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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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'.

"There was." He doesn't say anything for a while, wondering if he should go on with the full story. There's nothing there that she could use against him, or at least he doesn't think so, and while he's noticed Hasibe's slight, manipulative tendencies, he doesn't think there's anything nearly malicious about it as, say, Herrick or any other vampire. It's...nice, even, to be honest with someone.

So he powers on from before. "I did a bad thing. And it brought the older vampires after me. In exchange for cleaning up my mess, they wanted me to be their chained dog. So I asked George to kill me and he did." There's an odd sort of bluntness to it all.

"But now I'm here," and he looks back at Hasibe. "I'm beginning to think maybe that's okay. And if anything, I got the sort of send off I should have gotten the first time: surrounded by the people I love. So all in all, I feel like I've been blessed with more than I deserve."

She comes closer, now, but unlike their prior interactions, there's no undercurrent (well, no more than is the baseline that occurs between them without trying) of sexuality. Hasi touches his arm, comforting, maybe affirming--she told him before that this is another chance, though she doesn't know if it is the chance to 'be a good person' he thought it might have been. She's not sure he even thinks that anymore. It's something else.

"And now you're here," she echoes. "I'm glad you got those people with you the second time, then. Everyone deserves that."

Firmly put, that.

"We should cut across the beach to Chimer's End station before it gets dark...but you can talk to me, you know. About this, or anything."

He nods as way of thanks. There's always an odd feeling after you tell someone something personal, when the release of confession can make you feel less weighed down or horribly empty. In this instance it's a little of both. He hadn't meant to say that much, but being a volatile person works the same way with anger as it does with sadness --it pours itself out of him until it's gone completely or comes to some sort of finish.

He doesn't say anything until they're outside again. "I should start thinking about some more permanent arrangements of my own, soon."

The beach is cool and gray today, tides lapping idly at the sand. When they get about midway through, she stops, dropping her coat on an abandoned, rickety picnic table--it probably won't be a long stop, but she can't quite resist looking at the ocean in fall.

"You should," she says, wondering what his tastes in housing are like. "Everybody needs their own space...besides, I've heard things about the Inn. I'll help you look, if you want."

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