And All the Chapters Between {{Mi&Ivan

[Mihai C. Eliade]

Mirror on the wall

Frame the picture

Reflect this kiss to wish us all

Goodnight

He was at the library that day just as it opened, at the early hours of seven in the morning. It was a premature time for Mihai to be awake, much less active in some sort of way, but there was no one around who was familiar enough with him to comment on it. Not that there were many who were familiar with him in the first place. Mihai liked to keep to himself in Archadia—the fewer people he had to talk to, the better. After all, there was not a single person in the city proper he knew nor cared to know—no one worth it, so to say.

At five minutes after seven, he'd already found a spot to settle in a quiet corner of the library, well away from the entrance. There was hardly a person in the building yet, aside from the librarian, but he knew people would be coming in as the hours approached noon. He wanted to avoid them as much as possible, so as not to be disturbed in any way. He usually minded the bustle less—the quiet conversations and the beep of books being checked—but that day he wanted nothing more than silence.

The truth was that, rather than having roused himself this early on with the intention of arriving during the opening hours, he hadn't slept at all. He had tried, but even light sleep was continuously interrupted by nightmares, and he had sworn off attempting to do so in favor of lying awake with all of the lights on in his room. He'd escaped his quarters as soon as dawn was breaking, heading to the refuge of the library where the quiet and the smell of ink and paper comforted him. It wasn't safety, but it was what he had.

The library was the first place he'd become acquainted with when he'd left Weeds of Tomorrow, just as he'd targeted the school's when he first arrived. Archadia's building, he'd found, was naturally much larger and much more well-endowed than that of the academy, and it was to his fortune that they did not mind receiving mutants with the permission of their owners. As much as he detested asking the government for favors, he needed their approval for admittance, and as such he'd grit his teeth and gone through with it. It was one of the better decisions he'd made since leaving the academy.

The library had become a sort of sanctuary for him in a way that was difficult to describe. It was a place where publicity and privacy melded—there were always people around, but even so they rarely interfered with one another's business. Mihai took some sort of comfort in that—there was little that could be done to hurt him in this quiet, shared space, or at least that was how he felt. Perhaps it was a misinformed sentiment, but as of yet he felt safer there than anyplace else (save, perhaps, his old room at Weeds of Tomorrow, but that had more to do with whom he had with him than the dormitory itself).

Now, he was seated on one of the small armchairs the library had, the ones that were hidden away behind shelves of books and shoved into the corners of the building. Although he had a book open between his hands—a mystery novel—his tiredness was reflected clearly on his face. Dark rings had formed under his eyes and he looked sullen, his features drawn in from the exhaustion of having had no sleep as his wakefulness approached a full twenty-four hours. Although his eyelids drooped, he kept forcing himself back to consciousness, knowing that he would have no restful sleep until he'd drained his body sufficiently. He might have been better off going someplace else, the Underground maybe, if he wanted to wear himself out, but a creeping sense of anxiousness had been accompanying him all day. He wasn't certain what the exact cause of it was, but no doubt it had been exacerbated by the nightmares. The Underground would unquestionably have made the feeling worse, so he had opted for a place that would, at the very least, soothe the uneasy knots in his gut and the unceasing tumult of thoughts in his head.

On that note he was doing all right. He felt the slightest bit more relaxed, and the anxiety was fading slowly into the back of his mind where it would linger for a week if he were lucky. Yet, the tranquility had the side-effect of drawing his somnolence closer, the atmosphere of the library intent on lulling him to sleep regardless of how much he resisted. Though his eyes were fixated on the novel, he found himself reading and rereading paragraphs, without one word sinking into his memory.

Finally, he sighed and set the book aside on a nearby table. He scrubbed his fingers over his eyes, the slightest bit frustrated but determined not to doze off. If he dropped off now, he would surely be faced with a reawakening of his nightmares, and that was something he definitely did not want to happen in a public area. When he did finally return back to his room, he would hope the exhaustion would take him to a dreamless sleep if possible, but until then he had no choice but to linger around.

Word Count: 899

Notes: I hope this is okay. Sorry it took so long!

by worldie on iof

[Deleted]

I told you 'bout strawberry fields

J

ust like that panic one felt after sleeping beyond a morning alarm, Ivan noticed he still had a pile of books from the library. They were days overdue, and it wasn't unlikely that something like that would slip his mind. He'd become so enamored of books especially after a late shift, reading in bed on those nights where he was restless and did not wish to sleep. On those occasions he would remember what his mother used to tell him - if only just to calm him with a plausible belief - that words on pages could help chase away the nightmares he would be afraid of falling into. He'd read until the words swam and he could no longer resist his drifting consciousness, and by the time work came the next day he would leave those books at home and forget that they didn't belong to him.

