Any Port in a Storm [Mi and Gil]

[Gilbert Beilschmidt]

if i only could

make a deal with God

Just his luck.

The rain came on suddenly, just as Gilbert had stepped off the bus. It was icy, each drop of rain driving through him like a spike. Just his freaking luck. He was already running late, had skipped his breakfast, and had to send in a progress report to a pretty unhappy boss. (He had no idea how he was going to convince VP Williams that this wasn’t just a wild goose chase.) And now this storm…He cursed the sheets of rain as he dived for the nearest shelter he could find—the awning of a nearby shop. There he curled over, catching his breath with his hands propped on his knees. What a mess. He laughed humorously and straightened, sighing heavily before he took a moment to assess the damage wrought by the sudden downpour. The cold rain had thoroughly drenched him, plastering his hair to his forehead and pressing the wool of his jacket against his shivering skin. Perfect, he thought with a grimace, he always loved showing up late to important meetings looking like a stray dog. (Though, he supposed, it was certainly a way to make an entrance.) At least his briefcase escaped the torrent, if Gilbert lost his tablet on top of everything…

He sighed and leaned back against the brick, trying not to think about the chill that was rapidly settling into his skin, at the ache of his muscles as they clamped down against the invading cold. He really hated this damned country. The weather was icy and many of the people he’d met so far seemed to be about the same. All he wanted was to get his little brother out of this hateful place and return to New York, where he and West could put this prolonged nightmare behind them at last. Seeing his brother, knowing he was still alive, and still irrevocably West, had only fanned the flames of urgency in Gilbert. He had to get his brother back while he was still his brother (rather than just another blunt instrument at the hands of the government.) Gilbert bit back a groan at the thought; this meeting was an important step in that process and here he, stuck alone under an awning as the driving rain poured around him.

Or perhaps not so alone.

A movement just inside his peripheral vision caught his attention and Gilbert startled at the realization that his hidey hole was not quite as isolated as he’d first thought. He blinked and hastily brushed his dripping bangs from his eyes in order to get better view of the other person. The man stood on the opposite side of the shelter, putting as much space between the two of them as possible. He seemed young, perhaps around West’s age, with shoulder length sandy brown hair and mahogany colored eyes. He carried himself well, shoulders straight, chin up—and even standing still, he exuded a grace that Gilbert couldn’t help but admire. But there was something else about him, a muted wariness in his eyes that immediately struck a cord with Gilbert. Gil remembered all too well what it was like to be an outsider and he could easily recognize the signs in another person. Gilbert felt a pang of sympathy for the stranger and immediately decided to make a new acquaintance. Time to turn on the charm.

“Sorry, man, I didn’t see you there,” he said with a warm grin, turning to face him. “I guess you got caught off guard too, huh?” He gestured to the deluge with a wry laugh. “My name’s Gilbert, Gilbert Beilschmidt. Nice to meet'ya.” He leaned back against the building, eyes twinkling at the promise of a new conversation, possibly a new friend.

word count: 648

tags: Mihai C. Eliade

notes: I hope you don't mind me borrowing this for now^^;

by worldie on iof

[Mihai C. Eliade]

The rain came all at once, in icy sheets that struck against the window like brass bells. Mihai stared at the water pouring down the glass, blurring and distorting the world outside of the shop—an abstract painting constantly in flux. This was his first time out in a few weeks, and he'd forgotten that it rained so much in the Russian fall. He hadn't brought an umbrella. He accepted this fact passively—there was nothing he could do about it now aside from waiting it out inside. But they probably didn't want him inside, nor anywhere close to them, nor in sight in general. Be both invisible and useful. As if it were so easy.

Gripping the bag of groceries in his hand, he slowly pushed open the door and stepped out, feeling the glare of the cashier on the back of his head all the while. He didn't want to be out there, cold and getting hit by stray droplets of rain, but even the weather welcomed him more than the humans inside. He wasn't going to complain about it; there was little about this hostility that was foreign to him. Hopefully they just wouldn't chase him out of the small awning outside the store either. Not that being sent walking in the rain was very foreign either.

