ataraxionlogs | when all of your wishes are granted

[Back to normal, just the way that any vampire would. Right? If there were no consequences, if you can come and go... It's only when they settle down that things get difficult. Or that's what they believe, generally, that's what they tell each other.

It can't be true. Things are better for Mitchell when he's clean. Or is that the lie? It goes around and around and around again. And here's Ivan, telling him that he's basically--]

If it's manageable-- [It doesn't put them out of the woods. But Ivan, with his appetite curbed--surely that's something to be thankful for? It does the work that Mitchell could never do. Get someone like Ivan--someone as old and as established and as happy in the life steeped in blood--get him to go more or less clean. It's fucking impossible. But here's Ivan, saying it's been done.] So carrying that woman, with her face all blood. You're tellin' me you could manage even that? Or was that nearly too far?

[Absently, he shifts, digs his cigarettes out of his pocket. A precious commodity, with all resources limited, but whatever. One for himself, and he holds the pack out to Ivan. It's a little less than half full.]

[He takes one, with a fervent,] Christ, ta for that.

[He knows he isn't physically addicted to nicotine, but that doesn't mean the sensation of running out of his own cigarettes was a pleasant one.]

It's not something I'd volunteer to do again, [to answer Mitchell's question.] But she's a tiny thing, I carried her like a child. Can you imagine that? [The Ivan he'd known, carrying a bleeding person to safety?]

It's madness, and it can't last, but there it is.

[He smiles, a little, as he flicks open his lighter and holds it out to Ivan for a light.]

You know, I can't, somehow. Carrying her to safety.

[Like a child. No offense, Ivan, but that doesn't fit. He lights his own cigarette once Ivan's got it, and tucks the lighter away, with a quick inhale and a stream of smoke with his exhale.

Almost off-handedly, as he exhales again:]

Maybe it can last.

[Ivan releases a stream of smoke with a skeptical expression.]

Let's not get carried away.

[And then, naturally enough that maybe he'll take Mitchell off-guard:]

What was that look, a minute ago?

[Can't blame a man for trying, and Mitchell shrugs, with a little smile that says as much.

But speaking of sobriety not lasting--]

You were talkin' about seeing that mural of yours. [Ivan's told him so much, confessed so much. The least he can do is reciprocate a little. He sought Mitchell out because he's someone that gets it. Of all the people on this ship, even if they don't always see eye to eye--] I saw mine. Fangs, and all. [Obviously. He flicks the end of his cigarette, knocking ash from it, and looks away.] I tried getting rid of it, just-- scraping it off the wall. It didn't work.

...so you tried on someone else's?

[It's not such a jump to make, given that he'd seen what were left of Ilde's teeth.]

She's not a vampire, you know. Jesus.

[He actually flinches at that, looking quickly away.]

I know. I wasn't-- it wasn't clear. Nothing was clear. I wouldn't have done anything, if I'd been thinking, but I wasn't.

[More defensively, now:]

And I didn't know, what would happen.

Just a suggestion, but I wouldn't lead your apology with that. [He doubts it would go over well.]

[That, at least, gets him to look around at Ivan again.]

Apologise for-- I can't apologise! Didn't you hear, what I just said? Can you imagine how an apology would go?

I heard. What's your alternative plan? Wait until someone else figures it out and comes for you? I think "I didn't know that would happen" isn't going to sound any better then, frankly.

And who's to say anyone's going to figure it out? It's not like I signed my fucking name.

[Which, even as he says it--he feels like shit about it. Like it doesn't matter what he's done to her, only that he didn't mean to do it, not really--not to her, anyways.]

She's all right, yeah? So let her be all right. There's enough going on, on this ship.

Do you listen to yourself? You know, you'd have injured her less if you drank her blood, as long as you'd stopped in time.

[Yet one more thing Ivan doesn't understand about Mitchell's guilt: the wildly inconsistent rules of its application, in his view.]

Don't--

[Tense, suddenly--or at least more visibly tense--Mitchell shoots Ivan a look before he hunches forward, pushes his fingers through his hair.]

I'll take care of it, all right? It's got nothing to do with you.

That's well and good until someone asks me what I know - which is going to happen, I carried her into medical. I cover for you and all my good citizenship is on the line which is... that's a great deal of effort for nothing.

[A bitter little smile.]

It's not as if I have anyone assuring the rest of the ship they'll build a rabbit hutch for me.

[He stares at Ivan for a moment, uncomprehending. If he had a proper heartbeat, maybe it would be loud in his ears right now. Instead, there are a few seconds of tense silence.]

What are you saying, exactly.

[Slow, and measured, but there's just a hint of panic wrinkling the edge of his tone. Numbly, Mitchell sits back in his chair, his cigarette forgotten.]

You're saying you're going t' turn me in?

