multiversallogs | a million points of light ascending to the sky

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a million points of light ascending to the sky

Who: Bruce Wayne and Hasibe Ozcelik.
What: Bruce (not Tom - not yet) seeks out a friend, and hopes she remembers him.
Where: Hasi's apartment.
When: A few days after Bruce's arrival (~today).
Notes: Surprise, they have nexus history.
Warnings: ~~TBA?~~ References to BDSM.. immediately, welcome to these two.

It's not until Bruce is actually standing just outside the apartment door, hand poised to knock, that he thinks, What am I going to do if she doesn't remember?

There's no despair in that thought; he'd be regretful, sure, and he'd miss their friendship, but the question he asks himself is not an emotional one. It's a strategic one. He's found her address, walked all the way over here, watched to make sure it was her, went about his business for a day, come all the way back - and now he's standing outside her apartment door, near knocking, under the assumption that either she'll remember or she won't and this will be comforting or it'll be, well, fine. He's not letting himself inspect the emotional motivation behind wanting her to remember, wanting her to be the Hasi he knows. He hasn't seen her in a while, not since she was standing in on fundraisers with him, and he's pretty sure he owes her at least one birthday favor. It doesn't really matter if she remembers or not, except that if she doesn't, he looks significantly more like a crazy person right now, and he's already got a bit of a penchant for that to begin with. He doesn't need the help. He's perfectly okay with life and the universe if she doesn't, if no one does.

But he's already given one coffee shop barista the name Tom, and he's not sure how he feels about it.

It doesn't matter. (Yes it does.)

Maybe he just wants to know, all right. It's intelligence.

He knocks, and then leans back on the hallway railing, looking somewhere in between a man who doesn't really care where he is, and a trapped animal.

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She knows before she even opens the door. Bruce has a particular aura, unique even for a human, so when the door does swing open, there's less surprise in her eyes than he might have been anticipating. She regards him for a moment, taking in his expression (the trapped vibe doesn't escape her), and then she smiles at him in her familiarly flirtatious Hasibe fashion, the grin that suggests intimacy and rule-breaking and all kinds of good-bad-dangerous things.

"If you got yourself sent here to try to keep me out of trouble," she says, "you should have brought the rope."

...Hasibe Ozcelik, ladies and not-so-gentlemen.

Then she moves forward to give him a goddamn hug whether he likes it or not.

Oh.

Good.

It's another one of those weird moments where he doesn't recognize his own emotions until he's already midway through experiencing them, like some kind of empathic Doppler effect in his head; that void of apathy he's been drowning in for months now hasn't lifted here in this strange world (it's not Boston in the thirties, he'll live), but there's some spark that lights in him with her now. Not quite what it is when he heelturns to avoid Selina Kyle at a fundraiser, but then, he's not trying to rip this feeling out of his chest with prejudice.

His arms go around her, and he realizes he's relieved.

Half-muffled against the side of her head: "Tying you up's never kept you out of trouble anyway."

"No, but it's so much fun to try," she says, agreeably. When she steps back, it's to grab both of his hands, obviously delighted to see him. It strikes her that he's not someone who will take well to being locked down here, as though any of them are, but it's not something she's able to fix and mostly she's just happy someone who knows her past is around. Ilde knows her a bit, but Hasibe met Ilde when Ilde was a child, and Hasibe was an adult. The roles are different.

"Come on. Huan is here, he'll be so happy to see you." That's one way of putting it, yes. "When did you get here?"

Instead of making some quip in response he just smiles, slight and half-bruised like his always are, but she knows him well enough to know it's sincere. That Bruce lets her keep his hands (in the state they're always in), doesn't stand there and demand answers of her to prove her identity - of course it's her, tying her up, Jesus - displays in the smallest of degrees the kind of trust he gives her. (Not much, but then, compared to how much trust Bruce Wayne gives anyone, it says something.)

"Huan." Soft, with the implication of laughter that doesn't actually happen (yet). "I didn't bring a steak."

He goes with her, though, and squeezes one hand, putting into that little gesture how happy he is to see her. He'd have been happy to see her at home, his or hers, or in Stigmata, but this is something else. A tether, even worlds apart. He looks at her apartment instead of her.

"A few days ago."

Edited 2011-11-08 02:10 (UTC)

She switches the door closed behind him with a swift nudge from her (bare) foot, laughing at the remark about Huan. Who comes trundling in to eye Bruce like oh, it's you. In a way, Huan's sort of glad it's not a total stranger, and when he comes closer, he may even, get this, wag his tail a little.

"See, he missed you! You didn't need the steak. Do you want a drink or anything?"

Bruce sticks one hand out, even-paced and below Huan's eye level like any good individual who's been mauled by a dog before. Pat, pat. Yes, it's nice to see you too, Huan. (And it is. It wouldn't be Hasi without her giant beardog.)