Rainy weather was nice, in some cases. He liked it best when he was at home, when he could lie in bed and watch and listen to the water droplets hit the window for hours on end. It usually made humans sluggish too, which meant there was no one to bother him in his little haven, rendering it safe for once. Sometimes, even walking through rain wasn't too bad, but on a day like this when he could see his breath come out in puffs, he could tell that making the fifteen minute trek back home would be like going through ice. Though he seriously considered the possibility when a man emerged from a passing bus and rushed into the dry zone beside him.

On instinct, Mihai stepped away, lengthening the distance between them, the slight tenseness in his shoulders betraying his nervousness. He didn't like strangers much—at all—despite how flawlessly he could assume a pleasant demeanor. He didn't like not knowing what to expect, and he didn't like that any random human, regardless of who they were, could make him do what they wanted, and he hated it when they did. Though... he wondered if this stranger was actually human. Glancing quickly at the other, he could see the shock of white hair, despite the man not really looking old. Dyed, perhaps? That was a fashion trend these days. It didn't matter though—whether he was human or mutant, Mihai didn't want to spend the energy playing friendly. He contemplated again whether it would be worth it to walk home in the rain just to avoid the potential for conversation, but the opportunity effectively vanished when the other spoke up.

He peered at the man as he talked. So he was the chatty, over-familiar type, the kind to try to make friends with everyone. Mihai already felt somewhat weary at the excited demeanor, and he bit at his lip, wondering if it would be rude to just sprint into the rain. But that required effort too, and at least friendly was better than hostile. Even if this Gilbert's behavior made it clear he was human. Had he noticed the dogtags around Mihai's neck yet, or was he expecting a pleasant conversation with another human? It was almost frightening how friendliness could become hostility upon the unveiling of someone's status. He took a deep breath before answering, hoping that that wouldn't be the case with this man.

"My name is Mihai," he said, finally turning towards the other properly. A small smile curled the corner of his lips, disingenuous as it was, but he must always be polite. And as he had been commanded and taught so many times, he offered the human a small bow. "At your service." Formality rang in every word; he wasn't about to be friendly with this human, now. It would discourteous to be overly familiar, and he did not have such a liberty as crossing lines.

[Gilbert Beilschmidt]

if i only could

make a deal with God

Gil heard the jingle of dog-tags and the forced subservience in the stranger’s voice. A mutant then… He sighed and leaned back against the store, running a hand through his hair, the silvered strands sticking up in sharp wayward spikes. He had learned from experience that mutants on the whole viewed humans with a mixture of fear and distrust. And from what he’d seen, they had a good reason to. He grimaced and waved a hand as though to wipe away the stiff introduction.

“You don’t have to be so formal, Mihai,” he said, reminded painfully of West’s own docility during their reunion. “I’m not going to be offended.” Mutants weren’t raised to be human, they were trained to be dogs. Gilbert felt the bile rise in his throat at the thought, and his crimson eyes swept over the man before him, mourning the loss of potential. With eyes like his, there was no doubt this Mihai was quick. Had he been a human, what would he have done? Did he ever have dreams? Did he have a family? Had he been loved? Gilbert sat in uncomfortable silence for a moment, mulling over the slim figure before him. The man was careful and knew exactly how to play the role expected of him. He appeared to be rather dapper, his clothes much more professional compared to what he’d seen of most mutants, so he was likely contracted out to a wealthy owner or else… Gilbert felt a pang of excitement at the other possibly. A mutant in the government? It was a stretch, but Gilbert had heard of mutants with certain abilities being assigned to work in the government, Mihai certainly seemed like he would be able to adapt to the political world easily. Arcadia a hub of mutant activity, if he was ever going to find a mutant with political ties his best bet was going to be here.