I'm saying you've put me in a fucking delicate position. This isn't home. We can't just call the right people and have things cleaned up. I'm not going to volunteer anything about this unprompted, but I'm going to get asked. I assumed you'd mea culpa it before we got to that.

I know that. Jesus, d'you think I don't know that? I was in the brig for a month, I know there's no one to call.

[And it should have been for longer, it should have been permanent. He pushes that thought away.]

That's not what I'm asking for. I'm asking, that you don't tell them, when they come asking. That's what we do. I'd do it for you. [And might have to, or worse. Sobriety now doesn't guarantee it in the future. And this next bit shades dangerously close to the same old vampire bullshit, but he says it anyways:] There's no one here to clean up. But we can make it work, you and I.

Would you still do it for me if it was about blood?

[It's more tired than accusatory.]

Look, I'm not clutching my pearls. And I don't really care about security, beyond not wanting to end up on their shit list if this comes out after. But Ilde herself... you can't have it both ways. It can't be other people are worth protecting and us against the world at the same time. It's not even as if she's a human.

[He doesn't answer Ivan's question, because he doesn't know how to answer. Would he, or wouldn't he?

Instead, Mitchell stares at the floor, and puts his cigarette to his lips again, inhaling once, sharply. He lets the smoke burn at his throat a little before he asks:]

What is she?

A fairy, I believe. She's been relatively open about not being human on the network.

[Not that Ivan has been paying... particular attention.]

I could tell she wasn't human when we met, though. And her blood certainly doesn't smell it, even with dampened senses. She's something new to my experience.

[As a vampire aboard an inter-dimensional spaceship full of all sorts of mad things, maybe Mitchell ought to be able to take the revelation of Ilde's type into stride. But come on.]

A fairy.

[--Anyways, it's easier to play at being sceptical than to think of what Ilde's blood smells like. Good. What it smells like is good, good enough to drive anyone a little mad--and then Ivan is talking about it anyways, and Mitchell looks away, his shoulders hunching, like that's going to keep out the memory of the smell. Sweet, somehow. Jesus.]

And here I didn't think anything was new t' you. As long as I've known you, you've really seen it all.

I do give that impression, don't I.

[His smile, briefly bitter, suggests he is somewhat aware of the persona he projects. Or projected, back home; it wouldn't serve, here, so he's adapted, but it hasn't been easy.]

My point is, I can't anticipate which Mitchell you're going to be at any given moment if you vacillate between treating everyone like they matter and narrowing it down to species loyalty. Since we're trapped on this hulk indefinitely, I think a sincere apology now will go down a lot better than the chance of discovery later. I don't need you burning my few bridges for me when you're the one who I'd expect to be impressed I'm bothering to build them. You know how easy it's not.

[He's been on blood more than a century longer. But he's also a mistrustful man, and that's not directly to do with the addiction. He was widely respected, but Ivan's circle was always relatively small.]

Edited (Grammar, how does it work) 2014-12-03 01:23 (UTC)

[The thought of Ivan not knowing everything is somehow disturbing. Because whatever else he has thought of Ivan, Mitchell has always sort of liked him--more than some of the other vampires. Ivan was sharp and clever in ways that the others weren't. The rule of blood addiction, he could wear it in a way that others never managed.

Mitchell doesn't trust Ivan. But he trusts in him, a subtle difference that treads a very thin line. It means he listens, to everything that Ivan says. His cigarette is nearly down to nothing, and he stares at the embers.]

I am. I am, I'm impressed-- [But. He swallows the word.] There's so much that's happened. There's so much that's gone wrong. God, it's like-- I'm losing my mind half the time--even I don't know what I'm going to be, every day, and I can't--

[He cuts himself off as he hunches forward, drops his cigarette end on the floor and bunches his fingers in his hair. Tense, silent--but it lasts only a moment, and then he resurfaces, with a shaky breath in.]

You'd really apologise? If it was you. If you'd done it instead. You'd really go to her and apologise?

[He gives it a long moment of thought, properly weighing it.]

In this situation, on this ship? Yes, I would. She might not take it well, but she'll take it a hell of a lot worse later. And she deserves to know it was an accident, when she might think someone is targeting her.

It's not a viable survival technique to treat the whole ship like it's food, so I think we have to treat people like people.

[For him, a relatively novel concept, but it's the conclusion he's reached.]

[People as people is so much more preferable to people as food, which is the conclusion that Mitchell is currently using. Not with such firm conviction that he doesn't flinch, a little, at Ivan's casual comment, but whatever.]

Yeah.

[If Ivan would apologise, then he really ought to apologise. He digs his heel against the floor, like that's going to take some of the edge off--and then, eventually, sighs, hunches forward to push his fingers through his hair again.]

Yeah, well. I'll think about it.

when all of your wishes are granted

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)