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?

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Hasibe orders herself something called a 'Silk Stocking', laughing a little at Penny's description. "Thank you! I appreciate your manicure's sacrifice to the cause."

She settles down into a seat at the bar, legs crossed and body language turned to the side so they're shown off; she is not oblivious to any looks she's getting--and, in fairness, after a while of being Hasibe, being stared at no longer registers as anything too noteworthy. "So they're talking about retaining you long-term, you know. And if you're inclined, I can push it over, make something happen."

(There are little marks on her collarbones, like bruises or bitemarks. Fresh.)

Dedication, or casual entertainment of any patrons that way inclined. Ilde, ever obliging, raises the hem higher and shifts so Penelope can see how the garter-belt is sitting on her waist.

"Black is good- cream and gold, sometimes something bright to pop, like this? The vintage feel, I like the high-waists and that shape, with the lace. A bodysuit, something I can mix and match casually like that? Tap pants and that across your arse cut- oh, I really like the long-line bras?" With her free hand, she gestures from her breasts down her rib-cage, illustratively. "I like silk a lot, and the nice diaphanous slips."

She's somehow not surprised, but the reaction is endearing. Hasibe gives Bruce a playful little nudge. "Well, we do have some very nice waitresses, I won't argue that. I mostly meant have you socialized."

At all.

Besides with Hasibe herself.

"Because I can introduce you..." It's more of a playful threat than anything serious.

"Make that two," he says when the barman comes over, then clarifies, "Bourbon and Cola." Or the closest approximation. The perils of ordering alcohol in a multi-dimensional city.

"It's a good attitude to have." And once again, the opinions of many people throughout the week linger in his mind. Want what you want. It's not like Mitchell really needs to be enabled much.

"Did you have anywhere particular in mind?" He's unsure about trying to feed in The Vault since it's Hasibe's workplace. ...yes, he's got no problem with making it look like he's about to have sex with someone in the company of someone he just had sex with, but wrecking their workplace is apparently crossing a line. Don't ask how his mind works.

There is, she observes, a little blood. That's something she'd have to keep an eye on, given the toxicity of her own.

"Some would," Hasibe concedes. "I'll try most anything once, but the fire-dancing has stuck. Raqs sharqi, the type of belly-dance I do, normally doesn't involve ropes or fire, but they tend to like the bondage element around here."

Candid, as per usual. Her tone becomes more confiding. "There's another game you can play here, though. One that doesn't involve any hooks--at least, only metaphorical ones. It's called 'spot the local politician.'"

Hasibe doesn't judge, and if she had her way, none of that would be a problem for anyone, but if those types of things get into the papers, there can be problems. She finds it a bit regressive, but the fallout is worth following.

"Yeah, I like the like, chiffon and silk type. Draping, elegant, classic, tasteful but modern silhouettes. I think I could do that, yeah. I've still got your measurements so I could work on that right away if you want."

Penelope suddenly needs a cigarette. Like, strongly. It is hard to be a designer and not be smoking. Why isn't she smoking. Argh.

A non-committal hum. Jules doesn't know what to do. If things with Em were different, if... Em hadn't shown her true colours (if Jules hadn't caved to Levi's torture) then she'd go back. In a heartbeat, she'd go back, and she'd have been fighting and tearing apart the city to get a way back.

But she believed Levi, which made Em a traitor, and made her alone; more alone than before, because now she wasn't simply a hybrid. She'd lost what it felt like, being treated as a human by someone who know what you were and didn't care. Her jaw clenches, mouth twisting with a bitterness no kind of optimism can gloss over. "That's a luxury I hope you can enjoy, then."

Harsh; unfair, really, but in this very second, she doesn't care.

"That'd be good, I think I'd like that. Steady wages, that's a mindfuck." She sips at her drink and ponders for a moment. "Man. And I didn't think I was any good at lingerie. You learn something new every day. I might actually get successful in this weird-ass city."

Penelope takes a deep breath and lets it out in a long huff. Maybe that's a little more than she had expected to happen, at least, quite so soon. But it is a smaller talent pool to draw from here, so it only makes sense. Maybe she was just about to have her fifteen minutes in Cloudcuckooland.

