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Rahadin hated being on campus. Not only were the swathes of young people intimidating and claustrophobia inducing, they reminded him of a time when he was one of them: a bright-eyed, ever optimistic undergraduate student with the world at his feet; a young man with dreams of conquering his field and changing the landscape of cinema! Now, twenty odd years later, he was back - but not in the way he’d expected. In the far flung dreams of his youth, he always imagined his eventual return to his alma mater would be wrought with celebration and anticipation: accepting an award for his creative genius, or perhaps giving a sold-out lecture on his latest breakthrough in the art of film - but no. He was sitting in one of the five or six or seven Starbucks locations on campus at a lone table, positioning his body cam to perfectly capture the grand entrance of the man who had single handedly ruined his career and crushed his dreams. Oh how far he had fallen.
With an all too common sigh of regret, he tapped the record button on his phone screen and waited.
Strahd had been eager to get back on the prowl after his violent encounter with Ireena at the grocery store, and mere moments from being discharged from the hospital with a fractured jaw, he directed Rahadin to take them down the street onto the University of Barovia campus.
“This is a perfect place to make a cold approach,” he said, his words slurring on account of his busted jaw. Rahadin was decidedly against the idea - not only for his usual reasons, but also because Strahd looked like he had just gotten the shit beat out of him. Which he had.
When Rahadin protested, Strahd only said: “Girls love it when you look beat up. Their maternal instinct takes over and they feel the need to protect you.” He winked with effort. Something in his face cracked. “It works every time.”
“Whatever you say,” Rahadin replied, once more eyeing Strahd’s bruised and swollen face out of the corner of his eye as they drove through the winding campus roads, trying to find the cheapest place to park.
Strahd seemed to know his way around the school better than Rahadin did - he didn’t want to imagine all the “cold approaches” Strahd had likely forced the local students to endure - and quickly led him to what Strahd described as a “top tier pick-up location”: the first floor Starbucks next to the book shop.
“You see,” Strahd began, excitement flavouring his fractured jaw lisp, “this location is ideal because of the window.” He gestured to the floor-to-ceiling glass panels that encased the coffee shop and bookstore entrance. “You can get a good eye on the occupants from a safe distance. This is prime hunting ground.” The way he said “hunting ground”, even with the jaw fracture, made Rahadin’s skin crawl. Eyes darting through the crowd of students that passed, he wondered, if - no, when - the campus police would get here.
“That’s the target,” Strahd said, bringing Rahadin’s attention back to the coffee shop with a point of his finger. It landed on a head of long blonde hair pulled haphazardly into a low, messy bun, revealing a pale, slender neck. Rahadin couldn’t see her face, but knew that Strahd would end up describing her as one of his fabled “ten-point blondes”.
“This is going to be a fruitful approach, I know it. I’ve been studying this one for a while.” Studying - a polite term for what Rahadin would rather call “stalking”. “The target is perfect,” Strahd continued, “always comes to this Starbucks at this same time every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday morning. Drinks one of those obnoxious white girl beverages, like soy matcha pumpkin frappe latte or something. Oh, and he’s always alone .”
“How long have you been - wait, he?!” Rahadin had heard Strahd say many things he hadn’t expected, but they were typically of the wildly misogynistic type. Not this.
“What does it matter?” Strahd shrugged offhandedly at his partner in crime’s surprise. “He’s pretty. You gotta mix it up a little.” Rahadin found this explanation quite interesting. Did Strahd really think his odds would be improved if he started trying to pick up men too? Perhaps he did, but Rahadin knew better. This was Strahd, a man who defied all odds of success and seemed to meet cruel, abject failure one hundred percent of the time.
That aside, did Strahd’s Alpha Male Tips apply to seducing men? Well, they barely applied to seducing women, but that didn’t stop him. Would the website have to add a new section? Would the video format have to change? Rahadin found a morbid curiosity - and, dare he say, cruel excitement - building inside him at the prospect of expanding Strahd’s empire of self humiliation.
“This is what we’re going to do,” Strahd began, laying out his plans in furtive, whispered words. The strategy came complete with a diagram he’d drawn on a napkin to point out their “tactical positions” as if they were planning an FBI raid on a suspected drug house. Reality was much less exciting and much more desperate.
