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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Finished with one knot, Mitchell winds the leash around his fist with sharp tugs, before leaning over to plant a kiss then a soft bite on her thigh. “If you do, one of these goes around your wrists.” He moves back to tower over her once again, leg pulled with him. “And if you keep trying to move...”

His free hand, which has been trailing the back of that thigh, moves back sudden and sharp as if to deal a stinging blow --but stops, centimetres within touch. “Until you can’t.”

“So,” he says, mouth cruel around the edges, “are you going to make this easy or difficult?”

He’s honestly not sure which one he would prefer right now. That too-sharp part of him is close to the surface, and yet the thought of agonizingly drawing things out for both of them appeals to him in a way he can’t explain.

And it’s not like he’s never jumped on small excuses before.

The dilemma is not exactly a crucial one, but she feels entirely torn--on the one hand, she takes a certain pleasure in doing what she’s told, but on the other hand, what he’s proposing in return is hardly a deterrent. She bites her lip--hard, in fact, he can probably tell that she’s close to drawing blood, though she remembers herself a second later and lets go, staring up at Mitchell.

She remembers seeing his eyes black, in the dressing room, and although they aren’t like that now, she thinks this is similar enough that they may as well be.

When he nearly brought his hand down on the back of her thigh, there was a preemptive intake of breath from her that was more anticipatory than anything else. A lot of the men she knows are afraid to go there, afraid of hurting her, but she trusts this, and she wants that pain. To someone outside, it may not make a lot of sense, but for Hasibe, this confinement is freedom.

“I can be a good girl for you,” she says, softly, after a long pause. The words she chooses indicate she’s trying her hand at her usual innuendo-laden playfulness, but it doesn’t quite work this time, and ends up being more in line with trembling sincerity than anything else...and she doesn’t really mind. With less hesitation, she adds, “I’ll try.”

Eventually, she knows that she’ll give in and move, but at first...she’ll do her best. A little of column A, a little of column B.

“Good.” And he resumes what he was doing before, keeping a watchful eye in the meantime.

Later, thoroughly exhausted and completely spent, he reaches with one hand to begin loosening those knots (wrists, at least, because there had been inevitable movement --the rest is easy enough to slip out of). Then he falls back on the bed with a soft moan of exclamation.

It had definitely been worth the wait, worth drawing things out. With a peek towards Hasibe, he doesn’t wait for her reaction, simply moves forward with eager bliss to kiss her again.

(There’s a familiar, coppery taste with heat behind it, but it barely registers as he sinks back down into the mattress.)

She is mostly limp, next to him, though she’s instinctive when she kisses him back. Slowly, she draws her now-freed limbs back in, curling closer to Mitchell. Somewhere in the back of her mind she realizes she has blood in her mouth, but it doesn’t seem like a problem right now--everything feels soft and tilted at the edges from her descent into subspace, and she’s more focused on retaining her sense of warmth.

“I knew you’d like it,” she says, “taking me under.”

He certainly seems to have enjoyed it, anyway, but she’s curious as to what he thinks about the experience--having that level of power over someone is different from just domination. It goes way down deep psychologically. She always talks about it like a drowning, like she’s being held under the waves. It’s not inaccurate. Hasi reaches up to drag her fingertips over his shoulder, blithely affectionate.

In a moment, she’ll realize. Hopefully before the five or so minutes it takes for even a drop or two of her blood to take effect are up.

“That was...mm.” Apparently he’s not that great with words right now and opts to sling one arm around her shoulders, keeping her close.

Unreal, he thinks (although that word choice is strangely apt for what’s about to come next). Sensual in a way he’d never really known before. It’s--

No, not even thinking words is going to cut it right now. Only the aftermath of pleasure and aches from where Hasibe scratched and bit, and also tiredness. He could sleep like the dead, which gets one little internal ‘ha’ at the back of his mind.

“Kiss me again,” he says, face turning towards hers. If that doesn’t register, things are about to get very strange in a minute or so.

