exsiliumlogs | you look like a lover

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves," It's gently chiding, as if they're discussing something perfectly normal, rather than chasing after some horrible creature that's been using Jules as a pin cushion, "I'll make sure it's found."

That's a tricky promise to make in tis city, where she doesn't have the resources she normally does, but she can keep scouring the streets until she finds that damn thing again. For now, though, she keeps working on removing all the needles from Jules's arms, trying to go as slow as she can while still worrying about that thing returning.

"What's your name?"

Keep her talking, keep her focused on something other than the needles.

Name, yes. She knows her name. Very well, in fact. Extremely well, she knows her name extremely well. As if she'd had it since birth, which funnily enough, she has. Yes.

"Jules. Julia, actually. Julia Louise Grumley. Jules is fine, less syllables, easier to manage. Much more more--" a hissed intake of breath, "user friendly."

Names were a thing. They were important. "And your are?" As if she could be expectant, in this moment, and this person that'd saved her from a thing with needles, didn't have them sticking out of her own back.

Well, the woman can certainly talk.

"A pleasure, Jules, sorry about the circumstances," She doesn't care enough right now to keep track of what role she's playing, automatically slipping into something a little more proper in response to Jules' accent, "My name's Max Briest, let's get you somewhere a bit more comfortable."

The final needle is tossed aside, and she hauls Jules to her feet, keeping a hold of her until she's sure she'll be steady.

"Max, it's lovely to meet you." Manners and politeness are so much autopilot, and she's mustering up a smile as well, utterly false. "Please excuse my manners, I'm not quite myself."

Said very faintly, as she allows herself to be hauled, shutting her eyes for a moment, taking stock of herself. Human eyes, human teeth. Her tongue explores the inside of her cheek and she makes a face when she tastes blood.

"Comfortable would be good." Automatically, her hand goes to her pocket, and-- "my cigarettes."
Crestfallen, as if being short of cigarettes was the worst turn this evening has taken.

She's curious about what exactly myself might be for Jules, considering the earlier display, but this is hardly the time or place to ask questions like that, so she lets the comment slide.

Instead, she brushes her hand over her own back, getting rid of the needles, nevermind that removing them so carelessly just makes the injuries worse, her primary concern is making sure Jules doesn't have to see them anymore. Her shirt is already ruined, what does a little more blood matter?

"You can have mine once we're inside," Because she saw the thing take Jules' and doesn't feel like rubbing salt in that wound. She's just going to anchor an arm around Jules waist and start her walking towards a safe house.

Nodding, letting herself be steered. It's a relief not to have to do anything more complicated than make her limbs work, because that's really challenge enough. Her arms are still stinging, but she's trying to ignore it, though that part of her that so desperately draws comfort from other people has her sagging against Max, a little, resting her head against her shoulder as they walk.

"Thank you, that's very kind."

She might just lapse into silence, for a little, until they get to the safehouse. Later, she's going to feel ashamed of herself for not looking to Max's injury, but she's too deeply entrenched in all the things dragged up. She hasn't even really processed that Max has seen her other face.

The silence is welcome enough after all that, and Max simply keeps Jules steady until they're up the steps and into the apartment. Because safe house might be a bit of an exaggeration; it's not that she doesn't have more secure places, but she was working before she got called to help with the fight, so this apartment is closest. It's one of the best kept, at least, though not stocked with much beyond alcohol, condoms and some spare clothes.

Max guides Jules to the bed, getting her to sit.

"Would it be alright if I take a look at the wounds?" She's no doctor, doesn't have the knowledge like Marissa or Adonis, but at they very least she can clean up a wound.

"Typically when people are asking to have a look at anything they buy me a drink first."

She wants to be flippant and joke her way around this, because it comes off as strained as you'd expect it to. "They'll be fine. I heal quite well, if I do say so myself."

It's why the scars at her joints, at any fleshy part of her body, are faded. They're there because the injuries were horrific, but they are subtle scars, now. They probably look worse when you realise how many there are, when you see them in the broader context. Still, she obediently holds out her arm, the way she would for her brother. Freddie had such a tendency to fuss.

