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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"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."

While Hasi stops to look, he rests against the picnic table. Not the most stable structure he's ever seen, but he doesn't know what to do with himself otherwise.

"What sort of things?" He's more concerned with that than anything else on topic.

"Public property means it's open to the militia. They can search and seize possessions or people there any time they want. This is a police state, and unlike America, it doesn't pretend to be anything else," she says, turning to look at Mitchell over her shoulder, though the rest of her faces the water. "Don't forget that."

She doesn't go on, though. Instead she returns her attention to the view.

"It's strange, I think....that I like the water better like this, when it's cold." She hugs her arms around herself, like she's cold, although she's really not. "Can I tell you something a little bit terrible?"

He smiles. "Britain has more CCTV cameras than any other country in the world and a lot of the people operating them don't show up on film." That should answer that.

Given the things they spoke of back at the house, he's not completely sure what 'terrible' constitutes. So he simply replies, "Sure."

That answer worries her, a little, although she decides not to pry into it right now; she knows he's smart or he wouldn't have made it 116 years, but she also knows he's volatile, and the militia could prey on that. She's silent for a second, and then retreats to lean, next to him, on the picnic table. Her tone when she speaks is actually wry, even nonchalant.

"I don't really miss home. At all. There are people I wouldn't mind seeing again, but..." Hasibe shrugs one shoulder, glancing over at Mitchell. "I don't really care that I'm here. That's fucked up, isn't it?"

It's not serious or even sad, just absent, and on the end of that inquiry, she half-smiles, a little self-deprecating. It's telling, she thinks, when it comes to how isolated her career and her own practices had made her. Or maybe she's just difficult to tether by nature.

"No." His arm goes around the other side of her waist, resting close to her on the table. Another gesture of comfort rather than intimacy. "In fact, I think I would have been the exact same a couple of years ago."

The escape from the Bristol vampire community would have been welcomed, even.

Since they are comfortably close in height, she rests her head on his shoulder. "I feel a little bad about it, but...it's that kind of thing where you feel guilty for not feeling guilty. And all the people who miss me only miss parts."

Everybody wants a piece of her, she knows that much--but only a piece.

"Besides, I brought my dog and a good pair of high heels. What else does a girl need?"

...only so much time can go by before she starts being silly again. Hasi stays where she is for a little bit longer, mostly because she does like the comfort of being companionably close this way, but soon enough, they've got a train back to her neighborhood to take.

Oh, he knows far too much about that sort of guilt. "Speaking of. I don't know if you've got a pet-sitter, but you might want to get back home soon."

Not that there's any alterior motives there (not completely). It's nice here, standing like this, and while things between them have so far been a mixture of heady psychosexual antics, it's good to know there's room for something else. The more time passes in this city, the more he begins to realise he can't be completely one thing anymore, and that he doesn't have to be.

"Huan is well-behaved and hasn't destroyed any furniture since he was only about a hundred pounds," she promises, solemnly, but she takes his point.

Besides which, he may only have a little in the way of ulterior motives, but she's been thinking off and on about what he said to her in the foyer of that first house. It's hard to get out of her mind, actually. She gives Mitchell a tiny nudge and abandons the picnic table, fetching her coat on the way. The beach is conveniently just in front of the train station, where the ride is, blessedly, not terribly long.

There is an elevator up to the fifth floor.

And Hasibe exists, so: "I always have to restrain myself from pushing the stop button."

“You do not like making things easy, do you?” No, no she doesn’t Mitchell. He’s back to that usual back-and-forth banter by this point, any residual despondence being lost along the way.

“Although...” He looks around the inside of the elevator for any signs of surveillance --not that he would show up, but things would still look incredibly odd-- before shaking his head to distract himself from the thought. No, they’ll make it to the front door. Although he’s becoming less and less sure about whether dinner will actually occur or not.

Hasibe isn’t actually aware he can’t show up on camera (vampires in her world can); she probably wouldn’t be inhibited from what she does next even if she did. She sidles closer to Mitchell, playful, unrepentant: “Although...?”

She does intend to cook at some point, but she has no problems making it later rather than sooner. “You talk about me not making things easy, you’re even worse, and I am very unused to that--unfinished sentences, earlier in the foyer of that house...”

That’s the least scolding tone in the world, mind you, but she wants him to know she’s still thinking about it.

Don’t mind him while he smirks a little. “You like it,” he says it in a sing-song manner. And he shows that he is completely fine with any sidling on Hasibe’s part by pressing himself closer, leaning in to murmur in her ear, “Do you want me to make good on what I said?”

In the meantime, his hands have secured themselves on either side of her waist. Just in case she should think about walking off like he did, if the elevator stops. Apparently only he’s allowed to do that.

She tips her head back a little (allowing access to her neck is a submission thing for her, and he probably remembers how she responded when he had his hand there in the dressing room--though she understands the temptation to bite may still be there, she also believes he knows better), shifting so they are hips-pressed-against-hips.

“You know I do. You saw what that did to me.” It’s more of a murmur than anything else. “But what do you want?”

Enticement for his answer comes in the form of her slight, effortless slide against him to create a small amount of friction between them. The elevator does, in fact, have a camera, though whether it actually works is anyone’s guess--sometimes these things are just a bluff.

The temptation to bite has lessened now that Mitchell has started to feed again (although the desire never goes away, not completely). For now he presses kisses to warm skin, one hand reaching down to hook a thumb through the metal loops on the garters that have been taunting him this whole time. He gives it a little tug, before unhooking and sliding his hand around the back of her thigh, pulling up, wanting her leg curled around him.

He pulls himself back, but not by much, lips almost touching to say, “You don’t remember what I told you before?” His hold tightens; his hips angle themselves for a better fit. A small reminder.

A side-effect of being what she is involves a baseline temperature that’s already two degrees above what is normal for humans--and that heat surges upward in her when he touches the garters---it’s like he’s touching skin somehow in her head, a sensation amplified when he actually does drag her thigh up. She hooks her leg around him, pressing back against the elevator wall for balance. When she rolls her hips upward, it’s with that challenging look she gave him in the kitchen of the beach house, the heady one that suggests no one else exists. It’s easier to accomplish when they’re in a small, enclosed space like this, too.

“I remember,” she says, unsteady, but anticipatory, too, “Believe me, I can’t get it out of my head.”

She kisses him, then, not long, but slow and sweet about it, in direct juxtaposition to the way her nails are digging in, just a little, to the back of his neck. When she speaks, it’s breathless. “I want you to leave marks again, Mitchell. The other ones faded.”

...and then the elevator dings, as it hits her floor, and the doors slide open. At least no one’s in the hallway.

Which is a good thing, considering he seems quite intent to pull her other leg around him and push her back and up against the wall. He’s not gentle about it, either. There’s a few further moments of breathless kissing before he pulls back. “--no.” His mouth presses against her cheek, thinking, then, “Your place.”

He lets her down again. “You said something about a leash.” As if that’s only just coming back to him (it’s not, he’s been thinking about it most of the way here).

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