multiversallogs | Can You Imagine Us, Years From Today

Who: Ivan and Mitchell

What: Getting up to speed

Where: A cafe, probably in Mafaton

When: Backdated to a few hours after Mitchell's arrival

Notes: This may or may not go well.

Warnings: None so far, except for neither of them being at all a good person.

Ivan spent the hours that Mitchell was using to settle himself mainly in continuing his ongoing search for a new apartment. He'd set himself up in a temporary space, but since travel wasn't an option, he wanted some place comfortable to settle. (And some place that he could pay Njoki to ward properly.)

He wasn't precisely displeased to see Mitchell in Baedal, though it was strange, having someone from home arrive. In fact, however, Ivan was more disappointed than anything. Saving Mitchell had been impulsive, and he'd no guarantee he could have survived if he hadn't, but he'd still hoped Mitchell would have carried on with his second chance a bit longer than he had.

Perhaps the story would at least be entertaining. One could always hope.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Well, before you go trying to convert everyone, some of them die if they stop drinking blood," he says, a bit dry. "On the other hand, bagged and artificial works for some of them, too. Up until recently, as long as you didn't take from anyone unwilling and didn't snub your nose at the city's higher powers, you were generally left alone."

"That's... Huh." He doesn't know what to say to that. Convenient? Incredibly simple? Instead he moves the subject on. "What happened recently?"

"There's a political group, decided to run a campaign against our kind. Got a lot of the legit places closed down, turned public attention against us." He considers his coffee. "Those that could went into a sort of hibernation. The rest of us were left to manage. The city was handing out bagged since there was a shortage, and it got laced with something."

"I can't say it surprises me." The part about the political party, at least. In spite of his decision to try harder and go clean again, he's more than aware that there will always be humans who oppose even peaceful vampires.

"'Laced,' though. I didn't know there was a drug that could affect blood for us like that." Excuse him while he still thinks in terms from their world. Then again, it does conjure up an image of vampire roofies.

"I'm not sure what it was, if it was a drug the way you're thinking or something else." Ivan swirls his coffee. "It hit different people differently. For me..."

He smiles, somewhat distant, and for anyone who knows Ivan as much as Mitchell, more than somewhat dangerous. "You know that part of you that reminds you why it's a good idea to follow rules? That part was more or less switched off."

Though he doesn't say as much, Mitchell can guess it was a bloody evening. And he can also guess how dire the situation had gotten, if someone like Ivan deigned to touch bagged blood.

Mitchell can fully understand the implications. "God, that's... No one's trying to punish the vampires, are they? Is anything being done to the people that pulled this?"

"A lot of us got put down that night," he says, grimly. "But since? There's been bad feeling, but no systematic attempts to blame us. Nor much done in the way of tracking down those responsible."

He pulls out a cigarette. "I've been quietly looking into it."

"Understandable," he says, with a little nod, and not really knowing much else to say for the time being.

"There are still willing donors," he says, after a moment. "Not so many as there were, but some. Assuming you trust yourself not to drain them dry."

That is the ten million dollar question: does he? Mitchell avoids it entirely, replying with, "I'll figure something out."

What Baedel's open society means hasn't fully hit him yet. And then there are all those interesting moral quandries to wrestle with first.

"If I could behave in Bristol, I'm sure you can hold yourself together until something presents itself." In theory, it should be easier here, but Ivan suspects Mitchell never does anything the easy way on principle.

"I'll be fine." It's not like he's a toddler with low impulse control (are you sure about that, sir). "I just need to get my head around this place."

"It is quite the change." Understatement, thy name is Ivan.

"I think it can't surprise me, then you turn up."

"Don't sound disappointed." It's said jokingly and maybe the tiniest bit dryly, but he can understand the unexpectedness. It's not like Mitchell thought he would turn up here, either.

He takes a long drink of his coffee, now that it's past cooling down. "Although that's starting to sound like the bloody story of my life."

"It's the story of every life that's long enough, I suspect. Increasingly long periods of boredom with the very occasional surprise." He takes a drag on his cigarette.

"There's a doctor, of sorts, who specializes in our kind, here." Speaking of new and different. "Or the dead more generally."

"Not your average NHS practitioner, then. What's their name?" It sounds like something he should take a note of, at least.

"Njoki Rainmaker." He's not even kidding. "She's not quite human herself. Not dead, though." Ivan's not 100% what Njoki is, but she's been helpful to him.

He fishes out his CiD and saves a name in his memos. Or at least he starts-- "How do you spell the first part?"

He spells it. "If the pronunciation is tricky for you, she sometimes just goes by Ki to make it easier on English speakers."

"More for the sake of trying to look her up in whatever goes for the yellow pages around here." Then again, who actually uses a phone book any more. He ammends his statement with, "Or search function on this thing."

"Sounds like you've got things fairly sorted out here."

He makes a so so motion. "I'm used to finding my feet quickly. I'm not used to being unable to leave."

Can You Imagine Us, Years From Today

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