And that’s how Rahadin found himself here, parked at his little round table, seated at a precise angle to capture the target’s body at one end of the shot and Strahd’s entrance at the other. Seeing the moment when they came together, he would adjust his angle to frame their conversation nicely. More importantly, he hoped to perfectly capture Strahd’s first rejection from a man, which would surely bring in the web traffic with its unique twist. He pondered for a moment if a star wipe would be an appropriate transition from Strahd’s horrible pick up line greeting to the inevitable shot of hot coffee being thrown in his already broken face.
Eyes on his phone screen, Rahadin watched Strahd’s entrance into the Starbucks. It was an altogether poor attempt at what Strahd had described during their briefing as “injured but stubborn”; Strahd’s unusual, weak limp made absolutely no sense considering his legs were fine, and he had no occasion to use the “stubborn” angle as no one offered to help him. Before he found the table of his pretty target, he made a show of looking for a place to sit despite the large number of empty spots.
“Excuse me,” he said to the young man, who had been scrolling through a feed on his cell phone before the interruption. He looked up with disinterest as Strahd hovered over the table, doing his best to smile with his busted jaw. Rahadin couldn’t see his face, but the target’s voice sounded more pleasant than Rahadin had expected.
“Yes?” He asked, his phone landing against the tabletop screen-down, chin propped up on one hand as he lounged against the well used wood. Rahadin could see the target’s shoulders stiffen when he noticed Strahd’s condition. “Um, are you okay?”
“Fine, now that I met you,” Strahd said. Rahadin had to admit it was smooth; this was turning into a good day of firsts for Strahd after all. “Do you mind if I sit here?” Strahd gestured with an open hand to the chair opposite the target’s, though the seat was covered by a large canvas bag and a plastic tube nearly four feet long - art supplies, most likely. Both men seemed to glance back and forth between the chair and each other for a tense moment.
“Um, okay,” the target said, this time with a little hesitation. He slowly removed his supplies from the seat and, with care, laid them onto a space of tile floor near his feet. Strahd took the now unoccupied chair all too happily, taking the opportunity to scoot a few paces closer to his target.
“Thank you,” he said, crooked smile as wide as he could make it. “As for your question, I’m quite alright. I appreciate your concern.”
“Yeah, um, it just looks like it hurts,” the target said, punctuating the statement with a soft, almost nervous laugh. “What happened?” Rahadin almost couldn’t believe his eyes as he saw the target lean forward across the table… could he actually be interested? Anticipating footage he couldn’t afford to miss, he toggled the camera’s zoom on his phone screen with a pinch of his fingers.
“Well, you’re not going to believe this.” Strahd said, leaning into the table’s center in kind, mirroring the stance of his companion.
“Oh?”
“You see, last night I found myself in quite a predicament,” Strahd began. “I was walking home from the grocery store when I came upon the scene of a crime: an innocent old woman was being mugged by two vicious thugs!” The last two words came out in a comical lisp. Strahd went on, undeterred.
“Now, I am not a man who tolerates injustices such as these.”
“Of course not…” The target replied with a surprisingly honest fascination. He slipped to the edge of his seat, anticipating Strahd’s next words.
“So, I did what any man worth his salt would do!”
“Mmhmm…”
“I told the men to stand down and let the woman go. Of course,” he scoffed, “they wouldn’t have it. They pounced on me and tried to knock me to the ground with their fists.”
“Oh my...”
“It was quite a fight. These two were trained fighters - I could tell. I myself am a master of the Dim Mak technique.” He paused for a moment, inviting a question, but quickly got tired of waiting and asked: “Do you know it?” Rahadin rolled his eyes at the familiar line; no matter how Strahd tried, his targets’ bullshit detectors would always go off when he mentioned his mastery of some kind of fake but impressive sounding martial art.
“No, but it sounds scary,” the target giggled. If it were anyone other than Strahd in the opposite chair, Rahadin would’ve interpreted this guy’s attitude as rather… flirtatious. But that couldn’t be right. “Tell me about it.”
“Oh, well, it’s not much,” Strahd said, humble-bragging as usual. “It’s the pressure point knockout style of martial arts.” He held up three fingers in a conical point to demonstrate. “One touch and you’re gone.” The target laughed softly again, moved his chair closer.
