Luncheon with the interviewer [Adam]

[Katya Romanova]

Thirty-nine fucking years old and what did she have to show for it? A number that used to be her name? Scars that had been earned after she hadn't done a damned thing wrong? Hell, she hadn't even asked for this...life, if you could call it that. For eighteen years, she was content to live as a human that didn't ever get to see past the house she shared with her parents and her older brothers. For twenty-one years, she had been the broken thing she is now. Her adopted son, Aleksandr, would argue with a fervor that she didn't understand, that she was anything but broken.

When she jerked awake in bed, screaming and drenched in sweat, her son was there to console her, even though he was probably having similar nightmares. Now, today, she was going to make a stand and move past what human fear had inflicted on her for a decade. The first step would be not to appear so barbie-esque. The next step would be to go to the interview that was being held at the Lunatic Café between the hours of noon and four pm. The final step would be to wait for a response. She thought it was ironic, really. She had been put through hell because of humans and now, her attempt to move past it, was to ally herself with a human.

She had woken up early that morning, four am, to be precise. From behind her, her son had piped up with his own opinion. "Mom, I don't agree with this." He growled, his voice dangerously low. She turned around to face him, her nose crinkling briefly as she saw that his stance was rigid and his arms were crossed over his chest. She didn't know what to think of the twenty-four year old anymore. At first, she had been grateful for his overprotective presence but now, she was beginning to wonder if she should cut the proverbial cord and tell him to just have a life of his own. Finally, she shrugged and turned back to whatever it was that she had been doing before his intrusion.

Neither of them spoke for approximately five minutes. "Aleksandr, I appreciate your unnecessary concern. Really, I do but now, it's time for us to let go of the past and move on with our lives. We've held onto it for too long." She said softly, taking a sip of her coffee. "How can you say that, after what they did to us?" He snapped, his hand shooting out to grab hold of the towel that she had wrapped around herself after getting out of the shower.

He didn't say much else before ripping it off and holding tightly in his clenched fist while his other hand lifted a finger to point at the brand that forever marked her olive-toned skin. "How can you find it in yourself to forgive them after that?" He growled, his eyes narrowing with frustration and disbelief. She shrugged and took another sip of her coffee, retrieving her towel with her free hand as she worked to wrap it back around herself. "Because not all humans are bad, Aleksandr. You and I were humans once, in case you've forgotten." She sighed and shuffled through her closet, trying to find something appropriate to wear.

She pursed her lips. "For us to hate all humans, just because of the actions of a small group, we would be no better than the people that automatically assumed all of us are bad seeds. To err is human, to forgive divine." After she concluded her philosophical musing, she pulled down a pair of jeans, a black shirt, and her favorite leather jacket. Her heels had already been chosen and on the table beside her bed, there was a hair scrunchy. "Now, please leave the room so I can get ready for my interview." She said quietly, draining the remains of her coffee.

Grumbling and grouching, he left the room. When she heard the sound of the door clicking closed behind him, she let the towel pool to the floor as she began to get dressed. She looked at herself in the mirror as she pulled her curly, black hair into a ponytail. "You can do this, Katya Romanova. You've dealt with worse." She said softly in Russian, attempting to reassure herself. Naturally, the flimsy attempt hadn't worked but still, it was worth a go.

She strapped on her watch and sighed, quickly leaving the small apartment she shared with her adopted son. She decided to walk the distance there. It would shave off the time she had to wait, and it would give her something to do. After the detours and scenic routes she often took, it had taken her approximately three hours to get there. It was now eleven, one hour before she would have to go in for the interview. Her stomach churned, and she glanced down at her watch, reassuring herself that she wasn't late. Of course, she wasn't, she never was, assuming it was something she genuinely gave a damn about.

She waited until her watch read 11:59 am then she went into the building. It didn't take long to find the table. The man's presence almost commanded attention. Almost. "Mister Byron, my name is Katya Romanova, and I'm interested in the job you advertised." Right to the point and with a slight, Russian accent to boot. As a waitress came past, bumping into Katya and dropping a few glasses, Katya was rather quick to jump to help the woman.