Three of them sat stacked atop one another on the floor beside his bed. Two of them were historical fiction, the third a nonfiction which he didn't quite finish reading yet. There was a touch of disappointment to his expression as he regarded them. Books always added a nice look to any room in his home, almost like they were his own special company. At least when he had to go and give them back up, he could always return home with a new assortment.

An early riser, the Russian woke around seven, taking his time through the usual morning routine. It wasn't until an hour later that he remembered the books' due date - thankfully he had plenty of time before guard duty and the library was a nice distance away. He bent to take those books up from the floor, glad he had kept them in good condition all this time, and carted them outside. A wintry morning walk was considered, but in the end he opted to take a short drive over there instead.

Warmer air encased him once he walked through the front doors of the library. He hurried to the front desk to slide those books over, doing his best not to fumble with them. He offered the kind librarian a smile and hasty apology and - as if he should have expected anything else - his late return hadn't raised any problems. That timeliness could have been worse. The hour was around eight and the library felt as if it were still waking up. A few people had filtered in before him, but things weren't as active as he would usually see them. He remembered he hadn't ever been to the library this early; rather than hearing hushed voices and softly giggling children like he would in the afternoon, an absolute silence seemed to blanket the place. It made things feel rather lonesome, but here remained one of Ivan's favorite places to be.

Now that his hands were free and he didn't have any pressing duties, he figured he might as well stay a while. Returning books meant that he was due to find more to occupy himself with over the next few weeks.

He stepped back from the front desk and made way for the nearby shelves. Needless to say his frequent visits here had developed a keen memory on where everything was - he would have no trouble finding his way around. A few different sections had become his favorite, the majority of them leaning toward all sorts of fiction. He tread quietly while strolling through aisles, skimming glances over works that did not strike him and pausing to pluck at those that did. It never took long for him to gather a small collection - even if half of those would end up being books he decided not to check out.

After sifting through a good amount of shelves, he came around the corner where the section of the library stretched on to allot tables, soft chairs and areas for patrons to study. That was where he often went to sit and examine which random selections he had picked up - unless of course there were people already there, at which point he would usually end up bothering them rather than keeping to his business. Though at this time, no one else seemed to be here.

He crossed over to sit at the furthest table, bringing into view more shelves and the chairs that had been hidden behind them. Just as he meant to place his books down and open them, he noticed one such person sitting by himself a few meters away. Violet eyes blinked, fixated on that person for several seconds. Was he asleep over there?

Before he had even gotten comfortable, Ivan rose up from his chair, back turning on the books that were left there on the tabletop. He approached the stranger to stand close at his side, studying a face that clearly looked fatigued. It was almost hard to tell whether or not the man's eyes were open - he seemed to have been fighting off sleep. 

"Hello? You dit not sleep here overnight, dit you?" Ivan chimed, his voice at a polite whisper. His body was leaned down to get a better look at the book resting on that table, a curious finger pointed down at its cover. Naturally a smile accompanied his next question, as did his complete disregard for whether or not this man cared for his company right now, "What are you readink? It looks goot."

Word Count: 903
Tags: Mihai Eliade
Notes:

by worldie for jen

[Mihai C. Eliade]

Mirror on the wall

Frame the picture

Reflect this kiss to wish us all

Goodnight

Minds tended to wander in the sleep-deprived, and that was a fact that was affecting Mihai no differently. His thoughts drifted, never quite coalescing, as though everything were fogged and cobwebbed over. Trying to pick out one strand from another was a feat, and not one he was particularly invested in accomplishing, though whispers for sleep and complaints of the slow ache of exhaustion were multiple in their emergences. Such conditions might have persuaded anyone else that it was high-time time to return to home and bed, but he didn't want to go back so soon to someplace he'd been waking to periodically from his nightmares.

Distracted by these half-formed thoughts, he did not notice the approach of the other man until he spoke. Mihai blinked and looked up, slightly surprised, but the low whisper of the stranger's voice didn't startle him as most unannounced approaches would have. "Oh, I, uh—no." He answered on instinct, in the same subdued tone, the unexpectedness of the inquiry leaving him little time to question the intentions of the other. He sighed, rubbing his eyes again as though the question had somehow induced another bout of drowsiness. "I didn't sleep at all, actually," he said with a small laugh, the sound a bit self-pitying over the trial he was currently enduring. His exhaustion must really be apparent if someone had come up to ask him about it.

