with him for business.<br/><br/>"Good evening, Frau Wójcik!" He said with the excitement of the eve, and she raised her hand in greeting, but he gave her a short nod and immediately turned his eyes away toward a table. She retracted her hand uncomfortably, his reaction unseasonably cool in comparison to the room, but he stood close and she suspected it was really his way of taking control in such a situation. The officer was not one to have it, so she stepped into his gesture with a glide away from him, expecting him to compel her with a hand at her back like any other man in such an environment. However, he was already walking by her, and she dipped her head to follow like some infatuated young-thing, following after the man as if a puppy on his heels, assuring on-lookers of anything other than the business they had in mind. Hopefully that was the reason for his manner.<br/><br/>He lead her past the centerpieces of view and toward the darker corners of the room. Ideal.<br/><br/>Luciano answered her thoughts without compulsion. "How is your evening so far, Frau Wójcik? I have taken the necessary arrangements to reserve our very own private booth, in the VIP lounge. I hope it is to your liking tonight." The hostess was bathed in faint blue and purple light, escorting them through the dim-lit environment of the Cabaret, past the bar, and towards one of the secluded large booths, elevated above the main ground. The booth was room-width, close enough for a clear view of the musicians or dancers, but far away enough from the crowded floors, which was exactly to her liking - especially the privacy doors. However, the candles and shotglasses were unexpected. <br/><br/>She eyed them warily until the man turned to offer her seat. Smiling graciously, Yvonne slid into the space and continued along until she gave him room to follow, but not stopping until it was apparent she had no interest in canoodling with him and preferred the ability to look into his eyes. Gateways to the soul, the angel knew it was key to discussions requiring truth. Often, she avoided them, needing a simple glimpse to understand most of her companions, but never forgetting the shadows she did take with her when she did. Chances were she'd use the performers as her focal point, or the reflection in the shining metal of the candelabra. With both comfortable, short orders made dismissing the hostess, she finally answered the man.<br/><br/>"My evening..." she started, thinking over the messy business preceding her appearance, "was as to be expected. Generally, then, well. Yours, sir?" Her smile indicated sincere inquiry. Pleasantries were never unwelcome, she simply deflected via other means and rarely had any sort of need of them versus the time available to her. The last time she'd sat down with someone individually under casual preconceptions was with the father, Raphael, who enjoyed his pleasantries thoroughly, but she had been anxious to know he was who she suspected. It was the first time she'd met another angel. Sometimes she was even fallible with eagerness and emotion.<br/><br/>Now, she looked into the face of a man she knew to be dead, and the officer noted she would need more foci. Discomfort straightened her spine for just a moment before she gave the topic change, raising her brows and laughing once, honestly with nervousness she choose not to restrain, "I love the Musette jazz, but you'll have to excuse me for saying so, this is not my "scene", I don't swing," or make conversation, it seemed. She rested her cheek on her hand, the other playing with the small glass she had no intention of taking. "So, yes, this booth is very much to my liking. Honestly, I wasn't sure I should even show, and it looks to me as if I under-dressed," she gestured at the mans suit and shared her glance with the rest of the room as inclusion. She was just making small-chat, but if he made any remark she would have blushed. <br/><br/>"My youth was spent in the church, so studies of the Word filled my days, rarely music other than chants and hymns. It is quite refreshing to hear such beauty in a world of war. I am glad I made it, no matter what business to which we must attend." Her olive eyes met his dark ones with a gentle intensity, somehow trying convey the mixed feelings she had on the subject. Whether he understood or not would remain with him, but she could only hope it would not be construed unfavorably or that he would miss the implication that he did not need to speak of his brother were he not ready, after all, she was not sure she was either.</span><br/><br/><div style="text-align: center;">_____________________________________________</div><br/><br/><span style="color: #BFBFBF"><span style="font-weight: bold"><span style="font-style: italic">"My evening... as as to be expected. Generally, then, well. Yours, sir?"</span></span> Her smile indicated sincere inquiry.