"Water, I guess - I have a feeling this is just me reaping the benefits of being thrown by interdimensional kidnapping." He looks over at her.

"Are you okay?"

She had to know he was going to ask.

She busies herself in the kitchen acquiring water (for him) and a glass of wine (for her); this is at least a slight improvement when compared to her previous steady diet of all martinis all the time. Hasibe glances over her shoulder in the process, eyebrows half-raised at the question. She smiles, slightly.

"Yes. I've done this before--not the 'alternate dimension' bit, but starting over..." She shrugs. "It frightens me considerably less than it does others, I suspect."

Hasibe made herself up in the first place. She's a story she already knows by heart, and has no problems adjusting or retelling said story when necessary. "And you?"

At which point she turns to set down the glass. Huan, having completed his obligatory Bruce Inspection, suddenly flops over on his side, the weight of which being enough to send a faint tremor through the floorboards.

That they can say these things to each other (it's all fine, it's always fine), seeing but not addressing the screens and veils they speak through all the while, is what allows these exchanges to work. Bruce takes comfort in the fact that Hasibe is more fine now than she was, years ago, and that the concern and protectiveness he feels for her will never be the fear for others. They've already survived worse than each other.

So he believes her, even as he doesn't, because he knows she'll do about the same. (Or she'll wait and poke at him when he's got his shirt off, whichever.)

"It's already nicer than the last two places I've been stuck against my will," he says mildly, and takes the water glass with a nod of appreciation. No, he doesn't take well to being trapped, but he also doesn't panic very easily (...at all), so at least there's that.

"...third time is hopefully not the sticking charm," she says, after one of those dryly playful you secretive jerk looks of hers. Hasibe settles down to perch on the edge of the table, in lieu of a chair, her legs crossed at the knees. The wine glass she rests on top of her dominant knee, balanced by her power and the tip of her thumb.

The universe, mysteriously and miraculously, does not implode as a result of Hasibe implying someone else is secretive, however nonverbally.

"Are you staying at the Inn?"

Bruce tries to give her a look that telegraphs complete innocence, and promptly fails to accomplish anything like genuine innocence at all. "I'm willing to blame at least the elder god one on Enfys," he says, like he's talking about a flat tire and not a doomsday cult, and not for the first time, his thoughts brush up against the subject of his Slayer companion - and then go no further.

"No."

Of course he isn't, there are people there. Friendly ones. Who might want to talk to him, or heaven forbid, ask him his name.

Hasi heaves a sigh, as though it is a flat tire that he's somehow concocted on purpose. She gestures loosely at Bruce with her wine glass.

"Well, where are you staying? If you are evasive I will assume I need to abduct you for safe-keeping." There's a pause. "No elder gods invited. I have very good security in this apartment."

Theatrically (... for him, which, in normal human terms means very mildly), Bruce turns to look at the massive lump of fur sprawled out on the floor, and pauses for a moment as if he's mentally sizing up Huan vs Cthulhu.

Apparently satisfied with the battle in his head, he turns back.

"I'd walked out to the coastline," he says, and only the very well acquainted will catch the way his voice is starting to creep towards one of those evasive mumbles he's just been warned about, "Being.. used to that area and all." Drink of water! "I like Echomire."

He tries not to make the end go up like a question. Echomire is uninhabitable, Bruce.

Hasibe stares at him for a second, swirls her wine, and then says, with a certain decisiveness: "So you're crashing here for a bit, then."

Try to argue, Bruce. She smiles at him on the end, abrupt and bright.

"Huan agrees. Isn't that right, Huan?"

Huan thumps his tail on the floor.

There's a moment where he doesn't say anything but seems about to, like he might - not argue, but just flat out say no; he's not sure if he actually wants to tell her no, or if he's doing it out of habit, and that uncertainty stops him. Just because he's capable of living fully on the streets and getting by fine doesn't mean it's the most sensible thing to do, and inspecting it against Hasibe's offer means he has to admit to himself that he's been using the ethereal feel of drifting about the city as an excuse not to think about himself in context of being a citizen of Baedal. He's just been exploring.

Logically, he should find some place to actually sit down and gather his thoughts and center himself, versus wandering about and hoping he'll fall down a rabbit hole and end up back in the real world. He needs a plan, he needs something to do, whether it's work on getting out or - or what? It's not like him to be this scattered.

It's not like him to be quite this distant and unfocused within himself, either, and knowing Hasi, Bruce figures she's probably noticed by now, or is on the verge. So he reaches down inside himself and drags up any normal-acting bit of himself he can find, possibly kicking and screaming. (He's not doing it on purpose, this strange act, walking through a dark fog. But he's got good night vision. It'll sort itself out.)

