http://x_tarot.livejournal.com/ (![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
x-tarot.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
xp_logs2012-05-31 09:01 am
x-tarot.livejournal.com) wrote in xp_logs2012-05-31 09:01 am
Entry tags:
Genosha - In The Balance: Confession
Marie-Ange is so very cooperative.
The fluorescent light in the room was distinctly too bright, washing out everything in the room except the orange of Marie-Ange's prison jumpsuit and the red of her hair, which she'd taken to pulling back into two loosely gathered braids to keep it out of her face. She kept covering her eyes with one hand, and then dropping it and looking around warily, as though she expected something to pop out from under the table and chairs bolted to the floor, or the wire cage around the lights. She'd been waiting, alone, for more time than she could keep track of, and was clearly unsettled. Regardless, she had not gotten up from the chair after having been led to it. There was no point, so she simply waited.
"It's not a lot of fun, is it. My first office was about this warm and inviting." The man who walked in was older, broad-shouldered and ugly in a homey, lived in kind of way. He was deeply tanned, with sun scars mottling the flesh of his cheeks and neck. "That was a few years ago. Marie-Ange Colbert, correct?"
"Camille. Marie-Ange Camille Colbert. St. Camillus is the patron saint of the sick and recovering gamblers. Which I am neither of." Marie-Ange said quietly. "No, it is very much not fun, but I am certain neither of us expected me to be turning cartwheels."
"No, and you're not going to have a lot of reasons to in the immediate future. I'm Captain Brandt. Do you know why they sent me, Marie-Ange?" He voice was the only uncommon thing about him; deep and sonorous.
"I am sorry, I do not understand the question. Do you mean do I know why I am being questioned, or do you mean do I know why they sent you in particular?" Marie-Ange asked, shaking her head a little to punctuate her confusion. "I cannot know why they would have chosen you, so should I assume it is the first?"
"No, it isn't. The reason that they sent me, Marie-Ange, is to hurt you very badly in order to extract everything that you possibly know. I have been told to use whatever methods necessary and to go as far as necessary. Outside the door is a wooden tool box full of ordinary tools you'd get at any hardware store. With those, I will keep you screaming for days, never stopping, never resting." His voice was measured, almost hypnotic. "The reason that I get asked to do it is because I once sat where you do now, and I didn't talk. In the weeks of pain that followed, something inside me broke. I don't feel anything. No guilt. No mercy. No hesitation. It honestly wouldn't matter to me if you were a young child or a helpless old woman. I just do as I'm ordered. So I want you to understand that when I start questioning you, if you lie, hesitate to tell me what I ask, or refuse to answer, I will immediately start to hurt you in response. Do you understand me?"
"Oh, it was the second one then." Marie-Ange did not seem disturbed by the man's word per se, although she did visibly flinch when he said he would hurt a child. "I am not certain why you think I might lie. Would lying accomplish anything except, as you said, considerable pain?"
"No, but some do. Some try." He said, and leaned back. "Who are the X-Men?"
Marie-Ange paused for a moment to think, bowing her head slightly and then met the man's eyes. "I am going to assume you want an explanation, not a list of members. I am not certain of the roster without some time to think on it. I think the best explanation is that they are Professor Xavier's mutant response team. They respond to threats that might destabilize the mutant community and sometimes the larger threats that may not be easily responded to by other means."
"Xavier is the commander?"
"The Professor is an old man. I sincerely doubt he is commanding much of anything." Marie-Ange said, carefully watching for any strong reactions. "It is a loose command structure, as I understand it. You are aware I am not an X-Man, correct? I am the wrong Colbert for that."
"And what are you, Marie-Ange? You were captured trying to sabotage the Citadel's power system."
Marie-Ange shook her head. "I seem to be at somewhat of an impasse. If I answer truthfully, I risk you not believing me and if I lie, I risk you knowing I am going to lie. Which is why torture is ineffective, I am told, because it is very difficult to determine if the person is telling you what you want to hear just to stop the pain, or if they are telling the truth." She gave the man a long look and then folded her hands, interlacing her fingers. "If I told you I was a spy, would you believe me? If I told you I believed I was doing God's work, and walked the path of the righteous, would you believe that? Or would you believe both, as I do, that my work is what is correct and right?"