<br/><br/>Luciano blinked and easily shifted his attention to the woman as he was a little bit lost in the variety of alcoholic beverages on one of the two tables. Tonight though he has sworn to make an exception and stay far away from the strongest availability at earlier stages. The man did not know if he was embarking in what would end up being a long night, or short. But as he preferred to be ahead of any obstacle, this evening he planned his drinking like a dinner menu. A simplified moderation was an absolute necessity. This business meeting was as important to him as he hoped it was important to <span style="font-style: italic">her.</span><br/><br/>He directed his eyes to Yvonne, completely ignoring the Hostess who walked into their personal lounge to place a menu on the table in front of Yvonne. Only light French and Japanese appetizers and desserts were on the menu, snacks to go along with their drinks, in case they needed something small to eat. The female stepped nearer to Luciano to place his own version of the menu - one for those on a Vegan diet.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">“My evening so far has been good, thank you for asking.”</span> He finally responded. <span style="font-style: italic">“I've traveled back and forth between Munich and Naples since that very last meeting we've had. I'm not very certain for how long I should be staying in Germany, but I'm not too much thinking about planning my departure just yet.”</span> Luciano's vocals produced a low chuckle as he slowly rose to his feet in an erect posture and let his blazer slide off along his strong arms. He then placed it to the side on a single chair and adjusted the collar of his black shirt, momentarily glancing at a couple of female dancers, sensually slow-walking by the lounge.<br/><br/>He turned around to sit in the large round sectional couch and in the same spot he was sitting at earlier, but in a more comfortable, enthusiastic fashion. When he did so, and delivered a gaze to the woman, he met her stare with a curious yet controlled facial expression. His lips slightly parted as he surveyed her upper body straightening up, subconsciously emphasizing her breasts. A nervous laugh of discomfort followed a raise of blonde eyebrows over olive eyes. He didn't need to decode anything. She unrestrainedly allowed her nervousness to show in her body language, but what he found very likable about her was the fact that she continued to approach her situation with an open heart, forwarding a message saying that she was willing to communicate. A true woman of war. <br/><br/>Her eyes though looked a bit darker in low light, he noted, but he recalled their brightness from their meeting in the hallway and obviously, from the church. Luciano crossed his legs, leaned back into the black cushions behind him and a quick, tight-lipped smile touched the man's lips.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">“The Musette jazz you say?”</span> A gleam of interest passed the man's grey-blues and his pupils dilated slightly in response, finding himself angling his chest towards the woman. <span style="font-style: italic">“I'm a big fan of Reinhardt and I love his approach to Musette with combination of chromatic gypsy flavor and a dark mood to swing. Truth be told, Frau Wójcik, have I known you liked Musette Jazz, I would have taken us to see this man performing this very same night at the Munich Opera house.”</span> Luciano laughed and uncrossed his legs, feet spread further apart and knees pointed towards his guest. He leaned over the table to pour Yvonne a glass of water while she rested her cheek on her hand. It did not take a mastermind to figure out the reluctance Yvonne showed towards drinking. Even though he could attempt to easily perform cold readings on the woman which would employ high-probability guesses to figure her out, the man refrained from doing so. She was different, somehow enigmatic, but that alone did not give him any excuse to step into her privacy. He limited himself to his natural human instincts and focused on her subtle body language instead. He moved a little closer and pushed the glass of water towards her, while keeping a certain distance as to not inhabit her space too much.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">"Frau Wójcik, allow me to express my honest opinion,"</span> The Italian looked at the woman out of the corner of his eye as he poured himself a glass of water as well. <span style="font-style: italic">"-you are not under-dressed. You look gorgeous."</span> He complimented her in measured tactician and disciplined manners, extending his gaze a little longer as she addressed him.<br/><br/><span style="font-weight: bold"><span style="font-style: italic">"My youth was spent in the church, so studies of the Word filled my days, rarely music other than chants and hymns. It is quite refreshing to hear such beauty in a world of war. I am glad I made it, no matter what business to which we must attend."