The man had approached her on the street, as few did these days. Usually, her team of bodyguards didn't allow that to happen. This particular bodyguard had been chatting up a blonde exiting a hairdresser's; as the man simply strolled up to her, Tara made a mental note to fire the bodyguard in question. At least the stranger didn't have his hand in the pocket of his suit; if he had, she might have gripped her own concealed snub-nosed revolver a little more tightly.

The man, as it turned out, had wordlessly challenged her to a few rolls of dice. Her curiosity piqued, Tara accepted and managed to win four of them, as the two of them shared a smirk. He spoke first.

"Close."

"So what do I win?"

"Cash, for now. But if are ever to repeat the this bet, I'll leave the stakes to you."

"And when could this bet be repeated?"

"Whenever you'd like. But do know that if you repeat the bet, I get to choose the stakes the time after that. So timing it correctly would be ideal."

"You know, I've read several stories of deals like this being made. Usually with one party rather... what's the word? Hellish?"

"All propaganda from sore losers, I assure you. After all, I did just lose."

Tara found herself grinning in spite of her exhaustion and her stress. The stranger was pulling her in; the bodyguard had finally noticed the conversation and had sheepishly returned to Tara's side, but she waved him off.

"Perhaps. Or perhaps that was the opening play to entice me- get me to imagine that I'm the devil."

"I won't say no if it worked."

"I did always think I'd look good in horns."

"Ah, the tail would make dresses a tad overpriced, though. Sadly."

Tara sighed, mock-forlornly, liberated by speaking with a total stranger. Tall, strong, easy on the eyes. A pleasant distraction.

"I suppose I'd just have to use less fabric."

"I doubt many would complain."

"Maybe I'll find out someday. What brings you to Philly, my sulfuric friend?"

"Ah, now now, at least buy a guy dinner before you ask him his ambitions."

"Well, it is my name to name the stakes, no?"

"Yes, as agreed. So what will it be?"

"If I win, you'll have a meal with me and tell me your story. Meeting additional interesting people is one of the few pleasures I allow myself these days, and you certainly stand out from the crowd enough to pique my curiosity."

"I fear you may be disappointed. There isn't much conversational commonality for a professor of European history and a... businesswoman/philanthropist. And what if Frau Glück no longer smiles on you and I win?"

Interesting, but not altogether surprising: he did know her. Tara flashed a small smile, somewhat disappointed. Everyone always knew her, now.

"Then we get to talk about European history, instead of your probably much more interesting personal narrative."

"Doesn't seem fair now, does it? Either way I get to enjoy a pleasant meal with an incredible woman. Would be foolish to refuse."

"Then I suppose we'll find out if you're a fool."

Tara sighed as the rolled the dice. A 2-1 loss. The stranger laughed quietly.

"Keep at it a few more days and you might finlly be lucky enough to hear about my past. Dull as it was anyways. As for the meal, I have a weakness for Riesling. The cuisine is immaterial, long as you bring your horns and tail."

"For that, I think you'd have to beat me in a roll."

"I guess that gives me something to aim for.

Tara flashed another brief, small smile as she led the man a couple blocks over to a small restaurant she knew; it was so small and secluded that it was practically in a back alley. With only a few tables, including one that was always reserved for her, she knew it was discrete. She'd been coming here for 1-2 meals a day since she'd built her new office. Strolling in, she headed toward her customary seat in the corner as the waiter approached quickly, before she could even be seated.

"A glass of Riesling, please. And a glass of pinot noir. Thank you."

As the stranger departed, she slipped out of her black trenchcoat and hung it up on the coatrack next to the table. She was wearing a creamy white dress with a v-neck and sleeves on her upper arms; modest diamonds, if there was such a thing, hung from her neck. Recently, she'd been spending less time on her personal appearance, but she'd had an important meeting earlier that had caused her to dress more like she had previously. Before Jack, Will, and the Pier, along with so many other friends and parts of her life, had gone down in flames. Tara cracked a small smile as she looked across the table.

"And what should I call you, Morning Star?"

Heinrich waited for the woman to sit as custom dictated before he pulled out his own chair. He slowly shrugged his blue woollen coat off his shoulders and draped it on the back of his chair. As he sat down a tired breath escaped his throat. Minimalistic and discrete though this place was, it was just what he needed after a day filled with exhausting lectures. 