She grins, lazily, at his description, and moves to obey his request--but when she’s an inch or two away, her eyes widen, and she realizes what’s happened. She can taste her own blood in her mouth, and though it does no harm to Hasibe, anyone else who happens to ingest it--skin to skin contact is okay, that won’t do anything, but he kissed her earlier--

“You got my blood in your mouth,” she realizes with hushed, quiet horror. Hasibe sits bolt upright and tries to stand, next to the bed, but her legs are too weak from going under, and she ends up falling back to a seating position on the bed, realizing she’s still trembling a little with physical frailty. “Oh, fuck me, this is not good, I am so sorry--it probably hasn’t hit you yet, but believe me, it will--”

It can’t have been too much, she realizes, or he’d be in severe physical pain right now...but even a couple of drops are enough to put him on a trip for the rest of the night. If she can keep him doing anything too destructive to himself or anyone else until the morning.

Which, even with telekinesis, she doesn’t think she can do on her own. The next time she curses, it’s in Kurdish, not English, and that’s always a bad sign.

“What are...” A slow pulsing begins, although he thinks it’s from tiredness. He presses the heel of his hands to his eyes, like any normal person would trying to ward off a headache, but when he moves them away and blinks, the world stays blurry-distorted.

“What?” Obviously what she told him and what’s happening to him isn’t registering, if it ever does. Mitchell scoots back on the bed, eyes wide, pupils dilated as he watches reality shift around him.

His hands curl into fists and clench the sheets underneath him. “Hasi, I’m scared.” It’s not something big bad John would ever admit to; it sounds more like the pleading tone he took back on the first day she met him in the arrival room.

Which means his other side is going to come up roaring soon enough.

Hasi half-kneels with one knee on the edge of the bed, and takes his face in her hands, sincere, earnest, hoping what she's saying penetrates through the fog settling in on him now: "Listen to me. It's going to be okay. You've seen people take acid before, right? Just...imagine that, but on overdrive."

It's like someone mixed PCP and acid in a hideous chemistry vat, a little.

She reaches down to fetch his boxers and jeans, tossing them up on the bed. “Try to get these on for me, okay? I’m going to get someone who can help us.”

Sort of. He better.

Next, she finds her robe (one of them, this one Carine Gilson in origin, soft silk, gunmetal-gray and edged with black lace) and shrugs it on, cinching it at the waist. Her phone should be in her bag, which is somewhere in the hallway.

Mitchell moves as if on auto-pilot, managing to get those items on and untangle his plaid shirt from where it was tossed nearby --although only the one sleeve goes on.

Somewhere in his mind, he decides that the bed is too much of an open space and scrambles into a corner of the room. The distortion and the effects of the blood are starting to get too much.

"What is--why is this happening to me?" Even in this addled state, his mind wanders back to ideas of guilt and punishment. Then again, something like this only exacerbates what's already there.

"It's not your fault, honey, I swear. It's just like a drug," she says, making her tone as reassuring as possible--right now he's bewildered, once he sinks into the trip...she doesn't know how he'll be. It's dangerous enough to have something like that in your system when you're mortal and may only have a few instincts to control, dominate, destroy--but for a vampire?

That's why she picks up the communicator, cradling it to her ear and calling Ivan.

"Hi, I realize I am probably the last person you expected to be calling you, but I really need your help."

Maybe she's not the last person he'd expect, but she isn't one of the first. From her tone, he takes his cue not to be glib. And, knowing their mutual acquaintance pool, he might be forgiven for his first question: "Did something happen to Ilde?"

"No, no. It's Mitchell." She glances over her shoulder, worried, and exhales. "He got a little of my blood in his mouth--not on purpose, he didn't bite me, and it's not enough to really hurt him, but the effects are--"

Hasi hesitates.

"Have you ever seen what PCP does to a human?"

People tripping on PCP sometimes try to cannibalize their loved ones. With a vampire...

"Yes. Alright. Where are you now? Is there anyone else there with you?" He's already getting his coat. If they were at home, he'd find Mitchell drugged into savagery relatively amusing. Here, there were balances that could be upset.

Besides, Hasibe has been identified as someone Ilde cares about, and that means Ivan cares slightly more than he would about her throat being ripped out, if it comes to that. (Maybe she's strong enough she's not in danger, but he won't bet her life on it.)