"...If I can bring my golf clubs."

Edited 2011-11-08 10:02 (UTC)

Hasibe watches him through that moment, as it stretches out. She's concerned, despite knowing that Bruce doesn't need anyone to look out for him; their brands of toughness are quite different (Hasibe absorbs her own hurts, permitting them, feeding off them), but all the same, they're in a new place, and he is something of a tether to their backgrounds. And he is a little lost, though she doesn't quite know why.

But he relents, with that damned golf club line again, and she looks pleased even as she rolls her eyes. As he probably knew she would.

"Oh, please do--Huan could use the new chew toys."

"You know... he could probably get through a golf club." Bruce raises an eyebrow, just a bit, appraising. (Seriously though, for the record, getting mauled by a dog even half Huan's size really hurts. Yes he is going to harp on that in meta for all eternity... more than the human-inflicted injuries or elder gods, apparently.)

And then he settles into a more serious tone, watching her with a quiet look before trying a more fragile smile. "Thanks." Genuinely. He doesn't need charity, even without access to his Gotham City bank account, but - Hasi is his friend. He doesn't have many real ones.

Slowly, letting that settle, "I hope you need something fixed up, so I can contribute in return, because I can't exactly make you dinner..." Do Pop-Tarts even exist in Baedal?

She doesn't remotely think of it as charity--Bruce is one of her people, a closer one than most, despite the spaces between them due to her magic and their collective issues. She inclines her head just slightly at the thank you, her own smile transitioning from something soft and understanding to her flashier brightness, with a hint of teeth. (Which does mean her little fangs are showing, yes. In Hollywood she has a bit of pressure to get braces or have those filed down, her pointy sharp incisors, but she likes them.)

"Oh, I'll put you to work," she promises, "don't you worry about that."

Be concerned, Bruce.

(Bruce likes them, too. Don't tell anyone.)

"That's good." Soft, accepting; even if she's teasing him, he really doesn't want to freeload. A normal person might think there's something to this that goes beyond their loyalties into something like mutual comfort at the familiarity, but Bruce isn't normal, and he's not about to have that thought. It's better to skirt those sorts of ideas at a distance. He can ignore them that way.

"I'm worse when I'm bored."

Hasibe is much more cognizant of any emotional attachment--but she knows what she feels, and she doesn't need it affirmed. Having an emotional IQ of her calibre doesn't make her invulnerable, of course, but there are certain validations that seldom strike her as necessary. This can look like a lack of weakness, and sometimes she does in fact play it that way, but it's something else, truth be told.

"All men are. Have you ever known me to have a lack of things to do?" Her eyebrows raise, her tone shifting to something playfully meandering. "Let's see, I can break things just to make you fix 'em, drag you along when I go shopping, employ your expertise in my exciting adventures in espionage..."

Hasi trails off with a tiny shrug. See? So much!

Maybe they both need a reminder to not bet so hard on one hand, from time to time; her openness is good for him to be exposed to, anyway. Not that he comes around to it very often, but he does trust her, and he tries not to hurt her (could he, even?), so... there's that.

And even though he's muddled, he catches the way she moves her agenda about, there. "What are you going to break?"

Amazing how he manages to make that sound so much like Excuse you, Ms Ozcelik, what the heck are you up to already?

"Nothing valuable," she assures him, and then adds, "Unless it seems appropriate."

Hasibe downs a decent fourth of her wine glass's contents, and then, with the glass still in hand, rises. She sways her way over to Bruce's side, tone still as conversational as ever. "I don't think there's a city on earth that hasn't got problems, but this place? It has problems. You know I don't do well with sitting idly by."

"A concept not entirely foreign to me," says the man who is Batman, raising his eyebrows slightly at Hasibe.

"What should I know about?" - a bit less banter in his tone there, more seriousness. Presumably she should know better about tempting his work mode out from the shadows, but.

Edited 2011-11-10 09:24 (UTC)

In this case, she values keeping him appraised more than deterring that other side of him -- besides which, she always knows better, but that seldom stops Hasibe. She gives him a flippant little smile at the first bit before seamlessly transitioning to a more matter-of-fact mode herself.

"Did you hear about the blood frenzy? The contaminant?"

That other side of him is fairly useful, anyway.

"Yes."

Of course he has - and this is better, easier, than catching up and making half-flirtatious small-talk; he can do that, and happily do that with her, but he's still on unstable ground here. Being able to rack to focus is good for him.

He doesn't say anything else, but his expression is attentive. Go on.

"The people who did it are called Candlelighters. Anti-Xenian terrorists." She takes a breath before continuing, and that breath turns into an excuse to down the last remaining portion of her wine. She meanders back toward the counter tops to set it down.

