shadow and the waif [lyra]

[DAMIAN ANDREAS KARKAROFF]

August 2022

Berlin in the summer was sweltering, and that said nothing to the throngs of people still dressed in all black. It was almost as if they were completely indifferent, and Damian Karkaroff was among their number. Indifference suited him. It was a mask as simple to slip on as a comfortable old cloak, though he would be doing no such thing this time of year.

Damian had been sniffing out a lead on a rumoured demolitions gang that had set up shop here in Berlin, but he hadn't gotten much further than just that - sniffing out a new lead. No one seemed to know about the group, though Damian wasn't one to give up so easily. He knew he was just looking in the wrong places. Auswurf was lurking in the crevices of the city somewhere, and Damian would find it. But for now, he would use his own connections to his own ends - and that meant placing a cheeky bet in one of the many underground duelling rings in Berlin.

Tapping twice on the nondescript black door, Damian was ushered inside without much pomp. The hallways were dark and smelled of damp, though Damian knew that the ring itself was immaculately constructed, and even the ceilings had real gold gilded into it. It was a miracle that people didn't try to take bits off to sell on their own, though Damian supposed the dozen or so muscled men that patrolled the ring wouldn't let them for a minute.

"Next match will be fairly boring, I reckon. Tiny waif of a girl versus a regular. We've only just gotten her in," said the bookie as Damian passed. He wasn't typically one to bet, but the dismissive air with which the man spoke piqued Damian's interest. His dark eyes narrowed slightly. "Ten galleons on the waif," said Damian quietly. The bookie snorted. "I'll give you good odds on that, thirty to one," said the man with a sneer, scribbling something on a bit of parchment and slapping it into Damian's waiting palm. Without another word, Damian drifted towards the ring where the match was due to begin. His face was still impassive, though he was curious to see the waif that everyone so easily overlooked.

Lyra Horváth

[Lyra Horváth]

Wait was a wonderful way to describe Lyra. Polite considering her current state of being, but nonetheless pretty spot on. She hadn't seen the best of a square meal for weeks, and her lodgings had been less than ideal. Fuck, that was why she had dipped so low as this specific duelling ring. Likely why she had not argued when the promoter had given her shit all odds at actually winning, but she was desperate. Desperation made people do shitty things at the best of times, she knew that all too well.

It was too close to the full moon to be that fussy. She needed wolfsbane and somewhere safe to transform, for that she needed Galleons and for now, any way of earning them would do.

There had been some semblance of effort put into her appearance; she had refreshed herself and tidied up her hair somewhat in the dressing room from whatever she could find lying around. Too bad there was very little to be done for the bags under her eyes or the hollows of her cheeks. As she stood on the side-lines, she watched her competitors move through rounds. They didn't look like much, but then she supposed; neither did she. After a few moments of watching, she carried her frail body to the ring and readied herself, holding her wand up to signal that she was in fact ready. Pretty much right of the bat she gave people a pleasant surprise; her lean frame jumping about to dodge whatever spells were thrown at her, and throwing stronger ones back tenfold. Even in her weakened state, she was able to wipe the floor with her opponent, with only some of her dark hair falling down about her face to shroud her face at times. Easily she pushed it back as she moved, throwing her wand about and flashing sparks at her opponent still, smirking just slightly her and there; it all seemed almost too easy.

She made light work of the regular across the platform for her, eventually putting him out of his misery and casting one final stupefying hex. As his body fell back and off the platform, she cringed just slightly; that would hurt in the morning. But that was all the emotion she showed, instead she moved to the side-lines to argue over her rightful winnings, or riding the current high; possibly negotiate a further match.

DAMIAN ANDREAS KARKAROFF

[DAMIAN ANDREAS KARKAROFF]

When the girl - barely even one at that - stepped onto the duelling platform, Damian knew he had placed his bet well. She had the barely contained spirit of a storm on the horizon, a certain manic energy about her. Damian could have sworn the air around her crackled, but perhaps it was just the lighting. When the duel began, Damian watched carefully. This was easy for the waif, he saw it in the graceful arc of her wand arm, the swift movement of her feet. Almost like a dance, and too soon it was over.

