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Mearc lives in a small apartment complex outside the city's busier areas. It's a quiet neighborhood, a peaceful one, with people walking their dogs and tending their gardens. It's not fancy, by any means; the building's been around since the 70s, but the general atmosphere is one of calm. It is in his apartment on fourth floor that Mearc is waiting.
When she arrives at Mearc's door Lamara is dressed once again in loose, flowing clothing with simple designs, accentuated mostly with bangles on her wrists and little else. The blouse she's wearing falls off the shoulder on one side and, like her clothing choices yesterday, seems to be chosen with an eye toward showing off her plentiful tattoos. She gives a soft knock on the door when she arrives at it, and the easy smile that's on her face when it opens is one that was there before she even reached the door, and which doesn't shy away from showing in her eyes as well as on her lips.
Mearcstapa answers the door, dressed in his usual t-shirt and cargo pants. The apartment has lingering smells of breakfast in the aftermath of last night's everything, but otherwise, well. It kind of lacks personality. There's no art on the walls (which are a neutral and perfectly inoffensive off-white), and the furniture all seems to have been selected for functionality rather than aesthetic.
"Lamara, it's good to see you again. Shoes off at the door, if you don't mind. Can I interest you in a cup of coffee?"
"Good morning," Lamara offers up as her smile grows a little brighter and she steps inside, where her sandals are easy to remove. "A cup of coffee would be wonderful, thank you. That's a piece of hospitality that seems to be getting lost these days, isn't it?" Her eyes look around briefly, but she's not here to scope out his home, so most of her interest is for Mearc.
He leads her to a kitchen that seems well-outfitted with appliances, where the coffee is still warm from the earlier breakfasting. "How do you take it? I have flavored creamers and 2% milk on hand; including Peeps flavored from Easter, if you're in the mood. And sugar and Splenda."
"Peeps?" Lamara follows but blinks at that suggestion, taken a little by surprise by the fact that's a thing, and then she just shrugs her tattooed shoulders and says, "let's go with that, I like trying new things. No added sweetner, please."
"Of course." He pulls mugs down from a cabinet and prepares both cups. The mug he hands her is from a 2017 security conference, Derbycon. His own cup, he does with a sploosh of milk and a little sugar. Once the ritual of making coffee is out of the way, he pulls out a seat for her at the kitchen table, before sitting as well.
It says things about her curiosity that Lamara turns the mug to see the text, then thinks to ask, "what's Derbycon?" She smiles when he pulls out a seat, sets them mug down, and sits with a gathering of her loose skirt so it falls more comfortably once she's seated. Once she's situated she picks the mug up, cradling it between hands that are as tattooed as the rest of her seems to be. She's gives an impression of being comfortable and confident in the situation.
"Derbycon is a conference for security professionals, both digital and physical. That's my field of work; I do red-teaming exercises and physical penetration tests."
There's a glance at her face when he says the word 'penetration', watching for the reaction, because everyone reacts. He's still not making eye contact, but that doesn't seem to be a function of nervousness as much as personal habit.
"Which basically means people pay me to break into their spaces, and then to explain how I broke in and how they can prevent others from doing the same."
The reaction that phrasing gets from Lamara is that her brows raise just a little as she's raising her cup to her lips, followed by a slow sip and a pause to consider the flavor of the coffee. Once that's done she nods, gives Mearc a smile, and says, "that's not a line of work I'm familiar with, but it makes sense. What's red-teaming?"
"In the field of security, those who are in charge of defending a space or an object are referred to as the blue team, and those who attempt to attack it are the red team. At least within the context of security exercises that are meant to improve the quality of the blue team. So I work with a social engineer, someone who is trained to get past people the same way I get past doors, locks, windows and so forth, and together we can help improve overall quality of security for a client." He gestures with his mug before taking a sip. "Mearcstapan work. To walk the boundaries, and see how well guarded they are."
While he explains what he does for work she listens, sipping coffee quietly and focusing on him with what's either genuine interest in what he's sharing or a really good job of faking it. When he explains the connection to his name it brings a smile and a nod, then one inked hand does a little finger gun at him. "That makes a lot of sense," she answers. "That sounds like a fascinating line of work, and a challenging one. If I understand what you're saying, and I might not, you get paid to pit your wits against someone else's, and then they get to use the results to shore up their defenses against people who might try to do the same thing, but for real?"
