multiversallogs | 003 | OPEN. red lipstick on the end of a cigarette.

003 | OPEN. red lipstick on the end of a cigarette.

Who: Hasibe Ozcelik, and OPEN.
What: A show premieres at The Vault.
Where: The Vault.
When: Evening til the wee hours of the morning.
Notes: I will set up sections in the comments for people to hang out.
Warnings: WELL IT'S AN ADULT CLUB, SO.

The show starts at nine o'clock, and the bar is full pretty quickly thereafter, but the variety in the club is pretty striking. Xenians in their best suits, non-Xenians in leather and ripped fishnets, everything in between. There doesn't seem to be a lot of cultural divide here between human and not, even given recent issues. Hasibe makes good on her promise to have members of her cohort given seating preference, as she's sweet-talked the cocktail dress-clad hostesses, and the bartenders (in their vague approximations of suits with very open shirts) are aware that she's invited a lot of heavy drinkers. ...she just assumes people in her cohort want to drink--they've been kidnapped to a strange city with many new things to offer, so why wouldn't they?

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"I think it's a function of age," Ivan says, dry, but moves to steady Ilde as he stands to greet Hasi. "It's nice to meet you."

"Finding anything you want to steal for yours?" Hasi inquires of Deacon, lightly; she doesn't think the club rivalries here are actually quite as fierce as in London, so she feels more comfortable discussing this playfully in Baedal than she would elsewhere. It's not as if this is a vampire bar, after all.

She greets Ilde more properly (now that Ilde is presumably stood in the quest of said steadiness) with kisses on the cheek, familiar and comfortable in the gesture.

"In the flesh, finally. I've heard a little about you." This is, probably unsurprisingly, for Ivan.

"Maybe."

He smiles at her like jackals do, and doesn't get out of his chair or anything in greeting; Deacon being perfectly comfortable where he is, more or less at a sprawl as much as a chair can allow. At least he wore a tie and everything.

Swinging up onto tip-toe for that greeting is slightly precarious in Ilde's wearing, but Ivan has a hand on her and caution is boring, so she does it anyway. "Ivan, Hasi, Hasi, Ivan," she says, almost dryly since at this point it's not properly necessary.

"I shudder to think what you've heard, between Ilde and Mitchell," Ivan says, "but it's a pleasure."

Anyone Ilde liked so much, he was inclined to find interesting, even beyond the reasons she might have caught his attention on her own merits.

While not usually her scene, Njoki felt that Ivan was right when mentioned that seeing Hasibe's show at the Vault might be a good night out among their cohort. To show her appreciation for his advice, she gave him a Tijuana Bible to round out his priest's costume.

Standing at the bar, with a drink in hand, and wearing a t-shirt with sleeves short enough to properly show off her scarification, Njoki looks comfortable watching the varied crowd go about their business.

Well, well. Isn't this a treat?

Jules is here because she said she would be, because Hasi is something of a friend, or at the very least, an acquaintance. She'd rather not fail to follow through. For all that, though, she's partly here because she saved visiting this particular bar until this night; it was strategy. That's why she's got an empty glass next to her, and being passed to her right this moment. She says "thank you," but it's quiet, barely audible over the sound of her sliding the glass over the counter towards herself.

Considering she's here for a friend-slash-acquaintance, she's being rather horribly un-social. Having the energy to bounce around and chatter is a bit challenging, at present, especially with whiskey-type something-or-other filtering into your bloodstream.

Ilde isn't doing much drinking tonight, but she's also not refraining (reasoning somewhat inappropriately that if Ivan wants an actual relationship with her then it's perfectly reasonable to add 'sometimes you have to carry me out of bars' to 'things that relationships entail') and so she slides in beside Jules to get the bartender's attention - which isn't too hard when she's letting the pearl-gleam of her skin show through the illusion, more. It's easier to get attention when you catch the light in motion.

Cocktail ordered - brandy alexander - she tilts her head and nudges Jules, personal space being for people who aren't within arms' length of Ilde. "Hello. We talked on the network, didn't we?"

Rachel's general objection and usual exhaustion with nightclubs falls along similar lines. She's a social creature by nature, needing that time to connect with people, but she does better one-on-one or in small groups. Intimacy, not crowds; a chance to get to know someone, not a random stranger hopping into her path. But moving through a club alone seems to suggest, to other people, that they must remedy your state of not-having-someone-at-your-side at once. It's tiresome.