"There's a bottle of scotch under the bed, if that's good enough," She smirks, acting as though there was no strain in Jules' voice. If she's joking to cope, she'll probably appreciate Max going along with it, might make it easier for her to calm down.

"Does that mean you don't have to worry about infection?" Genuinely curious, since it had been a concern, but if... whatever Jules is can handle that risk, then Max will just clean up the wounds with water and cloth, rather than wasting good alcohol on disinfecting them.

That said, maybe they should take this to the bathroom, small as it is. She'll work on that in a moment.

"You saw it." Recollecting, rubbing her forehead as she moves towards the bed and kneels down to retrieve the scotch. They would be needing that, yes. She stares at the bottle for a moment, before looking back to Max. "It saves me from all manner of things."

Viruses, all manners of illness, really, including infection. It couldn't keep her safe from needles or her own fear, unfortunately.

"Do you have glasses, or is drinking from the bottle acceptable in these circumstances?"

"Drinking from the bottle is always acceptable, but you should wash the blood off, first, the bathroom's behind that door," It's... partly a suggestion, in case Jules would rather have a moment of privacy. Max can help, if she wants it, but sometimes it's best to handle things on your own.

She wants to ask about it, curious at the fact there's some sort of distinction, since she assumed it was just some power of Jules'. That can wait, though, until more important matters have been dealt with.

Edited (whups) 2013-06-17 14:30 (UTC)

Good advice that Jules plans to take action on immediately, moving to the bathroom and not bothering to close the door as she rinses the blood away. She glances at the mirror, winces at the sight of the blood congealing down her cheek, dragging a finger through the sticky mess. Her shirt is bloody as well, and she's dragging it off without a moment of hesitation, dumping it in the sink as she runs more water over her arms, grabs her shirt and dampens a corner so she can try to clean up her cheek without staining anything of Max's with her blood.

When she reappears she's considerably cleaner, but minus a shirt and not particularly concerned. There are more scars to be seen, but her scars are old history. Plenty of people have seen them.

And, with that done, she is going to ease the lid off the scotch, and tip an alarming amount back, wincing as it bites into the wound in her cheek, but pushing through it. "Good. Better," before she offers the bottle to Max.

While Jules is in the bathroom, Max simply peels off her own shirt, making a half-hearted attempt at wiping the blood off her back before just tossing the shirt in the trashcan tucked away in a corner.

Which leaves her without a shirt as well, so when Jules comes back into the main room she'll find Max rifling through the chest of drawers until she can find replacement shirts for them both. Max pulls on a threadbare t-shirt for herself, not wanting to ruin anything better, and grabs a black button-down for Jules.

(The scars are noticed, but she won't comment on them.)

She hands Jules the top in return for the bottle, taking a slightly smaller drink.

"Nice trick with the teeth, by the way," Maybe it's just a casual comment, maybe it's a lead in. Not that Jules couldn't ask the same question, if she'd noticed Max's teeth before they were shifted back to normal.

She hesitates longer than she'd like on the buttons when that comment comes. Shake it off, it's fine, and she finishes with the buttons before she looks back to Max. "I could say the same."

Ever so slightly tense. Where exactly is this going? She's getting used to people here being more casual about this stuff, but she also just had needles sticking out of her arms, so.

"They require a shameful amount of flossing."

It doesn't surprise her that it's a sensitive topic, and it raises a few questions about those scars, since they seemed to have been from around the same time.

So at Jules answer, Max grins with a mouth full of teeth, "They can be useful, can't they?" It's a joke, since Jules seems to use humour as a coping mechanism, but it's also a... show of solidarity, a way to let her know that Max isn't holding it against her.

The teeth are gone by the time she speaks again, "I'm sure your dentist loves you."

Another joke, as she takes a second drink from the bottle, before passing it back to Jules.

Jules can't help a grin at the dentist comment. "I move a lot. Regular dentist visits are something I am thankfully spared. Which is a relief, now I don't have to hear a word about eating too much sugar."

She will be taking that bottle back, taking a sip before she has to stop and ask a question.

"What are you?" Cautious, kind of fascinated. Max went out of her way to help her, she's hardly a nominee for nemesis or anything like that. She's met good people who aren't human, who have things that make them different, but those teeth set Max as the closest thing she has encountered to a hybrid since she got here.