"Their motivations are something we aren't clear on yet--it's obvious they did it partly out of a disdain for vampires, but I think there's more to it than that. It's too sloppy for people who have been considered a secret society that probably doesn't even really exist--like the Illuminati at home--for such a long time."

She turns around to lean her back against the ledge of the counter, continuing on with an evenness. There's no military crispness to her tone; it's like she's telling a story, as a performer, only the story is true. "Because I can pass for human if no one looks too close, I can sell myself to them as a witch. I'm staking out a mark to get near to."

Hasibe smiles, faintly. "I've always been good at this kind of thing."

Levering her sexuality? Yeah.

"Maybe they aren't a secret."

Terrible societies bent on destruction are something he knows about - very, very personally, though Hasi won't know anything about the League of Shadows. (How irritatingly timely, considering a conversation he had shortly before being yanked here.) But there's a difference between something genuinely covert and something that's just trying to gain momentum without being interrupted, aiming for something even more explosive. Does it matter in this setting? Perhaps. Perhaps not.

"Do you know what you're looking for?"

"Many things--their organizational structure, their authenticity, their whys. Specifically, I want to know what the use of this incident was." It bothers her on the level where Hasibe is so empathetic everything hurts, literally hurts; when she has her powers she can feel the world dying breathing living being born around her all the time, and with them, bound, well--

She still feels death. When she killed Hyde she felt him inside her in a way he couldn't have been for all his physical attempts (which were not inconsiderable). His death burst inside her like a dam overflowing. It's that way whenever she sees or feels anything die, and it aches indescribably.

Textbook for 'power of suck', this one. Hasi pulls herself up to perch on the edge of the counter. "It's covering something. Find that out, and we get to the real meat of the situation, the important bit. Not to denigrate what people went through, or the losses suffered, but there's something even uglier here."

He inclines his head; of course there's something uglier. There always is. People are alive here and where there's people, there's corruption, and hate. It's not the majority - it's been barely any time but already he knows Baedal is no Gotham - but such is the way of things, anywhere.

"Don't overwhelm yourself with what you look at," he tells her quietly. Batman may not be made for stealth, his own private monster not at all anything like subterfuge, but Bruce knows something about this sort of work. Mostly, he knows how every operative's biggest enemy is their own emotional state. "See everything, but keep what you focus on close."

Smaller goals and discoveries build bridges to larger ones. At the end of the day, good old fashioned detective work is what turns over mysteries, whether you're using science or magic to get there. Closer to the counter, now, Bruce looks at her, eyes on hers. "Remember that you've already chosen a side."

He can't do what she can; not with magic, not with her spirit, and not with the skills that are purely her, regardless of what her particular atoms are built out of. His advice will always be out of step for people who can manipulate and use hearts and souls - colder, more military and precise. But he worries, because he remembers her after Hyde, too.

It's good advice. What makes Hasibe terribly dangerous is her sincerity--she's beautiful in a way that really does stop traffic, but beautiful women aren't unheard of. The fact that she genuinely cares about others is much more seductive--she strips herself of what's problematic and turns herself into their canvas, the mirror that reflects what people want to see. Not all the time, but there's a surprisingly thin line between espionage and prostitution, and she's very, very good at providing a meaningful service in either.

All the same. That depth of emotion can catch her up. Her lips curve up at the edges, a touch wry, and she inclines her head.

"I will. I know I have to be on guard without looking like I'm on guard."

There's a pause.

"All I have to do is make the enemy fall in love with me." It's quasi-flippant, but that's what she does do in these situations. Emotion is much more binding than sex. Anyone can seduce with hormones and skin--she does, too--but feelings scare most people...people who aren't mad in her particular way.

"That's the easy part." Quiet, edged with a little teasing (in his own way). With something that might be wryness, he reflects that most everyone wants to fall in love with someone like Hasi; everyone but him, apparently, who prefers the sort of edges that cut.

These two people are very alike, sometimes.

"It gets less difficult, even when you're in deep, if you remember you're not acting on behalf of yourself."

It's a little bit of a concerning thing to have in common, but Hasibe appreciates the similarity; Bruce, she can trust, comprehends that sometimes you have to put yourself in danger. He offers her solid advice, and she knows he worries, but they get that they both just people who were born to get bruised, one way or another.

"Mmm. It reminds me of my old work. There's a lot of similarity between escorting and espionage." She wrinkles her nose at the thought, a little bit playful. "I don't think I'd tell MI-5 and the CIA that, of course."

There are no decisions quite like bad decisions, and though Bruce and Hasibe would be so much safer for each other than the world of options, well. It's not as if either of them are ever going to go down the safe path.

Having friends - real ones - does a good job of balancing it, at least.

"I'm sure they do a fair bit of it." Faintly amused. A beat, then- "I can't even find it in me to be surprised you're already doing this."

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a million points of light ascending to the sky

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