A Lamp at the Door (Closed)

[littlebluebird]

“Oh! Drinks? Maybe some sweet tea -"

Olivia’s own interjection is interrupted when a stranger’s hand reaches over their call button to order in German. She raises a single dark brow at the curious intrusion, but when her eyes follow up the arm of said stranger, both brows just about hit her hairline.

Their uninvited guest looks like some mad scientist, with the presence of a warrior awaiting battle; biding her time in boredom until the next adrenaline rush. Her physical features aren’t classically striking in the feminine sense: short brown hair and all hard angles. It’s her comportment that lends to her impressive being, along with that air of “absolutely none given.”

Her nose wrinkles at the slight smell of smoke, which she doesn’t remember coming across earlier.

When their new companion attempts to sit beside Raim, and she hears a male grunt, her jaw slightly drops. Beaumont. She had questioned her vision when she saw the depression of the seat earlier, but their guest’s inability to sit in the seemingly unoccupied space confirmed otherwise.

Olivia decides she needs a drink - something strong. This is by far the strangest day she’s ever experienced. But before she can get up, the German woman is plopping herself right next to her, driving her back and further into the booth. Her bare legs slide against Raim’s as she shifts to make space. Olivia clears her throat at the accidental contact, and quietly mouths an apology to him with a bemused smile.

After Raim's colleague introduces herself in machine gun fashion, and asks him about the Dean, Olivia licks her lips with an uneasy expression of her own, “Klassewitz, is it? I’m Olivia. Are you joining us for dinner?” There’s a sense of disquiet at the table that their guest seems to be unaware of, or more realistically, doesn't give a damn about.

 

[Obuzeti]

Raim coughs uncomfortably as he feels Olivia's bare ankles butt up against his. It's unintentional, he knows, but the memories of trying to keep a straight face while playing footsie at the high school cafeteria are fierce at the moment. Her apologetic smile makes the corner of his mouth curve, and he turns into the wall for a second to compose his face. When he looks back, the exopsychologist grants his pardon with a regal nod to Olivia, even though his lips twitch. Instead, he taps her ankle with the side of his foot, intentionally, and gives a little half shrug on the side away from their sudden companions.

Beaumont huffs and straightens himself, squirming in his seat a little to fix how he'd been driven into the booth by Hildegardt's ass. "That's why most people ask if there's room to sit, Frau Degenhardt," he grumbles, but there's no real wrinkle to his frown or his forehead at the sudden company.

"Waste of time," Klassewitz dismisses without even a look. She has a stare like a hawk without the sensitivity - she just stares at whoever she's talking to without looking away, or even blinking much. The weight of her regard is very near physical, then, and Raim bears up under it well as he proffers a faint smile.

"He's got a series of lectures lined up, starting each day at noon next week, and he's paying it all as one block," Raim says with a pained shrug. Each lecture is probably going to be three to four hours, usually to a focus or target group of important alumni or patrons. Moreover, because the dean's budget clarifies them all as a single 'class' that's just given multiple times, he's getting shorted even harder than usual. It amounts to something like thirty hours this week at about three-fifty an hour, lodged right in the middle of his day with no guarantee on it ending at a convenient time so that he can schedule other things.

The pay is shit, but more importantly it's eating Raim's ability to get anything done, especially since he has to drive into the university on lunch traffic then usually drive home in work traffic.

"Fuck," Klassewitz says, conversational, and leans back. There's a heavy crunch, and the sucker jerks in her mouth. Then she takes out the stick and pockets it while she chews the shards of the candy she'd had in her mouth, thinking.

"She won't stay," Raim says, apologetic to Olivia. "She's -"

" - busy," Klassewitz interjects. She finishes ravening down the candy, promptly produces a second sucker, and jams it in her mouth. "Needed to find out how much shit to start. I'm heading back to the lab."

Raim grimaces. " I -"

Hildegarde raises a finger at him. Just a finger, and then waits, holding the point at him like a sword.

Raim raises his hands in surrender.

Hildegarde gives a sharp nod, then turns and runs a discerning eye over Olivia. She notes the dress, the bag, and then glances under the table - no shits given - to look at her shoes, and gives a satisfied grunt at the heels.

"You'll be fine," she says to the other woman with a nod. "He's a good man."

She draws another sucker, and thrusts it through the air at Beaumont without looking, clocking him the face with it. He sputters and takes it.

"I'm leaving now," Klassewitz says, and then does so. Her heavy stride echoes on the wooden floor - because she's wearing combat boots.

Silence. Beaumont unwraps his sucker and puts it in his mouth, satisfied. It's cherry flavored.

"Well, that's Klassewitz," Raim says, a little helpless, and then starts to laugh.