"Yes, exactly so." He nods, his own smile growing warmer. "It appeals to the puzzle-solver in me, but I also like knowing that I have left someone with practical advice. Even if, of course, they don't always take it."
"I can absolutely see how that would be an engaging line of work for someone who had the talent to do it well," Lamara agrees, reflecting back his own enthusiasm for the career. "How did you end up discovering you had that knack?"
"By breaking into places." His smile turns slightly self-mocking. "What about yourself, Lamara? What led you to your work with Sex Positivity? I googled the group to try and grasp your mission a little more, and I find it fascinating."
"I've been a sex worker for a long time," Lamara answers candidly, not showing the least shame for her line of work. "One of the most common threads I've seen while working with my clients is how difficult the conversations with them can be, how uncertain people often are about what they want or how to ask for it, how much shame people carry for their desires, and the way that impacts them and their relationships negatively."
She puts her coffee cup down so that she can gesture for emphasis without spilling it all over. It turns out she's an animated speaker, especially when she's passionate for the topic. "I could go on and on about how much damage outdated views on sex can do to self identity and relationships. Straight people too ashamed to negotiate conversations about their kinks. Gay, bi, pan, and so on people taking decades to discover themselves, and spending that time confused and unhappy. Asexual people feeling like there's something wrong with them for having a different set of entirely valid needs and boundaries. People who don't even realize how many different kinds of attraction exist beyond sexual, and everyone struggling to find ways to talk about their relationships and work together to build something that functions well for everyone involved."
She stops, smiles wryly as her cheeks turn faintly pink, and says, "sorry, I'm passionate about this."
He's nodding as she speaks, clearly in strong agreement with most, if not all, of what she's saying. "You're not wrong about any of that. And it's so easy for people to assume they're going into an engagement--romantic or social--with he same desires or expectations of their partner, only to come face to face with a trigger or boundary they didn't expect and now have a way of dealing with it."
"Right!" is what bursts out in response, while Lamara's hand punctuates the word in the air. "The thing is that those desires and expectations are almost never, never the same like people assume they are. They might be close, but they're rarely the same."
"One of my partners struggles with articulating his desires due to past trauma, so there's always a bit of a challenge, navigating that. Especially because I tend to require a higher level of communication in general than many people I know, due to my own anxiety and autism. Not knowing where I stand with someone or within a situation is the bane of my existence." He chuckles. "We've been working it out, bit by bit, but it's been a learning experience in process. I definitely can appreciate the work you're doing in that field."
Lamara's sympathetic smile and the slow relaxation back into casual conversation after her passionate remarks mark a shift into listening to Mearc's problems instead of ranting about the world's. "That's a common struggle, and a common reason for it." She stops herself to think and adds, "both sides of that relationship, both yours and theirs, actually. The people who join my group tend to fall into a few categories, and the largest tend to be those who are already good at negotiating those situations and want community and a safe place to build new relationships or just have some fun, and people who genuinely want to develop those skills and want to take advantage of the classes we offer. Classes we require even the people who think they're already good at it to take."
"Prior experience having been successful with a given number of partners doesn't necessarily mean one is going to be good with all." He nods, finishing his coffee and toying idly with the mug. "It's a work in progress--I don't mind it, though. The process of building trust and constructing those boundaries is an act of devotion, from my perspective."
"Life is a work in progress." Lamara smiles as she offers that up. "I try to be sure all of my relationships are, too. I agree with you 100% about those acts being ones of devotion."
He pauses thoughtfully. "I've been trying to figure out...how all of this might relate to you being a ghoul, I have to admit. The definition I was given for the term was one that sounded wholly distasteful, and I'm struggling to parse it with who you are in front of me."
"Well, what do you know about ghouls for a start?" Lamara asks, clearly willing to engage this conversation. She knew it was coming, after all.
