House of the Setting Sun

[WARREN SORROW]

Date: 2008 OCT. 10
Tag(s): Open

A fog rolled down the long street, dark, heavy, and thick. Overtaking everything, it writhed and moved like a living being, a grey serpent twisting and turning. You couldn't see a few feet in front of your nose once you had entered it. Just as the fog had reached the Waste Management building, a pitch black 1938 Alfa Romeo slowly emerged from its cover.

The surrounding fog clinging but disappitating as the Alfa turned into the entrance of the building towards the gate. It stopped, its brake squeaking slightly, and the left hand back door opened out. A tall, skinny man stepped out of the vehicles left-hand back seat door, a raven skull topped cane in hand. The cane twisted into a cork screw like shape, straightening out near the bottom, and near the top to let the skull rest on top. His face hidden by the shadow of his hat. He twirled the cane in his hand and tapped on the intercom, the avian skull holding the button down. He smiled a thin, creeping smile, spreading across his visage. Something you wouldn't expect from someone who was supposed to work with the good guys. "Guess who's home mon ami?" He laughed a quiet, slightly villainous laugh, fixed his posture as the biometric eye scanner folded out, and held his right eye lid open, the reds, yellows, and oranges twinkling with all sorts of cunning and intelligence.

FLASH!

FLASH!

"Goodness, I can never get used to that." he backed up a few paces and blinked away the blindess, shaking his head back and forth a bit to try to
help it along. The gates lazily drifted open, and the man turned the car. "Roll on boys, I'll walk from here." He tipped his hat as the now empty car drove slowly up to the parking lot, a few shadows shedding themselves from the car to slink into Warrens, the smile from before reappearing as they entered the dark underneath him. "It's good to be home, no?"

He walked across the lawn, next to the fountain, resting the cane against his right shoulder, the dark, twisted wood bouncing up and down in rhythm as he walked. "Hasn't changed a bit. Good, I hate un-needed progress." His southern drawl enveloping every syllable. As he approached the door, he did a bit of a skip jump onto the step, and opened his arms wide like he was speaking to a large audience, and the large doors slowly swung open. "HONEY! I'M HOME!" he bellowed to the mostly empty entrance room. The man behind the counter looked up in disdain, and muttered a 'Not this guy again.'

Warrens brow raised, and he slid his way up to the desk, metaphorically of course. His bags, two old style suitcases and one even older style doctors bag slid into the hall, bouncing lightly to the rhythm of the same song that Warren had been humming. They were sliding literally, and stopped just behind him. "Whatwasthat?" he asked slightly harsh, leaning over the desk by the hip the hold his face rather close to his.

"Hmm? What was what?" The man asked nervously. Reply? "What. Was. That.? What you just said? Hmmmm??" This time, it wasn't slightly, just harsh. The shadows of the room began to grow darker, huddling behind the strangely dressed man. The lights flickered and eventually went out, the only one remaining was the lamp on the desk.

"Oh... Nothing." he squeaked, rather scared now. Warrens brow raised even higher, he pursed hislips, and stepped back, the lights immediately coming back on. "Alrighty then!" he smiled, and tapped the floor twice with his cane, expecting to be lead down. "Come then, hit the button." The man nodded slowly and flicked the switch, and Warren was lowered into the B.P.R.D. His smile widened, "IT'S GOOD TO BE HOME!!" He yelled, scaring most of the folks down on the floor. He hopped off a few feet from the ground, his luggage following, and he went and personally greeted everyone that was present. He paid special attention to all the women, he'd always been a fan of the fairer sex, you know. The luggage had parked itself in the corner, bouncing in tangent to the song playing in the young mans head.

The car in question- www.corbisimages.com/images/42-1824...7E-7CB49DF8F31F

[LUDMILA ILYUKHIN]

Well, she'd gone and done it. Seeing one of the things on TV was one thing, but buying one and driving it was another thing altogether. Ludmila already owned one motorcycle, an old Minsk she used for small errands. She'd left it back in Russia, at her father's dacha, but one thing she was sure about was that she had never seen anything like a Harley Davidson before. She had hesitated before getting one, since they weren't the cheapest of rides, but in the end she had succumbed and had gone to the nearest motorcycle store.

In the end she'd chosen a Night Rod. The salesman had also sold her a helmet, leather pants and a black leather motorcycle jacket that Ludmila had purchased almost without question. Riding the Harley through the streets back to the BPRD's headquarters had been an amazing experience, with her ears filled with the deep rumble of the machine's motor, and her body practically vibrating along with it. She even went on a ride around town, drunk with the sensation of freedom and power her new vehicle gave her. When she re-entered the compound and its garage, she felt exhilarated and happy beyond belief. She even bestowed the garage's guardian with one of her rare smiles, an act that left the man smiling sheepishly while she walked away, helmet under one arm.

