[ open ] left you with nothing, but they want some more

[greydawn]

Who: Nuray and OPEN
What: Nuray is the worst vampire.
Where: Anywhere in the city; Mafaton, Mog Hill and the Vault are specifically mentioned
When: Late Ceidary through early Shadri, any time between sunset and sunrise
Notes: If you want a specific threadstarter shout at me and I will make one! Also here are some outfits.
Warnings: Whampires are involved, so gore is likely.

The first thing Nuray does is take the cash and leave the Inn. She won't live anywhere that exposed, somewhere she doesn't trust, when she is more vulnerable than most while she sleeps. It's easy enough to find somewhere else to stay — it's not her preference, but beauty is a kind of tool. She needs more clothes, also.

The idea of getting a job is novel enough to be interesting, so she takes it seriously. She considers the options given to her during her consultation, but ultimately deigns to wander the city and see if anything catches her fancy. She talks to everyone she can on these little rambles of hers, asking many questions. Who they are, what their lives are like. What do they do, do they like it, how did they get started in it. She learns a lot of things this way, people tend to reveal more than they intend in the face of such good-natured curiosity — and her slightly alien nature which makes her feel a bit like every day is her first day among people. It's not, but neither is that entirely inaccurate.

Mafaton fascinates her. She does not for a second believe anyone here is naive enough to think the majority of the 'cruorvores' — a clumsy name, but less pretentious than 'kindred', really — get their sustenance from synthetics and volunteers. She also is not naive enough, herself, to assume she is the only one to have reached this conclusion. The fact that people are willing to overlook the monstrous nature of their citizens, knowing what they are doing and largely ignoring it, is — interesting. Hilarious, although she's not capable of that depth of amusement. The Camarilla were wrong, apparently. How precious they seem, in retrospect, to underestimate the depth of human apathy.

She spends a lot of time in Mafaton, accordingly, they do all seem to drift here whether intentionally or not, and her presence is noted. Nuray lets people come to certain conclusions about her species, because to hide such a thing is pointless. She does not deny it if asked, but neither does she announce it; she does not tell anyone what kind, or how old. She does not go to bars like Gutters. She does go to Bloody Sunday, which she is instantly charmed by; several nights a week she can be found there, trying different things she never had even while alive. She likes the "milkshakes".

In Mog Hill, she wanders into a store she knows nothing about and where she can't buy anything, chats with the owner for two hours, and somehow ends up coming behind the counter to try her hand at working there. She comes back the next night, as requested, and somehow this turns into a job. It pleases her. She gets to wear an apron — hers is shaped like a heart — and talk to all kinds of interesting people who are awake so late at night. A donut shop isn't a place she would dream of setting foot into back home, but here, she can and does.

Other times, she can be found often on the arm of a wealthy older socialite, an established and respected Baedalite citizen with a known thing for vampires. Sometimes, they go to the Vault.

Comments

[rhinemaid]

Strictly speaking, if you leave the house six hours before your appointment, you aren't actually leaving for your appointment, but for whatever it is that's going to occupy you in the six hours before you have to be there. While aware of this, Ilde is ignoring it as inconvenient; she's just making sure, extremely thoroughly, that she's not going to be late. She walks a while, illusions rendering her effectively invisible to the naked eye, until it's late-early enough that she can pretend she came out for a very early breakfast and not because the dream that doesn't fit her usual narrative made her feel alien and uncomfortable and she didn't want to still be sitting up awake with it in Ivan's apartment when he got back.

Leaning her purse against the counter, her extremely eloquent opening line: “Um, which of these don't have cream in them?”

[greydawn]

Nuray hops off the stool she's been perched on, newspaper rifling as she folds it neatly and sets it down. It's slow most nights, which suits her as she's still learning, and she finds ways to occupy her time in between customers.

Still, she's pleased to see someone and it shows on her face as she leans over the counter from behind, peering down at the trays of donuts. She has arranged them by colour and then shape into aesthetically pleasing patterns. "None of the ones with holes," she says after some examining, "and the ones without, all of them on this tray are jelly, not cream." When she looks up after that, she smiles rather gently, but pleased with herself; she knew nothing about donuts until yesterday, it being totally outside of her experience. Now she is practically an expert.