"You're trying to divine what I want to hear. Don't. You will tell me what the truth is, and I will decide whether it is as you say or as you believe." The implacable stare never wavered. "So what are you, Marie-Ange?"
"A diviner." Marie-Ange said, and her lips twisted in a bitter smile. "A precognitive. I see the future in glimpses and work towards enacting changes I see as necessary. It is not uncommon in the faithful."
"You see the future, and yet, here you are. Was this pre-ordained for you?"
"It is not a perfect system." Marie-Ange said, on the far side of embarrassed. "I certainly did not anticipate missing Mass or being stuck in bright orange." She flicked her hair out of her face, and shrugged. "No predictions are perfect, I have blind spots."
"So you are a righteous spy. Not something you hear often. Whom do you spy for? The Americans? The Brotherhood?"
Marie-Ange glanced up at the far corner of the room, thinking this out for a moment. Certainly they would not believe "Betsy Braddock". "Certainly not the Brotherhood. Still the wrong Colbert. I am surprised you do not know that. It is a private firm, like Blackwater.. .or whatever they have renamed themselves, I never recall without looking it up. Remy would know. " She frowned, and bit the inside of her cheek. "You know my name, you have done the background check, yes? Who do you think I work for?"
"That isn't answering my question, Marie-Ange. We'll try one more time. Whom do you spy for?"
"Remy LeBeau." Marie-Ange said, entirely plainly. "I did answer the question before. It is a private firm, founded by former British Agents, Magneto's daughter and Remy LeBeau. But Remy is my immediate supervisor and I most often report to him, so I suppose you could say I spy for him. If necessary I also kill for him. I do not steal for him because I am a terrible thief." She folded her hands on the table, and frowned deeply. "Would you like more details?"
"Remy LeBeau. The mystery man in our files. All we have is a name, and a description so vague that I could be him." He rubbed his hands, pushing against the skin over his knuckles. "Why LeBeau? What is his interest in spying on others or sending out assassins?"
Marie-Ange blinked, genuinely confused. "How can you not have a description? He is in your jails cells! I could -draw- him for you." She raised an eyebrow and rested her elbows on the table. "I do not suppose I could get paper and... ah, what is soft? Crayons? I can do decent portraits with crayon. Chalk?"
"Now you're being deliberately obtuse. Which will only get you the same result as lying." He said. "This Remy LeBeau appears to be someone in a leadership role, and yet, he doesn't exist. No records of him anywhere public. No association listed with Xavier's or your think tank. But you spy and kill for him. Why? What does he want?"
"My apologies, but I was not trying to be difficult even if I was flippant. I do not enjoy pain at all and would prefer to avoid it." Marie-Ange said softly. "I was surprised that you did not have his description, since he is in the prison with us. As I said, he is not the only person I work for. I am not sure how to answer your question. The group's goals are proactive movement against mutant and other unusual threats, instead of a reactive philosophy. Remy's personal motivations are much more complicated and I am not sure I know enough of them to tell you in a short time. He is... complicated, but I said that already."
"So you ply your trade against other groups? Governments?"
"Other groups, sometimes individuals. Only but rarely governments. Usually when they are looking to enslave mutants." Marie-Ange's frown went tight and cold and the cheap plastic jail sandals slapped against the floor as she set her feet. "Sometimes criminals, if it is personal."
"And this is why you came to Genosha. This Remy sent you here?"
"It was a group decision. You kidnapped our friends. You kidnapped my ex-boyfriend." Marie-Ange said. "I took that a touch personally, as I am sure you can guess. But yes, Remy gave us approval to move in. I am sorry, was I not clear that he held a position of leadership in the group? He has more field time than I think three of any of the rest of us put together, so of course he gave us final approval."
"That much? Just who is this Remy LeBeau, Marie-Ange? The man in our cells looks like one in his thirties, wearing a few rough years on his features. I do not see the experienced elder intelligence officer you describe him as."