 

[littlebluebird]

Olivia blinks at Klassewitz’s departure, and releases a breath she didn’t quite realize she was holding. After the visual once over (and approval?), Hildegarde Degenhardt is gone just as quickly as she had arrived. The young woman chuckles, “Well, she certainly leaves quite the impression!” The faint scent of charring is still lingering in the air.

When she felt Raim tap against her ankle earlier, Olivia wondered if he was motioning for her to move. But when she met his eyes and saw his playful shrug, she felt like she was in school again with butterflies fluttering in her stomach.

Her ankle finds his again, and idly brushes against it. A small smile plays along her lips while she pretends to busy herself with the menu for the second time that evening. “I have to say, you seem to keep some interesting company, Raim,” her smile is full of mirth, while her eyes glance at the stick-end of Beaumont’s sucker, floating in the air.

“May I ask how you two…” she pauses, trying to find the right words, “…came across each other?”

 

[Obuzeti]

Raim laughs. He's smiling, despite the oddity of their interruption. "Hildegarde is a classmate of mine who is the staunchest, toughest woman I've ever known," he says to Olivia. "We started to talk on the basis that our fields of study were too dangerous for anyone else to be interested in. I do exopsychology, and she does radical inorganic chemistry - explosives, to the layman. Her father is the eponymous Charlie."

He shrugs a little, and his ankle curves against Olivia's as his smile brightens. "I'd be lying if I said I wasn't at least a little scared of her, but that's because I'm terrifically impressed. She's - uh. Impressive. Especially from a safe distance."

He's never been attracted to the woman, but always glad she's been on his side, unflappable and decisive as she is. That said, he has a different woman on his mind now.

Beaumont leans over and opens the satchel over Raim's shoulder, drawing out a tablet that he begins tapping on. After a moment, it produces a highly synthesized cough sound. Raim laughs and draws back a bit, leaning back into his seat rather than forwards to Olivia, leaning forward secretively. "Well, business first. Sweet tea, you said?"

 

[littlebluebird]

“Oh, my goodness. Everything looks and smells so good!” Olivia exclaims as she takes in the spread on the table.

She reaches over her plate of chicken fettuccine alfredo, to pick up one of the portions of bruschetta with tomato and bites into it. The grilled rustic bread gives way to the bright flavors of seasoned tomatoes, basil, and garlic. She hums in delight, while her foot secretly slides a little higher up Raim’s calf. “This is perfect. Bruschetta with tomato is such a simple dish that gets butchered all the time by restaurants.”

Olivia twirls her fork into her pasta and tries a small mouthful. She sighs, savoring the bite. “Pecorino and butter,” she pleasantly notes, then chuckles. “I think I may end up being a dinner regular here. I can’t believe this place isn’t packed! Don’t get me wrong, I love that it’s not, but Charlie knows what he’s doing in the kitchen.”

Her other foot silently joins the foray underneath the table; both of her ankles cradling Raim’s lower leg. She keeps her attempt at a poker face by focusing on her plate of food, knowing full well that she’s on the verge of giving into a fit of laughter.

“So, I have a bit of a confession to make,” Olivia starts while she continues to twist the noodles onto her fork. “I went to the library after seeing you at the grocery store. Found out my building dates back to the 1800’s. It’s an industrial cotton mill that was recently renovated and reconstructed into loft apartments. Don’t know who was there beforehand, but the leasing agent had mentioned my unit’s last tenant completely ghosted.”

Olivia shrugs as she continues to eat. She realizes that conversing is giving her brain something else to focus on besides the heat running up her legs and the rollercoaster high she’s on. Her tongue flicks to the corner of her mouth to lick a drib of velvet cream that didn’t quite make it past her lips.

“I couldn’t find that much material at the library on hlessi, so I vetted you online when I got home.” She smiles and leans back into the booth, carefully watching the men in front of her. “You’re a bit of a celebrity in your field, Raim. Actually, both of you are.”

Her eyes glance at the tablet that Beaumont’s holding. “What drew you to exopsychology in the first place?”

 

[Obuzeti]

"Charlie knows his stuff," Raim agrees, and that's all the words he'll let go before he dives into the meal. There's a momentary break as they both try their food out. "Foreign restaurants just slop on spices and sauces and pretend that makes it foreign. Instead, it just makes me fatter, and then I have to add laps to my route."

Beaumont chuckles, then works his interpreter for a second. i make raim go jogging every weekday it says, in the harsh autotune of synthesized speech. he's a good sport about it.