[rhinemaid]

Ilde scrutinizes both Nuray - a vampire? she thinks? in a donut shop, that feels a lot like the sort of surreal this morning has been already - and the selection on the trays, hesitating more over the important process of choosing donut than anything else. She points at some cinnamon-and-sugar covered donut holes, finally, “I'd like four of those little ones, and...a large orange juice.” A beat, because manners know no '4AM', “Please.”

Just because you don't have to say please for something you're paying for doesn't mean it isn't polite to do so anyway, or so she was told. Little things. People like it when you're polite to them.

[greydawn]

All tzimisce appreciate manners, it's one of their little quirks — or rather, all the ones who count, in Nuray's opinion. She smiles. "Of course." She busies herself fetching that, wondering idly, as she does, what it all tastes like — she'll never know, not really — and glancing curiously at Ilde on occasion. Her scent is — off. Not a bad off, just different. Hm.

"You're up early. Or is it late?" It's that hour where it could be either, although people who wake up at 4 AM don't tend to be so well-dressed.

[rhinemaid]

“Um-- early, for me,” she says, and speaking of being well-dressed the wallet that she digs out of her purse to pay for this is a little out of sync, being a Hello Kitty novelty she got for Catenrat. (Reactions to it: hilariously mixed.) “I came out for breakfast.”

It sounds slightly rehearsed, because it is, but she's pleasantly earnest, otherwise.

[greydawn]

Nuray looks obviously at what Ilde is wearing, then at her face, and then slowly raises her eyebrows. It's not judging, it's just sort of yes, I see.

To be fair, even in Baedal, a lot of places aren't open at this hour. And the donuts are pretty good. She's heard, anyway. And also to be fair, Nuray is dressed similarly incongruously, in a way that indicates either she's from a non-standard time period or she likes playing dress-up.

"Well, you picked an excellent establishment. Was that a good sales pitch? I'm new to this." She is maybe a little too into this role, it's kind of weird. "Three shekels."

[rhinemaid]

Ilde's own glance down at her outfit is slightly self-conscious, anyway, but that seems more like a response her own temperament is responsible for than Nuray. Whatever, she wears what she likes at more or less any hour, there's no reason to abruptly have a fit about it, except that she's more anxious generally than she'd like to appear, right now, and everything makes her curl her hands together and try not to act like a chihuahua.

“I think it was good,” she says, anyway, smiling - a bit tentatively - as she sorts out her money situation to pay. “I'm not usually in Mog Hill at this hour, so I was just sort of...well, whatever's open.”

[burnmythoughts]

Jean is exploring. She figures that's the best thing to do - get to know this place before she makes any solid decisions.

It's definitely different than other cities she's visited. It's not just the eclectic blend of architecture, or the silence on the streets, or the dense fog drifting in from the borders.

People don't have to pass for human here.

She's witnessed some sour looks, some rude comments, and it made her blood boil sure enough - but people still felt secure enough to be themselves. They didn't have to hide.

She ends up wandering late into the night, and only realises she's famished when she passes a donut shop.

Okay, so maybe it isn't the healthiest meal ever, but she's just been kidnapped by a magic city. She can indulge.

She smiles as she walks through the door, but she almost freezes at the sight of the woman at the counter.

Jean shakes her head, determined not to blurt out something like "wow, you're pretty" as she approaches. Since when did she turn into Bobby?

[greydawn]

Nuray looks up at the jingle of the door opening and smiles at the woman walking in. She has a gentle smile, but slightly uncertain, as if it's a gesture she's not entirely used to. "Hello," she says, hopping off the stool she's been sitting on and leaning against the counter from behind, her chin propped in her hand. "Can I help you?" She has a high, girlish voice in keeping with her general appearance, and her accent is something Middle Eastern — Turkish, specifically, although she doesn't expect people to recognise it.

[burnmythoughts]

Jean knows that smile. It's the kind Scott had, when she first joined the X-Men. Automatically, her expression softens.

"I'd like...um, I think I'd eat a plate at this point." She became far too used to rigid schedules or backpacks of energy bars.

"Do you have any favourites?"

[greydawn]

"No," Nuray says, giving the various trays of pastries a brief glance over. They look good and smell good, but she has no idea what they taste like beyond a very vague understanding of sweetness. "I don't eat," she adds after a moment, as an explanation — so, xenian then, probably, unless she doesn't mean it literally.

She taps her nails against the counter. "People seem to like the sprinkles, though. I like them, they're pretty."

[burnmythoughts]

Her eyes widen, just slightly. "Oh! Sorry, I shouldn't have assumed." Suddenly, though, she's grinning.