As she went past the lift area, she saw said lift coming down, bearing someone whose face she hadn't seen yet. The lift came to a stop, and the stranger stepped off it, beaming and saluting everyone in a manner that made Ludmila cringe. To her he seemed too flamboyant, and the attention he gave to the female agents present quickly made her smile and happy expression disappear. She took on her schooled expression of distant and authoritarian severity, and her posture became stiff and militaristic again. And so, Ludmila became as warm and relaxed as a North Korean traffic warden.

As the newcomer came closer to her, she saluted him in her usual precise and militaristic fashion, her face never changing expression.

"Good day", she said. "And welcome to the Bureau. I am agent Ludmila Ilyukhin, and as you might have guessed, I work here."

[WARREN SORROW]

He had finished accumulating phone numbers from the females and hand shakes from the men when he had spotted her. She was either new, or he'd been gone longer then he'd thought. He slid up to her in his usual way, slick, silent steps leading up to her. He smiled as his brow raised at the salute.

He stepped back, and bowed low, his hat falling in the process. He managed to catch it on the top of his cane as he readjusted his posture. "Why hullo, mon cher. I do believe we haven't met before. You see, I'm not exactly new here. This has been my home on and off for about five years now. So you must be pretty new. Now come, tell me, Ludmila, beautiful name by the way, where are you from? How'd you come to work here? Tellmeeverything! For I am very curious." he had slid his arm around her shoulders and started leading her up the hallway by the time he'd finished talking.

"Another question, what can you do? You're obviously not just another agent, or you wouldn't be hiding behind the military ruse. You'd just be yet another stiff in a suit, with no personality and a bad aim. Would you like to get a bite to eat? I'm famished, my name is Warren by the way, Warren Balthazar Sorrow, you may have heard of me."

[LUDMILA ILYUKHIN]

As soon as the newcomer started talking, Ludmila's mind began to dissect his every word, weighing it in a critical and not very favourable manner.

Mon cher instead of ma chère, terrible French, probably using it to make an impression. Never stops talking, and used the beautiful name trick. Great. We've got ourselves a womaniser.

Ludmila was not the kind of woman one chatted up easily. In fact, doing so was rather dangerous most of the time lest you fit into her masculine ideal. Warren was definitely not her type. He talked too much, looked too young and was a lady killer.

"I am from the Russian Federation, Mister Sorrow", she said. She was about to slither out of his arm's grasp when a terrible and evil idea came to her. Her severe expression suddenly softened, and she gave Warren a charming smile. Two agents who were walking past the odd couple stopped in their tracks and gazed longingly after Ludmila. The Rusalka was in full black widow mode, and was determined to give Warren a taste of his own medicine for her own amusement.

"A bite to eat would be delightful, mister Sorrow", she said. "And you can call me Mila. I haven't heard of you yet, are you one of those every day heroes every agency has? I'd like to hear of your feats..."

And with that she gave Warren a smile so seductive that even a woman would feel somewhat uncomfortable.

[WARREN SORROW]

He raised his brow in slight confusion. From first impressions, this should be an uphill struggle, which he reveled in. But then that smile came on. This just went from uphill to downward slope, apparently. Why, exactly. Then he realized it. So simple, and oh so fun. This was her game. His left hand, the one not being used to caress her shoulder, rummaged through his coat pockets until he found his lucky pin. A steel pin, no bigger then a cue-tip, a simple design of a round weight at one end, very sharp point at the other. He played with it in his left hand, flipping it over his fingers, back and forth. An improvised 'needle' walk, if you will.

"Alright then, let's head to the cafeteria! I'll grab us some coffee, and we can have a nice chat." He smiled honestly as he led her down a few corridors, and pushed open a pair of double doors and revealed the cafeteria. A simple cafe He turned to head towards the coffee makers "Oh, and Mila? If I get to call you Mila, you're more then welcome to call me Warren." He smiled an innocent smile and headed over to the machine.

About a minute later, he came over with two paper cups filled with black coffee, and his right pocket visably filled with cream and sugar packets. He placed the first one in front of Mila and sat down across from her, placing his down and then all of the packets. "So tell me, Miss Russian Federation Mila, what's making you be so charming? I know it's not my own hard work, and that means you're trying something. So what are you planning to do to me?" He asked flatly, putting in more then enough packets to make the coffee sweet. But he was filled with sweet teeth, as he liked to say. He tapped against the brim of the cup with the needle, still residing in his left hand.