Marie-Ange looked away from the man for a few moments, and her mouth moved silently, and thought it hadn't seemed possible in the intense fluorescent light and the orange jumpsuit, her face went a little paler as she bit her lip. "Your law enforcement personnel would know him by another name. If you have something like, ah, the FBI, or Interpol, they would call him Gambit."
"Why would they know him, Marie-Ange?" He leaned forward, the crude features looming over her. "Who is this man?"
Breaking what had been tightly controlled composure before, Marie-Ange pulled away from the man, shrinking into the chair. "Gambit is on Interpol most wanted list." Her voice wavered as she spoke. "You should.. you should ask them for details. I do not know all of them. Remy is no longer Gambit, but he was very much a criminal in his past. He killed for the American government, and I think sometimes for himself."
"And this man who murders for himself. He's the one that you work with? Is that what you do, Marie-Ange? Do you kill when you're given a target?"
"He does not murder for himself anymore." Marie-Ange protested. "I have already told you that there are times I have killed for him. Killing in time of war is not a sin." She shook her head and tried to brush hair off her face where it was sticking to the clammy skin. "I am sorry, did you not see my capture? I thought it was clear that I have blood on my hands."
"That's an easy distinction to make when you get to decide with whom you're at war with. Me, Genosha, the human race, mutants that don't agree with you?" He stopped and bent over, coming almost nose to nose with you. "You would kill me now if you could. Wouldn't you?"
"Perhaps." Marie-Ange flinched, but her voice did not waver like before. "That is also a difficult question to answer. If I could kill you, we would not be having this conversation, you would be dead, or I would be dead from trying. Since I cannot kill you, and the choice is not there, why should I waste time thinking of if I would or not. Would and can are very different things."
"They are." He straightened up. "The guards will escort you back to your cell. You'll find a few privileges there which the others do not have. They will notice and they will wonder why they received beatings and you earned chocolate. They will guess why." He rapped on the door. "And when I talk to them, they'll have a reason to speak to me truthfully about you. And if I discover that you've lied to me, we will have another conversation. At the beginning, at least."
The fluorescent light in the room was distinctly too bright, washing out everything in the room except the orange of Marie-Ange's prison jumpsuit and the red of her hair, which she'd taken to pulling back into two loosely gathered braids to keep it out of her face. She kept covering her eyes with one hand, and then dropping it and looking around warily, as though she expected something to pop out from under the table and chairs bolted to the floor, or the wire cage around the lights. She'd been waiting, alone, for more time than she could keep track of, and was clearly unsettled. Regardless, she had not gotten up from the chair after having been led to it. There was no point, so she simply waited.
"It's not a lot of fun, is it. My first office was about this warm and inviting." The man who walked in was older, broad-shouldered and ugly in a homey, lived in kind of way. He was deeply tanned, with sun scars mottling the flesh of his cheeks and neck. "That was a few years ago. Marie-Ange Colbert, correct?"
"Camille. Marie-Ange Camille Colbert. St. Camillus is the patron saint of the sick and recovering gamblers. Which I am neither of." Marie-Ange said quietly. "No, it is very much not fun, but I am certain neither of us expected me to be turning cartwheels."
"No, and you're not going to have a lot of reasons to in the immediate future. I'm Captain Brandt. Do you know why they sent me, Marie-Ange?" He voice was the only uncommon thing about him; deep and sonorous.
"I am sorry, I do not understand the question. Do you mean do I know why I am being questioned, or do you mean do I know why they sent you in particular?" Marie-Ange asked, shaking her head a little to punctuate her confusion. "I cannot know why they would have chosen you, so should I assume it is the first?"