“Shit, where are my manners?” Gilbert smiled and took a cautious step forward so not to startle the man before him. “My name’s Gilbert Beilschmidt. It’s nice to meet you.” He extended his hand like an offering, but left it to Mihai to close the gap if he so chose. His experiences with mutants had taught him that the best way to gain trust was to surrender control. It was certainly going to take more than that crack someone like Mihai, but Gilbert was certainly willing to try. How wonderful would it be to have a friend on the inside? Someone who could give him insights as to what angles to pursue. Someone who could warn him of any change in policies. Gilbert was practically drooling at the thought, his mind alight with the possibility of a mutually beneficial partnership. A mutant with so much potential, they could do wonderful things together.

But he was getting ahead of himself. First things first, he had to ignite some spark of trust in the mutant or at the very least, fan some spark of curiosity. And, as Gilbert learned, sometimes to best way to bring out a bit of interest was to be unexpected. It was a gamble to be sure, if Mihai took it the wrong way, he could pull away entirely. But then again, Gilbert was never one to shy away from a risk.

“Can I ask you a question?” He asked, making sure to meet his gaze. The man before him had likely been surrounded by lies and deceit and could probably smell any trick Gilbert tried a mile away. So Gil had no choice but to be sincere.

word count: 632

tags: Mihai C. Eliade

notes: Gil's being tricksy...

by worldie on iof

[Mihai C. Eliade]

Most of the stranger's words were lost on him. His expression barely changed but for a slight furrow of his brows and the way he pressed his lips together. It was annoying, he thought, how humans liked to be so contradictory. 'Obey me,' one said. 'Figure it out yourself,' said another. 'Be more polite,' 'don't be so formal,' 'look me in the eye when I talk to you,' 'don't you dare stare at your master.' Sometimes the opposite commands could come from the same human at different points in time. It was ridiculous. Either way, one of them would be dissatisfied, wouldn't they? That seemed to be the pattern with them, always finding something to be unhappy about, and it wasn't like he could predict the preferences of each human, or even of one human at certain points of the day. His efforts at telling the future were indeed only accurate when it came to a human he knew well.

He wondered why this man couldn't just accept his formality and appreciate it instead of insisting on casualness, as though the two of them had known each other for a long time. Apparently he was the type who liked to make Mihai work more to be friendly, but as it always was with those types, he was not supposed to be overly friendly. Those types wanted him to confide in him his innermost feelings, but he was certain his feelings were things they would actually detest to hear. It was like some kind of sick voyeurism, and If he'd been less concerned about causing a scene right in the middle of a human shopping center, he might have rolled his eyes. Instead, he just kept them moodily downcast, hoping that his lack of desire for a conversation could be conveyed in the shape of meekness.

He could hardly return the man's eagerness for introductions; nevertheless he forced a smile onto his face and quickly glanced up. "The honor is mine, sir," he murmured, as he ought to when a human told him 'nice to meet you,' or 'it's a pleasure.' If there was one thing for which he was grateful for his training, then it was instances like this. The stock phrases they were taught required little thinking on his part to give the correct answer. Better yet, they were impersonal, and more often than not were a supposedly polite response he could utter while masking his disinterest in conversation. Many people who approached him were tourists—ones from "free countries"—who were curious about the mannerisms of enslaved mutants, but once they discovered he was just as bland and characterless as the rest of the mutants in the city left him alone. It was always a relief when it worked.

But this time, even his lack of thoughtful answer—and thus, his lack of desire for conversation—seemed to be lost on the man. Mihai was glad that the stranger was going the friendly interaction route and not one of immediate repulsion and hostility, but he would have much preferred if he just didn't talk to him. But it was Mihai's job—no, duty—to entertain humans, wasn't it? It was the duty of all mutants, regardless of what it cost their mood, health, dignity. So he stifled his own impatience as the man tried to continue their conversation, bowing his head slightly in the affirmative. "Of course," he answered in the most agreeable tone he could muster. "It would be my pleasure to help you in any way, as long as it is within my knowledge." Ew—gag. Talking to a human like this—sucking up to them, licking their shoes—always made something crawl up his spine in disgust, but he was used to stepping on his own pride by now. Maybe the man was just looking for directions—he just hoped that one quick answer would end the conversation.

