Unit #332 - Cornett Apartment

The two bedroom apartment is quite cozy, but by no means small. The walls have been sponged in a light sandy color, the faux hardwood floors a bleached maple to match. The decor is rather simplistic, though a tad modern - a black leather sofa is set against one wall, an ottoman that doubles as a coffee table set between it and the matching recliner. White curtains with tiny red flowers frame the windows, while red, beige and white throw pillows dot the couch. There is no television in this room, the remaining walls taken up with shelves filled with books and a small stereo system with a decent selection of music.
A sliding glass door leads to a balcony that overlooks the pool courtyard. To the right of the main room is the small kitchen and eating nook, and to the left the hallway that leads toward the bedrooms.

It's late. An ungodly hour really, a time during which everyone should be sleeping. But Ivan will be getting none of that. Not for the next few days, Not until he's lying on the hot Mexican beaches and his body literally turns off, out of exhaustion if nothing else. But before that, he's gone to a different destination. One which, if he were truly honest with himself, he doesn't know why he's turned to…but he has no one else. He literally has no one else in this ghost town.

And so, blatantly disheveled, horribly unkept, and with eyes so bloodshot it hints at a fierce crying jag in conjunction with the use of illegal substances, here Ivan stands. Directly outside of Chloe's apartment, at a beyond unreasonable hour. Here he knocks, listlessly, lifelessly.
You turn autospacing ON.

There's one person in town who's generally awake at ungodly hours. Actually, there's likely a few, but Chloe is at home and unable to sleep. There's someone in the city she's avoiding lately — the Queen of Iowa, specifically. Generally she'd be back at her mother's house, but since the switch in lease and house payments haven't gone through at the bank, she's back and packing up a few things.

At the knock, she cringes. There's a moment where she hopes it's not a drunk Mischa, and then she takes a deep breath. Dressed in sweats from high school, she goes to open the door. Hair's been tossed in pigtails for the packing, and she actually stands there for a good two minutes after opening the door, just staring at Ivan.

"I don't…" Every word is labored, and he has the look about him of a man defeated. A man broken. "I don't have anywhere else to go…" So weakly, he trails off, before Ivan looks away, clear shame on his features. He's embarrassed. Of his weakness. Of himself. He hates it. "Sorry," he murmurs thickly, before turning around with the intention of walking down the hallway he just came in from. "I'll go somewhere…" Anywhere else.



"You're drunk. Get your ass in here, Fontane." Chloe is less concerned about him maybe, at the moment, than she is about allowing him to get back behind the wheel. So, in her tight clothing from high school, she runs out into the hall and starts to literally try dragging the man back to the apartment. "You can crash on the couch. Spare room's a bit full of boxes."

Ivan doesn't protest. He's just there, dragged along like a sandbag. His mind is reading of chaos, and disarray…much like listening to fifty country music stations on repeat. The kind of whining, grinding depression, with just a tinge of morbid to give it edge. Also coloring his thoughts are the types of insecurities known to plague high school students, the types of fears that never actually leave a person, no matter how confident and sure they may appear. "Why…boxes?" He mumbles out, the words lazy - sloppy, and quite unattractive.

"Nnngh. You're giving me a headache, Ivan. Shush." He's not said anything, but she can't delve into a drunk mind without losing her marbles. Once she gets him back to the apartment, she pushes him toward the bathroom. "Shower. I think I have something of Bobby's in the spare room. I know you hate him but you reek and you need to change." Period. "And I swear to god if you try to drown yourself I'm not saving you." She'll explain the boxes later, trying to get him smelling more normal first.

Ivan might've protested, valiantly, about being yelled at when he didn't deserve to. But not today. He is simply, silently, dragged along, barely reacting to her words period. When Bobby's name is called up, he doesn't move, merely stopping to stare at the shower as though he's never seen such a contraption before. When it's use comes up in his addled mind, he simply begins stripping down. No use in protesting. No use in arguing. It gives him something to do, something to focus on, which is good.

"Gah! Wait until I get the door closed!" Chloe, blushing furiously, slams the door on him and scurries to the guest room. Where she goes to get the spare clothing, and a few towels. She waits until she hears the water running before she opens the door and slips them all onto the counter. Then she hurries to the kitchen and puts on a pot of coffee — he'll need it once the water sobers him up a little.

Chloe isn't even considered, and so it clearly isn't some grand master plan to seduce her. But Ivan? He's going to be there quite a while. If he can focus of the beads of water pelting his back individually, things are good. He can keep his hold on reality. And so, for the duration of that elaborate, expansive hot shower? Things are fine. But when he steps out, it's back to autopilot. Emerging from the bathroom, he blinks around the strange apartment, at a complete and total loss.