"No, it isn't. The reason that they sent me, Marie-Ange, is to hurt you very badly in order to extract everything that you possibly know. I have been told to use whatever methods necessary and to go as far as necessary. Outside the door is a wooden tool box full of ordinary tools you'd get at any hardware store. With those, I will keep you screaming for days, never stopping, never resting." His voice was measured, almost hypnotic. "The reason that I get asked to do it is because I once sat where you do now, and I didn't talk. In the weeks of pain that followed, something inside me broke. I don't feel anything. No guilt. No mercy. No hesitation. It honestly wouldn't matter to me if you were a young child or a helpless old woman. I just do as I'm ordered. So I want you to understand that when I start questioning you, if you lie, hesitate to tell me what I ask, or refuse to answer, I will immediately start to hurt you in response. Do you understand me?"
"Oh, it was the second one then." Marie-Ange did not seem disturbed by the man's word per se, although she did visibly flinch when he said he would hurt a child. "I am not certain why you think I might lie. Would lying accomplish anything except, as you said, considerable pain?"
"No, but some do. Some try." He said, and leaned back. "Who are the X-Men?"
Marie-Ange paused for a moment to think, bowing her head slightly and then met the man's eyes. "I am going to assume you want an explanation, not a list of members. I am not certain of the roster without some time to think on it. I think the best explanation is that they are Professor Xavier's mutant response team. They respond to threats that might destabilize the mutant community and sometimes the larger threats that may not be easily responded to by other means."
"Xavier is the commander?"
"The Professor is an old man. I sincerely doubt he is commanding much of anything." Marie-Ange said, carefully watching for any strong reactions. "It is a loose command structure, as I understand it. You are aware I am not an X-Man, correct? I am the wrong Colbert for that."
"And what are you, Marie-Ange? You were captured trying to sabotage the Citadel's power system."
Marie-Ange shook her head. "I seem to be at somewhat of an impasse. If I answer truthfully, I risk you not believing me and if I lie, I risk you knowing I am going to lie. Which is why torture is ineffective, I am told, because it is very difficult to determine if the person is telling you what you want to hear just to stop the pain, or if they are telling the truth." She gave the man a long look and then folded her hands, interlacing her fingers. "If I told you I was a spy, would you believe me? If I told you I believed I was doing God's work, and walked the path of the righteous, would you believe that? Or would you believe both, as I do, that my work is what is correct and right?"
"You're trying to divine what I want to hear. Don't. You will tell me what the truth is, and I will decide whether it is as you say or as you believe." The implacable stare never wavered. "So what are you, Marie-Ange?"
"A diviner." Marie-Ange said, and her lips twisted in a bitter smile. "A precognitive. I see the future in glimpses and work towards enacting changes I see as necessary. It is not uncommon in the faithful."
"You see the future, and yet, here you are. Was this pre-ordained for you?"
"It is not a perfect system." Marie-Ange said, on the far side of embarrassed. "I certainly did not anticipate missing Mass or being stuck in bright orange." She flicked her hair out of her face, and shrugged. "No predictions are perfect, I have blind spots."
"So you are a righteous spy. Not something you hear often. Whom do you spy for? The Americans? The Brotherhood?"
Marie-Ange glanced up at the far corner of the room, thinking this out for a moment. Certainly they would not believe "Betsy Braddock". "Certainly not the Brotherhood. Still the wrong Colbert. I am surprised you do not know that. It is a private firm, like Blackwater.. .or whatever they have renamed themselves, I never recall without looking it up. Remy would know. " She frowned, and bit the inside of her cheek. "You know my name, you have done the background check, yes? Who do you think I work for?"
"That isn't answering my question, Marie-Ange. We'll try one more time. Whom do you spy for?"
"Remy LeBeau." Marie-Ange said, entirely plainly. "I did answer the question before. It is a private firm, founded by former British Agents, Magneto's daughter and Remy LeBeau. But Remy is my immediate supervisor and I most often report to him, so I suppose you could say I spy for him. If necessary I also kill for him. I do not steal for him because I am a terrible thief." She folded her hands on the table, and frowned deeply. "Would you like more details?"
"Remy LeBeau. The mystery man in our files. All we have is a name, and a description so vague that I could be him." He rubbed his hands, pushing against the skin over his knuckles. "Why LeBeau? What is his interest in spying on others or sending out assassins?"