"Sprinkles it is." Jean points to a particularly colourful pastry before rummaging in her pockets. She really needs to get a wallet.

[greydawn]

"It's fine," Nuray says pleasantly. "It would be strange to assume otherwise, I think." She reaches under the counter to grab one, tucking a napkin around it and then a little paper bag before handing it over. It costs about a shekel. "What do they taste like?" Donuts in general, she probably means, although she recognises even as she asks it that asking anyone what something tastes like is a bit of a futile endeavour when it can't be compared to other food.

[incaptivity]

Hal is, as always, a creature of habit. Settling into new habits in Baedal has been a process, however, particularly since he's taken up a position as Martel's butler. He works as consistent a schedule as he can reasonably manage--go to work at particular time, down a particular path, work for a certain number of hours, and walk back to the Inn at the same time every day--which is not always as consistent as he would like. There are things that need doing, sometimes, and that's fine, he's fine, and anyway isn't it better to deal with a little stress and keep this job, versus the alternative?

And so he's running a little late today, which would have been fine had he not also run out of tea the preceding evening and needed to stop at the store as well. He hasn't the time now to go that far off his route (there is a particular store, a particular tea) and still make SMB2's seven o'clock broadcast. Not that he's particularly desperate to brush up on local politics, but his life is a kind of balancing act and that's a full hour to fill. Instead, he sees the sign for the donut shop around the corner and decides to stop in.

He gets just through the threshold before he realizes who it is at the counter.

Oh. Well.

It would be rude to turn right back around, although he would if he thought he needed to, but--fine, what's the harm in a brief transaction? She hadn't seemed so bad when last they spoke, and he does want that tea. His pace slows for a second, but he keeps on toward the counter.

"Hello again."

[greydawn]

It's getting late (well, early) and her shift is almost over, which is honestly a little disappointing; this endeavour is still fairly novel to her, and she still does not feel entirely comfortable sleeping somewhere she doesn't own. An apartment or house is high up on her list of priorities. She's considering staying awake during the day to browse around the network for leads — the modern age never fails to entertain her in that way, the image of lying buried in dirt in a coffin and scrolling through your Blackberry to check your Facebook — when the door jingles, she looks up, and blinks.

Oh — him, she remembers. Hal. The kindred-but-not-kindred, she has a better understanding of what that feels like, now, having immersed herself in Mafaton where most of the other cruorvores are not like her. (Then again, of those who are like her, they are still not like her. In many ways.) She still can't quite place him and she is loathe to start poking into people's heads without permission as it's quite rude, but it is awfully tempting.

Nuray smiles, doing her best to look relaxed, friendly, not frightening. "Hello, Hal, it's nice to see you again. What can I do for you?" The words as she says them are slightly awkward, foreign almost, like she has never been in any position to say them in her life and is slightly amused by doing so. She has the appearance of someone who is playing some elaborate game of make-believe.

[incaptivity]

It's an impression not unfamiliar to him, that certain awkwardness. He'd been flipping burgers before he came to Baedal, and it was always a bit surreal, like dressing a lion up in lambswool. The similarity strikes him as a little endearing, and his expression softens despite himself. (These are not things other people find endearing, probably.)

"Just a tea, please. Black, with a splash of cold water if you have it." ...He could stand to be friendlier than that, really. It's only polite. He shifts, then offers a bit of a smile and attempts: "You seem to be settling in."

[greydawn]

"They make it awfully easy, don't they? All kinds of services, and departments, and people to speak to." So it's a little ironic, sure, she clearly has opinions about bureaucracy, but she's also a little amused, too. When she turns, it's to fetch his tea, although she keeps talking as she moves. "It's quite a change, but I gather it's like this for everyone."

Then, side-eyeing the cup she's working on: "I should warn you, I have no idea if it's any good." Since she can't drink it... or anything else they sell here... or eat any of the food...

[incaptivity]

He nods to the side at the first part, rifling around in his pockets for his wallet. Of course, it wasn't very easy for him, infrastructure or no, but his situation is a little unique. (...He's picky, is the truth.)

"Not a tea drinker? Or–" He pauses, eyes slightly narrowed as he puts two and two together. ...Oh. "Sorry, is that usual for you? There's such a variety of –us here," skirting around the elephant in the room, "--and I'm afraid I haven't gotten out in the community much. Or at all."