</span></span><br/><br/>She had her own life, her own opinions. He respected her for that as much as he tried to shrug the fact that she was serving under Nazism, an idea he frowned upon. Their first conversation turned a bit different than the business meeting he had expected. Unlike their brief encounter at the Church, he was very pleased to see how easygoing she was about the whole thing. The intimate confession of how she spent her youth made the man the even more interested to hear more of this stranger. He discreetly bit his bottom lip as he put his water glass to the side and lowered his tone.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">"It is better to begin by conquering yourself and then proceed to win those thousand battles. Then the victory is yours. It cannot be taken from you not by angels or by demons, heaven or hell. I can assume that you have conquered yourself already."</span> Luciano cocked his head to the side and eyed the woman, a subconscious interest in her words made him shift his body couple inches closer - to hear her better. <span style="font-style: italic">"You're excused. I understand this is not your scene and I would be grateful if you could allow yourself to be your true self in my presence. You may feel at ease."</span> The man said in a controlled tone and chuckled, shaking his head. He remained calm and indifferent true to the person he was as to not show too much of his thoughts through his actions. <br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">"I-I did not know much of life myself until some point. I have devoted myself to La Regia Marina since I was fourteen. It was worth it while it lasted. I have being given a great honor to command Navy battleships during the first war. Three years ago I was honorably discharged for - for suffering Post-Traumatic Syndrome."</span> Luciano briefly looked past the woman and then back to meet her eyes once more. His aloofness was not an act. He would never have mentioned his discharge if the woman did not open up about her past. <span style="font-style: italic">"After that I have been working for an Ocean Liner in Italy. Have you ever been to America, Miss Wójcik? Or would you give yourself a chance if the opportunity arises?"</span> Luciano's brows arched above a spark in his grey eyes as he brought his shoulders back, interrupting his question for a second. <span style="font-style: italic">"May I serve you something to drink? Juice, lemonade, water syrup?"</span> He asked, a half-smile curving one side of his lips.</span><br/><br/><div style="text-align: center;">_____________________________________________</div><br/><br/><span style="color: #8080BF">"I-I did not know much of life myself until some point. I have devoted myself to La Regia Marina since I was fourteen. It was worth it while it lasted. I have being given a great honor to command Navy battleships during the first war. Three years ago I was honorably discharged for - for suffering Post-Traumatic Syndrome. After that I have been working for an Ocean Liner in Italy. Have you ever been to America, Miss Wójcik? Or would you give yourself a chance if the opportunity arises?"<br/><br/>Interrupting himself to order her something else, she told him water was fine, but that mint and lemon would be nice additions. He simply ordered an assorted platter of fresh fruits and herbs, returning his attention to her with his elbows on the table so as to prop his chin, his eyes lit on her with a casual intensity that unnerved her and eased her at once. That was his request, she supposed. Be at ease and be yourself - the latter of which did not suit the setting. So she figured the first must have been in order, and leaned back, a wistful sigh pushed from her shoulders as they settled on the leather bench behind her.<br/><br/>"America?" she repeated. "No, no..." was there a way to discuss this lightly? It was a heathens den. "Freedom of religion and sacreligion is not something I could condone, so... yes. Yes, I would very much like to go there, after this war is over, possibly a part of it. It would be interesting to see why they stand so righteously behind their ocean, neither in favor for or against the Cause. A man without conviction allows others to direct his soul, and that is the path to losing it. America is young, and like a child it needs to be taught, raised, protected - from itself. I think the Fatherland could do just that, and I would be the first to volunteer should the opportunity arise, should the people of the God-forsaken country need a sister, or a mother, or a governess I would be there, yes."