multiversallogs | Growing In the Dark

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Growing In the Dark

Who: Ivan and Ilde
What: Checking in.
Where: Ivan's apartment.
When: Sometime around Sukkardi, give or take.
Notes: None so far.
Warnings: Ditto.

Ivan hasn't been answering his CiD for a few days. In part because, even with Njoki's remedy, his face still feels terrible. In part, however, he's been thinking a great deal. He'd laughed off the growing anti-vampire sentiment for a time, but now it was clear to him that more was going on than simply fear and prejudice. By the time he was well enough to leave his apartment regularly again, he wanted to have a plan in mind, and he had little time for keeping up to date with the Network beyond news postings.

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"What should?" He glances at her, not instantly following. "The luxury? Self-delusion is one of the primary comforts most humans have left, at home. I imagine the apocalypse put a damper on it, though."

"A bit." ...yes. "What makes their ignorance so precious? Yes, I think the luxury should be taken away."

Admittedly, her political philosophy can largely be summed up with 'burn it all down and start again'; there's not a lot of sympathy here for humanity en masse, as opposed to the individuals.

"It's not precious," he says, simply. "It was generally convenient." But then again, she wasn't looking at them as prey, generally, to his knowledge.

...certainly not as often. (It's not unheard of, but it's also not her default assessment.)

"Well, if we ordered the world on what's convenient for vampires, we would be living in a shitty dystopia novel." Or like that movie with Ethan Hawke that doesn't exist in Ilde's world and thus cannot be directly referenced. "It's not convenient for anyone else."

"Oh Christ, I hate to imagine that." It was the world Herrick wanted, which means it can't be good. "Still. I don't suppose it much matters, at the moment, as I'm not going back to mine and the luxury is already gone in yours."

"And it's a different thing, here." There are, presumably, some valid reasons for supernatural secrecy; Ilde's personal experience of said secrecy hasn't really made her receptive to even discussing them. Baedal itself seems oddly like a middle-ground between her experience and Ivan's, knowledge sans apocalypse, but it's no corresponding utopia. (Always a concept she's found a little unsettling, anyway.)

She leans sideways, briefly, to put out what's left of her cigarette. "I saw Hellsing agents tearing down posters."

"Did you?" He considered. "I suppose that makes some degree of sense. It was their turf, wasn't it? Policing the monsters."

"Something like that." At this point, she's flicking idly through her CiD as they talk, pausing when she comes to Réjean's broadcast. Shoving an elbow backwards into his thigh for his attention, she tilts the screen. "Hey."

He reads it with a frown. "Damage control," he observes, and hands it back.

Whether or not it's damage control that'll actually do any good remains to be seen, but instead of commenting she asks, "Torpor. Is that a thing you do?"

He shakes his head. "No. I won't say the Old Ones can't, they're canny as hell about what they do or don't do but - we can look dead, but it's not the same." It was basically a matter of choosing to be still and not pretending to breathe anymore. But you were still aware, and still felt hunger.

"Wrong flavour." ...of vampire. She does wonder how many of them can - and how many of those will. Réjean must be along the right lines, which gives her a frame of reference...but differentiating between them is a different concern entirely that doesn't have much to do with what's going on right now, offhand. She tabs through a few other posts, pausing- "There's one from the 'Concerned Citizens', as well."

"Let me take a look." He'd probably seen it, but he wants to make sure.

Passing the CiD off to him, Ilde slides a hand under the back of her neck and makes a face. "'Murder is not a lifestyle choice'. It's PETA-catchy."

She vaguely recalls PETA campaigns always making her want to buy a fur coat, and considers briefly that Ivan might be the equivalent.

"I wonder if people will start throwing red paint at us," he says, mild to cover how amused he isn't.

He hands her back her CiD. "It helps I can go in the daylight, but I'm not terribly good at pretending to be human. I might have to go to ground." Or go to Hellsing, if they were taking a stand against the movement.

The CiD goes back in her purse, carelessly almost, and she makes a face up at him from his lap. Seeing as how he's been killed twice before that she knows of, it doesn't seem unfair to be slightly concerned that third time might be the charm; she's getting accustomed to him, she wouldn't want him to be gone yet.

"What are you going to do, then?"

He touched the corner of her mouth with his thumb. "Careful, people will think you're getting attached."

Just for that, Ilde sinks her teeth into the skin between his thumb and forefinger; he did present it to her at such a convenient angle, after all. Licking away from her teeth the small amount of blood that wells, she says, "It's a fair question," in her most reasonable tone.

His expression catches when she bites him, though in nothing like displeasure. "If such a thing exists." He runs his finger along her jaw, lightly.

"I'm going to be as careful as I can for as long as I can. I don't have a better answer yet."

"All right. I'll make you copies of what we've got this week. It's in a box in my new room somewhere." She'll figure out which one and where when she gets home- they're newly moved in and she's been unpacking as she needs things, by and large. It had seemed important to have those papers, but they've largely sat untouched since making the duplicates and putting them away.

Maybe there's something useful in there. Maybe it's just pages and pages of bile that won't tell them anything but far too much about the inside of the mind of whoever wrote it.

"Try not to get maced again in the meantime," she suggests, 'helpfully', lifting her chin under his hand.

"I will take that under consideration." He kisses her; she's been in his lap awhile, and besides, he really does have no idea what to do next.

Ilde thinks, briefly, that in the future she should remember that biting him isn't conducive to conversations continuing for very long. Here and now, at least, there's not much else to say on that subject and she's disinclined to mind kissing him instead, sitting up and half-turning for an easier angle. Eventually, she'll do her own share of poking around, but that's later, and for now she's...also taking the opportunity to press her fingertips, curious, to the red marks where he was holy-maced.

The skin feels a bit tight, still, slick as if it's still healing. But he doesn't wince away from the touch. He bites at her lower lip enough to show he's noticed, but Ilde's been with him long enough to know that a bit of pain is far from a dealbreaker.

(Had she come a few days earlier, it might have been different.)

Her nails press in, contrarily, and she looks pleased with herself with they break, the hand she was leaning on behind her resting against his thigh for balance. "That feels like it was painful." For some reason, this doesn't sound exactly sympathetic.

"When it happened or just now?" he asks, wry. "It was," to both, though more the one than the other.

Growing In the Dark

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