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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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.

"You make that sound like a bad thing." It's not exactly a sensible idea, either. And he can tell that she doesn't really want to. But he concedes, loosening his hold and moving back from her.

Things will no doubt get interesting later on. For now he runs a hand through his hair, trying to calm himself back to usual.

She just smiles her Mona Lisa smile in response to that, and wisely waits until they are securely out of the house (her coat folded over one arm, despite the chill) before she says anything else. The next house she wants to look at isn't far away, and has a stone foundation like the one they were just at, but the rest is in a slightly more modern French style, with bright shutters, a roof terrace, and a balcony in the front. Unlike the other place, it's having an open house, so there are probably other people inside, at least a couple, and thus more spectators.

To Mitchell, she says, idly: "You know I'll never say no to you--or maybe you don't know that, but for the record, I won't. So if you decide you really want something from me, just tell me how you want it and that you mean it, otherwise I'll brat at you. But there's a certain amount of fun to be had in heightening the tension. In denial."

He makes it into an art form, so it's probably not a foreign concept at all, but this is a different application.

He considers what she says carefully (and while he's not surprised, there is a brief moment of did I hear that right?) although his smile is somewhat devious. "So you like to be told." It's not a question and it may or may not have been exactly what Hasibe meant, but he enjoys teasing regardless. It might even look like harmless flirting to any outsider.

In the meantime, he vaguely admires her second, more realistic choice in apartment. After a some five minutes or so of introspection, he says, "I've never really had to think about it, to be honest. Most of the time I go with the, ah, heat of the moment." Like she hadn't guessed.

Hasibe just smiles at him in response to that first statement--it's true enough; while this is, as noted elsewhere, mostly about physicality right now, it's the type she can really sink into, and she values that release. Other things, things that have more to do with her social behaviors, she's customarily (though not always) less obedient about...if only because she knows that's a lot to ask of one person, and her independence is something to be used or discarded carefully.

"There's nothing wrong with that," she says, a little impish, "I haven't minded."

The second house is still pretty big, but nowhere near a manor--three or four bedrooms, not including the upstairs studio, high ceilings in the main parlor. When they're inside, she hears a couple of other voices upstairs, and assumes those are other visitors.

"Patience has its virtues, though...for example, I've gotten really good at begging. It'd the kind of thing you have to explore, you know. There's always something new out there you might like. That's why I never stop looking for more." She says this while meandering, terribly innocently, around the living room, idly examining the spiral staircase. "Do you see which way the kitchen is?"

Totally not incongruous at all.

"Probably towards the back." Yes, terribly innocent. Although Mitchell decides not to comment on making people beg. He's a little too good at that but for completely different reasons.

Mostly he trails after Hasibe, if somewhat absently. This is for her, not him, and the process was putting him in mind of flat hunts gone by. There's something a little wistful in the way he looks around the place. But it's gone as easily as it comes and in the next room, he breaks out of it and rests against the door-frame with a lazy smile.

"Sounds a little contradictory --practicing virtues, I mean. But I get the appeal." Of course he does. "I realise it doesn't seem like it..." Considering he's jumped her about five minutes into their past two interactions. Although don't let him give you the impression he's feeling sheepish about that, because he's not.

She bites her lip when she looks at Mitchell from under her eyelashes, stopping in front of one of the counters in the relatively large kitchen. It's another one of those steady, slightly challenging looks, and although she keeps her distance from Mitchell, it may not even matter.

(Hasibe has a gift for looking at people, particularly men, like they're the only person in the world she sees. It's intended to be a heady experience.)

"You like to get what you want. Everyone does, of course, but--I bet you're capable of being better at it than most." Even if those methods may sometimes be questionable. "So am I."

Extremely questionable. He's been been leaning with his hands behind his back and when Hasibe give him that look he subconciously grips the skirting.

"So I can see." He's not giving in. Not now, not yet. He wants to see what happens when he doesn't.

She makes a play for his attention, is what--it's a game, it's something she does on purpose and with perfect awareness, but nevertheless, it's part of the fun for her. Hasi sidles closer, fingertips on the edge of his collar, and smiles at him. She isn't touching him otherwise, but she's near enough that half an inch closer and she would be.

"Now we have to move onto the fun parts of house-exploring," she says, close enough to, "the personal rooms. Thus far, I'm feeling pretty good about this place."

She hears the voices of the other couple present (humans, professional, early thirties), but her eye contact doesn't break.

"We have company, sounds like. I promise not to be terrible in front of the innocents."

"I can behave." Can, not want to. He finds himself leaning slightly closer so that inch between them becomes a half inch, as though he's leaning in to kiss her. "So long as you do."

Not that it seems like a great idea to put the onus on Hasi.

"Oh, really."

Not at all, as he will see; her eyes flash, mischievous, and she closes in on that inch not to kiss him, but to bite. It's not deep enough to really hurt, but there's definitely a bit of a sting--she plays rough, as he has undoubtedly noticed, with a bit of a joyfulness to it (as with all things where she's concerned), like with him she finally has permission to.

She knows he can take it without saying she's too much, too rough, or at least she's hoping so. That's not always the case. And then she spirals away in a twirling arc that sends her short skirt flaring outward, laughing a little, altogether too pleased with herself, in order to confront their fellow visitors.

Shortly thereafter, Mitchell will hear her declare, brightly, to the other couple, accent a thick drawl: "And you would never even know they had that human sacrifice incident in the basement, would you?"

