Serendipity or a Chance Meeting [Mihai]

[Deleted]

Insert inspirational song lyric here.

860

Tags: Mihai C. Eliade

One could not simply stay cooped up inside, especially not on a day as unbelievably bright and beautiful as this day. The sun hung high in the sky, shining down upon the planet with its radiant and warm glow. The day was fair and clear, with a temperature perfect for tees and shorts. No matter where Lili looked there wasn’t a jacket or sweater to be found – a lovely change of pace and surroundings, for the days that came before were uncomfortably chilly with the last vestigial bits of winter. The breeze that blew through the newly greened trees was a little cold, but not unbearably so. Nonetheless as Lili continued her walk through Central Park she shivered slightly when the tendrils of wind escaped down her collar and into her shirt.

In the young Zwingli, acts of rebellion were a relative rarity that were often met with disaster and grounding. She was an obedient young woman who was never known for any sort of behavioral issues. Imagine, then, the surprise on her father’s face when he would realize that his little girl was gone, note tacked to his desk and her phone and purse missing? Ahh, he would not be happy in the least. He would take a small bit of comfort in that she had the foresight to at least let him know where she was going, but he would likely send someone to keep an eye on her lest his daughter be assailed by some terrible man or woman who sought to use her as a hostage for some reason or another. He had money, after all.

But that was where Lili's foresight failed her. Under normal circumstances her father would assign her one of various bodyguards, unwilling to trust the outside world with his daughter. Her mother, being rather public herself, would have no objections to this and often would insist it. Bodyguards were often so tiring to Lili though, skulking about in her shadow with not even the vaguest sense of privacy to speak about. Pray the shadow is female, for otherwise they insist trips to the toilet be done in an area where a watchful eye can be kept on her - eugh. This time, however, she left specifically to avoid such trouble. This venture was to be enjoyed, not spent looking back over her shoulder at the scowling man or woman who would rather be at home relaxing than watching her back.

In a way, it made her feel awful that some people would have to waste their days catering to her safety. It would not be quite as irritating or boring if the guard in question was friendly enough to socialize and be some kind of undercover friend, but they were not allowed even that pleasure. "Remain at least fifty feet from the Sparrow at all times," she recalled one say, "But do not let her out of your sights. The Sparrow should not fly on her own yet." Please, she was eighteen and old enough to watch her own back! Usually. However, Lili actually look over her shoulder, just in case. If her father could be bothered to send someone after her, they'd have to find her first!

With the lightest of smiling tugging at her lips, Lili quickened her pace. A familiar face in her peripheral warned her to the fact that, yes, she was being sought out. Ducking into some bushes, she crossed the impeccably kept lawn to another part of the park. Staying off the roads was her best bet. Luckily there were not many people who could give her position away, especially in regards to this escape of hers. She emerged on the opposite side of the park which was inhabited only by a single being , sitting by himself on what appeared to be the only bench in the immediate vicinity.

Pushing her way through the thick foliage that she was obviously not supposed to crawl into had untied just about ever knot her had on her clothes, from her shoes to the bow that had been neatly tied around her neck. Unwilling to bend down and fix them here in the grass, Lili quietly made her way through the empty area to the bench. "Excuse me, do you mind? I'll just be a moment."

The man in question had a rather pale complexion, one she hadn't seen very often, but what caught her eyes was the book he was reading. The deep brown covered was faded in places and obviously was worn from many readings. The gold filigree that twisted about the front, weaving between the letters of a faded title she could not read, were oddly bright, however. She was curious. She'd only caught a glimpse of the words as she walked over. She felt herself chewing her lip as she fixed up her shoes. What exactly was she so nervous about? He didn't look too dangerous.

"Erm-- excuse me again, I'm sorry for the bother. What book is that? I've never seen a cover like that before." Always eager for new reading experiences she hoped he was kind enough to relay a title.

made by MISSO

[Mihai C. Eliade]

Mirror on the wall

Frame the picture

Reflect this kiss to wish us all

Goodnight

For once, the weather and Mihai's mood seemed to come to terms with one another and coincide into a bright, if somewhat breezy, day. He'd felt at least somewhat rested after the first night of uninterrupted sleep in a long time, and the clock on his bedside table had read a quarter to one when he finally awoke. He'd laid in bed awhile, staring at the ceiling, wondering if this could turn out to be a good day after all. The hallway outside had been silent—no knocks on the door nor echoing footsteps—and he supposed that meant he would get to spend yet another day free of pain. He was counting the days though; it had already been 48 since his last summons, and he'd never spent more than 63 days without getting called in for a job.