[Gilbert Beilschmidt]

    My words are my faith...
        To hell with our good name...

Gilbert felt a shiver run down his spine at Mihai’s words. Something about the boy reminded Gil of a snake, there was just something about the way he smiled, the false deference, that put him on edge. If Gil was smart, he wouldn’t risk anything by engaging this mutant further, he needed allies he could trust and it was clear Mihai didn’t trust him for one second. He couldn’t work with anyone who didn’t trust him. He shook his head. “Never mind,” he said with a smile of his own, about to step out into the rain. He’d rather take his chances with the storm than this mutant with the serpentine smile and falsely saccharine words.

But there was something that stopped him, something other than the weather. It was just a second, and Gilbert couldn’t even be sure he had even seen it or if it was just a trick of the light. But there was something in Mihai’s eye, a loneliness that Gil had seen in so many mutants, had seen in West. It hit him hard. No matter how slick this mutant was, how carefully he tailored his act, he was still a slave to a broken system. He was a plaything, for the whims of lesser men. Gilbert couldn’t help it. He stopped and looked back at the man, the smile slipping off of his face.

He pulled out a pack of cigarettes and offered one to Mihai, his expression far more subdued than before. After all, this was not one who could be won over with platitudes and smiles and boisterous charisma. Mihai was something Gilbert hadn’t faced before and he hated to admit that it made him nervous. He knew West would lecture him for smoking, and he knew he’d have to make it up to him, but for now… anything to clear his head so he could focus on Mihai.

“Okay, one question, then I’ll leave you be.” He paused, taking a look at Mihai’s polished clothes, his poised demeanor. “You aren’t like any other mutant I met, Mihai… You’re clearly not of the mutants in the Underground, and yet I don’t think you’re on contract, you are too at ease here in the open.” He leaned against the wall and ran his hand through his hair, looking up at the sky thoughtfully. The cigarette danced and twirled around Gil’s nimble fingers and yet he made no move to light it. “There are rumors, I’ve heard… mostly in passing… about some mutants that work for the government here.” He finally looked back to Mi, his red eyes glowing like embers. “Do you work for the government, Mihai?” He smiles, a far more subdued affair than before. “Because if you are, I think I might have a deal that might work out for both of us.”

There it was, the big gamble. Gilbert had laid it all out in the hopes that the mutant in question would at least be intrigued. It wasn’t his best or his brightest move, but opportunities like this were few and far between. And Gilbert Beilschmidt was not one to let an opportunity pass him by, not when they came with such tantalizing rewards…

word count: 535
tags:Mihai C. Eliade
notes: Sorry it's not the best...

by worldie for kat

[Mihai C. Eliade]

Good, was what he thought when Gilbert turned to leave. He didn't know if he'd said or done anything to dissuade the man, but whatever reason it was, it was as good as any. He made no move to stop Gilbert as he walked out into the rain—almost. But then Gilbert stopped, and turned back to look at him. Seeing that his smile was gone, a certain nervousness welled up inside of Mihai. He tried to mask it, but he couldn't quite manage to stop his shoulders from tensing, his fingers from curling against his leg. So perhaps he had said something wrong after all, something to set this man off. Was he angry? Ducking his head, Mihai waited for his next move, whatever it may be.

Out of all the possibilities, one Mihai hadn't expected was to be offered a cigarette. Surprised, he instinctually shook his head as his eyes flickered up to Gilbert's face, trying to read the other man's intentions. He felt divided between the relief at the lack of rage he found, and the annoyance that Gilbert fully intended to stay after all. But the necessity of being polite, which had been ingrained in him after years of coaching, dictated that he listened carefully to Gilbert's explanation. The little deduction about who he worked for amused him, at least; it was cute that this human seemed to like spelling out his reasoning as though it were a great insight. Though Mihai supposed he could be forgiven. His Russian had a twang to it that reminded Mihai more of Alfred's, and he wondered if Gilbert could be American, even if his name sounded German.