He offered a subtle glance to the woman beside him, elegant and composed, if somewhat out of place in the relatively low brow surroundings. The way she had moved, surrounded with bodyguards and reassured in her sense of pseudo-nobility had intrigued him for it had reminded him of the women at the Prussian courts so long ago. On an impulse, he had approached her for a few meaningless games of dice, which to his surprise she hadn't been opposed to.

"My students at the Philadelphia University refer to me as Professor Grimm, a play on my name and my profession, a clever one admittedly. But in social settings such as this, I prefer to go by Heinrich."

Titles such as Hauptmann or Reichsgraf were meaningless now anyway. Picking up the glass of Reisling in a delicate, practised clasp, he swirled the utensil and appraised the liquid with a discerning, pausing briefly to ascertain the aroma.

"A toast, to interesting strangers. Prost."

Taking a small sip, he placed the glass down and gulped the liquid before turning his gaze back to the woman in front of him.

"You have me at a disadvantage now ma'am. What am I to call you and what am I to make of this interesting place, one I would never have suspected a woman such as yourself to be familiar with?"

"University men don't often find themselves in my orbit, Heinrich, unless they're asking for money for research, publications, travel... I don't think I've ever gambled with one. How long have you been teaching?"

She raised her glass and rang it gently against Heinrich's.

"To interesting strangers- and their tales."

And horns. She grinned.

"Tara Byrne- as I suspect you already knew. As for this place... well, you know I'm a businesswoman. Business doesn't leave much space for cooking, so I'm here quite often. My office is half a block away in the other direction."

"Businesswomen don't often find themselves in mine and yet here we are. You can rest assured in the knowledge that I did not seek you out of a desire for funding. I have little need for research." The Prussian court tutors had taught the heir apparent to the county enough about European history in general and German history in particular.

A sudden clanging of steel utensils followed by a loud crash and intense shouting made his fists clench involuntarily. Memories of similar commotion from his life in the trenches flashed through his mind and he had to visibly struggle not to flip over the table to take cover. His nerves calmed soon however and he sighed.

"And I've done enough travelling for several lifetimes."  Somme, Verdun, Ypress, Amiens.

"As you suspect, I knew about you Frau Byrne, hard not to as a denizen of this fine city. But more often than not the reputation of an individual doesn't quite live up to the person, for better or worse. I suppose I just wanted to verify myself."

Taking another sip of the Reisling, he leaned back in his chair and relaxed. "An addiction to work can be quite dangerous ma'am as I'm sure many would have told you. It leaves you unfulfilled as you drift away into a sea of solitude. Though my own work leaves me little time for leisurely liasons such as this, I do tend to disappear on a hunt or two every now and again. Perhaps if you wish to prolong this tryst, the next time I leave, I could bring you back a goose. Never too late to get into cooking."

When the crash first echoed throughout the restaurant, Tara didn't flinch, but she did reach for her gun. Sighing, she returned to the conversation and seemed to find Heinrich similarly distracted. She seemed to feign boredom as he cautioned her against her work.

"An addiction to work, in my experience, is preferable to an empty life- and, I assure you- can be quite fulfilling. I've heard that speech before, and just about all the men who've given it to me are deader than that goose you mentioned."

She smirked.

"I wouldn't know the first thing to do with a goose, and while hunting runs in the family it seems not to have attached itself to my end of the gene pool. If you're not seeking funding... and you're seemingly not looking to win my soul... disappointing, by the way... then I'm not sure whether to be flattered or concerned. Do you always hear rumors about people and seek them out to verify them? Or am I a special case for you?"

"Forgive me, ma'am, I did not intend for it to sound patronising. Random rambling quotes of dead men are an occupational hazard for a History professor I'm afraid."

With a shrug, he scratched his crimson stubble, even as his gaze lingered on her smirk for a moment longer than appropriate.

"To be perfectly honest Frau Byrne, I do not yet know enough about you to decide if I would be interested in or even if I'd be worthy of attempting to win your soul. A rarity in that sense. I suppose only time will shed more light on that."

Tilting his head back he finished off his glass and set it down.

"Ah well, I guess I've found the stakes for our new wager. If I win you must let me help you with cooking a goose some time if that sort of thing appeals to you." 

Tara smiled as the man rubbed his jaw; the line about quoting dead men had amused her, chasing her ghosts away at least temporarily.

"Cooking a goose? It's your funeral. But if you insist, I'll roll you for it."

The waiter arrived, handing a menu of Italian and "Italian" classics to their VIP and her guest.

