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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Normally she would be inclined to push that line of inquiry with Deacon, so it's probably better Ilde and Ivan are here to serve as a buffer. Which is really weird, when you think about it.

"Oh, you really have more to worry about with this one," she says, tilting her head toward Ilde, playful. "But I wanted to come by to say you should try the VIP room. I promise, I made all the necessary arrangements."

She likes spoiling people for no good reason; in her mind, the good reason is 'because they're people and they're standing still long enough.' It helps that she's fond of Ilde already.

"Oh!" Oh, well. Knowing someone here from before Baedal hadn't occurred to her, but... well, now she thought about it, she could recall Ilde saying something of the like. Or maybe it was someone else? Jules frowns at her drink for making her recall a little foggy. The who was not terribly significant; just that someone told her they knew people from before Baedal, in Baedal.

"That sounds lovely," she manages to tack on, although she is just faintly bemused. Then again, she can hardly talk. Concepts of social norms are a bit out the window, for her. The most pressing concern in their world likely shouldn't be who is seeing who, living with, and so on, but rather how to avoid being eaten.

Although, that didn't keep people from being terribly interested in that sort of thing; case study number one, her own mother. And then she's frowning, because Hasi surely can't be that much older than Ilde, and she's struggling to remember her conversation from the first time they met. "You did say something about time inconsistencies, didn't you?"

When she settles down next to him, finally, it's sitting on the stool there backwards, leaning her back against the stage edge. Hasibe tilts her head back a little, smiling.

"I can't say. Are you thinking about giving it a shot? Some people do the backs of their knees..."

"Thank you! I'm really glad you liked it--and that you could make it." She gives a little spin in her costume for his perusal, the sparkly fringed aspects of what is essentially glorified lingerie flaring out around her. Precariously high heels give her no trouble with balance.

"I'm not actually supposed to be spending so much time by these rooms--except I can't resist." She flashes a grin that's a touch on the impish side. "But you can explore whatever you like."

She's welcome to show all she likes. After all, it's not as if he didn't somehow manage to paint his own pants on somehow. And there is that decent amount of pectorals he's taking absolutely no shame in highlighting.

He just smiles his approval though.

"Were you looking for someone? Besides me, of course." Teasing had to work it's way in somehow. At some point.

After watching Jules trying to do the math through the alcohol for a few moments, not unkindly, Ilde says, "She's six years older than I am- I was sixteen. But I did say that; in my world, after that, there was an apocalypse. And in Hasi's, there wasn't. Everything in Italy was the same, but we diverged after that."

She makes it sound so normal, somehow; she needs it to sound normal, because that's the part of the story where it starts getting a little harder to deal with, and she just doesn't goddamn feel like letting it be hard. It's good that Hasi's here, no matter what did or didn't happen afterwards, and she's never been more pleased to see a cocktail arrive for her than just now.

"Hello." It starts out cheery and ends up in another place entirely. That's a very nice outfit you have there, madam.

He closes the door behind him with a soft push and leans on it, hands behind his back. "Thought I'd better come congratulate you on your performance."

At Hasibe's offer, Deacon tips a look to Ilde as he interjects with, "Pays to have friends in low places." Not that he is disparaging of such things.

For all intents and purposes, he is a friend in low places.

She straightens, lipstick freshly reapplied, and then there's a burst of energy--she's gamine, at times, despite being in her late twenties by now, and in her dressing room she can let the untouchable appearance fade a little. Hasibe slips her arms around Mitchell, because a lot of people she knows are getting hugged today without their prior permission, and when she withdraws back it's with a confessing air:

"I was really, really nervous; it was my first here and I haven't done stage work in forever--I'm so glad you came, though!"

There's a moment that follows where she settles, but it's not like she's forcing herself to--it's a natural thing, the faint pull of the tides. "Tonight is a madhouse, too."

"Does it? But you haven't given me a VIP pass yet." ...well, Deacon did walk into that, and hey! Now he, like Rodolphus and Réjean, knows the wondrous experience that is 'Ilde's unanimous declaration of friendship'. Giving these men a say in the matter never seems to occur to her, funnily enough.