[LUDMILA ILYUKHIN]

Ludmila gave Warren a look of confusion.

"You make it sound like I'm planning something terrible, Warren", she said, her voice a pinnacle of offended innocence. "And why would I do that? You seem to be a most charming man..."

As she spoke, Ludmila cocked her head to one side and gave Warren a look that seemed to suggest she'd been rather offended and that his suspicions were unfounded. A nearby agent, who was just having a cup of coffee, noticed what was going on and looked at Warren with profound jealousy.

"All I want is to enjoy your company", she added. The womaniser was turning out to be a tough fish to fry, and Ludmila was starting to feel frustrated. Most men succumbed to her charms from the minute she smiled at them, but it seemed like Warren was made of other stuff. A part of her laughed at the irony of the situation: lady killer versus black widow. Ludmila picked up her coffee and sipped it delicately, eyeing Warren over the brim of her cup.

"But well, if you really think I'm planning something nefarious", said Ludmila somewhat sulkily. "I'll leave you be."

[WARREN SORROW]

He smiled his characteristic thin, evil smile, hidden behind his cup of coffee. He had hit the nail on the head, and he knew it.

"Come now, no need to be like that mon chere!" He placed his hand on hers, hoping to get her to stay put. He liked to look his rivals in the eye when he made their plans crumble. "I was simply being suspicious, a new face cannot be paid with only kindness, yes? Everyone greets new people with a sliver of paranoia." He bowed his head slightly, released her hand and clasped his hands together, "Please forgive me, Mila. Forgive this ol' sinner and stay a while." he looked up and his eyes twinkled only slightly, but enough for her to notice.

"So, I can tell you're not human, you don't feel like one at all. So what exactly are you?" He took up his cup of coffee, letting out a "If you don't mind me asking, that is." before sipping gently from the heated liquid.

"You haven't answered most of my other questions either..." He trailed off, not subtely hinting at all, that he was wanting at least a few more answers.

[LUDMILA ILYUKHIN]

Ludmila's expression changed again, reverting to its usual severity.

"You're very observant", she said. "Sad....and you are right. I am not human."

Ludmila leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs. The agent who'd given Warren a look full of jealousy was now blinking in confusion, but still looking at Ludmila longingly.

"I'm a Rusalka. As for what I can do, I worked for the Soviet Union from the 1920s to the late 1980s. Fought at Stalingrad and Berlin, combated the Nazi's occultists and scientists...I was transferred to the B.P.R.D. recently."

She sipped her coffee and then put the cup back down. Hopefully Warren would keep things professional from now on.

"And I will ask you not to flirt with me. Since I failed to lure you to my room to handcuff and whip you, I'm asking nicely. Your French also needs improving."

Ludmila smiled and took another sip of coffee. This smile had nothing to do with the seductive one she had had earlier. It was a cold and dangerous smile.

"Besides, you're not my type", she added. "So Warren, tell me, you seem rather familiar with the Bureau. This can only mean one thing: you've worked for them before. Am I right?"

[WARREN SORROW]

He chuckled as he leaned back in his chair, a hand reaching up to cover his mouth. "See? I knew you were plannin' somethin dastardly. There was no need to disrespect my intelligence." His brow raised in interest, A Rusalka, hmmm?? There just might be a bit of fun to be had this time around.

"Wow... that'd make you quite the older woman. I wouldn't tell some of the boys 'round the office. They might just jump your gills right there." He chuckled even more and sipped more of the coffee.

"I'll flirt all I wish, its my right after all. And it's your right to refuse. For now. And don't insult my french! As for your other question, yes, i've worked for the Bureau for about five years now, on and off. They bring me in whenever I either feel like, or when they need me to help against ... unexpected obstacles." His eyes twinkled again and looked down, then gulped the rest of the cups contents.

"You can try to be as cold as ice and twice as sharp, but it's not going to fool me. Every cold blooded woman has a heart of fire." He didn't hide the smile this time, hoping to make a 'good' impression.

[LUDMILA ILYUKHIN]

Ludmila sighed heavily and rolled her eyes. Warren was obviously incorrigible.

"Votre français est vraiment très mauvais, mon cher", she added with a smirk. "And you are absolutely incorrigible."

She finished her cup of coffee and gave the room a cursory look. She sometimes wished she wasn't so bloody beautiful, but what could she do? Cut her face up with glass? Go through plastic surgery to uglify herself?

"You can flirt all you want, Warren, but no groping or any other moves. I'd be in the obligation to whack you one if you did, and it's not a slap I'm talking about."