No, he's not, but Beaumont's a slick wingman when he wants to be. Raim resolves to owe the man a microbeer later on, when his brain isn't full of the brush of Olivia's skin against his. It's secret and sneaky, except for the heat working its way into his cheeks, and he can't really respond the way he wants to because his leather shoes would be rough on her skin. Instead, he just slides his other foot forward to lace their shins together like fingers. It's the dorkiest thing he's down since he painted his miniatures, but feeling ridiculous doesn't stop the idiot smile he keeps trying to choke down. He's bad at stopping that too.

"We'd better be celebrities in exopsychology, after creating the field," Raim says, amused. He laughs, but he'd worked hard to be taken seriously in those first early years. "There's a few people splitting into the field over in California, but they've already got degrees, I understand. For primary practitioners, I'm pretty much it."

His eyes flick to the daub of sauce on Olivia's cheek before her tongue flicks it up. He suddenly has a dizzy premonition: she might be better at this flirting thing than he is. In fact, it seems pretty likely, because he has no idea of how to up his game from here.

Shit, he'll improvise.

"My grandfather had a hlessi. I grew up not knowing the difference. Always wondered why he never talked to anyone else, or why it was such a secret. Then when I grew up, I found Beaumont, and I couldn't let it be folklore or a tall tale anymore. He's a person like me. He just never has to diet."

Beaumont flicks a salad leaf at Raim's face, them laughs when he flinches away from it. He stops to type something into the keyboard. i don't have to do situps to chase away my muffintop either, he says, and Raim has a moment of absolutely wanting to smack the other man before he reins it back down.

50/50 as a wingman, then.

 

[littlebluebird]

Olivia blinks and stares back in wide-eyed amazement at the tablet’s vocal response. This was Beaumont communicating back with her! She smiles with a bit of excitement upon learning that she has something else in common with Raim. “I run almost every morning." Her hand comes up in a soft stopping motion while she explains further, "Not happily, mind you. When I went away for undergrad, I got caught up with the dreaded ‘Freshman 15.’ It’s not my favorite activity, but I can’t deny that it really helps me start my day off right.” She chuckles while she turns her fork, “It also lets me enjoy cheesy buttered noodles. At least Charlie makes the mileage worth it.”

The young woman shrugs before she tucks into her food again, and warmth returns to her cheeks when she feels their legs interlace together. She can’t quite remember experiencing this level of curious interest in someone; not quite like this, at least. Definitely not so quickly. And having that interest mutually returned? She’s out of her element, but she figures she’ll wing it.

Her eyes narrow a hair at the mention of he and Beaumont creating the field. It’s a detail she somehow overlooked - which almost never happens - but in retrospect, all of the (reputable) information she was able to pull online featured the both of them. It made sense.

“I can’t believe-“ Olivia shakes her head, “I didn’t realize. You just seem, young?” She frowns momentarily before she huffs a sigh, and clarifies, “Not that you’re a baby, by any means.” She would guess that Raim was a few years older than herself at 26. “But to be heading the front of a new scientific field? No offense, but the usual suspects are typically the old men of academia with underlings doing all the work, right?”

“For primary practitioners, I’m pretty much it.”

There’s a mental pause of realization for her then; pieces falling into place that she wasn’t aware of earlier. She remembers the cautious way she had initially responded to him in the grocery store, when he was offering to help. God, I can’t imagine the backlash he experienced early on, or hell, even now.

Olivia tilts her head slightly at the mention of his grandfather, and finding Beaumont. “Is there a genetic component to being sensitive to hleesi?” She takes a moment to reflect on both her parents and grandparents, and can’t recall anything out of the ordinary.

“How did you find Beaumont, and how old were you at the time?” she asks, just as a salad leaf flies at Raim’s face and Beaumont makes a quip about sit-ups and muffin tops.

At least they seem to have a brotherly rapport with one another, she muses.

Olivia barely catches the flash of irritation that crosses the doctor’s features, and she can’t help but quietly smile while she busies herself with her food and their secret caresses beneath the table.

 

[Obuzeti]

Nothing threatens a man's masculinity more than a woman who exercises more than he does. But then Raim's had a two century old Foreign Legion guy attached to the back half of his soul since before he started shaving, and machismo kind of loses its flavor after another man watches you try and fail to flex your abs in the mirror. Beaumont raises his eyebrows at Raim even as he thinks this, but doesn't say anything, because he doesn't half to.

They'll start running on the weekends.

"That's admirable," he says, and eats some of those buttered noodles because she's right: Charlie makes good damn food.

"I am young, but the main requirement to studying hlessi is to have one, and they're not common," Raim says. "It was almost - a byproduct, really. I didn't do this to put my name up in lights. I just fell sideways into the science aspect after realizing it was the best way to - prove Beaumont was real, honestly."