He closes his eyes, thinking back to his conversation with the vampire who explained it to him. "Usually seen as property owned by a vampire. Addicted to blood; breaking the addiction usually means death. Some vampires feel that normal humans are 'better off' than ghouls are, because of this. I believe I also heard they're outlawed, but you've clearly met the Sakima and come out fine, so...?"
Lamara listens, sips coffee, nods, and finally puts the cup down again to say, "obviously you can imagine that this all touches on topics near and dear to my heart, considering the conversation we've been having. Let me set a few boundaries before we delve into it?" She smiles like the question is rhetorical, but she still waits for an answer.
"Of course. I would appreciate knowing what your lines are. Also, if you're familiar with and like the use of a 'conversational safeword', that's something my polycule has put into use, and could be a tool in play here if things approach boundaries."
"Whenever possible I like to be an open book, but there are things that I'm just not at liberty to say. Secrets that aren't my own, etc." Lamara smiles at him across the table. "I'm also a curious person, so I'd like to be able to ask questions of my own. Not necessarily one question for another in even trade, but I do want to know more about what you are. I like the idea of a conversational safeword for this discussion, so I'll use 'fiddlesticks!' as mine." Her smile grows, because it's just a ridiculous and fun word to say, and she's not shy about that.
"Mine is 'gumbo'. We happened on foods as a 'cule by accident. And I am comfortable with questions, with the same understanding; in general, there may be a line I draw between talking about myself and the whole of my kind."
He rests his elbows on the table and his chin on the back of one hand. "Given what I've seen of you so far, I'm looking forward to hearing what questions you choose to ask."
"Foods are good choices, but they always make me hungry," Lamara jokes. "I don't have particular entire topics that I'd like you to avoid. I try to be an open book to the degree I can be, and as long as you're willing to accept a refusal to answer, I don't feel like I need to fence anything off entirely. The only thing I'd add to that is that if we're going to go that route, I'd like you to try to avoid asking questions where my declining to answer would be answer enough. Are you comfortable with those fairly nebulous boundaries, or would you like to be more precise?"
He thinks for a moment before responding, clearly taking the question seriously. "I think that's sufficient for now, with the proviso that we can tighten up if we run into problems along the way."
"Absolutely. I'm willing to extend the same courtesies. If there's anything you can't tell me, I'll just move on. I'll try not to ask trick questions." Lamara nods, pauses to finish the contents of her coffee cup as she changes gears, and then starts answering, "most of what you said is true, but lacking in nuance. Is there somewhere specific you want me to start? Maybe with my own history?"
"I think it would be useful to me to have a more precise definition of 'ghoul', particularly one that applies more accurately to your present situation. That would give me the framework to build on with the rest."
"Oh, sure." Lamara pauses to organize her words. "A ghoul is a human that a vampire has empowered with their blood. It gives us a measure of what they are, some of their powers and abilities, for a time. It also stops us from aging, stops the progression of disease. It comes with unfortunate side effects, though. Addiction to the blood is one, and a growing love for the vampire who has been feeding us is another."
"Okay, that is definitely a more useful definition to work from in the context of this conversation. And the benefits to the vampire include having someone who can operate during the daytime, clearly. What other reasons might a vampire..." He considers his words before selecting a verb "...take on a ghoul?"
"Oh, you could think of that as a pretty similar question to asking why humans might form relationships. The answers are nearly as varied." Lamara holds up a hand and starts counting things off. "They're lonely, and want someone to share their existence with. The person has skills they're lacking, and they feel like they'll be stronger or safer for the relationship. They're terrible control freaks who want power over someone else." She lowers her hand. "Those answers are all just as applicable with ordinary people and their relationships as with vampires, of course."
He nods. "Certainly. And the fact that power dynamics between people can be inherently unequal for any number of reasons is also a thing that's true. I suppose I have to wonder about the capacity for consent in the presence of addiction and...I won't say 'false love', I don't have the context necessary for that, but would you agree it's a manufactured sort of love?"