...so much for behaving. But she wants this damn house, and there are plenty of others in the area these two smart, clean-cut individuals in front of her can have--surely, she thinks, eying them critically, there are places closer to town.

She should probably not be allowed to speak to them. And should go upstairs already, like she said she would.

There's a small, choked hngh because that caught him by surprise, and then a laugh as she's whirling away. He looks amused as he rubs the spot, before following shortly after.

When he catches up, he makes a mental what but deadpans and follows her lead in the conversation. "Ah, that sad tale," he says, with a small affected sigh and sad, dark eyes (he's good at this). "I even heard they might have gotten away with it if the Sheriff's people hadn't found that hook. Poor souls."

He puts a hand on Hasibe's shoulder, as if they were any other couple looking for a place. They are respectable people (no).

Hasibe is a damn good actress for a lot of reasons, but the conspiring attitude here is making it hard for her to restrain her amusement, and thus she guides Mitchell past the slightly bewildered (skeptical, but disturbed) couple, toward the upstairs.

"Just don't look under the tiles in the basement," she says, solemnly, over her shoulder.

Once they are upstairs, she muffles her laughter behind her hand.

"You played along." Which pleases her. She looks through doors (study, master bedroom, steps to the studio, blah blah--and then she finds the bedroom with the fireplace and ensuite). "Do you usually play along, or am I just drawing it out of you?"

"I'm used to lying," he says, with a small conspiring smile. "Not to get a flat, mind you. More like keeping a normal cover over everything. Although not just for me," he makes a little side-to-side movement with his head. "George had a hard time keeping it together."

Not that you weren't without your hysterical moments, Mitchell. "Then again, I've had more practice."

For once, he doesn't sound overly sad as he talks about the people left in his own world. It's got the same detachedness to it as if he were talking about someone who had died, only it's the other way around and he's conscious of that.

But brushing that aside, "Besides, what were you saying about getting what you want earlier?"

"I can say a lot about that particular topic," she says, lightly, pacing the length of the bedroom--there's a big bay window at one side, she likes that. She leans by said window, glancing back at Mitchell.

"Who was George? Your roommate?"

"Yeah." His hands go in his pockets as he wanders over, "Yeah, my roommate. I think I mentioned to you he was a werewolf."

He stops on the opposite side of the window, almost mirroring her as he keeps his attention on the view. "That's why he didn't keep it together so well. Vampires are usually made for a reason and there's a community, of sorts." Community sticks a little when he says it. It gives a false impression of caring. "New recruits are shown the ropes."

"Whereas werewolves in my world are made by accident. They have no control over their change, or over their actions once they've changed. Anyone who becomes one is lucky they don't die although they might debate with you about 'luck.'" Now he looks a little sad, a little tired around the eyes. Although there's also a reservation; there's nothing he can do about it anymore. If anything he may have made things worse, but that doesn't stop him from caring about what happens next. And he does care. The monstrous thing about being a monster is that part of you can still care.

"They usually live quick, brutal, pain filled lives." He looks away from the window and towards Hasibe. "A short straw to draw for a bloke out for a stroll on his holidays."

So a werewolf and a vampire lived together. (And she doesn't even know about Annie, yet, a trickier subject in many ways.)

She listens, quiet, absorbing what he's saying--and reading between the lines. Hasi gets the impression that he misses this guy, but maybe he thinks it's better they're apart. The whys of that...she can speculate, she remembers what he said when they first met, but the specifics, she doesn't know.

"He must be a very strong person, then. Your friend the werewolf." To have survived at all, to keep going; she knows what it's like to want to give up, though she doesn't, if only because the alternative is worse with her. There will be no death for this girl, and not much by way of aging, because her body is the voluntary prison she needs. She tips her head back, watching Mitchell's expression.

"So it was you three living all together--you mentioned your girl, too, living there. In Wales?"

"Bristol, first. I stopped some other vampires from killing him. We became friends. Found him a job where I worked --better to cover for him. Then we got a flat together. Which was already occupied, by Annie." Oh, there's the sting. And his gaze shifts away from Hasibe for a moment as the beginnings of guilt start to creep back on him.

"We..." The difference between his frame of mind from then and now makes something anxious bubble inside him, before he finally (and firmly) decides on, "We were good for each other. He needed to feel like he belonged. I needed someone to focus on, to keep me on the wagon. And Annie was just so ecstatic to have people who could see her. The difference is they were always good people. And I'm not."

"But it was four at the end. George's girlfriend, Nina, there was --he was changing, and she got too close." He finally looks back to Hasi with the faintest of smiles. "They're going to have a baby." The disbelief in his voice is out of my friend with a baby than two werewolves having a baby. There's also a small hint of pride in the other man.

"Good for them," Hasibe says, but the aversion of his eyes, the way he won't look at her when that name is in his mouth--that's telling. It's okay, she tells herself, that he's not close to over this other girl, maybe won't ever be; it's been barely a few weeks, and God knows she's not over things that happened to her years ago. It's none of her business, it's not what she's there for. It just means she has to be careful with him. Just because he's a monster doesn't mean she can't damage him--damaging the monsters without even meaning to seems to be a skill of hers.

"I'm sorry you're separated from them now, Mitchell. I know there was probably a reason, but--I can tell you miss them, and that's what counts to me."

She doesn't address how he refers to himself as not being a good person. He knows what she thinks of 'good'.

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