<br/><br/>Looking into his eyes, she knew he did not agree, and they stared at each other, severely, even while the waitress set their order upon the table. She tried to joke with an apology of interrupting, not understanding the situation and causing herself an awkward silence as they ignored her, sizing the other up without regard for the woman, determining threat and escape and everything in between. <br/><br/>Wójcik finished her analysis first with a single thought: she was not here for him, she needed answers. "The letter from your brother," she said, turning her attention to the lemon quarters, emptying one wedge into the tall glass, "He renounced his belief in Nazism, but more specifically the Fuhrer. Officer Grazzienelli advised I do the same." She tipped back the glass, staring straight ahead at the dancers on the floor before them, eyes steady and forced, combating the pressure rising in them from her throat, where the liquid barely slid.<br/></span><br/><br/><div style="text-align: center;">_____________________________________________</div><br/><br/><span style="color: #BFBFBF">When he returned his attention to the woman, his eyes lit on her with a casual intensity as she settled her shoulders on the leather bench behind her. Luciano listened closely with his head angled in a tilt where he could shift easily his eyes between the glass of Whiskey Sour and Yvonne, but his eyes were mostly on the drink, gently swirling it between his fingers with an arm on the table. His visual focus reposed on the glass while his ears and thoughts were following what Yvonne was communicating. When she spoke of the Fatherland – Germany – being the one America needs for a promising future, Luciano could not help but to let a chuckle escape his lips, while an expression of disappointment crossed his face momentarily. The smile left by the chuckle faded from his lips and an eyebrow arched on his forehead as he licked his lips before taking a sip of Whiskey Sour. He cleared his throat and continued listening as much as the idea of Germany dominating America sounded ridiculous. <br/><br/>The Italian looked up finally at Yvonne and met her eyes. He had a feeling that the woman received the message he sent across without having to say a word or two about it then. The message itself spoke of thousands of words. He did not care what she thought of him at that point. For what could have been between 10 seconds to 15 seconds, Yvonne and Luciano stared at each other, severely, which caused discomfort to show in the waitress' tone of voice as she placed their light order on the table and excused herself. Fanaticism to barbarism was only one step away, and that is what Germany was falling into. <br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">“Frau Wójcik, you have a very interesting way of looking into the future. I applaud your sense of fate in your Fatherland, although you are Polish of origin aren't you?”</span> The man cleared his throat with a sip of his drink. He carried a black raspberry to his lips with a toothpick and nodded his head. To each their commitment. To each their faith. He had his opinion, she had hers. The once neutral Italy required uncontested access to the world's oceans and shipping lanes to ensure its national sovereignty. Have they sided with the Allies, Germany would have invaded Italy. His homeland had no desire to side with the Nazis but it was all about affairs and goals. Their fate was sealed already. If they went to the allies, Italy would walk down the same path as Poland. Luciano studied Yvonne's fierce eyes as they looked back at him, the way her lips moved to speak the words, the way she carried herself. She reminded him of a mythical creature that once visited his dreams ... but were they really dreams? She could be dressed in the finest feminine clothes, carried herself like a Lady of the time, but Luciano was well aware of the warrioress within her soul. He could feel the passion of combat and gunpowder run in her veins. <br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">An Amazon Goddess... Penthesilea</span>. That is who she reminded him of.<br/><br/>He found himself discreetly smiling to the thought. She was the type of women worthy enough opponents. Tonight she had come to him without her helmet, revealing the femininity beneath, but even then she remained true to the woman that she was, her scepter of mass destruction within her hands. <br/><br/>Was it <span style="font-style: italic">wrong</span> to say that he found himself secretly admiring her? Only in the same way that an artist would admire an art piece. <br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic"><span style="font-weight: bold">"The letter from your brother,"</span></span> she said, turning her attention to the lemon quarters, emptying one wedge into the tall glass, <span style="font-weight: bold"><span style="font-style: italic">"He renounced his belief in Nazism, but more specifically the Fuhrer. Officer Grazzienelli advised I do the same."