"Oh, there's absolutely an imbalance of power inherent in the relationship," Lamara concedes, nodding emphasis. "For a number of reasons. There's often, I'd even say usually, a lack of consent or even awareness on the part of the ghoul when it comes to both the addiction and the, yes, usually manufactured love the blood causes until it's too late. Addiction, love, and the loss of power are all things that can combine powerfully to make it difficult for someone to get out of a relationship. The fact the ghoul is usually privy to secrets means the vampire has reason not to allow them to leave without taking measures to protect those secrets, no matter how well meaning the vampire might be. Unfortunately, through most of the world attitudes on the part of vampires tend to be utterly indifferent or dismissive of those concerns. I'm sure most all of that you could simply work out for yourself from the basic facts of what being a ghoul means, if you take time to think it through, which makes me less uncomfortable just saying it."
He nods slowly. "Yes, I can imagine. From the time I learned what a ghoul is, I have imagined. Your circumstances are different, now, though?"
"Yes and no." Lamara makes a bit of a face. "I'm an addict too. On top of that, the cost of our potential immortality is that if we stop drinking a vampire's blood, the years catch up with us quickly and with excruciating pain. On the other hand, I love my vampire. I loved her before she was mine, when someone else owned me and treated me like a particularly valuable piece of property, a plaything. The blood might make it impossible that I'd fall out of love, but I'm happy. Genuinely, wholeheartedly, happy."
"Good." He nods slightly. "That is what matters, then. Among changelings, the capacity to influence emotions is not entirely unknown, and it's not always seen as a thing that is bad. It can be harmful, but it can be used for good ends as well. I've been known to deliberately call up fear in people--normal humans--in the course of my work to impress upon them how dangerous a security flaw is, and what might be possible if it's exploited."
This seems to be an offering, something personal shared, after pressing her for a while.
"Right." Lamara sits forward and laces her tattooed fingers on the table in front of her. As much as she likes to gesticulate that probably won't last long. "There are people who have a talent for stirring up emotions in others without the use of supernatural powers. They can use that ability for good or foul purposes, no differently than you can, or the vampires can. It isn't inherently immoral, is it?"
She gives her head an inquisitive tilt and says, "you're really tempting me away from the important point I'm working my way up to. I want to ask so many questions so badly, but I'm really holding myself back. What I think is important for me to address is how different Philadelphia is, at least now, from so much of the world when it comes to ghouls. It's why Henevi and I are still here."
"Henevi is your vampire? I'm sure there's a word for it, I just don't have it. As for why Philadelphia is different, I'm aware of the Sakima's personal history, and how it plays into why she leads it the way she does, at least with regard to her belief in the right of people to be free, if that's the context you're about to provide."
"Regnant and domitor are the most commonly used words, which should say a lot about conventional attitudes," Lamara says with evident distaste. "But yes. Here there's a more pervasive attitude about our personhood and that it matters. Creating ghouls isn't prohibited, but there's an attitude that vampires who must rely on us just to get by are somehow deficient, and that it's only fully accepted in cases where the alternative for the ghoul is death. Whether that's like me, where I would die in anguish as age caught up to me, or those with diseases that would soon kill them otherwise. We aren't to be treated like mere property, but that isn't to say abusive relationships don't absolutely exist."
He nods quietly. "I will say, the clarity of your capacity for curiosity for its own sake is one of the qualities that makes it clearest to me that you aren't merely a puppet in service of your Henevi. Your wit is very much your own, and that puts me at ease with you."
Lamara laughs and says, "I love a good alliteration and a good compliment so I just to a twofer. Questions of free will and what that means are frequent occupants of my thoughts, and some days I have more doubts than others, I'll be the first to admit. About any of us, and whether we're just bizarrely complex weird protein jello computers running preset instructions and responding to stimuli, or what. But who cares! I'm happy, I love my life even if I'm not content with everything that surrounds it. I'm glad you feel at ease with me, and I take that as a profound compliment." She lights up with puckish curiosity and a smile to match. "Is it my turn now?"
Lamara's hands come up and she says, "definitions, of course! The same place you started." Hands come back down. "What is a 'Changeling'? I know legends about creatures snatching babies and leaving unnatural copies behind. Maybe as a very misguided way of explaining things in their children like..." she makes a gesture toward Mearc, "autism, for instance, or other neurodiverse qualities. A truly unfortunate and miserable response, for the poor children involved, being treated like they're not the real child. I take it you mean something else, though."