It's probably a good thing Ivan isn't trying to seduce her. Chloe rarely ever puts up with drunks. The few times she's dealt with Mischa being drunk…

"Coffee," the redhead says from her place on the couch, where she's currently packing up some books. "Now you want to tell me what the hell you're doing here at this ungodly hour, and why you're so drunk you don't even remember getting here?"

Coffee. It's another command his body can fulfill another need he can see to without thought. He's mid-pour when he looks up to the redhead, blankly. Nearly letting the mug run over with the black stuff. Luckily, he recalls his position just in time to save himself from the embarassing gaffe, and he sips delicately at the rim of the coffee to get the liquid to more manageable levels.

Chloe might be asking one question, but instead of an answer, she'll get one in return. "What's wrong with me?"

"You tell me," Chloe replies, giving him a curious look. "I'm guessing you're angry at something? Depressed? Welcome to love, Fontane." The redhead shakes her head, glancing up form the book she's carefully packing. "You want to talk about it? If not, I'll clear up these boxes and make up the couch." Beat. "I'm moving in a week. Figured packing the books up would make things a bit quicker so I'm not here all the time once mom moves in."

"No," Ivan protests, finally showing signs of emotion - and it's quite negative. Quite frustrated and…repulsed by himself. "What's wrong with me? Why does this always happen to me? Why do I let it? I…I'm a good person. I am…" Realizing that the hand that is clutching the mug has blanched, he proceeds to try and relax his hold. If only a little bit. "There's gotta be somethin' wrong…"

"Move to the couch, relax," Chloe says, going to fetch herself a glass of water. The box is set to the side as she does so, trying to usher Ivan to settle down so she can pry at his thoughts. "Six months ago, I would have said it was karma. Now, maybe it's because you just don't know how to be in a relationship? I don't know. Do you want cream or sugar?"

"It's not fair…it's not." Ivan is a hair width away from breaking down. And though he refuses to say it, two clear, concise thoughts pop out. One, a disjointed vision of an unfamiliar face, an unfamiliar name, and the pain she caused him by cheating on him. And now, a certain someone's confession about the love she feels for another man. "I do…I try an' do everything right but I…I'm such a fucking idiot." Judging by the way he swallows the coffee whole, as though to drown his issues, he doesn't need cream or coffee. He doesn't even feel the burning of his esophagus.

Chloe will definitely take that as a 'no' on cream or sugar. She just moves over to the couch with her bottle of water, and blinks at him. "I'm a telepath, Ivan, not a mindreader. I don't know what happened. All I can do do is feel your pain. Come here." She motions to the couch as she sits comfortably and tries to force him to sit. "The one thing I do know is that you can't control another being. They are who they are and trying to force them to be something different isn't a good thing."

"I knew this was going to happen," Ivan barely manages to mumble out, and he clutches his eyes, so tightly. Like a child, willing it all away with all his might. "…I knew. I always get broked." So, he's sobering up. The English language does not appeal to him. "I always will. I'm so stupid, how could I have forgotten how much it hurts…" Woefully, reluctantly, he begins to pad over to the couch.

"Shhh." Chloe just eyes him, feeling a bit of pity, but saying nothing of the sort. "I'm sure it's just a misunderstanding, Ivan. After a good night's rest, you'll feel better and all that. Come here and get some rest." She looks as though she's poised to comfort him, like a friend would. Nothing out of the ordinary, nothing that's not clean and Chloe-like. "Trust me. These things happen a lot, but they always work out. If they don't? You can fire me, how's that?"

Comfort? Pity? Ivan can work with that. More of the coffee is inhaled, until there is only an inkling left in the cup. But when she motions him closer, it's instinctual, the way he looks to lean into her, hoping to draw something, anything out of her proximity. "How?" He hiccups with disbelief. "I'm being - I'm being played. And I can't just walk away, it's my home…I want to hate her, Chloe. I want to hate her so bad."

"Homes can be rebuilt." It's probably not as comforting as he wants it to be, but the truth is, they can. Her mother is living testament to that. Chloe pets her hand over his brow, coddling him much like she would Bobby. "Do you want me to find out for you?" Though she has no idea what he's babbling about. "I can listen in to her mind. See what she's truly thinking. I… it may make me uncontrollably insane though."

"I don't want to know what's in her mind. I don't wanna know how easy it is to forget me" It's pathetic and self-pitying, but Ivan can't help it. His entire body is tense. It's uncertain, and unpleasant, and…just un. Negative, all the way around. "I wish…I wish…" That this never happened. That he'd never let his guard down. That he'd never met her. All these and more run through his mind. "Nothing I do is right."