She shakes his hand. "Hi, Tom. It's nice to meet you." Her tone, her smile, everything is full of easy warmth, even as worn and glad to be out of the crowds for a moment as she is right now.

His question surprises her; on the surface it's easy to think it's just idle conversation but the way it's worded seeks a deeper answer. She's impressed. She shrugs, and replies, "Mostly it was that Hasibe was so nice when I called her back. Also I've been really busy with stuff lately and thought I deserved a break. And I wanted to meet more people." She laughs, a little. "Just maybe not so many all at once."

A little surprised by the nudges, which seems a bit more pointed that the general bustle of a crowded bar, Jules glances over mid-sip. "Yeah. Yes, in fact, we absolutely did." She's tired, utterly weary, but she holds out her hand to shake out of some kind of hopeful habit. "Jules. You're..." Give her just a moment-- "Ilde? Is that right?"

Personal space isn't a great issue for Jules, but she has been just the slightest bit more tense, more cautious and nervous, since Levi came storming into her life and very skillfully took it apart. Her tensing is subtle, though; it's not like she hasn't settled into being in crowded bars, the last few nights. It makes this kind of thing fractionally easier. Alcohol and forced exposure, a recipe for numbing oneself if your name if Julia Grumley.

"It's nice to meet you in person."

"I'll be all right. I'm sure it's safe. Think of the lawsuits. They do have lawsuits here, right? It's a terrible place, they've got to. Besides, if it does fall on me, I know an excellent doctor."

He sits back and turns his attention to Angela, a slow, easy smile spreading across his lips as he offers her a hand. "I'm Jim. Jim Kirk."

He smiles without diverting his attention from the girl; it's not often someone gets the drop on him, and he's enjoying that.

"Scars, huh? Guess I could see that. Me, I'd think the best part would be the rush when the endorphins kick in." And now he turns, smiling up at her. "Hi."

Bruce doesn't really do idle conversation if he can help it; he's not acting like a pod person, tonight, and though Tom isn't quite who he really is (...whatever the hell that means), he's still able to converse how he might like to. (If he could figure that out halfway.)

That said, sometimes he seems lost, and sometimes he seems a little - intense, pointed, too-saturated, something. It goes back and forth, sometimes subtle and sometimes a bit jarring, and some people find it intriguing while others tend to be unnerved.

For now, thankfully, he's fine.

He smiles, which passes for a reciprocation of her greeting, and then moves to sit down, gesturing for her to do so first if she'd like, because he's got manners. (Unless they're already sitting and Bruce's typist is lacking in reading comprehension tonight, in which case ignore this.) "It is unusually busy tonight, so I've been told." There's a cocktail (and... assorted other services) menu stood up on the low table in the room, and he glances at it, doesn't pursue it. And, ah, now he recognizes Rachel from the cohort network; of course everyone he runs into is from that cohort. When's it going to be that masked woman? He puts it out of his mind, forcibly- "Hasibe's a friend of mine from home, actually, though I haven't been in here before."

"Ilde is right, with the e." Il-duh, almost, and since they're talking now she settles herself on a barstool beside Jules, easy and feline as you please. "My...boyfriend is a stupid word," she decides, after a moment, veering into tangent before she's even properly got halfway through a sentence. "Ivan, my vampire-" is that really better, "-I wanted him to meet a friend of mine from home who's performing here, Hasi. Did you see her in the show?"

There's a hint of pride when she talks about Hasi, not proprietary, just really glad to know someone she thinks is so talented, intelligent and beautiful. Look how cool she is, world.

"They probably have lawyers here," Angela says with a shrug. "A world without lawyers is just as bad as a world without lawyers."

She's not sure what kind of doctor would be willing to fix up a particular head injury without cracking up at the cause of it, but this is why Angela is an artist and not a doctor. Accepting his hand, she shakes it gently but not reluctantly.

"Angela Montenegro. So what's a nice boy like you doing in a place like this?" Leave it to her to turn the tables on their heads.

Just the barest hint of a smile, a bit worn, that at least she'd gotten that right. The dramatic shift in tone, though, and the somewhat sensitive nature of all things romantic make her blink for a moment, just to try and gather herself. Get a handle on things, breathe, and then carry on. "I... see." Of course, a vampire. Not shocking, given what Ilde had told her in their initial conversation, but it takes a moment for everything to sink in. When it does, at least then she can brighten her expression a bit more genuinely. "I did, actually. She was very good."