</span></span> She tipped back the glass, staring straight ahead at the dancers on the floor before them, eyes steady and forced, combating the pressure rising in them from her throat, where the liquid barely slid.<br/><br/>Luciano stiffened, a tremor shot through him at the mention of his brother's name. His usual sternness crept back quickly to his face. He slowly rose on his feet and looked away from the woman, austere eyes painting a path a few feet away from her. He held his glass to his lips with a right hand, his left rested inside his left pocket as he advanced to stand near the sliding doors. His back straightened as he turned his frame in a way where he was facing the dancers in the distance. <br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">“I have goals and ambitions, really high ones, Frau Wójcik. I do not waste my time with unnecessary explanations and long talk, unless I have something for me in it that would benefit me. This is why I accepted meeting you tonight. I believe that you have some answers for me, as I may have some for you. What my brother thought of your Nazi regime rule is none of my business. Actually, allow me to take that back and say,”</span> Luciano pushed a button on the wall and the tinted doors began to slide shut. One would still look at the scenery from the interior of the private lounge, but that would prevent people on the other side of the doors to see the insides of the room. The lounge itself was created for comfort and ultimate privacy; two bar table, booth couches and a large lounge couch for maximum space was positioned to the side. He slowly turned around, glass doors closing in the background. A smile that one would interpret as 'wicked' touched one corner of his lips. <span style="font-style: italic">“-I am glad he did.”</span> He said in a low tone and took a large sip from his glass. Even in the dim lit room, Luciano attempted to study the woman's facial expression from the distance he had put between them a moment ago. <span style="font-style: italic">“I'm glad that my brother died finally realizing the truth. I would not have found peace have I known that Fabiano died a fool, an idiot that he once was serving under a flag that brought him nothing else but a dishonorable death. As a soldier you are supposed to die fighting for what is yours. My brother was murdered, executed on sight.</span> The man was extremely angry in the inside but he did not want to let that show through his actions. <span style="font-style: italic">“You see, Signorina, the distinction between right and wrong is quite blurry in our time and age, but especially our reality ... but again, every problem can be solved if approached wisely. Your leader believes in the greatness within his people, my brother fought for that cause. Fanaticism is present in the way your Fuhrer carries his business, but we can assume that his fanaticism is guided by the greatness he has for his country and the victory he promised his people.” </span><br/><br/>Luciano emptied his glass with one last sip. Emotional spams threatened to consume him that very moment as he began to pace back and forth, but he was also a man who mastered how to never lose his composure, especially in front of a woman. He remained composed as he continued to speak, pausing near Yvonne. He lowered calculated eyes to stare at her, his face sporting one only expression, that of a diplomatic person. His voice though as he addressed the woman exposed a man of a humble, down to earth origin. A new piece of smooth jazz and piano continued to spill into the room through the four in-ceiling speakers, only slow-dancing would bring it justice then. The man sat his empty glass aside on the table and brought forth a flawless left hand, palm up. His eyes asked  her<span style="font-style: italic"> 'Would you like to dance?'</span> while he continued to slow-speak, voicing his thoughts and questions in a neutral manner. As neutral as his dear Italy once was.<br/><br/>_________________________________________________<br/><br/>If the woman decided to accept this dance - a dance of two people accepting a deal of shared information, then Luciano would hold onto her hand and lead her to the space in the lounge to continue discussing the revelation within his brother's letter, speaking, <span style="font-style: italic">"You said that my brother advised you to do the same. Mhm... Let's look at the positive side of things, shall we? Do you question your believes Frau Wójcik? What were your thoughts? I believe that in every difficult situation there lies therein an opportunity to change, to advance or to grow."</span><br/><br/>He would then place a gentle flat hand on the small of her back and he will hold his left hand out to the side, at chest level for Yvonne to take in hers. The Italian would then bring her body close to him but he would leave three inches between them - Intimacy with the ability to move freely.<br/></span></span>