There was hardly a hair out of place as the waif hopped off the platform to... who knew what. Collect her winnings? Damian turned and quickly found the gobsmacked bookie. "If you can't beat the odds, change the game," said Damian with a grin, handing over the paper. Grumbling all the way, the bookie deposited 300 galleons into Damian's coin purse and he pocketed his winnings swiftly. His dark eyes swept the room, with most of the crown just as confused as the bookie. There was a murmur of dissent, about how the waif must have some uncommon magic. And yet she had just won at their game.

In a matter of moments, Damian picked the waif out of the crowd and moved towards her silently. She still had that nervous energy about her, though it was dulled somewhat now the fight was over. They wouldn't give her such poor odds ever again. A moment and a step later, he stood before her, his dark eyes meeting hers. She looked half starved and more than a little crazed. "Waif," he murmured, his voice like silk. "Come with me a moment," said Damian. She had no reason to trust him, but Damian could give her something even she couldn't refuse. "I have a proposition for you."

Lyra Horváth

[Lyra Horváth]

While Damian had been collecting his winnings behind her, she had been trying to cut a deal with the ring leader, trying to organise another duel. But they were having none of it. The bookies had pegged her as a nobody. Nobody had thought she'd do that well, and now the bookies were down the necks of the promoter. Nobody was happy. Lest of all Lyra, although yes they seemed to be paying up what she had been promised, and a slight bit extra for winning, they wouldn't keep her in the ring. They saw her as some little shit of a hustler, and wanted her done with.

"Most szórakozol velem??Kinek képzeled magad?!" [Are you kidding me?? Who do you think you are?! The supressed rage, only fuelled by hunger bubbled over as she snarled in her native language. It happened rarely, only when she was in a temper. Snarling she snatched up the bag of Galleons that had been firmly deposited in front of her and growled again "Amúgy sem akartam a szar klubodban maradni!" [like I wanted to stay in your piece of shit club anyway]. Turning on her heel, it was then she spotted Damian not far from her, looking like the cat who had gotten the cream. She wouldn't blame him, holding such a fat coin purse, but still the fact he had won it at her expense angered her more.

Narrowing her eyes, she studied him for half a second, before snapping at him in english now "What the fuck did you just call me? Looking him up and down with a tad more suspicion, she brushed back some of her wild hair and tried to puff her chest out to seem a little more intimidating. "What do you want?" Although the words were english, the harsh slavic lilt remained, cutting like a knife. Her eyes hovered on him, eyeing him with suspicion the whole time. 


DAMIAN ANDREAS KARKAROFF

[DAMIAN ANDREAS KARKAROFF]

Tiny little spitfire, thought Damian to himself. She cussed out one of the promoters in Hungarian. He smirked as she turned and clapped eyes on him. She glared at his pocket, the one where he had just tucked away his winnings. Yet Damian held her glare, even as she puffed up her chest and demanded what she wanted. "Egy üzletet közvetíteni, Waif," [to broker a deal, Waif,] said Damian in flawless Hungarian. He eyed her, knowing that she was suspicious. And why would Damian want anything to do with her?

More than anything, it was that this tiny wisp of a girl reminded him of his sister, Anastasia. He thought that perhaps the Waif would give Ana a run for her money - though she was a gifted dueller, this girl was unstoppable. Damian surveyed her with the critical eye of the Karkaroffs, before speaking once more. "They did not pay you what they should," he observed, switching back to English. "I cannot best you in a duel. You must know that already. But I can offer you something better," said Damian, breaking her gaze for only a moment to look around the dimly lit club. The walls were filthy and stained with... blood, probably. This was no place for a girl as young as she.

"Ha egy óráig megbízhat bennem, odaadom a nyereményemet," [If you can trust me for an hour, I will give you my winnings] said Damian in Hungarian. "Nincs szükségem pénzre." (I have no need of money) In fact, Damian traded in a far more valuable currency. This girl, this tiny scrap of a witch, she had secrets. How did she end up in Berlin? How did she learn to duel like that? How was she still alive and fighting with such vigour that she bested one of the top duellers in Berlin? Damian knew he had to bide his time and win this girl's trust. She seemed a tough nut to crack, but Damian was confident in his abilities. After all, he could offer her a warm place to sleep, food, drink, and enough money to wipe away any debt.