He shrugs, though the red flushes his cheeks a little more now. He's not ashamed of helping his partner out, of doing all this for him, but he'd fluttered through a handful of majors before figuring out an effective field of science that could return positive results on a hlessi's presence, and then swapped that into their psychology, formation, and understanding; he'd abandoned that fresh, exciting physical results to immediately chase the intangible, and more than prove hlessi as a set of phenomena, define them as persons.

That had been his driving principle. It'd been a hell of a road.

He takes another bite, and focuses on Olivia's questions instead, eyes fogging over as he answers. "Certain genetic conditions limit the chances of it occurring - some manias, dementia; it looks to be linked with the hippocampal theta brainwave, or at least hlessi never form where its activity is inhibited. Otherwise we still don't know what that's for, precisely. There doesn't seem to be a linked positive factor for gaining a partner, either; just factors that inhibit it."

He shrugs. He's not a neuroscientist, and that's getting into fields beyond his understanding. His feet slow down and stop their careful flirtation with Olivia as he warms to his subject. Beaumont types three characters then turns his board around:

◔_◔

"Found Beaumont when I was fifteen, anyway," Raim says, with a fond smile, completely missing the exchange. "I was skipping rocks at a pond, standing there and moping. Then he shoved me into it."

He shrugs. "Got my attention, at least."

"You needed to get out of your head," Beaumont says, with tired amusement, and Raim doesn't disagree.

 

[littlebluebird]

Olivia is working on a mouthful of pasta while shaking her head at Raim.

“No, no,” she murmurs between bites. She brings the napkin to her lips before she speaks again. “Running is a means to staying healthy and eating delicious food. What you’re doing, spearheading a new field of study, that’s admirable. And, I think,” she pauses to meet his eyes for a moment before looking back at her food; her shoulders shrug and her voice drops into a quiet and sincere tone, “I think it’s really brave.”

She’s smiling while she twirls the noodles on her plate. Meanwhile, underneath the table, her ankles intermittently change course from hugging his calf to sliding along the length of his leg.

Olivia nods and listens intently as Raim shares his knowledge of hlessi and the neuroscience involved. He’s so dedicated to his work and humble about it all, she muses, and decides that she likes him for those reasons alone. Well. Those reasons, plus his blue eyes. Ok, maybe his height as well, and the way his brown hair looks like it wants to spring wild, despite taming.

She blinks, when he mentions finding Beaumont. “Wow. 15? Again, that seems young? You’ve been bonded since?”

She looks in Beaumont’s direction. With his tablet, she feels more comfortable addressing him, as opposed to talking around him through Raim, “And you’ve watched him grow up?”

Then, realization along with a touch of panic hits. Her own feet pausing around Raim’s. “Ahh..alright, alright. Just how close is this hlessi bond? Is it inseparable? Are we talking a matter of forever here?”

 

[Obuzeti]

She hits from multiple angles at once. Raim has no chance to defend himself - he just topples over the cliff into puppy-dog love as soon as she turns to try to talk to Beaumont. His hand moves without him quite thinking about it to clasp Sophie's for a second, before he remembers himself and takes the expedient route of just folding his arms on the table with a brilliant flush. It's all a little too much - she's interested, in Beaumont and his work and him, and with a warm smile and a neck he keeps having to look away from, and a trim waist - and - and -

Beaumont's hand settles on his shoulder, and the cool touch soothes him a little. Raim takes a breath, then another, then shoots the other man a grateful glance as he recomposes himself, shuffling in his seat.

This time when he reaches out for Sophie's hand, it's intentional, and his fingers rest atop hers, silent with the weight of acknowledgement. You don't hold hands on a business outing.

"Very early," he reaffirms, anyways, because this is stuff Sophie needs to know. "Hlessi tend to occur more with people in their twenties - I presume younger children don't have a stable enough pattern to keep a guest, though I think they're very sensitive to them; you saw that one kid pick up on Beaumont almost instantly at the grocery store. I haven't done any testing proper on that, it's just anecdotal."

Beaumont replies once Raim stops to take a moment, the mechanical translator a welcome breather for his scattered thoughts. "Ever since. Over a decade at this point."

"It's not inseparable, but I've never seen evidence to suggest a Hlessi can come back once it's cut loose," Raim says, eventual. "You can keep pushing it away and it'll drift free - unless it's tied to a location, which seems to be a different pattern - but again, my testing is limited. I will note there are established records of the same Hlessi reappearing in a single location over generations."

To be frank, America doesn't have an old enough culture to encourage that kind of duration, which is the root of his problem in obtaining evidence for that particular kink of behavior.

 

[littlebluebird]

Olivia’s breath catches somewhere in her throat when Raim’s hand finds hers. It’s an unexpected, but welcome connection - especially from him. The heat from his touch reaches far beyond her fingers and straight for her soul; her heart races, while her cheeks flush again.