She shook her head a little and looked over at Hasi, a slightly wry little thunderstruck smile on her face. "So you've had some fun tonight." She inclines her head towards the general direction of Hasi's collarbone, there. Yes, dear, she still has no word filter.

"Was he a good father?" The most honored titles a Nietzschean can hold; husband and father. It was a necessary question. Too few people shared the ideal he was raised with. The right to carry on genes and philosophy too easily dismissed.

Though if Hasi was only there for a short while, he assumed the man wasn't an exceptional "husband".

She flashes Penny a smile, reassuring as much as it is understanding; while she hasn't attained the level of success she had at home, she knows how it can be something of a revelation, a lot to handle all at once. There's almost pressure in it, since now you have to keep succeeding.

"Not to be excessively egotistical, here, but with me wearing your clothes and your talent, Penny, you'll make Alexander McQueen look yesterday, I promise." It's less that Hasibe's extra-specially in love with herself and more that she knows she's becoming high profile, and that tends to set the trends. "And yes."

Her smile has not a trace of shame in it. "I told him that whenever he thinks of me tonight he should also think of the fact that I'm technically wearing him. I'm hoping it drives him half-mental by two AM."

This is why Hasibe should be forbidden to talk to vampires, really. Or anyone with predatory instincts.

Maybe it's odd, then - considering that interesting harshness - that Ilde smiles back at her, resting her elbow against the bar and sliding her little finger around the rim of her cocktail glass.

"We're going to salt and burn New York," she says, conversationally, in the most interestingly neat way; she lays out each word with thoughtful care, deliberate. "It's tainted. We don't get to be finished until it's gone."

She takes a sip, and adds, "But it's nice being able to buy couture again, in the meantime."

"Waitresses count."

He's not even drinking! He had a soda! They totally count. And yet somehow he feels this will not actually save him, so:

"One of your friends from the cohort. Red hair. Rachel."

Jules is swirling her drink around the glass, watching the rise and fall and little patterns in the amber liquid, that way it dips around the ice. The glass stops swirling, and after a few moment, she slowly turns to train her gaze on Em, expression somewhere between neutral, and the subtle dangerousness that seems to seep out when the monster takes hold.

"Tainted by what?"

Her question is crisp. Precise, to meet Ilde's neatness.

This is not a question she's ever been asked- partly because most people who wanted to know had met Emery and made their own minds up ('no, not really' is the accepted narrative there), and partly because she just doesn't know a lot of people who're inclined to ask. Maybe she gives him an honest answer just for the novelty of it.

"He wanted to be," she says, after a quiet pause, and that's the story of Emeric Featherstonehaugh's life, right there. Damned with faint praise, but always trying. "Daddy is an artist, though, and...that's just how he is." 'Artistic temperament' is not actually an excuse for Ilde's childhood. "He had his moments, though. Good moments, I mean."

Her tone is protective, almost; she sees herself as responsible for him far more than the other way around.

"There's a spot backstage that's pretty secluded. I mean it's loud, but that's good, right?"

Because god knows Penelope doesn't want anyone to know about this. The lack of preamble might be a hint as to how she's planning on pursuing this-- exactly the way she pursues basically all of her encounters with men. She doesn't want to know his name, doesn't want to be his friend, doesn't even want to remember what he looks like a couple hours from now. As simple as possible. Streamlined. That's a nice, non-slutty word. It's almost professional.

Yeah. That's what she is. A professional sex-haver-- oh god no that's not right at all. You know what, it doesn't matter. She is young and he is hot, the music is loud and the drinks are free. That is when magic happens. And she should know.

(If she feels any predatory vibes coming from his direction, she assumes they mean completely the opposite. She has no idea what she's just come on to.)

Ilde flicks one of her garter-straps before she lets her dress fall back into place, boosting back onto the barstool and crossing her knees with a smile that's eased into place with the help of the brandy in her cocktail. "That sounds perfect. And- yes, feminine but not fussy."

It may not be strictly necessary to utterly destroy everything left of New York, but Ilde's rarely (if ever) inclined to contradict Sonja's decisions on anything and if you had a bad break-up with the antichrist (or close enough) then you'd probably have strong feelings about thoroughness, too.

(And let's be honest; Ilde wasn't going to contradict a plan like that. She likes to burn shit down, it's kind of a thing.)