And now she will throw back more of the scotch, letting that pleasant warmth settle into her gut after the initial burn at her cheek.

"Maybe you should watch that sugar intake, cavities are a nightmare," She has absolutely no idea what's happening here; it feels like the sort of light, joking conversation if she was playing the heiress role. Except for how it's edged with what they both just witnessed, with their shared... something.

Which is why the question gives Max pause, unsure exactly how to answer. It's different here, where she can be a little more free with her powers, because there's less long term consequences than there would be back home, but it's still strange to talk about it.

"A shapeshifter, I suppose would be the term," She won't touch on the whole issue of magic and all the different powers in her world, but she does look at Jules a little curiously, an unspoken and you?

"If I may speak quite candidly," and she will, no doubt, "I would sooner eat glass than 'watch' my sugar intake." Humans and sugar, part of a balanced diet.

A shapeshifter, that was new and undoubtedly terrifying, so she has another drink before passing the bottle back to Max. "I am a thing that probably doesn't exist in your world," she says with a bit of a shrug, sliding down the wall to sit. "If we did, you would know what I was."

Which begs the question of whether she should tell or not. Tony Stark had been more than tolerant, he'd been positively accepting, and that was beyond strange. Perhaps she should stop fucking about and say it. "Hybrid. It's what happens when monsters and humans breed."

Breeding is a euphemism.

That actually draws a genuine laugh from Max, "I doubt I'd go so far as eating glass, but I understand the sentiment," Her vices are few and far between, but apparently she shares both sugar and alcohol with Jules.

As she takes the bottle and watches Jules slide down the wall, she considers pointing out there's a perfectly good bed nearby, before realizing how that might come across, and simply decides to take a seat beside her (though not before grabbing a pack of cigarettes and a lighter). Not so close as to infringe on Jules' space, but within easy distance to pass the bottle between them.

"Monsters," Just that one word, considering it as she looks at Jules. She tells Adonis she's a monster, because that's what the Sphinx is supposed to be, but she has a feeling Jules is being much more literal, "Your assumption would be right, I don't think we have anything like you where I come from."

She takes out two cigarettes, setting one between her lips and offering the other to Jules, holding out the lighter to light hers, first. Manners are important.

"I won't tell anyone, if that's a concern."

Good. A smirk, nodding. How would she ever survive without sugar?

"'Monsters that come from above the sky.'" Recited, a lesson well-remembered. "They take over a human's body, make it their own, until they decide to take on a new shell." But you need more context, to understand what she is, and she looks across at Max, accepting the cigarette. "And devils, from below. Devils make sulfur slaves by taking human souls, so that they can fight monsters, and the bastard offspring of humans and monsters--" and she points to herself. "Hybrids."

Taking the lighter, she twirls it between her fingers before letting the flame curl up to meet her cigarette.
"It's a concern." Sighed out, as she contemplates her cigarettes, as if it might have the answer to her problems. "The people in this place are less predictable than at home."

Max listens carefully, filing all that information away to ponder over later, not just what Jules is saying, but how she says it.

"It doesn't sound very black and white," Monsters and devils, hybrids, there's no obvious good guy, although Max knows better than to think any world is as simple as that, but it's... interesting. Complicated, and she likes complicated things, on occasion. She wonders what happens to the humans with monsters in their bodies, if it kills them, or if they're alive to suffer through worse.

"They are," A simple agreement, as she holds out her hand for her lighter, "But I'm not in the habit of spilling secrets, and I suppose you can always just blackmail with my own."

The shapeshifting, of course, though she'd rather not actually get into blackmailing or anything like that. Jules seems nice.

"My father is a hybrid. I mean, my brother and I, we're more dilute. In most instances, monsters will," and she hesitates, closes her eyes for a brief second, rubbing the hand holding her cigarette across her forehead, "take human women, and if they conceive a hybrid, it's not a union anyone celebrates. A lot of women kill a hybrid child, leave them exposed, someone else kills them, they might kill the mother as well."