She just had to say yes.

Lyra Horváth

[Lyra Horváth]

The fact he understand her rage filled ramblings, and responded in such good Hungarian knocked her for six. Taking a slow breath, she froze just slightly and steadied herself, studying him now even closer. For a moment she didn't reply, continuing to stare him down as a means for two things; sussing him out and trying in some vague sense to make her small frame intimidating.

"They paid me enough." Which was true. Just about. It would buy her somewhere to stay and enough Wolfsbane to get her through the full moon, with just enough left over for some sort of basic carbs that wouldn't make her feel too shitty when the transformation. With a raised eyebrow, she stepped back. Sure he couldn't take her in a duel, but she wasn't quite sure what else she wanted from her. There was other things she was good for she supposed, at times when she was really desperate she did in fact lower herself to them, but that was even more rare and she preferred to earn her money in others ways; still illegal but slightly more gratifying on her part. When he declared he had little want for money, she cocked her head just slightly and gave a dry laugh. "Aren't you lucky then. Wouldn't it be nice were we all so lucky" she clipped with another snarl and pulled her eyes away now, to rove about the room, showing her distaste with him.

Eventually she gave a wary sigh, and let her eyes drift to him again. This time she was slightly more curious, but still as distrustful "Who are you, and what do you want from me?" she was careful so still stand back from him somewhat, giving very little away as her owlish eyes bored into him. Her tone was quiet as she decided to calm down somewhat and stick to English for now.

DAMIAN ANDREAS KARKAROFF

[DAMIAN ANDREAS KARKAROFF]

Damian felt a smugness as the shock showed on her face. If she was to continue duelling like this, she would have to learn to control her expression more. "Enough," Damian echoed, tilting his head slightly to the side as if appraising a prize horse/ "Enough for a girl to beat one of the best duellers in Berlin, odds at thirty to one?" Damian wondered if she knew how low they'd placed her. How she was a gift of surprise, but only for him. To everyone else, the Waif was a curse.

"Only so lucky as you have made me," replied Damian after a moment. His head was clear even if his intentions weren't. He didn't want anything unsavoury for her - he wasn't a complete monster. But she was a curious little thing, and he wondered how he hadn't heard of her in Hungary. She spoke it like a native, though her eyes were too wide for her to have bred there. Something had brought her across the continent, and it wasn't to play shite odds in a dodgy club.

The Waif gave a weary sigh, and Damian knew he was wheedling his way into that curious bit of her mind. He kept his face neutral as she asked for his name. She must have been young, asking a question as silly as that in a place as dangerous as this. "Soon, Waif. But this is not the place to share personal information," said Damian. She spoke in English and Damian knew that she was looking after her own safety. Even in Berlin, nearly all the locals spoke English as well as German. Very few spoke Hungarian. "One hour. Dine with me. But not here. There are eyes and ears everywhere, Waif. You should know that," said Damian in a low voice, offering her one gloved hand to seal their truce.

Lyra Horváth

[Lyra Horváth]

As she looked around, a scowl settled on her face when she saw the organiser viciously rub her hastily scribbled chalk name off the board. She wasn't being considered for a second round. This had happened before, fuck with the betting rings and get fucked with. She had done well, too well to flatten in her last match. Damian's smug face met her as he spoke what she had just watched confirmed in front of her. Lady luck's odd were not in her favour tonight she supposed. The scowl lingered as she eyed the man in front of her again. She didn't speak in reply; she didn't have to, or want to confirm the fact he was right in his assumptions.

Eyes narrowed, she scrutinised him some more. Though she hadn't met him before, there was a strange sense of familiarity. Or perhaps that's just what Lyra was searching out. Maybe she was just seeing the parts she wanted to.