Though he wasn't usually approached for conversation, he didn't much mind the intrusion at the moment. At least talking to someone would keep him more awake, and he never did find it a bother to talk about books. Libraries were good places for those of similar interests to converge, and on occasion he had indulged some discussion or another about a favorite writer or some such topic. However, this man had chosen an odd moment to approach him. Not inopportune, but the book that laid on the table was not one he imagined he would have an easy time talking about to someone else. Nevertheless, he placed his hand on its cover and rotated the volume halfway, so that its title would face the other.

"Fantoma din moară," Mihai read, tongue curling around the white-printed Romanian words. "'The Ghost of the Mill.'" He paused after translating, eyes fixed on the book; then he picked it up, flipping the pages a bit absentmindedly between his fingers. "I hadn't expected to find a book here from my country," he said thoughtfully. He was aware that there was a small foreign-language selection at the library, but this was the first time he'd stumbled upon a book that spoke his language. "The author was pretty well-known, but no one outside of Romania could tell you who she was. But my parents had a copy of this in our house anyway—"

Realizing the words coming out of his mouth, he cut himself off and bit his lip. The comment had come from nowhere, slipped into his soliloquy like an unwanted ghost. He never spoke about that part of his past, even avoided thinking about it if possible. He wouldn't be able to live with himself otherwise; they were too much of a reminder of just what kind of life he was living now. In his memories, he could remember all of the love, so much love, so much hope, and there was none of that for him now. How had everything turned into such a nightmare?

He swallowed thickly and finished the thought anyway, voice soft, "I never did get to read it." He closed his eyes again, more of a reprimand to himself this time than out of tiredness. The exhaustion was really getting to him. He was an idiot to speak so privately to a stranger, especially (he noticed now) one who was human. He couldn't imagine that a human would care about what each mutant endured to be there in Archadia, cleaning up their messes and boosting their egos. Oftentimes he thought that their mental capabilities simply did not allow them to sympathize with those who did not resemble them in superficiality, and that was why humans were best-suited for being the creators of war and slavery. It was likely not true, but the thought still gave him a sense of victorious irony in contradicting human propaganda through their own claims.

But he was in no mood to dispute anything now. He had barely the self-control to stifle his untoward words and thoughts, much less initiate an intellectual battle consisting of straight-faced insinuation. Perhaps he should plan his flight quickly, in case the stranger decided to initiate a confrontation. About what, he didn't know, but there were humans who found one excuse or another; after all, according to the rules of courtesy they were taught at Weeds, he had already been exceptionally rude in not offering the human his chair. To compensate, he smiled at the other. The gesture was an unfeeling one, but he had gotten good at faking. "My apologies, sir," he said, well-versed in how he was supposed to best flatter a human. "I don't imagine you were looking for that type of anecdote."

He took the book in his hand, the other gripping the arm of the chair in order to push himself up. "I must be in your way," he murmured. But as he stood and made to side-step the other, a sudden wave of dizziness hit him. Standing up too fast and sleep-deprivation never made for a good combination for one's senses, and Mihai squeezed his eyes shut as he waited for the feeling to subside. In his haste to act as though no such thing were affecting him, however, he ventured to take a step further, but only managed to stumble as the sense of vertigo overpowered that of balance.

Word Count: 968

Notes: @jen

by worldie on iof

[Deleted]

you know the place where nothing is real

"N

ot at all?" he questioned, in more of a rhetorical musing, after his first inquiry had been responded to. He was pleased with himself for having spoken in a manner that did not come off as rude, so it seemed -- although even with that inkling of courtesy, the Russian did not seem to harbor any strong concern over the fact that this mutant had been deprived of sleep for however long. He could have returned to his own previous business and allowed the other to rest for the remaining duration of his time here, but he didn't. At least, not right away. It was curious enough that a mutant was in the library all on his own at this hour, and that could only lead to one curious interrogation question after the other.

Ivan straightened again, lessening his invasion of the Romanian's personal space. His finger retracted from where it had been pointing, both hands remaining still at his sides while he spent a few more seconds mulling over the foreign title of that work. He hadn't recognized its origin at first, and the written words alone dulled in comparison to hearing them spoken so languidly in the man's fluent tongue. "Ghost off the Mill," he repeated solely to himself, his eyes running over the name of the author whilst that was being explained. Nothing about that commentary stood out as odd to Ivan; at least until it took a sudden halt.

His scrutiny leaped to the mutant's face, waiting with both an expectant and curious silence to see whether that thought would continue. He noted the look that had shadowed over his expression, deciding in those few short seconds that he must have stopped himself on account of reaching sensitive territory -- a soft spot possibly risen by the mentioning of his parents and this house of his past?