She's not sure why she's saying this. Better out than in? The shock, perhaps. She's going to hand the lighter back, and grab the bottle back, taking another swig. "My father and mother decided to have hybrid children." To spread the affliction, she might have said. "Freddie and I were deliberately conceived." Max has to hear that, to understand what her parents did, because it makes their existence all the worse.

Another swig from the bottle, and she holds it back to Max. "What do you think would make a human fear someone, Max?"

Edited 2013-06-18 12:18 (UTC)

That's a lot to take in, and she gives it the weight it deserves, lighting her cigarette and smoking silently as she thinks it all over. Maybe she should flinch at the words, the suggestion in what Jules says, but she's desensitized to almost everything by now, so she just keeps her silence.

The bitterness is so obvious she can taste it, or maybe she just hears it so cleary because she can imagine herself saying it to her mother, except her mother probably didn't have much of a choice. She makes note of the brother, the parents, that there are others like Jules. What does it mean? she wants to ask, wants to know what's involved in being a hybrid, beyond teeth and eyes and a growl that seemed to latch onto something primal in Max. She thinks, if she'd heard that sound directed at her, she might even have screamed.

But she says none of it, tilting her head lazily towards Jules instead, considering the question, rather than all the information she's just learned, "All sorts of things, but generally it comes down to self-presevation."

"Exactly. The universal truth of humanity is that they don't want death taken out of their hands. As if they ever really had control over it in the first place."

She needs more to drink, but at least will wait until Max hands the bottle back, rather than snatching it back immediately. "So, then. Say that there is something which relies on human death to service. A being with a conscience, who can make decisions, be reasoned with, whatever else you might like to say. But," and she holds up her index finger, turning to look at Max a little better. "But, that thing needs humans to die in order to live."

Her parents are terrible people, bringing herself and her brother into the world. "You couldn't blame them for hating that thing, could you?" She's still smiling, because Julia Grumley has been taught that you should always try to smile. "It's natural."

As she passes the bottle back to Jules, she has a feeling they might need to break into the vodka, after this, but can't really begrudge the woman for her coping method, especially not when she's looking for comfort in a bottle, too.

"I suppose it depends on how much we can romanticize those beings," There's something wry in her tone, but it's... true enough, really. There are rumours of things like vampires, that stalking humans in her world, and the analogy seems to fit with those as well.

"Something being natural isn't necessarily an excuse for certain behaviour, we can make choices," Even if it might be natural to hate something, that doesn't mean they have to, doesn't mean they can't work past that fear and see things in different ways.

More importantly, though, she looks properly at Jules, meeting her gaze, "Why do you need humans to die in order to live?"

Thank God for the bottle, it gives her something to distract herself with as Max speaks, idly turning it over in her hands, before she nods. Oh, there were people that romanticised things, here and there. Usually the sulfur slaves; people who had sold their souls for the sake of protecting humanity were so noble, after all. Had made such a great sacrifice in the name of protecting the people around them (or just themselves, but Jules had to wonder how effectively you were protecting yourself when you were damning yourself to Hell in the same breath).

"Sometimes you have to indulge the monster to keep the human side alive." Vicious fights, brutal kills. And she hesitates, because even with the liquor and the horror, with Max having saved her life (so far as she's concerned), this is not something to be spoken aloud, discussed. But Max had saved her, and now she was asking a question that Jules was entirely able to answer. Exsilium had proved different in many ways, so far.

Another drink. Her liver could thank her later. "I don't think you want to know, honestly. Call it-- dietary requirements, shall we?"

Yeah, they are definitely going to need the vodka after this.

Edited 2013-06-24 01:15 (UTC)

For a moment, Max just regards Jules, taking a drag of her cigarette and letting the smoke curl from her mouth.

"You eat people," Sometimes she can talk pretty and use all the euphamisms and gentle words in the world, but right now she's happy to be blunt, simple. Whether Jules requires a specific part - like a vampire with blood - or if she just eats doesn't really matter.

Max does want to know, because curiosity has always been a bit of a problem for her, and although Jules seems like a lovely woman, she's also a potential threat. That doesn't mean she needs to treat her like one, "I've always found the taste of human flesh rather unpleasant, though I tend not to go out of my way to experience it."