She tries her best to maintain a cool front, and nods along when he mentions hlessi typically occurring with people in their twenties. That part matched up for her, and after this morning she didn’t doubt his theory on children being sensitive to them.

Her hand shifts ever so slightly. She's tempted to extend her wrist back, and intertwine her fingers through his own. However, she quickly decides that might be too intimate, and opts for a safer and more subtle route, tracing her thumb along his. The pad of her thumb slowly glides along his thenar eminence and digit, then back again.

She smiles when she hears Beaumont’s translator, and her eyes twinkle with mirth, “Oh, I’m sure you have stories.”

There is a sigh of relief when Raim verifies that the bond isn’t inseparable. The mere idea of bonding with a hlessi is daunting in and of itself. Potentially, she’d have a spectral presence tied to her. At all times. She’s not even sure if she can fully wrap her head around it.

But if there’s a woman on the other side reaching out, Olivia wanted to at least try to connect.

“A different pattern?” she echoes in question. Her brows knit in thought. She turns her hand to gently squeeze his, before pulling back to go through her messenger bag. Withdrawing her tablet, she brings up the data she has been collecting and several charts and viewing options fill the screen.

“I’m not sure if this is helpful at all, but I’ve been documenting my episodes the past few months.” Olivia offers the tablet across the table, and her voice quiets some. She loves her career as a Data Visualization Analyst, but whenever she had the opportunity to explain her vocation to someone outside of the industry, it was only a matter of time before their eyes glazed over, and the conversation moved on to something else. “For my job, I work with a lot of information. I parse it and add visuals to help provide a faster read, especially with comparisons. I couldn’t find a lot of information on what I was experiencing, so I figured I’d do what I do best. Maybe help someone else going through this.”

Olivia reaches over and swipes her finger across the screen. “This is the last few weeks. There’s an increase in frequency as well as duration here and-“

She grimaces when another sudden migraine stops her dead in her tracks, and that uneasy stir in the air starts to build. Her legs jerk away from his, almost drawing her up into a fetal position while her hands ball up into fists on the table. “Three times, Raim. She’s persistent,” she tries to chuckle and ease back into deep breathing.

She licks her lips as desperation threads her voice, “These episodes. They’ll stop, right? They’ll stop if I bond with her?”

 

[Obuzeti]

Raim opens his mouth, and hesitates when Olivia almost convulses away from him, drawn tight and bent under the looming shadow of her Hlessi. He bites his lip and reaches back out for Olivia's hand anyways, and closes his eyes. "Can you sense her, Beaumont?" he asks - he can feel the heavy rain-scent of a partner nearby, but the flavors of his perception have to be filtered through his partner first.

Beaumont is already feeling out with senses no human has: open to the ontological currents, he can feel faith and passion like gravitic forces that pull against him, a breeze or an insistent reminder. Raim's unfaltering belief and friendship anchors him so that they have no power over him - but he can still feel the winds blow.

Now, he lets that wind carry him, and tastes:

peaches, sweet and full-bodied
wine sipped slowly
the static of inspiration couruscating

and Beaumont reaches in with that which defines him more than a human's flesh and bone, and takes hold of those sensations, and the dormant mind caught behind in the dull sleep-panic of a nightmare forgotten on awakening

and pulls.

Here he is deep in the current. He can't feel the cushions of the booth they're sitting, and he can't smell the heady scents of the food at the restaurant. He's deaf and blind and isolated, sunk dead in the gestalt consciousness with only his lifeline to Raim holding him steady, reminding him of who he is and what he's doing. The waters swirl deep, here, and the wind howls. They tug him down.

But instead, he pulls, and lifts her up with him. And he tastes her name, like sweet cherries and painted fingertips and joy.

"Vera," he says, and feels her hand in his, as he sinks back into reality, though the rest is unshaped and gaseous. But she's here now, and out of the waters of Lethe. "Can you hear me?"

 

[littlebluebird]

Everything is the same. It always is.

Within this realm, all that exists is perpetual darkness and the never-ending dream of being adrift at sea; wave sets and lulls cradling the consciousness into welcome quiescence. Ever and again, storms pass through. Merciless gales and rainfall that press against the mind, and bring fleeting glimpses of more; impressions of things that exist beyond this plane and feed that drive, that need to reach out and connect - only to be quelled by the rhythmic ebb and flow of the Lethe.

Repeat ad infinitum.

But each passing storm leaves an imprint, a dim and distant reminder of light beyond the darkness. And although that longing is mollified after each pass, an ache remains at the edge of awareness.

~*~

This storm is different. It incites another level of focus not present in the squalls beforehand: the imprints, the glimpses, the flickers of light all coalesce to provide a faint glimmering of. . . Hope. With that, she reaches out into the storm and further still; even though she knows blissful forgetfulness awaits and the odds are ever against her, she persists.

And latches on.

Her grip is answered by another whose steady strength pulls at and flows through her. The howling winds slowly wane behind her as crisp mountain air takes its place. Sunrises are followed by sunsets, and she feels the impression of lifetimes lived several times over. She presses back into the bond and shares the only thing she has left to give. The only thing she’s been able to keep close to her heart, when everything else has long been forgotten.

“Vera.”

Her name. It’s been ages since she’s heard it; part of her even questions its accuracy. Nevertheless, joyous relief courses through her, only to be followed by complete and utter exhaustion. Wherever she is now is suddenly too bright, too loud, and simply too much.

“Can you hear me?”

She tries to recall the mechanics for verbal communication, and feels like the process itself is calling upon the last remnants of her strength. She makes the most of it, even as her voice cracks, “Sí. Who are you, and where am I?”

 

[Obuzeti]

If he was human, Beaumont would be panting for breath - instead, the world is filtered with greys, and the sounds of the diner are muted. Without a body, what Beaumont has to spend is the strength of his soul and his attachment to Raim, and though it runs deep, it's not infinite. The soldier leans against his partner's shoulder, grounding himself in the warm flesh, and then answers, I'm Beaumont. I'll take you home."

He needs Vera to come with him - he can't drag her up by himself, not completely, and she's confused and frightened. At the same time, he's not lying, not in the least, because home is what Raim means to him, the one person that defines his existence, that's been his bulwark against a literally unseeing, uncaring world. The eccentric penpusher acts like the little brother, but against all the doctors and lawyers and skeptics of the world he bristles his fur and bares teeth fit for an alleyway scrum.

Hopefully, Vera can find the same kind of acceptance and peace in Olivia.

"Her name is Vera," Beaumont says to Olivia, exhaustion dragging his voice threadbare, too tired to remember that she can't hear him directly yet. Raim's quick to repeat his words though, brow furrowed and his hand warm on Beaumont's wrist. "Call her home, ma cocinelle. She's lost. She's frightened."

Conduit that he is for Beaumont's actions here, Raim's hands are tight on his partner's, and his other reaches out to lay atop Olivia's, completing a circle he doesn't even consider. "You're safe too," he murmurs to Olivia. "You're fine. We're with you. Breathe."

 

[littlebluebird]

The air settles, and surprisingly enough, the incessant pressure at her temples ceases almost as quickly as it had surfaced.

Olivia stares at Raim in wide-eyed bewilderment while she tries her best to heed his words. One second, she was doubled over with a migraine threatening to split her head open, and now there’s a woman’s form coalescing next to their table.

Having a conversation about hleessi was one thing. Seeing and experiencing yours form was completely another.

The sudden urge to flee almost reaches a fever-pitch until she feels Raim’s hand atop her own. This time she doesn’t hesitate and turns her hand to hold his. The warmth of his touch and the calm cadence of his voice soothes her nerves and grounds her, giving her a chance to find her own strength.

Olivia nods and takes a breath before turning towards the edge of the table. “Vera?” she asks tentatively, while her heart thrums away. She’s still not sure what to make of all of this, but the gentle clasp of Raim’s hand reassures her that she’s not alone, and so she presses on.

“My name is Olivia.” She reaches outward with her other hand, fingers outstretched in quiet invitation: “Let’s go home.”

~*~

“I’m just down the hall here.” Olivia directs Raim, as she steps off the elevator and cradles Vera’s gaseous form in a princess carry. While she doesn’t weigh anything near what a human adult does, Olivia catches herself making small, constant adjustments just to maintain her hold; it’s like trying to carry a waterfall of silk with the flowing layers threatening to slip and cascade over. Meanwhile, Vera murmurs non-sensical fragments with each step and movement that jostles her.

Olivia manages to grab her keys from her pocket, only slightly fumbling when she guides it towards the lock. “You’re actually the first ones I’ve shown my place to”, she shares, rather brightly, before realization sets and she starts running a mental checklist.

When Raim offered to accompany her home and view her place, she couldn’t say yes fast enough. For research, she reasoned. Right now though, she hopes she doesn’t have anything unseemly lying around in the open, like scattered clothes or leftover plates.

Her eyes narrow when the key sticks, and the lock doesn’t quite turn. She glances up and verifies her apartment number with relief, before re-inserting her key with a jiggle. “I’m not quite completely moved in yet, so there’s still a few boxes around,” she warns Raim and Beaumont, just in case they’re the types to keep things obsessively tidy. She isn’t a slob by any means, but she wasn’t planning on having guests over any time soon; now she has three. One of which was going to possibly become permanent. This time the lock turns, allowing her to depress the handle lever and open the door.

Olivia nudges it open for Raim to hold, while she steps over the threshold with Vera in her arms. “We’re home,” she sighs with a soft smile, and moves the dimmer switches up. Warm track lighting floods the open-concept space revealing her kitchen and work/living area. A few taps on the nearby screen fill the room with a smooth jazz piece: bright piano flourishes balanced with sultry, mellow saxophone tones. Dark hardwood floors lead to the grandiose windows adorning the far, red-bricked walls. The adjacent walls are painted in cool, light greys and are dotted with varying informational design posters.

She walks past her work desk and over to the singular piece of furniture in the living area - a plush, oversized armchair upholstered in aubergine fabric with sun-faded, worn areas that tell the tales of time and several moves. The young woman gently lays Vera’s form across it so that her head is cradled by one arm and her legs are hanging off the other.

Once she feels like Vera is in a secure position, she finds Raim and can’t help but smile again. “Well, this is it,” her hands move outstretched in front of her. “My place and where it all began with her,” she nods towards Vera’s coalescent form. There’s a patient curiosity to her voice now, taking place of the wary anxiety from their first encounter earlier in the day.

“I can give you two a tour, if you would like?”

 

[Obuzeti]

Vera's consistency of form is amazing - most freshly-incarnated Hlessi don't manage to hold a form together. That's indicative of some incredible force of personality, and to be honest Raim is a little intimidated by who she'll turn out to be. One Hildegarde is enough for him. Rather than comment on the decor, he just follows Olivia to the center of a pleasantly-spacious living area, and kneels beside the armchair. He can't see Vera himself, but the hairs on his neck are raised and the cool not-pressure of a guest's presence brushes by his face. He's gotten good at knowing where they are by inference.

There's no fluctuation in the pressure, and while he doesn't reach out to touch, he carefully memorizes the girl's name and the taste of cherries that comes to mind, grounding her presence in himself as well, doing what little he can to help anchor her.

It feels little different than praying, sometimes. The lines between sophistry, science, and religion run narrow, just like the walls between life and death.

He gives thanks to have Vera back, then, and turns his focus to Olivia.

"It's a pretty nice apartment," he says admiringly. "Spacious. Much better than campus accommodations, or even what I have now."

He'd been in the budget domiciles while he'd been in Uni. The experience had not been pleasant.

"To be fair, is there even much to see if you're still moving in?" he quibbles. The relief of things going so well takes the edge of his nerves, makes him a little sassy, giddiness bubbling quiet in his chest. "Yes, this is the room I stacked my book boxes in. Over here, the bedframe. That wall is where the posters will be."

Nevertheless, he stands up beside Olivia and tilts his head with a smile, after his eyes flick over automatically to Beaumont. The older man has sat himself down besides the armchair, leaning his head against it as he breathes, slow. His exhaustion is evident, and Raim finds himself leaning towards finding excuses to hang around for a bit, to let the poor man catch some winks before they have to catch a ride home.

 

[littlebluebird]

Olivia worries her lip. It’s true, there isn’t much more to show beyond the bathroom and two bedrooms; all of which are still somewhat spare. The current projects at her new job had kept her so busy that she hadn’t been able to fully move in and decorate, much less find someone to split the rent with.

“I’m only a few years out of dorm living myself. Honestly, this is the largest place I’ve had - it’s still weird calling it ‘home.’”

She glances at her guest laying across the armchair. Now that she and Vera are home safe there isn’t much reason for Raim and Beaumont to linger, but Olivia finds herself wanting them to stay. Her cheeks pink at Raim’s quips, but quick thinking lends her a wry retort, “I thought that maybe as my official exopsychologist you would want to be familiar with the entire space, especially if Vera is tied to it somehow?”

Her face beams with a coquettish smile as she gently takes his hand in hers and guides him toward the short hallway; a surge of giddy eagerness adds a bounce to her step, “Besides, I want to show it off to you.”

Olivia’s intent is genuine, but it’s his presence and the clasp of his hand that has her heart singing and her stomach jumping somersaults.

She shows the single modernized bathroom before taking him through her bedroom and finally around the empty secondary room at the end of the hall. “I was torn between which room to take for myself, but ultimately chose the quieter of the two and the one with the built-in closet.” She walks to the far wall of windows and opens a few of the panels with a dreamy sigh, “Can’t beat this view though.”

The city’s skyline is dotted with lights and the evening breeze carries muted sounds of traffic below, “Between work and Vera’s antics while trying to connect, I haven’t had a chance to find a roommate.” Memories of flickering lights and toppling dishware flit across her mind before she winces on a groan, “Explaining a hlessi partner is going to be a fun ordeal, I’m sure.”

She glances at the door before she meets Raim’s eyes, “Speaking of, will they be ok? Vera and Beaumont?”

~*~

Vera moans as bleary eyes crack open to take in her new surroundings. The heels of her hands press momentarily against her eye sockets before she slowly sits up in an effort to get her bearings straight; confusion sets in while a sense of disagreeable familiarity reverberates in the background of her mind.

If there’s one thing that she’s certain of: Wherever she is now isn’t the nebulous, shadowy abyss she was in, and for that she’s thankful.

The sounds of deep breathing catches her attention, and she notices the head of someone resting right next to where her own had been. She clambers off the oversized armchair to kneel in front of a large, dozing man dressed in dark blue military garb; it takes a beat or two before she recognizes him as the one that pulled her out of that unfathomable void.

A slew of questions rise to the surface before her frazzled brain can parse them, and she notes that jabbing at his propped knee isn’t garnering any response.

Her hand reaches out to cradle his square jaw, framing his clean-shaven face between her thumb and slender fingers. In a curious fashion, she turns him from side to side and realizes that it’s taking bit of effort on her part to maintain her grasp, as if her hand is passing through him instead of retaining physical contact. Despite all this, he still remains suspended in the throes of slumber.

Impatience rears its ugly head, and Vera huffs a dramatic sigh before pulling her hand back only to have it smack against his cheek. She finds satisfaction in the resounding clap, knowing the strike held contact instead of going through.

“Ei, are you alive?”

 

[Obuzeti]

Raim doesn't say this is the largest place he'd have lived in, period. He'd been a scholarship boy; he's never going back to the old, shitty trailers he'd grown up in if he can help it. The open land, he misses, sure, but not the people, and not the wreckage. Instead, his hand tightens on Olivia's, his thumb rubs across her knuckles again, familiar, and he follows her without complaint as she tugs him along.

"Closet space," Raim says with a slow nod. "I, uh, understand people use that. Sometimes. You're more than welcome to it."

He's not fashion-blind, but he wears pretty much the same color of clothing and type every day, not least because buying in bulk is cheaper. He has some t-shirts and sweatpants but those are Not for Seeing. Those are strictly house lounge wear. As a result, his closet is about three-quarters empty no matter what he's doing.

As for roommates and Hlessi - Raim scratches the back of his head with a sigh. "It gets tetchy," he admits. "I never managed to keep a roommate through college, most guys my age get freaked out by it. Then when I moved out, there's lots of arguments about whether he counts as a cohabitor, or a dependent, or a pet, even -"

Raim's breath huffs out his nostrils at that one, clearly displeased -

"But it comes down to a case-by-case basis, in the end. And despite what it may sound like - do not get a ghost fanatic or paranormal nerd as a roommate. They never stop poking at you or your partner, or setting up tests, or being satisfied. Just not worth the hassle, in my opinion."

~*~

Beaumont rouses to spot an angry woman kneeling in front of him. His mouth comes online before his brain does, unfortunately, hassled by drowsiness.

"At least suck my dick before you start hitting me, Christ," he mutters, blinking blearily and rubbing at his eyes. "You got this all out of order."

It's not the most political opening, but dammit, he's tired, and getting woken up by a good crosshand is not a way to work oneself into Beaumont's good graces.

 

[littlebluebird]

Vera raises a brow at his barbed comment, “Tsch, the mouth on you. I didn’t even hit hard.”

She takes in his features and shrugs, satisfied with what she sees. “But I can,” she continues, while placing her hand on his outstretched thigh, “if that’s what you are into?” The corners of her mouth curve into a coy grin.

Just as she places weight on her hand to draw closer into his space, her hand falls through his leg and makes contact with the floor; the forward momentum awkwardly pitches her forward so that their faces are mere inches away.

“Eh?”

Her green eyes go wide with surprise, and any attempt at suppressing her amusement falls short. Her shameless play at seduction quickly turns into a bout of bubbling laughter and the sound is catching as it is raucous. This flash of slaphappy delight is enough to offset her exhaustion from just a moment ago.

Vera sits back and takes a few seconds to compose herself while chuckling, “Beaumont, is it?” The syllables of his name carry that silken flow of her native tongue. “And how do you mean? What order?” She continues to pass her hand, back-and-forth through his leg, unable to shake the feeling that she’s been here before.

~*~

Olivia frowns as Raim recounts his experiences with roommates. Trying to find someone to split the rent is already a hassle in and of itself; trying to find someone familiar with hlessi and without ulterior motives seems outright impossible.

She glances at the young doctor as sounds from the living room catch her attention. Her brows furrow before rising questioningly at what sounds like someone laughing, “Should we go check on them?”