multiversallogs | 004 | CLOSED. i made it to the other side.

Entry tags:

004 | CLOSED. i made it to the other side.

Who: Hasibe Ozcelik & John Mitchell. Ivan, later on.
What: Hasi requests Mitchell's presence, and exploring Gallmarch.
Where: Gallmarch, possibly near Chimer.
When: Sukkardi, around three, probably.
Notes: N/A
Warnings: Sexuality with a D/s bent, discussion of Mitchell's vampirism, a little blood, violence.

Hasibe waits at the Chimer's End El station, legs crossed neatly (so the loops on her thigh-high stocking garters, curious little items that they are, stay on display), perched as she is on a bench just outside. She doesn't feel the cold in a pervasive, problematic way like other people who suffer things like 'hypothermia' and 'frostbite' might, but she does know when it's there, sometimes reacting to it like it bothers her anyway, and her sole concession to the weather is her long coat with its gold buttons, longer than her semi-sheer black skirt and semi-sheer white top. She wears it open, with no hat or gloves.

It's quiet out here today, but Chimer usually isn't a densely populated area, Gallmarch even less so. That's why she likes the idea of living there; it's in the city, but it's not in the absolute thick of things. Usually she stays tucked deeply into town, but more and more, she begins to think that it's better to have some of her own space.

For Huan, for guests, and for other things, too.

She smokes while she waits, ignoring any looks from the occasional passerby as though she doesn't see them at all; train stations are always full of strange men, but she's only waiting for one in particular today...and he's not strange in the sense of unfamiliarity.

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Mitchell has had enough time to get used to making his way around the city. So he is on time when he shows up, thank you madam.

Although unlike Hasibe, he makes more of a show of looking like he feels the cold and he's dressed in layered t-shirt, plaid shirt, wool winter coat and handwarmers (always). He also appears to be...healthier isn't the term, but something within him has certainly been eased.

It shows in the way he carries himself when he strolls up to the bench, hands in pockets and flashing a smile her way. "So. Where to?"

That change in him--as though a string is no longer pulled tight--is the first thing she observes. She smiles, rising to greet him. "Oh, everywhere. But I'll start with the rocks along Gallmarch; I want to look there first."

A part of her greeting involves a kiss on the cheek, although she knows, somewhere in the back of her thoughts, she has to be careful who she shows allegiance to while she is winding up Sandor. Gallmarch, perhaps due to its proximity to the sea and its inhabitants, at least does not have a great deal of anti-Xenian sentiment, and she can't quite make herself be anything less than warm.

"Hi, by the way," she says, with one of her little smiles that always seems to suggest both she and its target share some kind of secret. Her particular Hasibe brand of friendliness does not abate regardless of location.

At least Mitchell's particular brand of vampire is confusing for anyone who isn't more knowledgeable. Anyone outside the small circle who knows better thinks he's a regular guy, thanks to his façade of niceness (although that could change soon. Sorry, Penny).

"You'll have to show me the way. I've never been to this part." When Hasibe stands, his hand goes to the base of her back momentarily as she kisses his cheek. It's a brief and subtle show of intimacy. Not helped by the tiniest gleam in his eye, which matches her smile. "And hello yourself."

She tilts her head to the side to indicate the direction in which they are headed, turning on one heel (attached to a knee-high black suede leather boot, but at least those heels are lower than normal, bringing her already-tall self roughly equivalent with Mitchell's height). "It's not as popular as, say, Griss Twist or one of the other places in the heart of the city. I thought about looking for something out there, but I need more space for me and Huan."

It strikes her as prudent to warn Mitchell about Huan's territorial tendencies--it's one thing to meet in the Inn, it's another to have your hands on Huan's mistress. (That dog is ridiculous.)

"How did the remainder of your evening go at The Vault?" Her sidelong glance is teasing.

Edited 2011-11-26 18:22 (UTC)

"I've barely started to think about it." In between finding a steady job, he's managed to fund himself by answering the occasional advert for temporary work (furniture moving, some delivery work, etc) than subsist soley on his arrival money. An apartment doesn't even bear thinking about. Possibly subconscious on his part, because it means facing up to the fact that George and Annie will no longer be there.

At Hasibe's question, there's a screeching mental halt as he tries to figure out what that means. A little too casual, he replies, "Fine." How else would it have gone? Then, smoothing into something else, "Everything else was sort of dull by comparison."

You know what they say about where flattery gets you, Mitchell.

Her look at that is playful, because damn right it was dull by comparison, but the slightly forced nonchalance is curious, too. Hasibe knows they don't know each other very well, despite the worryingly automatic slide into physicality, so she supposes that he's not used to how she tends to zero in on things like that.

"'Fine', huh."