"Clever human," he said after a moment, keeping his tone carefully neutral, with none of the sarcasm he would have otherwise voiced. He neither confirmed nor denied Gilbert's conclusion, letting his response speak for itself. In any case, that was not the core of the issue; Gilbert was right—whether Mihai said so or not—so the question was, what did he want with a government mutant? It was at least clear now that he was more curious about him than otherwise, so Mihai dared to slowly raise his eyes and meet Gilbert's stare as he considered what the other man had offered.

All these deals were just finding him out of nowhere, weren't they? First Alfred recruiting him for some shady plan, and now this. A complete stranger who knew nothing about him, offering him a deal for no other reason than because he worked in City Hall. If he could even be considered to be "working" for anyone. At least Gilbert had acknowledged the m-word by now; being from out of the country had apparently not made him daft enough to not know the way that system worked in Archadia. All the cards on the table, huh? Cut to the chase? What was most reassuring though, was his relative certainty that Gilbert wasn't one of those undercover agents, charged with sniffing out whatever mutants were most liable to falling for the propaganda of the Freedom Fighters. They usually approached mutants as friends, got them comfortable and their tongues loose to figure out what was really on the minds of the government's investments. No spy would make a mistake of getting someone's guard up the very first time they spoke. So what conclusion remained was that Gilbert was just some poor fool who was fumbling his way through the unwritten social norms of Archadia.

And him—how was he supposed to respond? Mihai could make no other demands than what he'd already had of Alfred—he wished for nothing else, after all—and nevermind that it would be pure folly to strike up a haphazard engagement with some pretty stranger he'd met just by chance. "I'm afraid there's not much you can offer me in terms of a deal, sir," he said eventually, carefully. "I am not in wont of much," nothing that a simple civilian could provide, anyway, "and with all due respect, sir, I don't even know who you are." But he didn't reject the proposition right away. There was still a way for Gilbert to continue the conversation—convince me, his words said. Although it would have been stupid to accept such an proposal right away, it would have been equally stupid not to at least give a chance to whatever plan the other had in mind. Perhaps if he was lucky, this man could be the one who could offer freedom (or at least some reprieve), and the simple possibility of that was enough for him to not to walk away. He'd spent most of his life begging for scraps from humans—whether they were a lunatic made no difference to him.

Gilbert Beilschmidt; Gilbert's got his work cut out for him |D

[Gilbert Beilschmidt]

    My words are my faith...
        To hell with our good name...

Gil was seriously wondering if he’d be able to win this guy over. He had to work for the government; he’d never met a civilian, human or mutant, who was so… political in his responses. Even his rejection of Gil’s offer could hardly be considered such, he still left the door open for Gil to sweeten the pot. The only question was… with what?

Gil blinked, realizing he hadn’t clarified his intentions or why he was in Archadia in the first place. Man, his business professors would have reamed him for that gaff. With an apologetic grin, Gil extended his hand to the mutant.

“Gilbert Beilshmidt, I work for KNP Manufacturing.” Shifting the cigarette to his mouth, he pulled out a business card to have ready. “We’re trying to establish a factory here, one where mutants can work, for those not on contracts to do something other than languish in those cells. It’s a good deal, we treat our workers well and they give us good products, and hopefully there’s less unrest which means less violence for the government to deal with. We’ve set up programs like this in America, on a much smaller scale of course, with some great results.” His expression fell slightly here, took on a darker tint. “It’s not freedom. It’s not ideal. But, given the current environment regarding mutants, it’s the only way to give them some sense of purpose, of easing some of the physical and mental strain that comes from being imprisoned for so long. I leave the revolutionary thinking to better minds, my goal is to find ways to help those who are struggling now.” He sighed and smiled back at Mihai, shrugging. “It’s not much, and I know I’m not anyone with any great power or influence… yet… but 3 years ago I was an intern, the bottom rung. When I want something, I don’t quit until I get it. Ever. And I never forget those who help me out. If you want something, anything, just name it. I settle my debts, Mihai. If you’re willing to help me out, I’ll do the same for you. Just tell me what you want. And all I ask in return is information. Archadian government is… difficult to navigate through, I could use some advice from someone who deals with it from the inside. Nothing too confidential, just who I can approach to best realize my goals for the factory.” He took a slow drag of his cigarette.