Marie-Ange blinked, genuinely confused. "How can you not have a description? He is in your jails cells! I could -draw- him for you." She raised an eyebrow and rested her elbows on the table. "I do not suppose I could get paper and... ah, what is soft? Crayons? I can do decent portraits with crayon. Chalk?"
"Now you're being deliberately obtuse. Which will only get you the same result as lying." He said. "This Remy LeBeau appears to be someone in a leadership role, and yet, he doesn't exist. No records of him anywhere public. No association listed with Xavier's or your think tank. But you spy and kill for him. Why? What does he want?"
"My apologies, but I was not trying to be difficult even if I was flippant. I do not enjoy pain at all and would prefer to avoid it." Marie-Ange said softly. "I was surprised that you did not have his description, since he is in the prison with us. As I said, he is not the only person I work for. I am not sure how to answer your question. The group's goals are proactive movement against mutant and other unusual threats, instead of a reactive philosophy. Remy's personal motivations are much more complicated and I am not sure I know enough of them to tell you in a short time. He is... complicated, but I said that already."
"So you ply your trade against other groups? Governments?"
"Other groups, sometimes individuals. Only but rarely governments. Usually when they are looking to enslave mutants." Marie-Ange's frown went tight and cold and the cheap plastic jail sandals slapped against the floor as she set her feet. "Sometimes criminals, if it is personal."
"And this is why you came to Genosha. This Remy sent you here?"
"It was a group decision. You kidnapped our friends. You kidnapped my ex-boyfriend." Marie-Ange said. "I took that a touch personally, as I am sure you can guess. But yes, Remy gave us approval to move in. I am sorry, was I not clear that he held a position of leadership in the group? He has more field time than I think three of any of the rest of us put together, so of course he gave us final approval."
"That much? Just who is this Remy LeBeau, Marie-Ange? The man in our cells looks like one in his thirties, wearing a few rough years on his features. I do not see the experienced elder intelligence officer you describe him as."
Marie-Ange looked away from the man for a few moments, and her mouth moved silently, and thought it hadn't seemed possible in the intense fluorescent light and the orange jumpsuit, her face went a little paler as she bit her lip. "Your law enforcement personnel would know him by another name. If you have something like, ah, the FBI, or Interpol, they would call him Gambit."
"Why would they know him, Marie-Ange?" He leaned forward, the crude features looming over her. "Who is this man?"
Breaking what had been tightly controlled composure before, Marie-Ange pulled away from the man, shrinking into the chair. "Gambit is on Interpol most wanted list." Her voice wavered as she spoke. "You should.. you should ask them for details. I do not know all of them. Remy is no longer Gambit, but he was very much a criminal in his past. He killed for the American government, and I think sometimes for himself."
"And this man who murders for himself. He's the one that you work with? Is that what you do, Marie-Ange? Do you kill when you're given a target?"
"He does not murder for himself anymore." Marie-Ange protested. "I have already told you that there are times I have killed for him. Killing in time of war is not a sin." She shook her head and tried to brush hair off her face where it was sticking to the clammy skin. "I am sorry, did you not see my capture? I thought it was clear that I have blood on my hands."
"That's an easy distinction to make when you get to decide with whom you're at war with. Me, Genosha, the human race, mutants that don't agree with you?" He stopped and bent over, coming almost nose to nose with you. "You would kill me now if you could. Wouldn't you?"
"Perhaps." Marie-Ange flinched, but her voice did not waver like before. "That is also a difficult question to answer. If I could kill you, we would not be having this conversation, you would be dead, or I would be dead from trying. Since I cannot kill you, and the choice is not there, why should I waste time thinking of if I would or not. Would and can are very different things."
"They are." He straightened up. "The guards will escort you back to your cell. You'll find a few privileges there which the others do not have. They will notice and they will wonder why they received beatings and you earned chocolate. They will guess why." He rapped on the door. "And when I talk to them, they'll have a reason to speak to me truthfully about you. And if I discover that you've lied to me, we will have another conversation. At the beginning, at least."