The prospect was a frightening one, and one which he chose to ignore as he rolled over in bed and pulled the blankets tighter around him. He would like for it to be a good day. He would like to go outside and breathe some fresh air for once, maybe find a café or a park to sit down in, and maybe he would be okay interacting with people on that particular day. Maybe rather than greeting them with mechanical "hellos" and "good-byes," he would be able to muster up a smile that was a little more genuine than usual. Maybe it would do him good to get out of the building for once—even though he had a room in City Hall, there was no sense of privacy at all, and he knew that business and politics (both of which were often the same things) were being conducted just a few hallways down from where he slept. He was never fully granted deliverance from his assailants; if anything, his living quarters were simply another reminder that he belonged to them. It was suffocating.

He wondered on occasion if he would ever get out of there. If he saved enough money, could he buy himself out? He'd heard it was a practice during the period of slavery in America, but it didn't seem as though the humans who he was obligated to serve would be quite as benevolent. After all, he was useful, wasn't he? Anyone useful could never be allowed to let go and pursue his own interests. Furthermore, the thought of buying his freedom sickened him. It seemed like too much of an acceptance of his status as property, but God, his pride could take the hit if it meant he could get out of this hellish situation. It was a tenuous hope, but it was something.

It was a notion he clung to a bit more strongly that day when he left the building an hour later. Though the air outside was warm, Mihai was dressed conservatively. Long sleeves covered his arms and the legs of his pants went down to his ankles. A vest was added to the outfit just so that he could turn the collar up, guarding against the sense of exposure he felt when his skin was left bare. He shifted a bit uncomfortably under the heat of the spring day, but he shouldered his small messenger bag and continued on his way.

His first stop was the coffee shop a few blocks away from City Hall, tucked away into a small side-street of the town. There were a few locations that were much closer to his residence, but he liked it better the further he got from the familiar surroundings. He liked to refuge in anonymity; at the little café, no one would know from where he'd come and with whom he dealt with—he was just another regular and they treated him as such. There would be no whispers about him after he'd left; at least not the sort that speculated about what sort of work he did. Moreover, the café staff and its patrons were friendly, even sympathetic to him, despite knowing his status as a mutant. Indeed, the barista deemed it appropriate to flirt back at him, something for which he wasn't sorry.

It was just a bit short of three when he made it to Central Park. He'd been a bit regretful leaving the café—for one it was much cooler inside than it was outdoors—but he'd planned to spend at least a little time in the park. He hadn't set foot in it since autumn, and it wasn't a bad place for a walk.

He spent a little bit of time strolling around. The park wasn't as large as one would think, and soon he'd found an empty bench to seat himself on. He pulled out a worn leather-bound book from his bag, flipping to a marked page as he made himself comfortable in the shade. The shadows cooled the temperature a bit, and the breeze had finally picked up. It was comfortable. True, a bit of uneasiness still nagged at him as people milled around the area, but the soft whisper of the wind through the trees was calming and there was reassurance in mundanity. He immersed himself in his book, becoming just another anonymous figure in a changing fabric of passerby.

He was only interrupted when a rustle in the nearby bushes alerted him to the presence of someone else. He was immediately wary, attention diverting from his book as his eyes flickered over to watch a young girl disentangle herself from the foliage. Almost imperceptibly, his fingers tightened around the pages of the book as she excused herself and sat down next to him. He could see that the ribbons on her clothes were untied, and she had already begun to fix the laces on her shoes. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to relax. He was okay. Her intention was a purely innocent one.

"It's fine," he said, a bit flatly. He wasn't bothered by her—not exactly—but he certainly wasn't too accustomed to having a stranger approach him either. He was slightly more surprised when she continued to talk, inquiring about the book he held between his hands. It was certainly funnier to have someone strike up a conversation so casually, especially someone who looked like an upper-class young woman. He answered her question anyway, disconcertion and wariness putting him on an edge.