“Maybe you could show me sometime...” Rahadin couldn’t believe what he was hearing. By the look on Strahd’s face, he couldn’t either. Something about this was working - actually working - and neither Strahd nor his handy operator were prepared for it. Rahadin felt like a nature documentarian who had just discovered a new species of beetle: what would he name this thing, this phenomena he was seeing? How well could he document it? How would this discovery shape the world of pick up artistry in the lonely corner of the internet Strahd frequented? The possibilities were endless; it was Rahadin’s responsibility to capture them all.
Rising from his chair, Rahadin wandered to the front of the Starbucks, planting himself in line with the other students, trying his best to look inconspicuous while he faced his chest camera towards the lobby. Risking a quick glance at his phone, he centered the shot, catching both Strahd and the target’s face this time. The man across from Strahd was likely in his early twenties, with blonde hair that was long and thin like the rest of him. His facial features were sharp, eyes angled in a manner that suggested mischief. But he was watching Strahd innocently enough, hand under his chin in a leisurely position as he listened to the ridiculous yarn being spun before him.
“Sorry,” he said, smirking. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.” Strahd cleared his throat and, Rahadin assumed, his head, before continuing.
“So, there I was,” Strahd resumed, “backed into an alley with two thugs, defending this old woman from their assault. Oh, did I mention we were in an alley? At night? In a bad part of town? And I’m pretty sure these guys were on methamphetamines.”
“Wow, that’s dangerous!” The target cocked his head and half covered his mouth with his hand as he gasped. “You must be very brave.” Strahd nodded in agreement.
“Yes, of course I am,” he affirmed. “One has to be brave to serve two tours in front-line combat in the military. Which I have also done.”
“Wow…”
“Can I help you, sir?” The green aproned girl behind the register pulled Rahadin away from the encounter, asking for his order. He named something he didn’t recognize off the menu, paid her with Strahd’s overdue Mastercard, and quickly spun around to continue filming.
“And that’s how I escaped the POW camp,” Strahd finished saying by the time Rahadin got back to the conversation. The target was staring at him intently, nodding slowly, mouth hanging open in amazement.
“Ah, anyway, that’s enough about me,” Strahd said with a confident laugh. “I’d like to know more about you. What’s your name?”
“It’s Escher,” the target said, coyly holding out his hand in greeting. Strahd took it and gave it what he would call a “man’s handshake”. To Rahadin, this was merely a bad handshake. Escher didn’t seem phased by it at all, though. In fact, it almost seemed like he enjoyed it, allowing his hand to linger in Strahd’s for a moment, trailing his fingertips over the flesh of Strahd’s palm as he slowly pulled his hand back. Strahd appeared completely mesmerized by the touch until Escher asked him for his name.
“Strahd,” he answered simply, apparently in awe of himself and his conquest. An uncharacteristic silence overcame him as Escher watched on, eyes dream-like, lips turned up in a slight smile.
“I like you, Strahd,” he said, giggling again. Strahd had no response for this but to nod stupidly.
“I’ll tell you what,” he began, leaning in even closer, wooden chair legs scraping across the floor in little bursts until he was shoulder-to-shoulder with Strahd, who still seemed too shocked to do anything at all. “If you get me my favourite drink, I’ll let you take me on a date.”
“Ah, yes, um, of course!” Strahd said, seeming to collect himself at the prospect of a date. A date! Rahadin couldn’t remember the last time Strahd had been on a real, consensual, date - no stalking involved. Well, Rahadin couldn’t remember the last time he had been on a date either…
Escher prattled off what seemed like the most complicated Starbucks order Rahadin had ever heard, containing long strings of bizarre words that held no meaning to a normal human being, relaying the information exactly once in its entirety before he sent Strahd off to the order line. Rahadin heard his name called and grabbed his, well, whatever he had ordered, silently occupying a spot two tables away from Escher. Over the rim of his coffee, he watched the man: Escher eyed Strahd’s place in the queue with a devious smirk, his eyes wandering to the entrance, as if expecting someone’s imminent arrival, before landing square on Rahadin.
It must be a coincidence , he thought. Escher held his gaze, smiled wider. It must be. Rahadin sipped his too-hot coffee, trying to seem cool even though his tongue was burning. Escher’s eyes lit up with amusement as he watched the struggle. He can’t know . There’s no way…
“Hey,” a familiar voice grabbed Escher’s attention. Rahadin was about to breathe a sigh of relief until he realized who that voice belonged to; through the coffee steam before him, he witnessed a cruel twist of fate: Ireena’s brother was making his way to Escher’s table, Starbucks coffee cup in hand. Escher smiled warmly at him as he sat down in Strahd’s chair. Rahadin shifted in his seat uneasily, positioning his coffee cup just so to cover his face from their view.