"To make it fair, if I lose you may accompany me on my next hunting trip and catch the goose yourself."

As he glanced at the menu of Italian classics, he seemed lost. 

"As a regular customer, I'll trust your judgement with the food while I prepare the dice."

Turning around, he fumbled through the pockets of his coat which still hung from the back of his chair. Finding the ivory instrument, he carefully pulled it out, pushed aside the glasses on the table and created a suitable space for rolling. 

Putting in two orders of the chicken marsala, which was excellent, she turned to find the dice set up.... and seemingly rigged against her, as she lost four out of the five games. 

"Well... looks like I'm cooking a goose, then."

She sighed, but the idea also seemed to amuse her. She might be deadlier in the kitchen than with a gun...

"Do you use these dice with everyone you meet? Enjoy leaving things up to chance?"

"We have ourselves an adventure then."

He tucked the dice back into the pocket of his coat and turned to face her again.

"Not everyone no, but with a number of important decisions in my life. You see I spent the majority of my youth following or at the very least attempting to follow well-structured plans geared at success, whether they be my own or orchestrated by others. None of them quite worked out as intended."

The memory of the 5 years in the Philadelphia State Penitentiary pricked at his brain.

"So I suppose I turned to the liberation that comes with seemingly random entropy. How about yourself? Do you take every strange gambler to discrete places with hopefully delectable food for pleasant company and intriguing conversation?"

"Only the intriguing ones. Most men who stop you in the street to gamble are only interested in money. And though it's hard to say this without sounding arrogant, the stakes are usually too low to interest me. I almost wish you were the devil, but an overly curious university professor is nearly as interesting."

She studied him closely.

"You called me a businesswoman. I'm assuming you're familiar with my business, Heinrich?"

"I may yet be. Beware the devil, ma'am, for he comes in forms most inconspicuous and offers you your heart's desires."

As the food arrived he leaned back in his chair and placed the folded napkin on his lap. The waiter placed the Chicken Marsala on the table and Heinrich sniffed in the pleasant aroma. 

"Danke. Some more riesling, bitte. I wouldn't say I am intimately familiar with your businesses Frau Byrne, nor do I have any desire to be. Secrets are dangerous things after all. But as a resident of Philadelphia, I'd have to bury my head in the sand to be unaware of the influence of Race St. Properties Inc. You've built yourself quite an empire."

"I may yet be. Beware the devil, ma'am, for he comes in forms most inconspicuous and offers you your heart's desires."

"Or she."

Tara smirked as their food was delivered. 

"And thank you for your compliments to my business. I won't say you're entirely wrong. I helped build an empire... once.... but it was not my empire. And now..."

She shrugged.

"I'm not sure it would be better to say that the Pax Romana is over or that I feel more like a Byzantine than a Roman... I suppose you would be the expert there."

"Or she."

She smirked and he raised his glass in acknowledgement.

"Rome cares little for your nationality, be you French or Byzantine. Ironic I know, but much like Justinian or Charlemagne, you may just find yourself with an opportunity to attempt the restoration of the glory of the old empire, yet again."

He picked up the knife and the fork delicately. The utensils though seemed like they were extensions of his arm as he elegantly cut off a morsel without so much as a single clank of steel against china. His eyes, stayed glued to hers, despite the complexity of the task, almost as if dinner etiquette was something he had been professionally trained in.

"So tell me Frau Byrne as the Kaiserin or the Basilinna, whichever you prefer, what would you do to restore the Empire or expand it, if you had the desire?"

"Ideally? Raise the dead."

She sighed.

"But as things stand, I suspect any answer would be found with people. Building connections with those already present, and making new ones with those who could potentially contribute. Any restoration will, no doubt, take a great deal of time."

Tara sipped her wine, peering over the edge of the glass as she scrutinized Heinrich and changed the subject away from her business.

"You have varied interests, for a history professor. Do you have an area or two of focus within your field?"

Heinrich nodded politely as she spoke. Every so often he would take another bite of the chicken and water it down with the Riesling, but it was apparent he didn't have much of an appetite.

"As you may have suspected from my accent, I am a German immigrant and as such my focus is on German history or more specifically Prussian history with a special love for Bismarckian diplomacy and Moltke's military tactics. The elder of course, not his incompetent buffoon of a nephew who catalysed the German loss in the Great War."

Resentment still lingered in him as he recalled the unpreparedness his division had been in at Amiens because of a lack of enemy intelligence, leading to his capture. The strong emotion accompanying the memory made him lose his composure. He clenched his fist and the glass of Riesling held withing shattered.