"The fairy tales get parts of it right. There do exist beings out there, who take humans and leave behind copies. A changeling, however, isn't the word for the copy. It's the word for someone who manages to escape after being taken and after being changed, and after being Kept. Imagine for example, an eldritch fae librarian, who wants a reading lamp. So he sends minions to find a person with a bright smile and bring her back, and they give her a glow and have her stand behind his favorite reading chair for decades, centuries. And one day, as she sees something in one of the books her Keeper reads, it sparks a memory of home, and urges her to escape. But when she does, she finds that time didn't work linearly; her high school sweetheart married the thing that was left in her place, decades back, and she still looks as young as she was when she was taken. And she still glows, at least to fae eyes. Humans and vampires both see an illusion of what we are, not the truth, not the changes that were done upon us. This is what a changeling is, someone who survived Hell and made it out on the other side, only mostly intact at best."
As he's describing to Lamara what happens in the creation of Changelings the blood starts draining out of her face and where she had been leaning forward, engaged, curious, she starts leaning back until she's sitting back in her chair and looks like she's half listening, instead. "They take people... where?" she asks numbly.
"To their realms." He stands, moving to put his mug in the sink and grabbing a cold water bottle from the fridge, which he presses into her hands, hoping the temperature difference will help as a grounding technique (and also water's better than caffeine if you're dealing with a flashback). "Would you like a pause on this discussion? You look like I just poleaxed you, and I'm not trying to beat you up here."
"Into the thorns?" Lamara asks in the same sort of numb tone, her gaze distant. When he puts the water bottle in her hands she takes it, and then her head turns enough to focus on it so she can screw the cap off and take a drink. "You reminded me of something I hadn't even remembered I saw, a long long time ago. Give me a minute."
He nods. "Take your time. Deep breaths. Let me know when you're good, and I'll let you lead, here."
She does just that, closing her eyes and breathing steadily, with intention. "Sorry," she says. "There are a lot of things I don't remember about when I was young. It wasn't a good time in my life. Usually it doesn't hit me that hard when something gets stirred up."
"That's alright. I'm not upset or offended. You're doing really good with how you're reacting." Gentle, coaxing. He sits back down, making sure his posture is as non-threatening as possible, hands palms-down on the table.
Lamara takes a little more time, sipping the water, sorting out her thoughts, but it's not very long before she gives Mearc a much subdued smile and says, "you survived whatever they did to you over there and made it back? You said something about fae eyes seeing things differently?"
"Yes. To changelings, other changelings very obviously aren't human. I know people who have very strong animal features, because they were turned into animals of one kind or another. I know people who look like carved statues. We can hide from one another, pulling the illusion tighter against our skin, but by default, we all see what was done to one another." Nothing about his own durance, quite yet.
Talking about something else, a little further from the details of whatever Lamara remembered, seems to help her move past the unexpected flashback. "That's fascinating," she says, even if her enthusiasm is only slowly returning. "It sounds like it could also be really lonely, at least when you're dealing with people who can't see who you really are. Or is that comforting?"
"Both." He chuckles. "Always both. It's...really impossible for someone to know you completely, if you can't talk about what you've been through, even in terms of time loss. When speaking to Atalo or Guy, we've compared the difference between time spent away and their extended slumbers; I was born in 1965, taken in 1981, returned in 2015. And I look like I'm in my twenties."
Lamara's ink-painted fingers turn her water bottle slowly as she takes all of that in, then she takes another drink. "That would be a huge strain on most relationships," she says. "Do a lot of you end up involved mostly with each other?"
"By and large. Though one changeling I know has found herself involved with Guy, which is bewildering and adorable all at once." He grins. "Both my current partners are changelings, like myself, though."
Lamara puts the bottle down, wipes condensation off of her hand and onto her skirt, and then leans forward to rest her chin on her hand as she watches Mearc. "Hopefully it doesn't bother you if I admit I'm really curious what you actually look like, now. The illusion of you is a handsome man, but the illusion is all I can see."