Up in the rapidly-approaching distance, she can see Gallmarch. There are smaller houses pocketed by green toward one area, further away from the beach, and then the beach itself is a lengthy expanse with a port in one corner, a sandy area that's more what one imagines an actual beach to be, and a long line of houses littered along the rocks, directly next to a sandier grove. The rocky area is what interests her the most, so that's where she's headed.

"I'm a little surprised you didn't find any other trouble to get into. We'll have to do better than that next time."

"All right." He stops in his tracks with a sharp, dramatic, inhalation, positive that the jig is up.

"Look, I got a little carried away with myself, and I know I shouldn't have because it's your work, but I just --I couldn't help myself." His hands fly out of his pockets, held up in a 'mea culpa' fashion.

"But you know, being the kind of club it is, I thought that it was what she was after" --hideous lies-- "but I realised I'd probably get carried away with myself, so I went to Gutters instead. There. Are you happy now?"

This will surely be interesting.

Hasibe wasn't, actually, expecting the confession, judging by the way her eyes widen and she stops in her tracks, too, looking at him at closer proximity. Part of what interests her about Mitchell is that he does tend to surprise her where no one else does; she knows people, regardless of species, in a way that she is seldom startled. She tilts her head to the side, making eye contact in her steady kind of way.

"I didn't actually know any of this until you told me, so you might want to dial the defensiveness down by about a thousand degrees; I'm not interrogating you." A pause. "Although I think I'm flattered by the implied assumption of my omniscience within the club."

Moving on.

She reaches out to take hold of one of his hands, as if dismissing the mea culpa--it's not like they're talking about him simply sleeping with some other girl just after Hasibe herself, though she probably wouldn't require as much for that, either. (She doesn't know how she'd feel about that, actually, and it's nothing she feels like examining at the moment, in a fascinating burst of internal hypocrisy.)

"But I'm glad you stopped, and I'm very glad you told me. I could tell something was up." Her smile is slight, a touch self-deprecating. "If you're going to lie to me, Mitchell, you have to be really, really good at it. It's best not to bother."

And that's it.

That's her reaction.

"Okay."

That was surprisingly anti-climactic. He holds his breath for a minute, waiting for something else to come. It doesn't. "Okay." That time spoken with a touch of relief.

He runs his free hand through his hair, feeling more than a little foolish about his reaction. Which means it's time to pretend that was a normal, everyday occurence. "Sorry, I'm ah. Used to the other...thing." Yes.

"It's been a strange past couple of weeks." As if he's not like this all the time.

Edited 2011-11-26 20:06 (UTC)

Her tone is wry, but, understanding: "You're used to very different cities. It's not that..."

She exhales, hands at her sides, a little one-shouldered shrug. As though she wouldn't react like that if they were in London, or Bristol, or Cardiff. It's not the city; it's her. "It's not that I'm cavalier about the idea of violence; just the opposite." Hard to be, when you internalize every death you witness, feeling it the way other people feel the wind. But at the same time, she always seeks out violent people while trying not to commit it herself. "And maybe I should be more afraid with you, I don't know. But I'm not. I've lived my whole life with the so-called supernatural from day one, and--I don't know, I'm just really glad you went to Gutters."

'With you,' not 'of you.'

There's an uncertain moment, and then she gives him a tiny nudge on her way to moving along the sidewalk again.

Edited 2011-11-26 20:16 (UTC)

The nudge is what he needs to actually start moving again and he trips after her in a daze. His hands are shoved into his pockets once more as he walks silently beside her, mildly morose.

"Well," he says, after a moment's thought, "I didn't want to show you up." He's grateful for your kindness in his own fucked up way, Hasibe.

(And he purposefully ignores the words that sound eerily familiar to him.)

"So. Looking for anything in particular? Front door, terrace, that sort of thing?" A week ago that may have sounded more strangled; not after recent events. The other matter gets brushed away in favour of getting on with things.

She lets the topic slide back into normalcy; there's only so much pushing she can do with him, but God, the man gives her whiplash sometimes with those moods. Hasibe tucks her hair behind her ear, poised as she always is, in public, despite the previous subject.

"I really don't know," she admits, "I just want room to breathe. I'm a bit old-fashioned, I guess. At home I was always so spoiled. I hadn't paid my own bills for about two years. Here I have to downsize a little bit...but I think that's a good thing; hardly anybody really knows who I am here."

There's a lot about that she finds freeing.

When they reach the walk to the cliff-speckled section of Gallmarch, she bites her lower lip a little, considering the huge house with an actual tower at the farthest ledge. It's clearly both out of her price range and presently uninhabited (with locks on the front door), but that doesn't mean she and Mitchell can't investigate, she decides.

"I usually just know what I want when I see it...and then I make sure get it." Explains some things, doesn't that. "C'mon, I want a look at that one."