"Corrupted power," she says, almost blithely. "Not right. Feeding on what's left. Vampires are very low on our food chain, if that puts it into some context for you."

That is part of why she's so sanguine about fucking Ivan; the other part is 'Sonja', honestly.

"It gives me some idea, at least." A pause, and she isn't looking at Ilde, but she is extremely aware of her. "Don't you think there's anything worth saving?"

Still, that old hope. Whether it really was hope and faith or simply a lesson long-ingrained, she couldn't tell anymore. In either case, she just tosses back more of her drink. When in doubt, drown it out. A fine policy, to be sure.

And finally, she says something that she doesn't really believe; maybe it shows in how very flat and quiet it is. "Then again. Everybody needs to eat."

Penelope raises an eyebrow at the McQueen comment-- "How dare you. Blasphemy. You shut your filthy word-hole." The monotony of her tone betrays exactly how serious she isn't.

Note how she generously doesn't tell Hasi off for using the shortened form of her name. If she wasn't about to hook her up with a steady job and a shitload of income, Penelope may have said something. But. Needs must.

"Get you. Well it's your night, you should be enjoying it. But if I wake up tomorrow and some guy has gone mad with lust overnight and impregnated half the city with some kind of crazy sex magic, I'm laying it squarely at your feet."

Whether the policy is sound or not isn't really something Ilde would dispute - she can't drink enough to compare it for herself, she gets drunk quickly and it burns through her fast - but it is familiar. The fact she doesn't seem to register Jules' coping mechanism of choice is almost more telling of the environment she comes from than if she had taken note of it; somebody else's potential alcoholism is like background noise.

So: "Eating is one thing," she says, mildly - she's still watching Jules, but that's because that's how lipreading works. One day, someone's going to dramatically turn away from her mid-argument and the effect will be utterly ruined by her inability to follow anything said after that. "There's nothing in New York but corruption and prey. Sometimes they make it pretty."

Oh no, politicians. He nearly scoffs, but does start having a look around. "I can't turn down a good game. Let's see, someone not at all or to only moderately attractive, still gaining attention, well dressed, and not in a prominent area. I think there had to be at least three likely contestants back in the private rooms."

He folds his arms, propping one so that he can tug at his lip. He does judge. He judges openly as he scours the crowd.

"One in particular that you're looking for?"

"Sorry, every sacred cow gets slaughtered around here," she tells Penny, remorselessly--the nicknames are something she tends to give everyone regardless of who they are, so eventually it'll probably end up something else that has absolutely nothing to do with 'Penelope' at all. Like 'Fishnets'. A certain degree of irreverence is inherent in her personality, possibly because of her raising (Kurdish girl in a small town), possibly because being directly descended from the even-scarier even-older version of the Adversary will put certain things in your nature.

Either way, it's harmless.

The accusation gets a shrug, and a laugh. "In this city, would you be surprised if that weren't a weekly occurrence regardless of whatever goes on here in the club?"

There's a very normal seeming smile from Mitchell, while part of him calculates that backstage usually means exits are close by, that a place like this means that feeding in public is not unheard of, that if anything did go wrong--

Another part of him maintains that this if for sex, over and over, nothing more nothing less, this is a club for it for god's sake, it's not like he and Hasi agreed on any definitions or boundaries yet (like that makes any of this okay).

"Sounds good to me." The bartender brings their drinks over and he takes a good, long sip, trying to muster a placebo affect. At least for now, anyway.

Edited 2011-11-21 10:58 (UTC)

Deacon allows the group to list that way before lazily unfolding himself from his seat, pale fingers dancing along the back of it as he moves to follow. He falls into step not so far behind the shoulder of Ilde not taken up by her other vampiric companion for the evening, to point out, belatedly;

"By Gutters standards, you kind've already used it."

He was a good enough father to rouse his daughter's concern for him, whatever the case.

"Good intentions can be the source of unsuitable conclusions." Oh Rhade knows that better than he'd ever hope to in his life. "However he appears to do have at least given you the better parts of his DNA and ideals. I do think that counts for something."

Leave it to Rhade to get in a conversation about parents when he's surrounded by scantily clad clothing. Which he is not ignoring, noting the low cut of a dress worn by a woman that saunters out of the room he's next to.

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Page 9 of 16

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

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject