driftfleet | five ☀ video

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maladicta

five ☀ video

Who: Mal and you
Broadcast: Fleetwide!
Action: The Marsiva
When: Right meow (November 8)

Is everyone having fun?

[You know . . . if her expression were any different, that would sound absolutely sarcastic and pretty condescending. But she's positively beaming. Gleeful. Mal is having a great few weeks.]

It's more fun on the ships, I have to admit, but everyone's minds are so interesting. People can look almost exactly the same on the outside and be absolutely distinctive on the inside. [And she thinks that's beautiful.]

Also, a question - most of these videos and things are from Earth, yes? Well, I'm not, so someone ought to tell me where to start. My requirements thus far are: no folk music, no Taylor Swift.

[A beat. She frowns.]

No romance unless there's also a lot of punching. [Or you're Cassandra. The only exception.]

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Good lad, then.

[She does have to wonder what his deal is, what makes him equipped to handle a transformation. Another wolf - but no, he'd change at the same time, and probably not a vampire because Remus seems to know so little about them. Maybe she'll have to wait to find out.]

Ask anything you want. As I said, it's no secret. Another?

Please.

[He tries to think-- frankly, he's curious on an academic level, but he doesn't want to overwhelm her with idiotic questions. She seems to take being a vampire better than he does being a werewolf, but still. He's not going to be insensitive about this.]

You said it was obvious what you were at home. How accepted are vampires among humans? Do all humans know of you, or just wizards and witches?

[While he's thinking, she snatches the cup from him and crosses over to the coffee pot, pours him another, starts a new pot while she's over there too. The question makes her smile a little. It's so polite. He's overall a very polite young man.]

[As she slides back into her seat and passes him the fresh cup, curls her fingers around her own, she hums quietly and tries to remember all the details. If he's going to be so polite, she might as well be comprehensive in return.]

We all look very similar. At least the ones who are born and not made - pale, slim, dark hair, light eyes. Certainly there are people with the look who aren't vampires, but especially in Hubward countries, if you meet someone who looks like me and has a certain attitude . . . you just assume.

Everyone knows, we're not even a slightly well-kept secret. Again, especially Hubwards - in Überwald and the little pissy countries, like Borogravia, that's where I'm from - you see someone like me and you assume, and then you pull up the neck of your shirt a little, you know?

Mm, and as far as being accepted . . . it really depends where you are. There are some places scattered around where our aristocracy reigns, where people pay due deference out of fear rather than taking things into their own hands in the face of a threat. But those are becoming few and far between, which is all for the best, honestly, because vampires for the most part are utter cocks, myself included. Any one of us with any sense feels the changing of the tide, does the hard work, and drops the blood, because it's that or.

[She waves a hand vaguely.]

Stake through the heart, and et cetera. And even those of us who've done that, we're not so much accepted as tiptoed around. The more harmless you make yourself look, the easier it goes for you, and unfortunately that's just not my style.

[Fascinating. Remus leans in, delighted by the thoroughness of Mal's answer. He can't help but imagine eastern Europe when she mentions Überwald, but it's irrelevant, he's never going to visit anyway.]

I see.

[Of course, the least he can do is return the favor. He sips from his cup first, savoring the warmth and the bitterness, before adding:]

Now, for us, it's all a great secret. All dark creatures-- vampires, werewolves, centaurs, all of us. It's just easier if nonmagic people-- muggles-- don't know. But for those of us with magic, those in the know-- well.

[He wrinkles his nose.]

We're all rather pariahs, I'm afraid. I was made, not born-- age six, what about you?-- and god, you'd think I was a pedophile, the way all of us are treated. I wasn't allowed to go to school, they had to bloody well sneak me in-- I've kept it a secret my entire life. James and two others, my mates, they figured it out and they don't care, but the rest of the world-- I haven't been able to get a steady job, because of course when you disappear once a month people figure it out. Vampires don't even bother trying, I think-- I've certainly never met one, but then again, I don't advertise I'm a werewolf, so it's entirely possible I have and simply didn't know it.

[--that was a rant. Remus exhales harshly and glances down, mouth pursed, trying to compose himself. He has a lot of self-loathing, to be sure, but there's a lot of bitterness towards society at large as well.]

In any case. A bit different from your home.

[She drinks the information with as much fascination as he had, her eyes wide and curious and unblinking. The contrast is interesting, certainly, but also a little annoying. It doesn't take her too long to figure out why.]

[First, to answer his question:]

Forever. Both my parents are - or were, I actually have no idea if my mother's dead or not.

[And second . . .]

You know, from what I understand, the way people treat werewolves in my world isn't too different. Which has struck me as ridiculous more than once. There's the same instinct, really, to predate, and if anything I'd say you've got the more control, because there's three weeks out of the month when you're almost entirely human. Me, I can't turn this off. Not that it particularly bothers me, but there is a difference.

I think it's about associations, though. People think werewolves are more wild, because, well, wolves - and that we're more controlled, more human, just because we're more capable of holding onto a smile while we're breaking your neck. Which is a thought, too, actually, whether the - poshness of vampires is an adaptive trait in some ways. Hm.

Damn stupid, either way.

Mm. It makes sense.

[He runs a few stray fingers through his hair, pushing it out of his eyes, and bites back his next words. Vampires lust for blood (or coffee, or engineering) constantly, yes, but you can reason with them. Talk to them. When he's transformed, all you can do is run. Pray, maybe. He remembers Moony's bloodthirsty nature, the savage need for meat and blood and gore. It may be only one week out of four, but it's an awful week.

Anyway. He offers her a slight smile. Society is what it is, he is what he is, and he can't change either by being bitter. The least he can do is steer the conversation to more pleasant waters.]

In any case. Garlic, mirrors, oddly specific religious imagery-- any of that true?

[There's that sense of uneasiness again. In some measure, she thinks he might disagree with her. But that's fine. It doesn't bother her. Part of the fun of having friends, she's found, is being able to argue with them.]

[So she shoots his smile right back at him. This she can talk about, easy.]

I can see my reflection perfectly well. Garlic gives me a rash, I get sunstroke easily, and we don't have anything like Christianity where I'm from, so I can look at a cross without wincing. Stakes work, obviously, but they also work on everyone. Running water, no. I can change into bats, but one of them always tends to get lost.

Sorry-- one of them? Do you change into a-- god, I don't even know the right word. Hoard? Flock?

[The rest of the answers are rather interesting, though, and make sense to boot.]

You said you were stronger than humans-- are you more resilient too? Stakes work on everyone, yes, but if I were to be gutted, I'd go quick. Does it only work through the heart with you, or's it like everyone?

Colony, actually. [Her lips twist wryly.] Men get one, we get as many as it takes to build up to our body weight. And considering bats weigh a few ounces, that's a lot. Don't ask me why, I've no idea.

Only through the heart. You could stab me anywhere else and it would just piss me off. Could behead me, too, it would just be an inconvenience. I had a friend--

[Well, now she's just grinning. It's fond, reminiscent.]

Have a friend, back home, lovely and clever but very odd. She used to lecture us on where exactly the heart is, in case someone had to put me down.

It is rather hard to locate. I couldn't tell you beyond the general area.

[He holds up his fingers, ticking them off.]

Silver does nothing for me, wolfsbane is rather the same as garlic-- I get a mild reaction, but nothing particularly harmful. I can't infect you while I'm not transformed-- actually, I don't think I'd do anything to you, transformed or not. But biting a regular human while I'm human will just lead to them becoming fond of rare meat and looking at the moon while in the woods-- lupine tendencies, but not the curse itself.

Really?

[She leans forward a little at the last part, curious.]

We don't have that, I don't think. Just the traits. There's rumors that there are sort of - halfway or backwards werewolves. Wolves that turn into men? But I've no idea. I never--

[Mm. She hesitates, tips her head to one side.]

It's actually a bit limiting, you know. Gothic castles. I've only ever met one werewolf, before you.

Do you really live in a castle! Good lord, I-- sorry, it's just-- rather cliche, you know? I mean, I live in a city.

Isn't it awful?

[She pulls a face.]

Not anymore, though. I left. Because it was terrible. I'm a soldier now, generally we get tents if we're lucky, dirt if we're not.

May I ask what your war was about?

[He tips his head.]

I wouldn't classify myself as a soldier, but, ah, there was a war going on in my home. Which I'm participating in.

Are you.

[At no point during this conversation has Mal's intense focus wavered at all. However, at that, she does sit up a little straighter, and quietly hopes he has someone like Polly to guide him along.]

It was a stupid war. Really and truly. Not for any noble cause, not for justice or to defeat some great evil. Territorial disputes going so far back in time as to make them totally irrelevant, if not for national pride in - I have no idea what. Turnips, probably. A lot of very stupid powerful people doing very stupid things.

Ah.

[His smile is sad and sympathetic.]

I'm sorry. Those are the worst kinds of war.

There is no good kind. But you're right.

[She smiles back, brief but genuine.]

You can tell me, if you want. Or we can keep talking about me. I can talk about me for hours.

[He grins-- amused, yeah, and a little self-conscious.]

It's . . . god. Over a lot of things, honestly. I don't know how James has told anyone, really-- but there's a man. A leader of a movement which hates anyone who isn't what he calls pureblood. Anyone who has any relation to nonmagic peoples-- which includes myself, by the way, my mother wasn't magical in the least-- he wants to kill them all. A mass genocide, leaving behind only those he deems pure enough.

Idiotic, but he's attracted a vast amount of followers.

[He doesn't look twenty-one anymore. Now Remus just looks tired, tired and sad. There's a bit of white in his hair, he knows, because it's been such a long fight so far.]

So. We fight. James is part of it, though he doesn't know it yet. We join right out of school. Run missions, fight against Death Eaters-- that's what they call themselves, because their entire motive is to spread terror. And they do it very, very well.

[He does look tired. Which tells her a few things, really. One: he very much is a soldier, whether he chooses to categorize himself like that or not. Two: she'll have to change the subject soon or risk wearing him out utterly, and she's already quite decided he doesn't deserve that. He's a good lad, and for some people, this place can function as a break - an odd break, but a break all the same.]

[Resting her chin on her hand, she leans in a little, curious but making an effort to be less oppressive in her curiosity than usual.]

You'd be surprised at how attractive hate can be to a certain kind of person, who's used to power. Or, well. Maybe you wouldn't.

What's his name? In case he shows up here, so I can kick him in the fork preemptively.

Good question. He calls himself Voldemort. God knows what his original name is, but he wants people to be so afraid of him that we just call him You-Know-Who.

. . . Eurgh.

[WHO DOES THAT.]

Repellant in story, rather effective in person.

What a bastard. It's the charming monsters that are the worst.

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