Unfortunately, sometimes the quickest way to take someone down is to use razor sharp teeth to bite through throats or wrists. It's not exactly pleasant, but it's effective.

"If you knew the alternative--"

Her words are spun with venom, with anger and despair is such a melodramatic word, but it's the only one that can fit. They never understand the alternative, no one ever grasps it because they don't have something filthy locked away in their mind that scrabbles for more room when the Hunger becomes to great. It can't when she is still Jules, because they are the same and it is she who decides what she will be, what she will favour, and it is humanity every time; her own, other people's. But the times when the human cannot be strong enough, that is when the monster slips forward to take control. Max saw the barest shade of it, earlier. If she decided to be a monster, or let that side become do desperate that it overtook her, the stars themselves would hide away from the sight.

She doesn't know how to take what Max says next, though she remembers the teeth and the moves to come to her defence. "I do it because if I don't, the monster will make me do it. And a good many other things, most likely. It would take what it needs, and then take what it wants."

Max holds up a hand to stop Jules in her explanation.

"You don't have to justify yourself to me," It's not as though Max isn't aware that appearances can be decieving, but she likes to think she's fairly good at reading people, and Jules does not seem like a bad person. Whatever is caught up in her, this monster, Max doubts that Jules would indulge it unless necessary.

There's really only one question that really matters to her, and she can already guess at the answer, but Jules needs to confirm it, so that they don't have any issues, "How do you choose who to eat?"

"I have-- another power, contact empathy. I read people." As she studies her hand, flexing it and turning it over. The nails are polished, neatly kept. Chipped, after this evening, and there are puncture wounds through the palm. Her fingers curl inward, again. "The idea my father has is that we should be justice keepers. So, we keep humans safe by taking the ones who are dangerous. Murderers, and so on."

She glances back to Max, sort of at a loss. It doesn't ever sound any better. "I can read what they're like, or if they repent." At least that's some consolation. She's only ever killed bad people.

There's no visible reaction except for a nod of understanding, but something in Max flinches with that admission. It's more troubling than the fact that Jules eats people, because the idea of someone being able to read her emotions is more terrifying than simply dying. She keeps herself controlled for a reason; it's why Asteria taking her memories and getting into her head has wrecked her so badly.

But Jules doesn't need to see that, and it's clear to Max even without any contact empathy that the woman next to her is struggling with this. Carefully, she curls her fingers around Jules wrist, ignoring that touching her opens herself up to Jules' power. The little piece of physical comfort is more important.

"We all do what we have to," Part of her considers admitting what exactly it is that she does, but this isn't the time for that, "And you could be doing so much worse with the hand you've been dealt."

She won't say that she agrees with Jules' father, because it doesn't seem like something Jules would want to hear.

Having someone touch her after they know what she can do is strange. Almost unheard of, aside from her family. The look she gives Max is a little bewildered, but she clears her throat. "I won't use it on you. I don't use it on friends." Not unless they give her permission. Remy, Jesse, Lisbeth; none of them would feel (or not-feel, as the case might be) her powers hooking under their skin and tearing it away to view the portrait underneath.

She licks her lips, leaning her head against the wall and going for her cigarettes automatically before remembering they're lost, and laughing quietly, before taking up the bottle again.

"I could. But have you ever thought that, 'it could be worse' is a pretty grim point of reference?" A faint twinge of a smile.

"Thank you," She doesn't believe her, but that's nothing to do with Jules, and it doesn't mean she shouldn't at least appear grateful for that consideration. She still releases Jules wrist after giving it a brief squeeze, since extended contact with anyone except Adonis is always a little uncomfortable.

"That's not quite what I meant," Her tone is gentle, still regarding Jules a little carefully, "I meant that you're handling the situation in one of the best ways that I can see. I won't pretend that makes it any easier to deal with, but you're trying to avoid hurting people, and minimizing the damage as much as you can when you do have to hurt people."

By taking those that are guilty of crimes, the lost causes.

"That's admirable."

She's not entirely sure why she's trying to comfort Jules, except that it gives her something she might be able to succeed at, after the sheer failure of the rest of the night. If she can at least take the edge of this woman's distress, maybe she's not completely useless.

you look like a lover

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