"I never did get to read it," the man then spoke in continuation of his broken thought, and Ivan listened specifically for any change in his tone. 

There were always bits and pieces of a mutant that Ivan found to be the most interesting, but he never did dwell on everything -- that went for information on any past owners they had, how they were treated in their holding cells or at Weeds. Those were all things he had never experienced himself and therefore did not take well to sympathizing with. If anything, he liked to press matters that involved a mutant's past before they were shipped to Archadia and those places included, as well as details that pertained to them at the pressing moment: what their abilities were, whether or not they were already under a contract. It was so rare that he'd ever find a mutant outside of their holding cells and free from human contact, or had the chance to speak to them without feeling a sort of jealousy.

He took a breath, shifting his arms to clasp his hands behind his back. "That is onfortunate," he drawled again, watching as those features underwent another shift in expression. The smile on the mutant's face contented him just as much as the titling of 'sir' - and his content was promptly expressed through a short hum complimenting his next words. He had not been expecting it in this case, but at other times he found himself eagerly waiting to hear a mutant call him that. "You do not haff to apologise, though. I dit want to hear about what you were doink here.You propably woult haff gotten scoldet for sleepink in this library."

He leaned back a fraction, watching the mutant rise from his seat. What looked to be a firm stance and preparation to leave -- not that Ivan would have let him get too far anyway -- quickly spiraled. He still couldn't be sure how long the other had gone without sleeping, or whether there was a sort of sickness that accumulated that. Just after that last faulty step had been taken, Ivan followed suit and brought himself closer to the mutant's stumbling proximity, reaching down to grasp him by the shoulders. "Ah-- you are fallink. You shoult jost take your seat again. You haff not done anythink to bother me."

Rather than letting him do that on his own, Ivan shifted to help guide the smaller man back over to that same chair. "I also jost want to know why you are not in the Ondergrount if you are on your own. Is someone suppost to be lookink after you?"

Word Count: 751
Tags: Mihai Eliade
Notes:

by worldie for jen

[Mihai C. Eliade]

Mirror on the wall

Frame the picture

Reflect this kiss to wish us all

Goodnight

Scolded, huh? That was enough to illicit an inward smile. Hell, nevermind sleeping, he could be scolded for nearly anything and everything. Made the coffee too hot? A disgrace. Inadvertently blocking someone's way? Completely shameful. Not being a complete robot, requiring the necessities of food, water, sleep, shelter? Asking for too much. Ah—but yes, he probably was also doing something wrong by dozing off in the library. What an ungrateful mutant, who wasn't up to serving the needs of the humans around him every hour of the day.

The sarcastic thoughts made rounds through his head, but he did not voice them out loud. Perhaps another time he would have made some vague reference to them, but he was much too tired to have to deal with the stranger's reaction, whatever it may have been. Besides, it seemed that the other was trying to be helpful, if in a misguided, slightly invasive way. Mihai hated those attempts, but he was used to those sorts from humans. He allowed the comment to pass with a wry smile and a small nod in agreement. "I'll be more careful in the future, thank you," he murmured.

He was caught somewhat by surprise when he tried to make his exit, only to stumble. What surprised him more was that he didn't come crashing down on the desk, thus making a further mess of things, but instead felt hands around his shoulders, steadying him. He tensed slightly, never comfortable with other people's touch, but the necessity of self-control ensured that he'd had enough practice not to tear himself away. Still, it was unexpected that the stranger had caught him. Most humans had an aversion to touching mutants—even the delight they took in beating their slaves was done with gloved hands. It was already enough of a rarity for a human to help someone like him, and even moreso initiate physical contact. He supposed he would be reprimanded for it—for his carelessness, which had caused trouble to this human and dirtied his hands.

Trying to extricate himself from the other's hold to stand upright, Mihai was instead being pushed back into the chair. Momentarily discomforted by the strength and somewhat demanding manner of the stranger, Mihai nevertheless forced another smile to his lips. "Thank you," he said again. "I seem to be causing you quite a bit of trouble, sir." Each word that left his mouth made him feel queasy at the submissiveness he was compelled to show. The more words were traded, the more he was eager to leave, but it seemed that the man would not allow him such a luxury. Why was he so intent on speaking to Mihai? Why, even, was he being helpful? However, Mihai still couldn't let his guard down. One wrong word or move might set off a temper, and if that happened, he was certain the bigger man could do a great deal of damage. All he could do was answer the other's questions, and hope for the best, hope that the meeting would end soon.