What Ludmila was actually talking about was a punch to the face, or a karate chop to the neck. Having been trained in close combat by the Red Army had been very useful. On top of that, Ludmila had also been trained by the Spetsnaz and the Soviet Airborne Troops. She still trained intensively at the gym, punching away at rubber effigies and taking other agents in close combat. However, she doubted Warren was that kind of pervert.

"So Warren, how did you end up working for the Bureau?"

[WARREN SORROW]

It was his turn to fake being offended now, gasping and switching to an emfemminate southern belle type voice. "Mon français n'est pas mauvais. Il est assez bonne. Mais cassé sons français amicale, ya see?" She wasn't expecting that, at all. He smiled a very smug smile and continued, leaning against the table, "My flirting is innocent, none of that vulgar such and such. Who do you take me for? Abe? That repressed little fishy would be on you like stink on dung! If ya gave him the chance, that is." He waved his arms around dramatically, drawing much uneeded but wanted attention. He felt that he was a ring master, and had to show the audience a bit of performance.

"Now, back to your last question, I came onto the Bureau through a friend of mine. See, i'd been up and down the Appalachians, challenging all comers of any sort, and besting them at what they did best. I do so enjoy crumbling ones confidence to tiny bits. But then I went and challenged this old fogie to a game of chess. This time, I was extra confident and bet a bit of servitude on the winner, and he glady accepted. Now, we went at it for hours, all in one game, back and forth, never ending struggle. In the end, he had me cornered in a stalemate. He told me that I had to come to this address, so I did, and i've been working here, sort of, ever since. I had never realized that said old fogie was the imfamous Bruttenholm." He smiled yet again, thinking back on the fond memories of that particular game.

[LUDMILA ILYUKHIN]

"Just cut the French", said Ludmila, wincing at how broken Warren's French was. French had been her first foreign language, and she spoke it perfectly. Being a bit of a maniac, she truly disliked hearing butchered French or Russian.

"I met the professor", said Ludmila. "In 1946, Berlin. I was a member of the Soviet delegation sent there to gather information on the Third Reich's "special weapon" programs. Bruttenholm was with the American delegation. He was very young back then..."

Ludmila's memory again drifted back to the days after World War Two. Her reminiscing of her days in the Soviet Union were, in a way, a lot like the ramblings of an old man or woman, although Ludmila tended to keep quiet about it all. Even then, she considered those days to be her glory days, when people actually regarded her as one of the best, and, later on, THE best in the Soviet Union. Now she was just a nobody.

"Yes. Very young. I even played a game of Chess against him, funnily enough. I won. Sometimes I wish those days would come back..."

Evidently, Ludmila did not want to relive her life as it had been before 1917. Giving up one's own identity and being shunned by one's own race, followed by imprisonment under a church altar for a few centuries, then followed by being an exhibit in the Czar's private collection of oddities was everything but enjoyable. Sometimes she even had nightmares about captivity.

[WARREN SORROW]

He listened closely to this, and grew very curious. "What was your nature with the Prof.? You didn't... you know. Shtup the old man did ya?" He asked softly, leaning a bit closer. "Come on, you can tell me." He grew very smug and leaned back very far, crossing his arms.

He walked the needle across his knuckles, tapping it on his arm each time it reached his pinky, and against the under side of his jaw. The needle had been a personal gift from the professor himself, he had felt it suited the young man, the now scractched out lettering faded from the needles side.

[LUDMILA ILYUKHIN]

"The professor and I had a purely professional relation", said Ludmila. "Considering the tensions between the USSR and the USA, having an affair with one of the Americans would have been detrimental to my career."

Ludmila was stating the truth and only the truth there. She had never had anything close to an affair with Trevor Bruttenholm, as they had only met a few times in the course of their work, and most of the time Ludmila was either following Varvara around or shooting the products of the Nazis' horrendous Vampir Sturm program. Her job in Berlin had been truly terrifying, much like the job in Afghanistan three decades later.

"You have some funny ideas, Warren", said Ludmila. her expression, however, was not one of mirth. She was simply making an observation.

[WARREN SORROW]

He just smiled yet again, leaning back in his chair to rest his feet on the table. "I'm chalk full of 'em. Part of my charm, really. So.... I have another question, i'm not sure how to phrase it so i'll just say it. How are you in bed?" he asked non chalantly. He'd like to know about the prize he was aspiring to achieve. It made sense in a strange way. Might as well ask whats at the end of the long road, before you start your trek down it.

He had taken off his hat, and was fiddling around with something inside, a small, brightly coloured doll. Red and blue interwoven like the string dangling around his wrist. He poked at it, watching a man across the room jump at the sudden pain in his butt. This just caused Warren to snicker a bit, he loved surprises.