"Lucky for some." It's said mildly and with fondness. After all, Mitchell could easily have pursued riches and ended up more than comfortable than he was in Bristol. The only thing stopping him was his own sense of penitence.

He takes a look at the house Hasibe is eyeing, noticing the locks and the implication (and it's double meaning.)

"Is that so?" There is a small, sly smile from him. Although in regards to the house, "Do you know if it's just locks protecting it?" He has no idea what sort of supernatural burglar alarms there are; the rest he can take care of easily. He may be over one-hundred-years-old, but that doesn't mean he's not willing to go to lengths to impress a girl. All the better to keep you enamoured, my dear.

It's so teenaged that the idea delights her--he's over one hundred years old, she's in her mid-twenties, and they both are supernatural monsters...breaking into a house to sight-see. Really, in so many ways, particularly compared to some of their other common activities, it's perfectly innocent, though whether it'll stay that way for long remains to be seen.

So she flashes him one of her million-kilowatt smiles, startled but pleased. "Just locks, yes."

Once they reach the house itself, she looks up at it, and then back at Mitchell.

"Think we can make it in there?"

It's never innocent for long when these two are involved.

He strides forward to rattle at the lock before throwing her a quick look and a smile of his own. "That depends. Do you want to be subtle about this or not?" In other words, do you dare him, Hasi? At least drinking blood puts physical strength in his favour again.

The house is hopefully distant enough that most people won't be able to see whether or not they're doing this the legal way. Or there's always finding a side window.

Edited 2011-11-26 22:34 (UTC)

She leans against the wall next to the door, amused by the sudden shift in mood--but the playfulness is nice, too, although she can't tell, as she told him before, what's entirely real with him just yet. That's what makes this so different.

"Surprise me," she suggests, "I want to see what you do. You're lucky we haven't got cars here, or I'd be tempted to sweet-talk you into trying for one of those next."

This is a joke. Mostly.

Except she absolutely is the kind of girl to find that charming, but there are no cars, thank God.

All right then. He clasps the lock and pulls the chain back until it's taut. And with a quick, superhuman reflex, loosens and pulls.

It's the speed that does it more than anything, but it does break, only to be casually deposited in a side bush. Something for the owners to find when they next come calling. Next, the door is yanked and pushed firmly and, not unsurprisingly, that opens, too.

Mitchell looks around deftly, then sticks a head around the door, and then looks back around again.

And then a hand reaches out to tug Hasi's arm and drag her in after him.

Edited 2011-11-26 22:55 (UTC)

There's something about the casual strength of it all that appeals to her. Some of her kind do have enhanced physical strength at home, but Hasibe isn't one of them; her balance, reflexes, and most of all flexibility are enhanced, as her speed to a lesser degree, but it's nothing like that. And she wonders if he would have done this before, if it's related at all to the change in him, but there's very little time to think before she's being hauled inside.

That gets a laugh, clear and bright. Since she's in the (massive, high-ceilinged) foyer by now, much closer to her companion, she tugs him closer by the shirtfront and expresses her approval not verbally, but with kissing. There's the tremble of that laughter in her when she moves, due to the quickness of it all.

...the door closes on its own, and she is unfazed.

One of Mitchell's eyes briefly opens when he hears the noise. Not that it surprises him; if anything he's encouraged. Hasi is edged backwards until she's pressed between wood and Mitchell.

Although he's not getting ahead of himself. After a moment he stops kissing, seemingly content with having her pinned against something else (no doubt this will be a recurring theme). His smile doesn't have the same intensity it did the night in the dressing room. More playful, less dangerous.

"You know eventually, I think I'm going to have a problem focusing on getting anything done."

She thinks in this case--maybe she wants to think that--both might be real. If that's true...she's missed that, being around a man who can be both at once, but it went so badly last time, even their current mostly physicality-driven level of intimacy scares her a bit...not his past as a murderer (apparently). However, Hasibe's response to that is to delve further in, to explore her own whys, and right now, that means pushing him a little further so that she can push herself.

"That's why I wore the little stocking garters," she tells him, sagely, unable to resist pressing up against him hard enough he can probably feel the edge of one of the steel loops on those leather garters. Especially when she twists, as though 'getting comfortable'. "If nothing else, I can keep you focused on those while we look around."

There is a considering pause, in which she pretends she isn't the least bit breathless. Hasibe: helping situations get approximately not at all less of a bad idea since 1985.

"And that's why I didn't bring the leash that came with them."

It's not quite a split personality in this instance. Even when Mitchell is refusing to drink blood and trying to be as self-righteously human as possible, he can flip from calm to volatile and back again without breaking a sweat. When he gives in, or when he breaks under the stress of denial, he simply becomes a more extreme version of himself.