Just before the glasses hit the floor, Katya grabbed them and set them back onto her tray, tilting her head. "You should pay more attention to your job than the phone vibrating in your breast pocket." She observed monotonously, turning her attention back to Adam as the red-faced waitress hurried away. "Sorry for the interruption, Mister Byron. Now, where were we?" She queried thoughtfully then she seemed to remember, holding out her right hand, not really sure how such things went. She would treat it like dancing and follow his lead, figuring that to be the best course of action.

[Adam Byron]

"Well it seems the pool is shrinking even more." Adam sighed as he crossed another name of the list. So far most of the people who had scheduled an interview didn't show up at all. Probably read the ad a little more thoroughly, he thought wolfing down a few more bites of steak. The few that did show up ended up into two categories. The human side. With most being turned down due to being too old, did not believe in violence, didn't like field work, or was just there for the free meal. One the supernatural side the small number that did show up just rubbed him the wrong way. Too inexperienced, too full of themselves, and three of them needing a severe attitude adjustment. He couldn't have a subordinate who considered themselves superior to him. Making demands and requests expecting him to follow to the letter. A bad deal when it was him who needed the secretary. You couldn't expect to teach anyone like that. If they thought of themselves better then you nothing to offer to them. They were right or exempt. You were wrong or it only applied to you.

He signaled for the waitress. "Two more steaks please, and could I get an plate of salmon? Not a single pound portion. Multiply that serving by four, and you've got what I want. Also can I get a bowl of broccoli and cheese?" he asked. All the hustle and bustle in the restaurant mostly centered around his table. The staff probably wasn't happy since it had been like that the past few days. Management might have been ecstatic considering how much he had been spending. His table had been littered with food. Of course it wasn't that he was a glutton. His metabolism was a blast furnace any way. However given the number of repairs that had to have been made to his body it would an astronomical amount of calories to have everything working at maximum efficiency. Anything high in protein was at the top of the list. He was almost certain he had eaten a whole cow, and maybe a half one, since he started taking interviews.

Although he made it quite clear that he bring a wrath to match the fist of a wrathful god down on them if they served him anything with human in it. It was something that he couldn't stomach. Never once in his long unnatural life had he consumed human flesh. No matter how hungry he got or how dire the circumstances. Stranded at sea one time or another surrounded by the dead he wouldn't do it. Choosing instead to chow down on leather belts, suspenders, footwear, cotton shirts, jelly fish, seaweed, drift wood, and pretty much any sort of marine life that made the mistake of getting close to him. It seemed that for some reason he was hardwired against cannibalism. Just one of those human taboos engrained into his genetics. He couldn't bring himself to hurt a child either. Which made him wonder how anyone could call him a monster when there were other normal humans who engaged in this behavior.


"Mister Byron, my name is Katya Romanova, and I'm interested in the job you advertised." Adam perked up as soon as he caught the accent. His hand reaching for the big 10mm revolver in his pocket. Old habits died hard. He had spent a great deal of time on Uncle Sam's retainer during the Cold War. Ever worried about the KGB making a move to obtain or eliminate him. He knew they maintained a serious dossier on him, his known activities, and the ones he had suspected involvement in. Not to mention he always figured they would send a woman in to initiate the attack. Especially a dark haired dark eyed beauty like the lady standing before him. He stopped himself well short though. Remembering that the socialist empire had collapsed a long time ago. "Pryvet... Khorosho.... I was wondering if anyone else would show up today..."

He started to rise and offer his hand in greeting. Only he didn't make it in time before the waitress bumped into the lady dropping the glasses from the tray she was carrying. Fast but smooth like a river. So much power and grace. That was the best way he could describe her action before she caught them. Not even spilling a drop and sending the waitress on her way. Well above average, he thought. He took her now offered hand responding with a firm handshake. "Congrats. You just got a positive note attached to your resume. Any more surprises like this and yours goes on my desk while everyone else's goes into the shredder." he chuckled. "Please sit. Order whatever you like. Make yourself comfortable before we dive straight into business."