"Just Mitchell. I'll send you directions--" There's a moment where she fusses with the CiD to do just that. "I don't know how this will affect him--your type of vampire is very different from the one at home, and...I don't know. It'll prey on his instincts."

She takes a moment to calm herself down--her voice is mostly even, but her expression is much more worried than she wants to portray herself.

"I'll see you soon?"

"I'm coming now, yes. If you need to get yourself somewhere safe, do it while you can. If he's fed recently he'll be strong, and if not, he'll want to fix that, almost certainly." Ivan doesn't know how it will affect him either, but as repressed as Mitchell generally is, he feels it's a safe guess.

"I had a feeling--as noted, my blood isn't...really edible, but--" She tends to bring out other instincts in Mitchell, and she doesn't know if he'd hurt her. "I'll leave the front door unlocked, and I'll be here when you arrive."

"Alright. I'll be there as quick as I can."

He doesn't leave Ilde a note, but he's often gone without an explanation. He doesn't think he is going to be in substantial danger of much except being stuck babysitting.

Once she's hung up, Hasibe closes her eyes for a second, and then turns to head back to the bedroom, where she can check on Mitchell. She is feeling more concerned for him than anything else; trips are scary enough on their own, but when you didn't sign up, you have no time to anticipate what might be coming. She's not even sure her reassurances are something he can truly hear right now.

There's the sound of something being picked up and hurled against the wall --a lamp, given the sound-- and something being overturned. Mitchell has definitely crossed from paranoid into the unhappy camper stage. And unfortunately for everyone, Mitchell has fed recently. Which means minor property damage isn't going to be the only thing satisfying him soon.

Hasibe weighs her options here, after hearing that crash. She could stay away from him, as Ivan suggested, or she could make sure he doesn't go anywhere--an experience that would be worse for the general population. She stops in the kitchen and picks up a handful of salt, rolling it over her fingertips. When she reaches her bedroom door again, trails the salt across its threshold--there's a faint flare of something, like almost-smoke but not quite visible, but little else.

She can get past, but no one else can. She'll have to undo that when Ivan turns up. Hasi stays just past the doorway, watching him.

"Mitchell."

At least he can still recognize his own name.

"Hasi..." There's an off quality to the way he says it. Sing-song like and not quite all there. When he turns around, he's all black eyes and fangs and he shoots towards the doorway with inhuman speed, only stopping because of the magical barrier.

The fury is visible. He grips onto the sides of the doorframe, trying to press himself against whatever invisible force is there. "Let me out."

"I think that would be a bad idea," she says, matter-of-factly. It's unnerving to see him like this, much more so than she's showing (especially the speed, the speed reminds her of other things), but her poise never comes in more handy than in situations like these. And furthermore, she trusts her magic.

"You'll thank me later. In the meantime, sit tight. Ivan will be here just a minute to help you."

He doesn't move away from the doorway, but keeps bracing himself against it, as though he's hoping he can push through any minute. The momentary lack of focus on killing everyone in the neighbourhood means that his features return to normal.

Which he's intent on using to his advantage. "Please. I can't --it hurts." It doesn't. But he is a cruel and manipulative thing and, even in the haze of his mind, he is intent on doing anything he can to get out of this room.

She watches him, silent, for a second, and it may seem like her resolve is wavering. Unfortunately for Mitchell (or not really, considering what's likely to happen to him and his volatile conscience if she does let him out of the room), she simply shrugs one shoulder and turns away from the door.

"Pain is good for you, Mitchell. It's how you know you're still alive." She glances back over her shoulder, expression inscrutable. "Anyway, you'll live."

But she doesn't want to stand there watching him threaten and plead, so she won't.

It isn't at all long until Ivan arrives; he can move, when he has to, and this could go pear shaped very quickly. (Also, if Hasibe is Ilde's friend, he isn't willing to trust her self-preservation instincts until he knows her a bit better - possibly unfair, but better safe than sorry.)

He doesn't seem like he's been rushing, when he gets there, but the speed itself was telling.

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