multiversallogs | 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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"I will." He came in, seemingly at ease but highly alert, and with none of the glibness he'd had the first time they met. "I think it might be best if I had at him alone for a bit. The worst he'll do is get past me, but I don't intend to let him."

Ivan won't get cocky, but he has more than a century on Mitchell, and he hasn't been clean in years. Mitchell might be stronger than he was in Bristol, but that wasn't saying all that much by Ivan's standards. If the apartment is warded, all the better.

Hasi inclines her head in a nod, turning in toward the kitchen archway. To fetch more salt to line the front door, and also take a moment to breathe. Her poise is pretty fucking unimpeachable, considering, but she's more shaken by all of this than she wants anyone to see.

"I'll keep to the living room. Let me know if you need anything."

For the most part, Mitchell has kept himself content by tipping over furniture and wrecking the room some more. When Ivan sees him, he's looking dishevelled (and clothed, thankfully, although only an unbuttoned plaid shirt on his upper half).

Despite the disarray, there are moments when he feels the need to turn his back to all the shimmering shapes in the room and focus on the wall, or the corner of the skirting board. Right now is one of those moments, although it would be a mistake to think he had calmed down. It's simply a momentary lull.

Ivan gives him a critical look, evaluating for a moment. "Lord, it's the early 1970s all over again. You're a mess." For his part, Ivan looks as impeccable and unreadable as he ever does; he's alert, but he's not tense. Outwardly.

"Ivan...?" There's a breathy quality to the way he says it, like he's drowsy and exhausted. He turns around, then slumps against the wall with a brief giggle.

"Oh, that was fun. Now this," he says, tone taking on considerable severity, "this --this is not fun, Ivan."

"You certainly haven't sold me on it, no." He comes a bit closer, though no in arm's reach. "I understand this won't kill you and will pass, so there's reason for optimism."

"Optimism." He tries to give Ivan a pointed look through the haze. "The women in this city need to come with warning labels attached."

Ivan's smile is a little crooked. "Mate, if you're over 100 and you don't imagine all women with a warning label, it's no one's fault but your own."

"That's true," he says with another bubble of laughter threatening to escape. "That's true. God, the past couple of months, it's always been a woman that's had a hand getting me into trouble. Lauren, Lucy, Daisy --even Annie, in the end."

Only one of those names is anything Ivan's likely to care about... but it's a very particular name.

"What trouble did Daisy get you into?" If Mitchell were in his right mind, he might register the dangerous flatness in Ivan's tone beneath the pleasantry.

"The massacre. It was her idea to begin with. Said she wanted closure." And with that comment he's out of the danger zone.

And right back in it with, "Then again. There was afterwards..." That last word has a very specific implication.

"Afterwards." He can connect some dots; he of all people knows how Daisy is after killing.

"When was this?"

Mitchell looks at him blankly, then gives a little one shouldered shrug (not a wise gesture.) "We were still in the house." As in the house in Bristol. As in, not long after Ivan had died.

Ivan just looks at him a moment, then asks very calmly. "Did you enjoy her?"

Now he wises up to realise that he's said something, although he's only got the vaguest idea of what. Oops? His blank stare continues, a little slack-jawed.

"I...guess...so...?" As if there will ever be a right answer to that question.

After a moment, Ivan reaches over to draw Mitchell to his feet, almost gently, steadying him once he's up. There's something almost like a fond smile on his lips for a second before he hauls off and throws a practiced, powerful punch at Mitchell's jaw.

Which makes a very satisfying noise no doubt, doubled by the fact Mitchell promptly falls back and crumples to the floor. He stays still for a while, before finally trying to sit up again. Head injuries while high are not fun.

The look on his face, even through the fugue, shows he knows he really fucked up now.

Ivan doesn't move to strike him again. After a moment, he says, "As much as beating you to a pulp would be terribly satisfying at the moment, I wouldn't like to damage our hostess' room. Besides, you're off your tits." He sounds disgusted, a bit tired.

"But honestly, after all that heartrending talk you gave me in Bristol about a woman saving you, you could have waited at least a few weeks before shagging my wife. I did save your bloody life, after all, though why is escaping me." He pulls out his cigarettes. If he's not going to beat Ivan bloody, he's going to need a smoke.

Mitchell doesn't bother to say anything; even with toxic blood in his system, he feels properly chastised (his guilt truly does know no bounds.) Instead, he moves back to the corner and sits there, knees tucked up to his chest, head resting against the wall.

He'll be good for now, at least.

Ivan exhales smoke. "Please tell me you aren't going to cry."

"Ha." He closes his eyes against the heat growing in his head from pain and the world spinning topsy-turvey on him. Finally, he manages, "It was a shit thing to do. I..." He lets something start up, then fall again, before repeating, "No. It was a shit thing to do."

"Yes, it bloody was." He leans against the wall with his cigarette. He honestly expected no better from Daisy, though it is a new sort of her to imagine her with another vampire; still, he'd thought Mitchell's misplaced nobility had been good for soemthing.

"And now we're both dead. Again. It is what it is."

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

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