“Morning, Ismark,” Escher greeted him with familiar ease, smiling in what Rahadin recognized was a much more honest way than he had with Strahd. Rahadin felt panic rise up through his gut as he realized what this was: Escher’s whole demeanor had been a ruse, a cruel trick played for cheap thrills.
Should I try to warn him? He thought, glancing over to see Strahd waiting for his order on the other side of the display fridge, unaware of the danger. A warning may save Strahd, but it would expose him . Did the wildlife videographer get out of his camouflage tent to face the tiger he stalked? The tiger who happened to have biceps that could likely crush a skull in the crook of his elbow if he flexed? No. He hid. And so Rahadin remained poorly obscured by his coffee cup, watching and waiting.
“Sorry, were you waiting long?” Ismark asked Escher, sliding the cup across the table and into Escher’s waiting hands. “I went to the wrong Starbucks again.” He scoffed at himself and Escher merely shrugged, raising the cup to his lips with both hands and taking a sip.
“Why’s your stuff on the floor?” Ismark asked, gesturing to the supplies Escher had dumped when Strahd asked for a seat. Escher nearly spit out his drink as he tried to stifle a laugh.
“Someone was sitting there,” he said, that same smirk plastered on his face. Ismark’s face wrinkled with confusion.
“Who?” Rahadin eyed Strahd approaching out of the corner of his eye, coffee cup in hand. Apparently, Ismark did too.
“You?!” Ismark rose from his chair, facing Strahd at his full height. Strahd balked and froze where he stood. Curious heads turned. Baristas stopped baristing.
“Oh, hello!” Strahd said, quaking voice betraying his fear. And his lisp. “What a pleasant surprise to run into you again so - ”
“This is the idiot that Ireena punched in the face,” Ismark explained. Escher burst into laughter and spit a portion of his ridiculous beverage onto the table.
“ This is the guy?!” He asked, wiping lukewarm coffee from his chin. “I thought he was just some asshole, but that’s even better.”
“What did he say to you?” Ismark asked, hands clenched into fists at his sides. Strahd noticed and quickly tried to intervene.
“Nothing!” He protested with a nervous laugh. “It was nothing. Just a friendly chat about this and that and - ”
“He was hitting on me,” Escher interrupted. “It was so sad, it was kind of funny, honestly. Not to mention he’s been following me for the past two weeks.”
“What?!” Ismark grabbed Strahd by the collar, bearing down on him with a ferocity that had been absent when Strahd had harassed his sister. Escher seemed important to Ismark; Ismark felt the need to protect Escher; Ismark was angry - very angry - that Escher was being hit on by someone; Ismark and Escher were probably… Rahadin swallowed hard behind his coffee cup, anticipating a violent outcome.
“Hey, come on!” Strahd begged, one hand still clutching the coffee he’d bought for Escher while the other tried in vain to wrench Ismark’s vice grip off his collar. “We’re all friends here, we can work this out!” Ismark glared at him and said nothing. Escher was calmly sipping his coffee, eyes narrowed in amusement.
“Look, is this a family thing?” Strahd ventured, panicked eyes darting between Escher and Ismark. “Is he your other sibling?”
“No,” Ismark growled. “He’s my boyfriend.”
A resounding gasp enveloped the lobby as Ismark slammed the unfractured side of Strahd’s jaw into the table, the crack of bone on wood sending a chill through all the patrons like being struck by a bolt of lightning. As he went down to the floor, the coffee cup Strahd held spilled onto his twice-ruined face, mingling with blood and saliva as it pooled onto the tile floor where he landed with a thud and a pained groan.
Ismark collected Escher on his arm and left without looking back. Escher stared transfixed at Strahd’s prone form as he was dragged from the shop, eyes and smile wide with a perverse excitement. None of the patrons moved to help.
Rahadin set down his coffee, nursed his burnt tongue against the cool roof of his mouth in contemplation. Fingers shaky from the adrenaline rush of violence, he stopped the recording with some disappointment. He should have known better than to think this could be the one.
Rahadin wondered if Strahd would be so eager to return to the game after this defeat. After all, the burns might add an extra layer of helplessness in his next attempt.