"'A Study in Scarlet,'" he said, voice softer. "I have a friend who's quite fond of Arthur Conan Doyle." There were few people or things that he spoke about in such a tone, and there would be no mistake made in the assertion that he must value those people or things a great deal. Indeed, the book had been Arthur's (who was quite aptly named, really) when they were back at the Academy. Well, it was as Arthur's as it could get considering he'd stolen it from the school library one day, and together they'd come up with a good enough hiding spot that the teachers couldn't find it. They'd only ever been able to find the first novel at their school, and Arthur had made off with it the moment he turned eighteen and was removed from campus. It had only fallen into Mihai's hands after the conditions in the Underground made it clear that personal items would commonly be lost, stolen, or damaged in some way. Mihai liked the book well enough, but his particular attachment to it probably stemmed more from its familiarity than anything else.

Now, he looked up from its pages and eyed the girl, mistrustful. The few times that humans have approached him were usually under the mistaken assumptions that he was one of them, and upon finding out otherwise, had peppered him with insults before leaving in an indignant rage. As though he had been the one who had had the audacity to approach them in the first place. There was little reason for the girl to mistake him for human though—his dogtags were hanging out over his shirt, and that was usually as good an indication as any. Perhaps she was just daft—on a couple of occasions, he'd had humans react in the same way although his identification had been in full view.

"It's rare, you know?" he said. "High-class little ladies don't usually associate with mutants." Yes, he'd rather make the matter clear before she found grounds for accusing him of lying to her. Humans' mistakes were never their own, after all—they'd always been tricked, lied to, cheated. His expression remained carefully blank as he watched her for an indication of surprise or anger.

Word Count: 1440

Notes:

by worldie on iof

[Deleted]

That brief invitation to do what she had to was not to be wasted. Immediately she began attempting to lace her shoes and neck ribbon back to perfection, which was somewhat difficult actually as she lacked a mirror and her chin made a perfect wall to block her view. She didn't often go up to people, not like this, especially not a stranger who looked as if they would rather be left alone. The book looked antique and classical, one of the reasons she was so curious. The way the cover was bound screamed that it was something she had never read.

"'A Study in Scarlet,'" There was a bit of a contrast between this tone and the one with which he allowed her to sit but was unable to place what emotion he felt. He didn't seem like the social type, this it would probably be in the best interest to finish up quickly and depart. "I have a friend who's quite fond of Arthur Conan Doyle."

She recognized that author! Several of his books were in her father's office, there amongst many other popular titles... though many she was sure he'd never even read, given the pristine quality of the spines and unsoiled pages. Having not read many of his novels herself, though, she could safely say that this was probably one of those she'd never seen.

"That's a beautiful book," she said, "It looks very well-loved." Or at least old. Could be old.

A pause.

She spoke no more, but there was an uncomfortable, brief silence as he looked up from his book, red eyes burning into hers. "It's rare, you know?" he said. "High-class little ladies don't usually associate with mutants."

Lili had not, in fact, noticed the tags dangling over his chest until it was far too late for her to back out of a conversation. By why should she? She struck conversations up with the mutants who lived in her own household and there was never any problem. Many mutants with whom she had previously associated were usually good people who happened to be in a situation about which they had no choice.

Treating them fairly was her priority, so much so that they went out of their way to garner favor from her, as if that would help them in the long run… perhaps it would. She was no clone of her father and compared to him ran a rather interesting little game of relative equality. Well, as much equality as she could get without setting them free. She learned names, she learned mannerisms and quirks, and never once laid a hand on her little friends (as both parents were oft to do, much to her horror.) Perhaps by impressing the young mistress of the house they could protect themselves from the rest of the family, who might be tempted to deliver harsh discipline that Lili detested... Ah..

"O-oh, well-- Even if you are a mutant that doesn't diminish my interest. You don't look... suspicious? Uh-- I mean... The fact you are a mutant does not change my desire for the conversation."

Smooth.

[Mihai C. Eliade]

Mirror on the wall

Frame the picture

Reflect this kiss to wish us all

Goodnight

His hands flitted over the pages of the book, the gesture unconscious, but tender. Her comment was heard, the curiosity apparent in her voice. It was a compliment, but a compliment that did not know the weight that it held, because in some ways she had been right on the marker. He paused, carefully choosing his words, before answering. "Yes," he said, a bit thoughtfully. His eyes dropped back down to the book, its yellowed paper and faded ink. "It's what little I have of him." He didn't clarify what he meant—whether said friend was deceased or merely gone in some other way—but he had little reason to tell this girl things he refused even people who might be considered friends. But perhaps then she would understand its weight a little more.