And very immune to fire. Hasi has given her no other sulfur slave vibes, not made her skin prickle with mere proximity, but all those things are so fresh that any comparison to a sulfur slave sparks thoughts that, no doubt, have lead to the many drinks she is currently throwing back. It all stacks up; being in Baedal is just a little much. "Actually, she's something of an acquaintance of mine, she was kind enough to show me around the city."

She stops trailing her fingertip around the glass' rim, and takes another sip. A generous sip.

Fret not, O Typist, they were not yet seated, so Rachel moves to do that now with murmured thanks and an appreciation for Bruce's good manners. The wine glass is first moved back to her right hand and then raised to her lips as she settles in.

"Is she?" She smiles, a bit sadly. "I never know whether to be happy or sad for people when other people they know turn up here. It's like--look, it sucks. Being dragged here, not being able to leave, all the crap that happens. But at the same time... at least you're not alone? I don't know."

"It's strange," he admits. Even stranger, actually, considering the very bizarre circumstances that have led Bruce and Hasi to be friends, but for now, he's fine with people thinking that he's from her world. "But I suppose there's some... larger interest, maybe comfort, in thinking that the universe isn't as isolated as we might worry."

Specs of dust in a vast galaxy, and all that. Maybe their little lives aren't so small.

Ivan is crashed into, gently, from behind, by a redhead bearing a glass of red wine. "Dammit," she mutters, and then she calls out a hearty "Jerk!" in the direction of the guy who elbowed her into this one. "I'm so sorry," she says, looking up at him.

...And then the collar around his neck registers, and she pastes on a wan, raised-Catholic, oh-crap-I-just-swore-in-front-of-a-priest little smile.

"Please forgive me."

Unless specifically told of a dress code, Tadhg tends to dress by whim for social occasions. Tonight he wound up in black jeans and a brocade vest (http://i3.photobucket.com/albums/y61/karihan/RP%20Whossits/20z-ornate-brocade-vest.jpg), sans shirt. His torcs gleam on his neck and left wrist, and he added a cuff-to-stud earring (http://i3.photobucket.com/albums/y61/karihan/RP%20Whossits/45724099.jpg) on his right ear. One of his usually-hidden tattoos is showing: a wide band around his right bicep made up of running, leaping and rearing horses.

Not spotting anyone he knows right off, he gravitates to the main stage first. His expression as he watches the dancers tends more toward thoughtful than titillated, though he applauds each performer enthusiastically. When Hasi takes the stage, his gaze grows downright intent, and one eyebrow arches.

He immediately smiles when he sees her, tucking his hands behind his back in his usual prim way and approaches. "Many things. I can't say I regret coming. I'm sure you've been told you're quite talented, but it bears repeating."

Again, a gift for the understatement. And the costume gets an appreciative look over. "You also wear the outfit well."

Fire's always been a little fascinating to Ilde, but in the same way that a long, harsh winter is fascinating to her; clean destruction, inasmuch as that isn't an oxymoron, and something new. (That sums up how she feels politically most of the time, too.) It caught her attention in the performance, regardless, but for very different reasons.

But that's not what she's thinking about, currently: "She's good with people," she says, in a blithe understatement of the case.

"A bit like saying matches are good at starting fires," Jules replies lightly, laughing quietly as she steadily works on her drink. That, at least, had been one positive of Baedal - talking to Hasi has been something of a refreshing change of pace.

"How do you know her?" Just quiet, curious, as she idly tears little strips off her napkin and arranges them in a haphazard pile.

She waves a hand as if to indicate 'so-so', but her grin says something else. Hasibe sidles over, exhaling smoke away from Raylan, up into the air.

"Aren't you cold out here all by yourself?"

"It was about six years ago now?" Ilde thinks for a moment, but- yes, that feels right, she was sixteen and she's nearly twenty-two now. "Daddy met her in London and they were seeing each other for a while," and while Emery was a relatively young father when Ilde arrived on the scene, not that young, "so when she was filming in Italy, she lived with us for a few months."

If anyone else was recounting 'the time my dad invited a twenty-two year old to live with us for a few months' might be a little awkward; from Ilde, it's more like 'Daddy's always had exceptional taste in women, and so that's my life'.

"It's been really lovely, seeing her again."

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003 | OPEN. red lipstick on the end of a cigarette.

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