The sharp sting of a glass shard piercing the skin of his palm caused his heart to race and the sight of blood dripping out of his clenched fist caused his breath to quicken. He could feel himself slipping away towards an episode. Yet somehow he managed to restrain himself, barely. His elevated heart rate returned to normal and his breath calmed. He had put off the inevitable for now but he knew he had to go hunting and steady himself in the next few days lest he relapse.

"Forgive me, Frau Byrne. I let the intoxication get the better of my manners on a sensitive issue."

Offering a sombre smile he looked around for something to clean and bandage his wound with.

Tara had known enough people in her life where this particular occurrence didn't faze her too much- although it did put her on her guard, where she'd been more playful before. A sensitive issue.... a veteran of the war, obviously. She made a mental note to perform an in depth investigation before any goose meetings in the future. The waiter returned, looking concerned, but Tara waved him off.

"Nothing to worry about, Tony."

"Should I call-?"

"No need. I'll handle it. Follow me, Heinrich."

Smiling reassuringly to both Grimm and the staff, she stood and led him through the kitchen doors into the bathroom. Running the sink, she took his hand and studied it under the light. She didn't seemed bothered by the blood, but seemed more engaged by solving the problem. 

"Seems like a mostly clean slice... not too bad... except..."

She frowned. One larger piece of glass seemed to be stuck near the base of his hand. She removed a couple hair pins from her hair as a few now loose strands fell past her ear. Twisting the metal, she fashioned the pins into the tools she wanted. Moving Heinrich's hand against the wall, she paused for a moment and smirked.

"Please avoid making too much noise. I don't want to hear the rumors."

Returning her focus to the problem at hand, she steadily use her hair pins to pull the sliver of glass free. She dropped it into the sink and began washing her hands.

"Let me see if they have bandages..."

Exiting quickly, she spoke in broken Italian to some of the kitchen workers. The owner returned soon with a bandage- not large enough to be permanent, but good enough for the short term.

"You should probably get to a doctor, Heinrich. How's the mobility? Even if that's unaffected, you may need stitches."

Heinrich felt her demeanour change somewhat. In a stressful situation where most would have been shocked, she took charge. Shooing away the staff in a reassuring manner, she led him through the kitchen into the bathroom. Not at all hemophobic, she seemed to be studying the cut with clinical precision. Mesmerised, he watched as she removed her hairpins and twisted the metal into rudimentary tools. A part of him began to wonder just where she had acquired such a specific set of skills.

The way her hair, no longer held up, hung against her face and the way her skin caressed his, soft to the touch but firm in grip, gave him pause. For perhaps the first time since they met, he genuinely noticed just how attractive the woman was. Perhaps conscious of his gaze, she turned towards him and smirked as she uttered a witty remark, eliciting the ghost of a smile on his previously sombre face.

As she departed to get some bandages, he inspected his hand. The cut although still bleeding, was free of the tiniest of glass shards. He'd need stitches for sure but the rest of it couldn't have been done better even if a field medic had been nearby.

She returned and patched it up, suggesting he find his way to a doctor but the last thing he wanted to do after a long gruelling day was to spend time answering awkward questions about his nationality and redacted medical history. Once he got home, he'd sterilise a sewing needle with some Riesling and stitch it himself.

"Tis but a scratch milady. These hands have seen far too much blood for this to grieve me." 

He joked in a purposely over the top manner. But it was true, years of trench warfare had stained his hands crimson many times over.

"Papercuts, you see are another perk of my profession. I swear they'll be the death of me."

A white lie, but reasonable under the circumstances.

"I am more upset by the fact that I spoiled our lovely meal. Vergib Mir Frau Byrne. I thoroughly enjoyed meeting you ma'am but I suspect it is best if we adjourn for now. I fear I've kept you away from your work for too long."

He had to get away before his emotions flared up again. With how the meal had turned out, he was sure he would have to prepone the hunt for the next day so he could isolate himself before the episode occurred amidst people.

Tara shook her head.

"No need to apologize. Where and when should I meet you for this goose business? Actually..."

Retrieving her purse, she pulled out a business card.

Tara Byrne
CEO
Race St. Properties, Inc.
(267) 570-4000

With a small smile, she put it in his jacket pocket.

"Call me. If I don't answer, don't be offended. Things get busy sometimes. It was interesting meeting you, Heinrich. Get that cut looked at?"