She doesn't linger on it, though, instead grinning at Hasi over the idea she might be anything resembling a handful (Ivan probably feels differently on that than Ilde does)-- "That's up in the chandelier, isn't it? Can we go up now?" It sparkles, she's a fairy; the math on this one isn't hard, and she's more than comfortable being spoiled.

"Of course, yeah. You did mention that." Jules shakes her head, rubbing her temple for a second to try and massage some sense into her brain. Alcohol addlement is wonderful, save for when you want to be able to pick some sense out of things. That wasn't, unfortunately, likely to stop her in the near future.

Perhaps because Ilde makes it sound so normal, something to be taken as it is, Jules is more willing to just accept - even if she doesn't really understand the ins and outs, whys and hows and what on Earths that rather come with it. Just nod, smile, and accept. "It sounds fascinating."

And confusing, and topsy turvy, and, and and.

And then a few more things, too.

"I suppose my world had an apocalypse, too."

Now, she's either speaking about what happened before she was born, or she's being melodramatic about recent events. Maybe both, really, because she says it simply and then kind of scoffs quietly, just faintly disgusted with herself.

At some point when Ilde drifts off to say hello to someone, Mitchell swoops in to sit nearby Ivan. He is, unfortunately, dressed rather predictably in all black, smart but casual.

"Father forgive me, for I have sinned. It's been ninety-two years since my last confession."

Don't mind him.

Edited 2011-11-20 09:16 (UTC)

At some point during the evening, Mitchell will no doubt be at the bar drinking Jack Daniels and Coke because, even if he were inclinced to drink blood tonight (and he has been thoroughly tempted during his time in Baedal) it's bagged and unsuitable for his needs.

It's a subject upon which his ears should be burning.

For now, some pretty young woman sitting alone at a table is eyeing him and he's returning her glances every so often. The difference being that the quiet hunger about his gaze is something completely different to what she's thinking about. Probably, anyway. It's difficult to say in a place like this.

Not that he would, anyway. This place is too public, he'd be recognised as the last person seen with her, it's the workplace of a friend, etc, and then the moral reasons. All these factors drift across his mind as he stands there toying with the idea regardless.

He returns the hug, smiling assuredly once she withdraws. "You were fantastic. I can honestly say I've never seen something like that before, but I'm a bit of a beginner when it comes to watching magic acts. At least I'm assuming there was some sort of magic involved since you're not on fire."

That usual, nice persona freezes in place for a moment as he considers the crowd outside. "Yeah, I've bumped into a few familiar faces." Whatever that might mean.

Hasibe tilts her head a little, moving back a step further to acquire her dark green silk robe -- it isn't something she intends to tie, of course, but she slips it on and pulls her hair out from under the collar.

"It's part of the gift," she says, possibly regarding witchcraft, but she is significantly more interested in that lapse of persona. "Is that good or bad?"

"It makes it different, being here, doesn't it?" A city that feels like a city, she means; they don't have those any more where she's from, not really, and the strangest parts of Baedal for Ilde are the simplest, the fact of its ability to maintain some basic standard of normalcy. So the cabs are horse-drawn and the woman that does her nails has horns and there's a 'city network' - the point is that she can make an appointment and get in a cab and have her nails done. She pays bills, and she has a job, and that's so much weirder than politicking in vampire bars.

In fairness, Ilde is a little warped.

"You tell me," he says, fingers idly trailing along furniture as he makes his way away from the door and into the centre of the room. He looks at her askance, still smiling faintly, not quite one thing or the other.

That might be the understatement of the year, but Jules doesn't comment right away, just smiles a little bit at her drink. Jules hasn't gotten to discovering the world of nailcare, yet, or salons, or taking a cab when she could walk. Money is, itself, a bit of an awkward concept. She knows about it, but she's never used it day to day; barter or just outright theft and looting is more often the way, at home. Currency doesn't hold much value. She's been saving, and for now is just paying to stay at the Inn until she finds somewhere else - and marinating her liver, but, well. She needs the reprieve.