For mutants, there was little to be said about possessions of value. They always were moved according to the whims of humans, and it was simply easier not to have much. It was only the lucky who got to take their belongings with them to Weeds, and though he was one of them, keepsakes got lost and clothes were grown out of, and in the end they were left with little more than memories. Sometimes not even that, if they were unfortunate (fortunate?) enough to have been taken at a young age. But at least that gave them little to leave behind, little to miss, when even what they had at the academy was taken from them. The small comforts of being fed and clothed and taught. They ascribed meaning to objects that might be less precious otherwise—a book, a gift, a ring—to remind themselves of what they had lost. More than words, that is what the pages between his fingers contained—memories. Safety. Something which he certainly didn't have while he was seen in public with this girl. That seemed to be something that she did not understand.

He closed his book neatly—it seemed apparent that his reading time was over—but kept it between his hands. "I'm glad you think of me so favorably," he said in response, sarcasm tinging the edges of his tone. She meant the statement innocently enough, but it reflected her naïveté. Rarely were mutants ever concerned about the opinion of one person, and unless they had some reason to be, they certainly were not worried about obtaining approval. It was being seen talking to the wrong human that could be dangerous. Should he enlighten her? To the fact that anyone on the street could reproach him for being so physically close to a human lady of high standing, that even if anyone disapproved of her actions in talking to him, she would be scolded while he could be beaten, that even murder would be permissible if the excuse was that someone believed he had hurt her in some way.

But he was in no mood for explanations. He rarely was. Whatever she ended up thinking was none of his concern—put simply, he just didn't care. There was little that he did care about these days, and the misconceptions of privileged humans were low on the list. Yet, it didn't mean that her comment didn't inspire some degree of ire. They were always so, so oblivious, even the ones like her who found his status "did not change her desire for conversation." Maybe those were the worst. After all, the bigots at least never pretended to understand something they were clueless about, never thought that little gestures of sympathy were enough to make life tolerable for mutants. If anything, they probably relied on people like that to run the system as well as they did, those people who thought that the occasional kindness would ever be anywhere near good enough.

"Though I'd advise you to be a little less trusting," he continued, the steel in his voice barely apparent. He wasn't going to offer her a lecture, but he could always scare her a bit. "Haven't you heard of Aoki Takamura's murder? It's been all over the news. They're saying that a mutant did it." He held her gaze—steady, unflinching. "They just might be out for victims. Or maybe they've just given an idea to the rest of us. Maybe we'll finally find a way to show our displeasure." He fell silent for a moment, allowing the words to hang thickly in the air between them. Then, he turned away and laughed. "Just kidding," he said. The remark was deceptively light, as was the smile that had come to grace his lips. "Now, why would we want to murder our beloved caretakers?" he mused. Maybe that was a question she could ponder awhile, though if this were a sort of test, one might say that it was more of a trick. Plenty of answers would be able to grace his inquiry, though he would sooner wager that she would have no response at all.

Word Count: 820

Notes: @secretfudgebox, finally

by worldie on iof

[Deleted]

"Though I'd advise you to be a little less trusting," Words she was accustomed to hearing. If it wasn’t her parents, it was a classmate, or a teacher. There was truth in their advice that Lili was either incapable of listening to, or simply unwilling to. Perhaps it was for this reason it was often determined that she needed some kind of guard, that utterly incomprehensible desire to simply speak to whomever managed to catch her interest. "Haven't you heard of Aoki Takamura's murder? It's been all over the news. They're saying that a mutant did it."

She held her breath. That statement was something she had not heard of. The murder was familiar. Recent, words spoken over television or radio and quickly turned off for fear of causing her fear. For a mutant to commit murder, surely they must have been pushed to the very brink of their tolerance. Most of the time they were left alone, right? Save chores and the most basic control, they had little reason to want for anything… "They just might be out for victims. Or maybe they've just given an idea to the rest of us. Maybe we'll finally find a way to show our displeasure."

She shook slightly. Hopefully he wouldn’t notice. His voice was dark, near threatening. Regret crept into the back of her mind and she watched Mihai closely, prepared to flee at the first display of endangering movement.

“Just kidding.”

She exhaled, frowning. She didn’t glare at him, but still warily watched him. It would be impolite to simply turn and walk away, but she was at a loss for words. She had no idea how to respond to that kind of talk, and the words that would come next would floor her completely.

"Now, why would we want to murder our beloved caretakers?"

Nonetheless, he was… uncomfortably right. She’d never stopped to think of that before. The question was never brought up, she’d never seen any sort of displeasure in the faces of the household mutants who worked, probably perhaps simply because to do otherwise compromised their chances to live another day. Ignorance was bliss, after all. She disliked the idea that any sort of sadness or misery could be present in the household beyond her own, with her life being controlled and directed constantly.