“Of course, you can decide that I don’t have anything worth taking that risk. I would understand that. You can walk away… or tell me to, this was your sanctuary first,” he laughed gesturing to the rain. “But I am being honest, Mihai. I think we could do great things for each other. It’s your call.” He leaned against the brick, eying the mutant thoughtfully. As much as he was drooling over the thought of having a mutant who worked for the government on his side, he couldn’t force Mihai. It had to be his choice.

word count: 510
tags:Mihai C. Eliade
notes: man, sorry this took so long

by worldie for kat

[Mihai C. Eliade]

Gilbert talked too much. That was the first conclusion Mihai drew of him this evening. Gilbert talked too much and spelled everything out with such dedication, nearly none–if any–dots were left to be connected by Mihai himself. As annoying as it was, it was good, too. Usually someone who was lying said very little or said just enough–only someone very clever or who had bad information to give would talk too much. He wondered which one Gilbert was, if he were either. He could simply be who he claimed to be–a do-gooder with a heart of gold and too many ideals and visions that ached to be put into words.

Mihai’s eyes flickered down to Gilbert’s outstretched hand, then back up to his face, hesitating. Gilbert’s actions were confusing. No one here offered a mutant their hand to shake, though sometimes mutants liked to emulate the human gesture amongst themselves. Yet, if that was what Gilbert wanted of him, he couldn’t just jilt him. It could be taken as rudeness and disobedience. Hoping this wasn’t some sort of test, he reached out and cautiously took Gilbert’s hand, allowing the contact to last only a moment before he pulled back.

He let his hand drop to his side, his thoughts turning to Gilbert’s proposition. Simply put, his company–KNP Manufacturing–wanted to open a factory here to hire mutants to work, so they wouldn’t have to fight, stay trapped in those cells… He felt the beginnings of hope, but he quickly crushed them. He could not even entertain that pipe dream for a moment. It was ludicrous to think that a scheme like that could possibly work; there were too many reasons the government would not allow that to happen–when it came to him. The others still had a chance.

Unbidden, bitterness rose in his throat like acid. Well, all the better for them. He shot a furtive glance at Gilbert, and when the man didn’t appear bothered, decided to risk it. ”Maybe I’ll have one after all,” he murmured, referring to the cigarettes. He knew he had no justifiable reason to be resentful; by all accounts, the government’s treatment of him was far above the conditions of the Underground. No fights, better rooms, no starvation if he cared to embrace that. And yet…

The question remained whether or not he could help. ‘Nothing confidential,’ Gilbert had said, yet what he’d described would involve some poking around, and God knows Mihai was doing enough of that. He was already looking over his own shoulder with the kind of information that Alfred requested (which was most certainly confidential), and he didn’t need anyone’s attention being drawn to him because he was asking about establishment procedures for a factory. Under most circumstances, that wouldn’t be a problem, especially when Gilbert was offering compensation of some sort. That was the only reason Mihai hadn’t already refused this little proposition. Despite everything, he was curious how Gilbert could sweeten the deal–or at least how he thought he could sweeten it. Who knew. Mihai never really discounted the possibility of getting surprised.

”What sort of compensation are you speaking of?” he asked. He didn’t look at Gilbert, staring instead out into the droplets of rain that bounced and gathered on the pavement. ”I do mean it when I say we are not in want of much, at least nothing that can come out of a deal like this. A one-off payment of a Volkswagen doesn’t quite work, you see.” And the single thing that did work, that he did want, more than anything, was already being done. At least, he hoped. He looked up at Gilbert with a bland smile. ”I’m sure sir already knew that.” His eyes turned back to the ground and the puddles reflecting the grey concrete of Archadia’s buildings. Everything was grey in this city. The corner of his lips curled, and he added wryly, with no real expectation to it, ”Perhaps you might be able provide me with a supply of morphine.”

---

Gilbert Beilschmidt