"I can't show you without risks that aren't currently worth it, even to indulge curiosity. For me to reveal myself holds a risk of attracting attention. The thing of it is, once we escape, there are those who would come looking for us." He pauses. "Though my partners would probably agree I'm handsome. My skin is dark, as is my hair, and my freckles are like neon spots of red and green that shift color sometimes, brightening or dimming based on my internal mindset."
Lamara nods in complete acceptance of his explanation why he won't just show her, and closes her eyes to imagine the description he gives. "What kind of dark?" she asks in a hushed voice. "I'm picturing a night full of stars of red and green." The personal details and not the overview seem to be the more important aspects of this conversation to her. She laughs before adding, "a proper night sky, not a modern city-dimmed one."
"My skin is black, but my blood is a glowing blue--think of...a laser tag arena or a blacklight party, and you'll be in the right color scheme to picture me."
"It paints a lovely picture, at least in my mind," she says, and she lets it linger in her imagination before opening her eyes to the illusion again. "You're still being hunted by those things, then?" she asks in a hush, as if something might be listening.
"Yes. The primary social unit of changelings is not a political organization, but a true safety net, with the intention of aiding one another in remaining both safe and free, as well as coping with the inherent trauma of what we are." He nods slightly.
"I'm so sorry," Lamara says in an outpouring of sympathy. "I had no idea that such things were happening around me all this time, while I was entirely oblivious. Ignorance is bliss, sometimes. Can I do anything to help?"
He shrugs. "The fact that others, and especially normal humans, are ignorant of this is deliberate. It's theorized that to know too much about the Good Neighbors can draw their attention. In the most polite way possible, you're already marked by the supernatural and under the protection of someone, so I feel comfortable talking to you. As for help..."
Here, a pause, thoughtful and longer than just a couple seconds. "I mean. To be a friend is helpful. It's grounding, sometimes, to be around people who are not like me, even if I can't be honest with them usually."
Lamara leans forward so that she can extend both of her hands across the table to Mearc, resting on its surface palms up, where she beckons with her fingers. "Being a friend I can do. I may be marked by the supernatural, but I'm human, I'm alive, I know what you are, and I already like and respect you. The friend part is a done deal as far as I'm concerned."
He places his hands, palm-down, on top of hers. "Thank you. That's meaningful. And I can be your friend in return. If you get lonely during the day and want someone to hang out with, feel free to reach out."
Gently she gives his hands a squeeze. "You're welcome. I sleep a lot during the day, as you might imagine, but I only need so much sleep. Summers get lonelier, though, and the longer days are coming."
"Yes, Summer is approaching. Though there's still a good chunk of Spring left to go. Equinox was only a month ago." He knows this without checking the date on his phone, off the top of his head.
"You pay as much attention to the seasons as I do," she says as she releases his hands and leans back. "Did you have anything else you wanted to talk about while I'm here? I shouldn't stay much longer, I do have some projects to get to today."
"No, I feel like we've covered a lot of really interesting ground. Perhaps we can do this again sometime?" His head tilts slightly to one side, with a hopeful smile.
"I'd like that. I could play the host next time, if you'd prefer. Either during the day, or maybe at night when you might have a chance to meet Henevi." Lamara picks up the water bottle. "Thank you for the coffee. Mind if I take this with me?"
"Of course. Go safely, Lamara. I do look forward to meeting your Henevi at some point, of course."
"I think she'll like you too," Lamara says as she gets up and heads to the door to slip her sandals back on. She pauses in the midst of that to say, "don't be too surprised if she the creatures kidnapping people thing makes her angry. Not at you, at them."
"It's understandable that it would make someone angry. It makes plenty of us very, very angry as well." He laughs, walking her to the door.
Lamara, besandled, stops at the door to face Mearc and ask, "are you a hugger? I am a serious hugger with my friends, but only if they like that."
He grins, opening his arms. "I am, in fact, a hugger, but less so when in public."
"I'll keep that in mind," Lamara says as she steps into the open arms and wraps him in her own. Her hugging isn't a perfunctory thing, but full and warm and affectionate even if it's short, and then she steps back. "Have a lovely day."
He hugs warmly, not afraid of being close, before letting go. "And you, as well."
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