"It's improper for me not to offer you a seat," he continued, lowering his eyes. But he had no way of trying to get up again—either to fetch another chair or give the stranger his own—as he would not be able to pass the other man with the way they were currently situated. Not that he really wanted to get up. He felt shaky enough as it were, the familiar feeling of sleep-deprivation overtaking his limbs and it was feeling like they weren't even his own, even though his fingers were tight with whitened knuckles around the cover of the book.

Mihai wet his lips before answering the other's question. It was one he'd been asked before, and, frankly, a nuisance to explain. He kept it as simple as possible. "I'm owned by the government," he said. He hated that word, hated when he had to use it to talk about himself, hated that it made him sound like a piece of furniture or some exotic pet. But there was no easier, less objectionable way to say it, and he couldn't stand to have another human correct him and tell him that he couldn't be 'employed,' because that would imply that he had equal status with the human laborers of the workforce. Disgusting pieces of trash—he hated all of them. But still, he grit his teeth and continued, "They don't have the personnel to spare, to follow me wherever I go. I can be here alone, as long as I… behave." He kept his features carefully neutral, though the choice of words sent through him another shudder of disgust. 'Behave,' as though he were a dog or a small child. He risked a glance at the other man, wondering how he would take the information. It wouldn't be the first time that someone had decided to kick him out anyway—permission or not—and complain that the government was not being responsible enough. After all, a dog couldn't behave without its owner, could it?

Word Count: 840

Notes: @jen

by worldie on iof

[Deleted]

well here's another place you can go

O

f course, the hold with which he guided the mutant's steps was persistent. Something in him insisted that he knew what he was doing, even if he couldn't exactly pinpoint what had driven the man to his sudden vertigo. He didn't allow the unstable body to wrench himself from his grip until he had been properly restored to his seat, at which point the Russian relaxed and let him go. The movement was heedless, touched with waning concern; but he showed no sign of being burdened by what he had done. His hands did not feel contaminated or anything of the sort, only eager to lend themselves in that moment.

There remained no other option but for him to remain standing, which he didn't visibly seem to mind. At this rate, it felt to him that if he were sitting and this mutant were standing, he'd probably have inevitably toppled onto the floor at some point. Ivan stood with straight posture, soaking in that gratitude and cooperative manner of speaking with his own smile ever-present. "I coult not promise that it is me who catches you here next time, that is all. Someone else might not haff liket you sleepink," he pointed out. In an environment as relaxing and embracing as this one, not to mention the sleepy sort of warmth that carried through in the morning, he couldn't blame someone for wanting to rest.

So far, any sarcastic jabs the mutant might make would only sail over Ivan's head - but a false smile did not flow by him so easily. Although he was not close to eye level with the other man, he was studious again while watching his expression - perhaps even more so than before, now that he was made aware of potential fits of dizzy exhaustion. His responses were brief yet sophisticated, and he supposed that someone must have taught him well in the past. As much as he liked to hear a mutant speak to him in such a manner, Ivan still yearned for neutral conversation between him and any mutant that he found - whether or not that seemed improper to them. 

Ivan's hands returned to his sides, motionless for a few seconds. "Silly, you most not haff heart what I jost sait. You are not doink anythink to bother me. If I thought you were beink lazy or root this whole time, I woult not haff helpt you jost then. We woult haff trouble already." He was generally patient when dealing with most mutants, but there were always a handful that could set him off rather quickly. Still he judged by the brevity of the mutant's responses that he was either intimidated by him or disinterested in anything that he had to say, on top of the apparent fatigue. That was invitation enough for him to possibly turn and leave the man be, as he had considered more than once at this point - but he was still too invested in finding out answers to what he had asked so far. It was probably worth having to stand as well as keep the poor sleep-deprived mutant awake like this.

"I will make do with standink," he went on, shaking his head. At least it would be a while before he would began to grow weary of standing, and he wasn't too tired for it, anyway.

The book that had led their conversation to extend to this point had been momentarily forgotten. His reaction to the word government was in contrast - he expressed no outward response, but inwardly it contented him in an odd way to hear it. Since he didn't expect that the mutant would speak foully of the government in front of him, he could trust that he wouldn't have to worry about that. There was no reason to be on edge, but the idea of a mutant being government property was not too familiar to him; in his thoughts alone he could only wonder what tasks they put him up to, what exactly they thought of one another. 

"Then you most be off a lot off value for them to take you in like that," he remarked, eyes lifting from where they had wandered in his own curious thought. "I do not haff doubt that you are able to behafe, since you haff proven yourself well already. Though if there was someone to do that for you, maybe they woult help make sure you are gettink proper rest. What is your name?" 

Word Count: 748
Tags: Mihai Eliade
Notes:'root' is 'rude' ahah

by worldie for jen