"Ivan, I know you're still coming down from whatever drunken high you were on… if you feel this way in the morning, I can work out something to make you forget?" Chloe doesn't want to do it, but she can. She may not have a whole lot of power over Will, but if she truly requested this, she could have it. Of that she's certain. "But is it worth it to forget. I mean, you'll learn from this, you'll grow…" She still has no clue as to what's going on. Hands stroke over his brow and she makes shushing noises. "No one ever knows if what they're doing is right until they're in the situation. If you really love her though, you'll work it out. I'm sure you will."

"I don't want to. I don't want to love her. I always do, I do more than they love me. I give everything…everything I can give, and they stab me." At the very least, though? Ivan is finding himself not soothed, but calmed by her maternal shushing, the way she's stroking his brows. Before long, he finds himself breathing in a controlled fashion. Something workable.

"Ivan, sleep on it, alright? If you still want this in…" Chloe eyes the clock carefully. "Sixteen hour's time, I'll have Will erase it from your memory. It's beyond me. I can't do that yet. Maybe by September, but not now." If she retains her telepathic abilities after the turn that is. Otherwise, she'll never be able to glamour away his memories. "Maybe you should give less, hmm? Don't throw yourself all in, until you know that's what they want?" There is still a bit of trepidation of delving into his mind. After all he's not entirely sober, and that could prove dangerous.

Ivan doesn't move for a little while. He merely breathes. He barely hears her suggestions, but they are heard alright. Heard and, dangerously, considered, though he does not comment. "I thought…I thought she'd be different. She…she knew what loss was. She knew hurt. I thought she wouldn't hurt me." Couldn't be farther from reality, but that was certainly a reason Ivan chose to gamble on the Tyler, instead of playing the field as usual.

"People always hurt you. It's the way life is, unless you're a vampire." Then you move beyond emotion despite whatever humanity you might have left. Chloe eyes him and sighs. "You're staying here. Long as you need to, Ivan. You're welcome here. No advances, no worries. You want the memory wiped clean, I'll see to it. You want to deal with this, I'm here. What else are friends for, eh?"

"I hate vampires. I wish I could kill them. All." Considering his current audience, probably not the best thing to say. But Ivan can't help it. He's crushed, and bitter, and spiteful and…he just wants it all to go away. And he knows it wont. He knows he's stuck like this. "…Thanks. Thank you. Chloe, I…"

Chloe tenses most assuredly. "You do not, and you will not. Do you hear me? Such things are crazy, Ivan. They'll kill you without a thought if you tell that to one of them. You're…. just upset." Brushing his brow again, the redhead sighs. "Yeah, I know. You appreciate the friendship. It's fine. Probably more than you deserve since you aren't sober, but I'm not going to let you out of here until you've had time to calm down. My offer stands." She starts trying to weave a bit of her telepathy to calm him, but chances are it won't really help much.

"I do…" Ivan mumbles slowly. "The world would be a better place without them…" But he's not so far into delirium that he thinks this possible. His hatred is different from that of the church. It's personal. But it's realistic. Despite his fantasies, he knows the truth. That they're here to stay, even though they should all meet the sun. "I don't wanna…be a burden to you."

"You're not. You're a friend." Chloe doesn't argue beyond that. She just pets his brow again, and then wishes she had telekinesis to bring him another cup of coffee. "We'll figure this out. You'll see. Wipe it from your mind, or something." She's ignoring his talk about vampire eradication. She knows he's just spouting off due to whatever upset him in the first place.

At least she hopes that's the case.

Honestly? Chloe doesn't need to do anything else. She's going above and beyond her call of duty with her kindness. And even throughout his suffering, his pain, he cannot quell the immense gratitude he feels for having her in his life. This isn't vocalized, of course. Instead, he merely nods his head a couple of times, leaning further into the woman to draw from her comfort.

"Damnnit, man, quiet your mind and go to sleep. Pass out." Chloe's voice is commanding, demanding. She can't put up with his thoughts, even if they paint her as a saint. Mostly because she's not a saint. "Just sleep on it. Tell me what you want in the morning. If you want it, I'll see to it. That's what friends do." That, and well, she's fairly certain Will would love to glamour Ivan. "But only if you want it, yeah? Now sleep." Reaching for a remote that's off to the side, she uses it to turn the lights down.

It takes a little while. But there, with Chloe's comforting presence, Ivan eventually nods off, some melancholy and stricken even while he sleeps. Like a tortured angel of sorts.

Sisterly, Chloe leans in to kiss his brow. "Sleep it off, Ivan. I'll leave a note so you know where you are come morning." She means it too. Once he's fully asleep, she replaces her lap with a pillow. Then she covers him with blankets, and writes him a nice note to not leave until he speaks to her in the morning. Just in case he's changed his mind at all.

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