"'Different' is certainly one word for it. It feels like everything's been turned upside down, one way or another." A bit lighter than before, less of the jagged edges that touched her words otherwise. "This does seem like a better world than home, but part of me can't stand that I think that."

Surprisingly candid, perhaps; the wonders of alcohol strikes again.

By the time Deacon is headed Mitchell's way, he's looking to wind down. Like he'd excused himself before, being around excessive amounts of people of a different species makes him itch, with the caveat being that he is barred from eating any of them. At least while in the building. There's being arrogant and thirsty, and then there's being stupid.

Burgundy tie has been slid off from around his now opened collar, the strip of silk absently wound around his knuckles. Upon entering, slate-blue stare does not speculatively tick over the available wall of liquor or the wine racks. He does scope, instead, the occupants, including the lady that Mitchell is eyeing up, following her own glance to the other vampire himself.

Next to silently, he steps up on Mitchell's other side. "She's pretty."

The dressing room has the chair next to her vanity, a longer low-slung velvet sofa gilted with gold paneling, and a chair across from that. There's also a folding modesty screen to one side, ornately painted, but that's ignored for the time being. Hasibe sinks into the sofa, not quite reclining, but tucked up against the tall arm facing the wall. She rests her feet on the ground, tilted at something of an angle, and watches Mitchell.

The difference in his tone is beginning to more completely strike her, now.

"Not bad, thus far," she speculates. "Or you wouldn't be in here with me."

Deacon's presence doesn't startle Mitchell, but he does turn his head slightly to acknowledge the other vampire's presence. It's more for the sake of looking normal in front of the rest of the bar than anything.

"Yeah," he says, turning his focus back on the room at large. "And she's not shy about it either. She wouldn't come here, otherwise, but she's...I don't know. Not quite a tourist. New, maybe, the way she's been looking around. Trying to play cool." You can tell he's been considering these things for a while now, which says a lot about his current mental state.

He glances back in her direction while taking a drink, before asking, "Having a nice evening?" It's not unfriendly, but it is a little trite.

"That's true." He stops almost a little abruptly, fingers hovering in mid-air, then turns and slides into the seat across from the sofa.

He leans forward, elbows on thighs, fingers steepled together. If it gives the impression that he's on edge, it's because he is. His time in the city has been full of temptation, everyone telling him it's okay to be a certain way, you can even do it legally or just make sure you don't get caught. It doesn't take much these days to rub away the nice exterior and reveal the jagged edges.

"And I am in here with you." He wonders why that is, given everything Hasibe knows about him.

The Vault, it seems, is not immune to the age-old con of Just look like you know what you're doing, because Bruce is in no way one of Baedal's high rollers - but between exploiting his ability to manipulate body language and being kind to a few drink-carriers, he's managed to slip unbothered into the VIP lounge.

Though he didn't sit with the rest of the cohort during the show, and has largely kept to himself all night, deliberately avoiding familiar faces and keeping to the edges of crowds, Bruce isn't going to leave without saying hello to Hasibe. And this is where he happens to spot her when she's not already engaged with a half dozen other people. He appears at her side like he belongs there, leaning over to the bar to set down the empty glass he'd been carrying - soda, shut up - his other hand coming up to briefly touch the small of her back in a quick non-verbal hello.

Of course he showed up.

She tips her head back, mulling that statement over. The implications don't escape her--it's a question she imagines anyone would have, unless they knew her really well. Mitchell doesn't. Ilde might even be a bit surprised, but that's because Hasibe has disappeared further down the rabbit hole in six years than anyone might have imagined.

When she lifts her head again, she looks Mitchell in the eyes, like always.

"It's a little bit of a dangerous place to be, isn't it."

She could mean for her. Or she could mean for him.

Hasibe is somehow not surprised Bruce made his way up there--he may not be The Bruce Wayne in Baedal, but he knows how to use certain attitudes like currency. They have that in common. When she turns to him, she lights up, and immediately tosses both arms around him for a hug that is a) prolonged and b) probably slightly inappropriate, in addition to having the side effect of getting a little glitter on him.

It happens. With this girl.

"I was waiting to see you," she says, brightly, "oh, and you look all dressed the part--"

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

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/goes for it

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