When his gloved hand was held out, she was unsure at first. The whole thing was peculiar to her. Her eyes went from it, to his face; once again searching. For what she wasn't exactly sure. He was Hungarian, or spoke it well enough for one. She hadn't worked out if he was friend or foe just yet, but with his other hand he clutched his winnings. Winnings won from her. Winnings she felt were half hers the more she ruminated on it. Still, she didn't speak, simply watched him with a critical gaze as her face began to soften bit by bit. At best, he could be what she needed tonight to fill the void. At worst, she would simply get a hot meal, her share of what was owed to her and then she could be on her way. Slowly she bit down on the corner of her lip, mulling over her decision.

At last her head dipped in a slow nod and she held out a small grubby hand to place in his. "Alright then, you can buy me dinner Idegen" Her tone was quiet, placing specific emphasis on the last word in heavy Hungarian.



DAMIAN ANDREAS KARKAROFF
Idegen ; Stranger

[DAMIAN ANDREAS KARKAROFF]

The waif scrutinised him, rightfully so, with a critical eye. He could see the machinations of her mind working behind those oversized, dark eyes of hers. Damian met her gaze evenly, levelling a calm and collected look at her. He said nothing, instead letting the waif silently assess him before finally coming to the conclusion that he was trustworthy enough. He inclined his head slightly as she acquiesced, taking his gloved hand. One shake, then Damian withdrew his hand into the pocket of his cloak.

"Come then, waif." With that, Damian set off towards the exit of the club. He did not need to know more about who she was now, only what had happened to her to make her such a talented duellist. "That last curse you used," said Damian after a lengthy silence. "The one that finished him off. I've never seen it used like that," said Damian, glancing over at the waif whilst keeping his face neutral. He knew that he had to conceal his interest and intrigue, especially in a game of guile. "My travels have brought me many places, my interests leading me to many clubs. And yet you managed to shock the crowd and the bookies." He pushed open a well concealed door, holding it open for the waif to disappear into.

The room beyond was tiny, barely large enough to fit the four round tables that were crammed in there. "Mutter Liesel?" called out Damian into the dimly lit space. A ruddy faced, middle aged woman popped her head around the doorframe at once. Her brow was drawn and her sharp gaze almost as critical as that of the waif's. She appraised the wisp of a girl beside Damian and immediately began muttering to herself in rapid German. Damian caught the odd word - malnourished, owlish, and stray were among them. Damian turned his attention to the waif beside him. "Mutter Liesel is discreet and one of the most amazing cooks I have ever had the pleasure to dine with. I am lucky to have met her..." Damian said, before trailing off. The waif was looking particularly pale, and Damian didn't want to reveal much about his own history. He had met Liesel whilst chasing a story on a junior minister who had been plotting his way up the ranks using a clever combination of gum disease and blood magic. The junior minister had been unsuccessful, but the story had been exhausting. Damian hoped her hassenpfeffer would electrify the waif as it had with him. "Would you like anything to drink? Tea? Water? Jäger?" asked Damian with a smirk. She hardly looked old enough to drink.

Lyra Horváth

[Lyra Horváth]

Lyra was still irritated that she couldn't get one more round in; another bag of galleons. Another dose of Wolfsbane she could count on. She didn't have anything left for her in the club. But when Damian asked her to join him, she cocked on eye brow, still suspicious of the whole charade. What did he want with her? Nobody ever invited her to eat with them out of the goodness of their heart. Everyone always wanted something from her. Even if it was just the basic primal urge for intimacy; there was always a catch.

And yet, she followed him anyway.

There was nothing left for her in the club, not allowed to go another round all she could do was sit and drink and gamble away her winnings. But no, she needed them this week. It was too close to the full moon.

Wordlessly she accompanied him, her guard still up. When he asked about her finished, she laughed quietly under her breath. "An old family trick. Nothing too difficult really, though a good finishing move all the same. But yes, I don't seem like much I suppose, I always seem to surprise people..." for now that was all she'd say on the matter. In her opinion the less he knew the better.

