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

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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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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)

She takes another step closer, very near in proximity but not quite touching--one of many mannerisms she demonstrates that are intended to tease, though it's not always wholly conscious on her part, either. Her smile is one she's pretending to try to fight, biting her lower lip.

"You are my very first vampire, as a matter of fact." Because the other vampires at home studiously avoided witches. "But I can see your point with the other things...and if there's any dancing naked by the moonlight, it's purely for recreational purposes, thank you."

And with that little remark, she heads back up for the tower.

"I do have something I need to tell you about, though. When it comes to my extracurricular activities. You know that anti-Xenian political journalist, Sandor Zendak? He's a little infamous, lately."

Her first vampire. He likes that thought, although he's not aware of the reasons why he does (or why he is).

He follows after her, searching his mind for any memory of the name. It rings a bell. "Yeah, I think I've seen him mentioned in the papers. What about him?"

At the top of the tower, she sidles over toward one of the large windows, leaning against the wall near it. The light filters through onto her face, but she's more focused on watching Mitchell's expression than the view.

"He's affiliated with the Candlelighters. They're the people who poisoned the blood supply." She hesitates. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner...I would have, but--it was important to be circumspect. Deacon knows, although I don't know if he knows about Sandor specifically."

Hasibe isn't sure how he'll take this next bit; he's responded to her intimations of history with sex work okay, but she's sleeping with someone who tried to help kill his kind in Baedal. Not out of desire, but she can understand how that might be viewed as something really unsettling.

And she doesn't want Mitchell to be upset with her.

"This is obviously not something we want spread around, but I trust you to be discreet with the information." Because it pertains to vampires like him, after all, and the slow, dismantling, thorough kind of revenge she prefers to take. "The group of people who've been investigating the Candlelighters were doing okay, but they needed someone on the inside...someone who could pass for human. And Sandor has very particular tastes when it comes to women, which I meet, so I've started seeing him--I seduced him, I suppose, although I let him think the opposite. So I want you to know that if you see things or hear things about me being with him, I'm only doing this to take him and his people down. Not because I'm overlooking anything they've done--just the opposite."

So...that's a lot of information. And now she has to hold her breath and wait to see how he responds.

She can probably notice a slow change in his facial expressions until, when she finally finishes, he stands there stoney-faced and calm trying to abate an anger that he can't fully explain.

There are circles in this city he doesn't understand yet. He remembers what Ivan told him about the Candlelighters; it bears a striking similarity to what led to his death, and afterwards when Mitchell had lost control and wreaked a bloody path through Bristol. Knowing that there's a similar threat here angers him.

And then there's a nag, a surge of something else at the thought of Hasibe sleeping with one of them. Continually. They've only known each other a short amount of time, they haven't put into words whatever this is yet, but God the thought infuriates him.

Finally, he settles on one thought: I will kill him. Which he promptly vocalises. "I'll fucking kill him." It's enunciated clearly, in a voice that tries to be calm but still trembles.

This is new, though not unexpected. These are people who have it out for Xenians everywhere, who punished crurovores trying their hardest to behave and follow the rules--the parallels are definitely there, and she changes her own expression into something solicitous. When confronted with a man, especially a man she's been intimate with, who has a certain amount of rage in him, her inclination is to to try to soothe it, and she's not bad at it, but she doesn't know how he'll react.

She does it anyway, crossing the room to put her hands on his shoulders, looking him in the eyes. "Mitchell--listen, I understand that, believe me, you aren't the only one." Not her, judging by her tone, because she lacks that killing instinct (especially one like Mitchell's, which is fairly inimitable), but certainly others in the know. "But I need to get everything I can from him. Information, whatever elset hey might be planning or hiding."

You know, first.

"What I'm going to do to him will help wreck not just his life, but their entire group." That he's bothered specifically by her liaison with Sandor doesn't occur to her; she's focused on the bigotry, which obviously does play a large component in things. "I promise he'll get his."

...and after she's done, whatever happens to Sandor Zendak happens.

He lets it soothe him --tries to, anyway. His eyes close and he takes a deep breath, doing his best to bite back the rage. Rage that wants to explode somewhere. Luckily he's practiced at this. Although if the house were furnished, something would be getting trashed by now.

Instead his hands clasp around her wrists, bringing them down from his shoulders. His grip is a little firmer than it should be.

But he drops them. "Fine." It comes out in a rushed, sigh of an exclamation. Although it bears noting he'll still hold to his previous statement if he gets a chance. Hasibe may be planning on wrecking Sandor's life but Mitchell is going to make sure he goes out with a whimper.

"Fine." The second time it's more steady. The anger is still there, though. It's always there but right now it's more present than ever.

She watches the look in his eyes, still for a few seconds. Not afraid, even though, as she noted, she probably should be; he promised he'd never try to kill her, and she can take anything else, or so she tells herself. That anger's not for her, as far as she knows, anyway. Still, although she knew that ripping off this band-aid was necessary (it would have been so much worse if he'd seen her, found out who Sandor was, and was left with only questions), she wishes she hadn't upset him.

'Upset him', she thinks to herself. Like that's really the phrase for the tidal wave of brutal rage she feels radiating from Mitchell even now.

"Come here," she says, tipping her face up to kiss him. It might seem like a strange gesture, but her manner is coaxing, as soothing as before, and offering, too: this is the dangerous part of the game, where she implicitly offers to take some of that rage onto herself, that he can work out some of that energy with her, even if it hurts her (especially then, since, as noted, she likes that). At least enough to take the edge off before they go back to hers. "I keep my promises, okay?"

It works; his first kiss is vague and distracted but the second is harsher, not unlike that night in the dressing room. His hands grip her, fingertips pressing into her the way she likes, the way that will leave tiny little bruises for her to wear. Part of him would wish for Sandor to see them and wonder and know that she isn't yours, if Mitchell were thinking more rationally.

And then there's pushing going on, directing her back towards the first hard surface he can find. He is not gentle.

"'Better." It breaks from the end of a kiss and sounds like something between appeasement and a threat. He's trying to temper himself (not quite winning, not quite losing) but looks at her as intensely as one could imagine with all that rage behind him.

Edited 2011-11-29 00:38 (UTC)

Hasibe makes a small sound against him, a little like a sigh and a little like urging for more--but if she starts that, she knows they'll never get out of here. Later, she tells herself, slipping both arms around him for one more embrace. This one's a bit less sexually driven than before, although she knows that the lines with them are often blurred already.

"Let's go look at the other place I had in mind," she suggests, "I don't want to waste time--and to be perfectly honest, I think we're just going to make each other insane if we stay here."

And she doesn't always trust her self-control with him, not like this.

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