In a way, she felt she could empathize somewhat, though the severity of that control was very different from what mutants experienced. It wasn’t just the mutants that were fed propaganda. From a young age Lili was always taught that it was for their own good, that unless in servitude mutants would be hunted down, obliterated out of existence. She barely understood how mutants came about, seemingly unrelated to heredity, as she had known several families whose children had been taken away. His words were devastating her current world view. It wasn’t often she met a mutant who openly expressed his opinion – actually, even speaking to mutants was a rarity.

Her response was mere silence, her expression devolving into a frown as she diverted to gaze to the glistening pavement below her feet. The muffled utterance of a quiet, “I’m sorry,” was the only sound she could muster in the quiet that followed, her feet shuffling to move her inches backward away from this man she now regretted speaking to. It was apparent now that he really didn't want her anywhere near him, and she couldn't really blame him for that. She had no words. Her only recourse was to flee, and that's just what she did, turning back the way she came.

[Mihai C. Eliade]

Mirror on the wall

Frame the picture

Reflect this kiss to wish us all

Goodnight

He was unnerving her. It was easy to see, for she was an expressive young lady, perhaps a little bit naïve in her worldview due to her upbringing. The class was evident in her, from her dress to her mannerisms, and Mihai had gotten good at divining people's history from such simple things. Such an ability was necessary in order to know how to treat them, to know how much he could get away with. Normally, he would not have expected to be allowed so much leeway, especially with an upper-class girl, but it seemed as though she herself was not keen on confrontation. She seemed to accept his biting words with little desire for vengeance, and Mihai almost felt bad for being so harsh with her. She couldn't have been more than a few years younger than himself, and yet the difference in their lives, their experiences, were painfully apparent.

The gaze she turned on him as he spoke of poor, wretched Aoki Takamura was a wary one. So she'd heard of the incident. It would be more of a surprise if she hadn't, since the murder had indeed been all over the news. Outrage rang through the popular media outlets—internet forums, radios, news channels. Pictures of the weeping Takamura family, pictures of Aoki herself—she was such a "gentle, intelligent soul." Who would have done such a thing? The internet was the quickest to come up with an explanation—mutants. It must be them. Who else would be so cruel, so inhumane? The conservative networks seized up on it next—"professor, does the brutal murder of Miss Takamura match the profile of an unstable mutant?" That was the only word that needed to be said—mutant. And then, the streets were alive with cries for blood. They weren't reported, but he'd heard in passing conversation, in words of the mutant servants that were hushed and went unheard by their masters—there were vigilante patrols out now, tough men who looked to protect the women of their community, seizing upon any dogtagged mutant who was too close to a girl. There had been beatings, deaths, some more brutal than even the original murder. Idly, Mihai thought he himself must be in some sort of danger, to be seen out in the open with a girl he shouldn't even deign to address. Still, he felt no inclination to back down, though he thought it would soon be time for him to depart the lovely and comfortable bench he'd found.

Human hypocrisy was truly a spectacle to be marveled at—they said they were afraid of him, yet he had to look over his shoulder for humans who thought they would take justice into their own hands. They accused him of being irrational, cruel, violent, but the past month had seen more murders of mutants than of cases like Aoki Takamura's. He wondered if humans saw this too (probably not—they were always too daft to pick up on their own failings), wondered if the girl next to him could see it, or if she would simply refuse to.

She seemed to be caught in a dilemma. She had averted her gaze and was staring hard at the paved ground, her pretty face drawn into a frown. Considering his words, perhaps? But then, a soft apology was made, one he barely heard, and one he couldn't say he had expected to hear, before she silently rose to her feet and began to retrace her steps. He could not resist a last remark as she departed, a small smirk on his lips. "Be safe," he said simply, then fell quiet as he watched her go. A puzzling conflict tightened his chest. Should he feel guilty for what he'd said? She had meant no harm, and her ignorance was not through a fault of her own, yet… Mihai briefly clenched his jaw. She was well-off, surely she had mutants in her house. Was she so blind not to witness the discontent, the upset, the sadness in her own household?

He watched her for a moment longer, then tried to shrug off his irritation. He flipped back to the marked page in his worn book and started to read.

Word Count: 706

Notes: whoo done. Shortest thread ever.

by worldie on iof