As they reached the place they would be dining, Lyra looked around in scrutiny. It didn't seem all that bad a place. Not as dark or shady as she may have been expecting. It was still small, not well advertised she would have guessed, but there was something comfortable and homely to it that little by little was allowed her guard to slip and letting her relax. Still glancing around, she took in smaller details of the place as she slid into a seat across from him. For now keeping her distance would make her feel a little safer anyway. When she heard him speak again, her attention snapped back to him and she listened again in quiet. It seemed like a bit of a loaded question, especially in the way he smirked at her, but when she thought more about the heavy Jäger on her stomach, she grimaced. In it's sensitive pre-moon state, it would definitely make her ill. Pursing her lips, she shook her head, opting for something easier.

"Just water please."

DAMIAN ANDREAS KARKAROFF

[DAMIAN ANDREAS KARKAROFF]

The girl gave away little, which Damian did not mind. There would be a point where she let her guard down and divulged just what that old family secret was. Instead, Damian remained silent, slipping through the night with the girl by his side as he wound through the cobbled streets of Berlin and to a nondescript door. He called out for the matron, the woman known to him as Mutter Liesel. Damian was almost entirely certain that wasn't her true name, but then again, she knew him only as Andreas. But as Mutter Liesel appraised the two of them, muttering only how slim the girl beside him was before bustling off.

Moments later, the mouthwatering aroma of stew wafted their way. Damian offered the waif a drink, and she declined. Arching a brow, he retorted at once. "You destroy a man within an inch of his dignity and all you want to drink is water?" He gave her an imperious smirk before pouring himself a shot of jager, her a glass of water, and put on a pot of tea for good measure. In a swift movement, Damian turned and assessed the waif. She looked even smaller, despite the clutter of the room. As if the very chair itself would swallow her whole. "Very peculiar," he commented, his dark eyes roving over her moon white flesh. There was a spark of curiosity there, but not in an amorous way. Damian appraised her like he would a puzzle, thinking of the various moves to complete the picture. What exactly were the pieces of this girl, and how had something so unexpected grown from it.

The pair remained in silence, and soon the kettle was whistling. He poured himself a tea, knocked back the shot, and took the seat across from the waif. "You must fight a lot in order to earn the winnings you do. But not enough to be known. You must move around a lot, to keep fame at bay. So tell me waif, what brought you on this journey to the grey city? It cannot be wealth - you've seen enough to know that the magical folk here squander their money." Damian's gaze was intense, inviting, hopeful that she would answer with truth.

Lyra Horváth

[Lyra Horváth]

As she tried to sit across from the dark strange, and seem equally as unknown and mysterious; her stomach began to roll. It was difficult, with her transformation so close and although she was mentally trying to push herself to remain somewhat stable it was too difficult. The dark circles were evident, the waves of aches and pains gripped her, and her concentration was slipping.

And still she smiled politely at her opposite, in an effort to keep up the façade.

"Yes; something lighter on my stomach to start with I think.." Lyra attempted to shrug it off nonchalantly, but she wasn't quite sure it would get past him. He seemed perceptive enough. For now she'd just hope to Merlin he was still too dazzled by her fighting to look too much into it. When he moved on, she decided to focus on that instead. Giving her something to focus on was better, it would keep her afloat for now.

"Sometimes.." she began carefully. "Other times like tonight I get one good fight in before I'm frozen out. It's not very fair but anyway. I get on with it and keep moving." She paused to allow a quiet laugh at the idea of fame, and sipped from her glass. "I don't move around to keep from fame. Although yes, I am unknown and I'd like to keep it that way. But no; I suppose I move because I like to be unknown. I move somewhere and use it for a short time, until there's nothing left for me there, and then I move on again.." she dipped her eyes with a quiet shrug and pretended to look at the menu as she let another wave of pain ripple down her spine. Under the table she squeezed at her thigh with her hand, but she wasn't about to admit the weakness to him so obviously. For now she'd still try to hide it. After a second, she looked up and cleared her throat, time to move the limelight off her and shift it elsewhere. 

"What about you? I've not met you before?"

DAMIAN ANDREAS KARKAROFF

[DAMIAN ANDREAS KARKAROFF]

Damian commented on her choice of drink - something so weak for a thing that was so strong. Though he supposed it was wise. She didn't know what she was dealing with when it came to him. Damian ran a thoughtful hand over his chin, thinking. He could use her, this waif. It wasn't like he didn't have his fair share of dissenters. But to what end? She trusted him little, and even as he busied himself with the kettle, she eyed him warily. Damian oscillated between wondering if she would hex him or if she would run away first. Both options were viable. He wondered if she would get very far.