[Katya Romanova]

The woman crinkled her nose in the direction that the woman had gone in. "Her perfume is simply atrocious." She blurted out, her dark gaze narrowing before she took a seat across from the man. With her history, she had gotten used to small portions or simply not eating at all. Most people would either question her sanity or her health, not that she payed them much attention. "I'm not hungry but by all means, enjoy yourself while we talk." She murmured calmly, her dark gaze flitting about the room.

Her stance was...well, guarded. "I'm not really into foreplay during business arrangements." She admitted with a wry smile, her gaze finally settling upon him. "If honesty is the best policy, allow me to elaborate on who I am. If it suits your fancy, we'll continue the interview and if not, I'll look for employment opportunities elsewhere. My full name is Katya Anastasiya Romanova, and I'm thirty-nine years old." She leaned back in her chair, deciding to simply get comfortable.

Her hands clasped against her abdomen as a quiet chuckle left her lips. "Clearly, I'm not a vampire and considering my cat-like reflexes, you're probably supposing I'm not human either. You'd be correct. I'm a were-leopard and was turned at the age of eighteen by somebody I thought I could trust. Shortly after, I was taken captive by a secret organization of humans that sought to seek ways to destroy shifters." Her nose crinkled once more, giving the appearance that she had just devoured something disgustingly sour. It was almost comical.

Then again, she hadn't ever really discussed such matters. "I was their guinea pig for ten years. If I'm ever to fall in the line of duty, you can identify me by the number 493, which is branded into my right hip. I'd show you but this is hardly the place." Her lip twitched with the hint of a smile. "I'm 5'10'' and weigh approximately 139 pounds, just in case that was on your list of questions." A chuckle soon left her lips.

She'd rather have her cards on the table than allow surprises to pop up along the way. "I was born and raised in Moscow, Russia. When the government shut down the organization, they gave us an ultimatum: expose who and what we were or be shipped anywhere that we chose as long as it wasn't on Russian soil. My choice is probably obvious, considering I'm sitting across from you." She shifted in her seat and crossed one leg over the other. "For the time being, I only have one emergency contact and that would be my adopted son, Aleksandr, whom was put through the same torture as I was, only he is fifteen years younger than myself." Taking out a piece of paper that had a phone number on it and had been clipped to a photograph, she slid it across the table.

Her head tilted. "That's his contact information and photo, should you ever have to contact him or see him in person. Anyways, I've been a US citizen for about three years, and I touched US soil at the age of twenty-nine." She rubbed the back of her head and sat upright. "Look, Mister Byron, I'll be upfront with you. Forgive me if this sounds straightforward." She placed a stray strand of dark, curly hair behind her ear.

In her head, she was trying to formulate the proper words. "I have a high pain tolerance and a short temper. I'm impulsive, and I'm loyal enough that I'd take a bullet for you rather than save my own skin. After what I've been through, it's understandable that trust doesn't come easily but for the most part, paranoia does. For me, this..." She paused to gesture toward him. Quietly, she folded her hands in her lap.

A frown marred her expression for a moment. "is a fresh start and though my son doesn't understand why I'd want to work with humans, my philosophy is that a, I was once human and b, it's not fair to judge all humans, based on the actions of a small group of individuals, no matter what hell I had to go through. I won't take shit from anybody and if need be, I'm more than happy to beat them into the ground. I pride myself on my work ethic and can personally guarantee that should you hire me, the only time I will miss is when I shift. I'm early to bed and early to rise so being late won't be an issue. The place where I was held for ten years, you couldn't survive more than a day if you weren't able to lift people that were, at least, twice your size." She shrugged and glanced around, her nostrils twitching lightly.

The smell was both intoxicating and repulsive. The aroma of cooking food, body sweat, and garbage had mixed together, titillating her senses. "If you have any questions, feel free to fire away. I researched resumes and figured it'd be easier to give you an inside look, rather than just list a bunch of skills, hope you hire me, and surprise you when I don't show up for work once a month." Once more, she flashed him a wry smile. "Sorry if it's a bit much to take in." She murmured, her wry smile soon turning apologetic.