multiversallogs | angels and moths

Who: Ilde Decima and Ivan

What: something stupid

Where: a flat in Mafaton

When: a couple nights after the missions in (let's say Veerdi?)

Notes: they make the best decisions

Warnings: Mention of past abuse. Will almost certainly include sex and blood-drinking, though likely not explicit. Also, Ivan may be drunk later.

Ivan found, after dying twice, that one's sense of caution was somewhat eroded. Not completely, of course - years of habit and innate temperament saw to that - but really, what was the worst that could happen? He was strong enough in nearly all cases to make it a matter of letting him walk away or killing him. If the latter... well, he wasn't suicidal, but he was curious. Maybe the afterlife would be city on city, like nesting dolls. Maybe it would be better, or worse. Maybe it would eventually be oblivion.

But in the meanwhile, he may as well take a few risks and enjoy himself.

He sat on the balcony, smoking, and waiting for Ilde to arrive.

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"So far." He looked up at the ceiling. "Wait long enough, and most everything is."

"Here, too, so I'm told." Ilde needed to spend less time with vampires, arguably.

"I'd be unsurprised." He glanced over at her. "I may get out, but I'm not going back where I came from. So I may as well adapt to wherever I find myself."

"Why not there?" Curiouser and curiouser.

He laughed, abrupt and still drunk. "I'm dead there. Well, again. Twice."

After a long moment, she suggested, "More dead," quietly, resting her palm on his chest where his heart wasn't beating.

"Extra dead." He rested his hand over hers. "I didn't expect there to be anything, but then there was this, and I'm still not sure what to do with it, but... here I am, regardless."

"You're drunk." An observation; she doubted he would've said these things to her if he hadn't been. It felt awkwardly like having taken a liberty she didn't intend to, though she supposed if she were as sorry as all that then she wouldn't have stayed as she was, studying him curiously.

"Yes," he agreed, looking at her, "but I expect I'll live. Christ, it's been decades since I was properly hungover, let's hope this isn't going to break that record."

On that note, rolling her eyes again, she leaned in to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. "Don't be a fucking baby."

He caught her for another, more lingering kiss. "I won't bitch to you about it, regardless."

"You just know I'm not sympathetic," she murmured, exhaling as she leaned back.

"I'd never presume to want you another way than how you come," he said, laughing. "And you'd give me no end of grief about it after."

"Also true." She tugged the sheet higher as she rolled over onto her back, and the covers with it as an afterthought; they'd made a proper mess of a well-made bed and the covers, in disarray, didn't line up quite. "That's just what you get for biting me."

"I told you I would, and I did leave your neck alone." He couldn't remember the last time he'd had sex without blood, in all honesty.

"I wasn't objecting, I was observing." Ilde made a lot of such 'observations', but Ivan had probably already noticed that, four conversations and counting. Or maybe this was five? They hadn't been talking, for a while there.

After a moment, she said, "It would not have occurred to me to use blood as a lubricant." You know, previously.

He laughed, rich. "It's not always practical." Unlike this time, when it certainly had been. "You are terribly appealing, did you know? It was very hard not to drink you dry."

"If you killed me, I would be gone and done," she pointed out, reasonably, reaching under the covers to adjust the sit of the bandage - it didn't bother her when she wasn't thinking about it, and then she did, and it started to itch. Stupid brain. "That seems wasteful." A curious perspective on her own death.

"It would be. Also, your Sonja would attempt to have my balls, which wouldn't be pleasant even if she didn't succeed." Though she hadn't been on his mind at the point when he'd been in danger of draining her.

Ilde rolled over into his lap, her teeth sinking into her lip briefly when it pulled the wrong way where he'd bit her and shifting until she was comfortable, to inform him, "Vampires are prey, to her. You would die."

...that would presumably have been what prompted her earlier question, and the cool certainty of how utterly fucked he'd be if he crossed them was just a little bit incongruous with making herself at home on his hips.

"You're not actively trying to get me killed a third time, are you? That seems excessive." On the other hand, he didn't seem terribly concerned. He shifted to accommodate her new position.

"I don't know you well enough to be that dedicated to killing you." After all, if the requirement for such a death was her own death, first, she could think of people who'd be more worth the hassle. (That wasn't, strictly speaking, a comforting way of looking at it.)

He reached up, tracing her lower lip with his finger. "Normal people just hire an assassin," he informed her.

Ilde paused. "I don't think that's actually something 'normal people' do, Ivan, no."

"Well, before getting themselves killed first." He grinned. "You're likely still right."

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