Damian's next question came out in a measured voice as he sat down with his tea. "No, it's not very fair at all," he replied, dropping his gaze to the wooden grain of the table. "The den masters have no end to their greed. They will take and take until they've entombed themselves into their rotting establishments," he added after a moment. "But you surely know this," said Damian, catching her eye suddenly. "How do you enter the tournament? To prove yourself just enough to be drafted in, but not enough to show your true strength? How do you mete out power so precisely that nobody knows you're coming?" asked Damian in a rushed whisper.

The girl glanced down then, breaking his gaze. Damian mulled over her comments. The strategy was wise - it was her own silent protestation against the established rings. When the girl asked for more information about him, he leaned forwards, steepling his hands over the table. "Not so fast," said Damian, but he was saved further by Mutter Liesel's immaculate timing. She bustled out of the kitchen, muttering in German as she set two bowls of stew before them. "Your eyes have a hunger to them. Like you're barely human. Why?"

Lyra Horváth

[Lyra Horváth]

As she could feel the energy seeping away, she also felt herself becoming more withdrawn. Yes, possibly if she had stayed in the club and continued to fight, the drive may have kept her going. However, now as the full moon eased ever closer, her body was failing her. It was easier to listen for a moment, taking another sip of her water she mulled his questions over.

Eventually she gave a light shrug as she searched over the words to answer. "I guess they don't. They think I'm a weakling, so they pull me in as an easy target. Or so they think..." Trailing off with a small smirk she looked back to him almost lazily. Lyra honestly, had no idea where this night was going to take her, but still, she'd try to stay on Damian's good side for now. Maybe at the least it might end in a place for her to lay her head for the night. The small hope that grew in her at the thought of it was enough for her to keep her mouth shut at the obvious avoidance of her question.

As her sunken in eyes pulled away to dart around the hole in the wall restaurant once again, she wasn't entirely prepared for his next line of inquiry. And it showed as she settled her waning attention back on him. She faltered slightly, a minute tremor visible in her hand as she reached for the glass again. Decidedly she took another sip of water before giving him another tired smile.

"Maybe because I'm not.." It was enough information for now she decided. It would give him the little he needed to cling to and for her to become interesting enough to leave him wanting more.

DAMIAN ANDREAS KARKAROFF

[DAMIAN ANDREAS KARKAROFF]

The girl said little, as if the fight was drained out of her when she stepped out of the threshold of the club and into safety. Damian thought she would have known better - any sort of enemy could be lurking around the corner. But she was unknown... she didn't have to worry. The thoughts fluttered through Damian's ever paranoid mind. Why did he care so much about this wisp of a girl? Could it even be attributed to caring? He tried to write it off as curiosity, and there certainly was a measure of that. Still, some sort of paternal urge had come over him, offering her food, shelter and safety. It was more than he could say for most people that Damian Karkaroff came across.

Damian said nothing for a long moment, watching her carefully. He took note of her minute movements, the subtle beast within her. There was a hunger that lent itself to something strange - something not entirely human. But she was saved an immediate response when two steaming bowls of stew were placed before them. Mutter Liesel bade them to eat in harsh German, and Damian nodded his thanks.

"Is that so?" asked Damian, his gaze shifting to that of a predator stalking its prey. "Then what are you, little waif? Not a vampire... nor a veela, goblin or giant." He studied her, narrowing his eyes slightly. "The full moon is coming, is it not?" asked Damian, his voice barely above a whisper. "And that means you're low on energy. And yet... you still fought and won, and barely broke a sweat." Damian sat back, trying to dampen the awe in his words. He hadn't seen this sort of strength in anyone except his sister. His nostrils flared as he thought of the chaos that would ensue between these two women meeting. Damian made a mental note to keep them extremely far apart. "You are full of surprises, aren't you," said Damian with a smirk, turning his attention resolutely to his meal.

Lyra Horváth