The human pretense is the unnatural part. Or a memory of something he used to be that can become amplified. The calm he displays today is because you can't stay extreme all the time. Not if you want to survive (which he does).

"Oh, a leash..." There's an intrigued little smile as someone contemplates new possibilities. Then that violent fluidity surges in him for a moment, and he keeps her close to murmer in her ear, "To think I was going to do whatever I wanted to you right here, right now. It'll have to wait. But later on, I'm going to make you ache, beautiful. And you're going to like it." His lips press against her cheek, dragging slightly as he speaks. "I can tell."

He draws back, looking at her through his lashes for a long moment, before pulling away entirely. Hands are shoved in pockets and he turns to look around the foyer. "Although we should probably give this place a look over first."

Just like that, apparently.

It's watching the dance that fascinates her--she can't tell, yet, how conscious it is for him, if he only knows there are Bad Behaviors and Good Ones, but for her, the concepts are thoroughly blended, especially right now. When Mitchell speaks into her ear, her eyes close and her heartbeat begins to race, and she knows--knows--he can feel it, that it's a thing of distraction, even if they both know that the natural course of things can't be taken where Hasibe is concerned.

In a way, she supposes, there's a bit of fun masochism for both of them there in potential; the idea doesn't bother her. She doesn't blush because of embarrassment or shame, but there's a rush of blood to her cheeks, at her throat, a tinge of color. She meets his gaze with pale gold-green eyes, steady, but stripped, however temporarily, of the terrible poise she usually has, that sense of being perfectly in control of her behavior, of all interaction. It's necessary to be unflappable sometimes when you play as many social games as Hasi does, but with a word--ache--he's momentarily stripped away some of those defenses.

Especially when he steps away. That she's not used to, either. Her gaze slides to the floor, and she stays where she is against the wall for a moment longer, pressing fingertips briefly to her collarbones as though that will ease her heartbeat, and then fixing her hair a bit. Smoothing down the edges, pretending she wasn't rattled in a way she likes.

"You--" Are unpredictable, Mitchell, but she doesn't say that. She exhales, pleased to find it less ragged than she was anticipating, and pushes away from the wall. "--I never know what I'm going to get with you."

It's fun finding out, though. She puts her coat on a hook in the foyer, and moves past Mitchell, booted heels clicking on the wooden floors, short skirt swishing along with her walk. The house even feels abandoned, empty. Not even a spirit to haunt it, which strikes her as almost sad--an old place like this should have some kind of presence there.

"I want to look upstairs," she calls over her shoulder, "there's a tower, they always hide the good things in towers. I am fully expecting a torture chamber and maybe someplace to practice Satanism."

And the walk will give her time to reassemble her composure more completely.

He smiles in a way that's somewhere between cat-like and serpentine, immensely pleased that he managed to ruffle her feathers, although he bites at one thumb to stop it from showing. Hasibe is beautiful; Mitchell has seen plenty of pretty women over the years but she's one of those rare beauties that could launch a thousand ships and burn topless towers. And she's so poised, in a way that irritates him slightly.

In a way that makes him want to tear away at those smooth edges, leaving both of them raw and reeling on the--

Later. In the meantime, he laughs at her specifications for prime real estate. "I should have known." He, for one, is glad the place feels empty. Anything else would remind him of home when he'd rather focus on now.

He follows after her a little lazily, still enjoying himself too much.

Edited 2011-11-28 21:24 (UTC)

"Oh, and what does that mean?" Hasi demands, archly, as though she has no idea. At one of the stair landings, she stops to give him a little bit of a severe look, though it's tempered, somewhat, from what went on only a few moments earlier in the foyer. "I hope this isn't a witch stereotype, or I'll be deeply offended."

The stairway partitions off, here, to the rest of the house, and a smaller, snugger staircase that leads up to the top of the tower. That's the one she chooses, noticing the mural that goes along the ceiling of the staircase, done in a renaissance style. She stops (rather suddenly) halfway up the stairs to look at it, head tipped back, openly admiring. While she was only being half-serious about finding something interesting in this house, there are little signs scattered about that suggest to her maybe there actually is something secret here.

And Hasibe can never resist a good secret.

"You mean there's not going to be any dancing naked by moonlight?" he says with faux-surprise. "Well. I for one am disappointed."

He leans one arm out against the wall (in a way that's subconsciously reminiscent of stopping someone getting past him on the staircase, hideous creature, etc) wih a cocky smile. It's not completely unlike when he used to wind-up or joke around with George and Annie. "I was thinking more along the lines of you have an enjoyment of the darker things in life. Blood bars, vampires, you know."

He's a little oblivious of any secrets. As long as there's no immediate danger or threat, he's perfectly fine with keeping his attentions on Hasi.

Edited 2011-11-28 22:17 (UTC)

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