Artie and Gabriel, Friday afternoon

[x-artie.livejournal.com]

Just, you know, I've lived here for 9 months or whatever, and I still don't know half the people here or what any of the X-groups do." Except save the world and get teenagers killed.



Gabriel had been spending more and more time in the library. With the kids in school and most of the adults busy with work, it was in many ways the safest place in the mansion to hide without hiding.

At the moment, he was next to a window, idly flipping through On the Road for what was certainly not the first time. He'd started the book a few times, at the recommendation of a manager at his first bar in New York, but he never managed to finish. The characters' restlessness generally just amplified his own, and the whole thing made him uncomfortable.

This time was no different. Annoyed, he dropped the book onto a nearby table and went in search of something lighter.

Artie had had a vague memory of the library containing fiction and ...books and, oh, what the hell, he had a plane trip coming up. He'd worked his way through several shelves full of books and ruled them out because they looked either boring or depressing. He picked up On the Road, sighed and dropped it back onto the table with a loud thud. That looked like hardcover, library bound terrible.

"Don't bother." Gabriel called over his shoulder. He moved back toward Artie, a copy of Mrs Dalloway in hand. It was one of the last books he'd started before leaving school, and he'd been curious to know how it ended. "It's the kind of angst that seems even more pointless when you've survived the –" he glanced around, then shrugged and smiled. "Well. You know."

Artie nodded. "I know. I read it. It's stupid and bleak and really, why are they walking around in some ridiculous post-Apocalyptic world where everyone are cannibals? There are better sources of food. Srsly."

"Nah, that's the other one. This one's Kerouac wandering around the country being super sad and depressing. Way less interesting." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a pack of gum. "You want?"

"Ahh. As Amanda would say, that's the one about the wanker." Artie shook his head at the gum. "No thanks. Messes with my tongue."

"Oh." Gabriel plopped back down in the chair and pulled a piece of gum out. He stared at the package for a second, then looked back up at Artie. He hadn't really seen much of the other guy since they'd - well, whatever it was. Survived the apocalypse? Been temporally displaced into a snowbank? Either way, it had been months, and he wasn't totally sure what to say. "How are things?"

Artie shrugged. "You know... spending a lot of time on planes right now. There was this one guy..." the text switched to images, a man with a filthy, stained shirt, visible waves of stench rising from his arm pits and mouth. "And I grew up with the sewer mutants so that's saying something." He paused. "Or did you mean, 'how are you really'?"

"No. I mean, I don't know." Gabriel shrugged and looked down at his hands. He looked a little sheepish when his head snapped up. "Not really, no. Sorry." He winced a little. "Is that awful? I'm kind of... tired of feelings talk. Much rather hear about life as a superhero or super-spy or whatever caused you to sit next to that smelly dude."

Artie snorted and waved a hand before shaking his head and miming a ball and showing it explode before bringing his hands back together again in a ball and pulled his hands back in a 'that's over'. He gestured between the two of them and gave a thumbs up with a manically smiling expression before dropping his hands and shaking his head and walked his hands forward, one step at a time.

"Yeah, I know." At least Gabriel thought he did. "I just, like..." He scratched his arm, trying to figure out how to explain what he meant. "Only a few people here who I trust to treat me like a person and not a walking suicide risk. Still, even months later. Glad you're one of them."

Artie shrugged. "I could ask if you're going to slit your wrists, but if you say 'yes', I have to look after you." The synthesiser's voice was utterly flat and expressionless. "I'd rather talk about something more interesting than your manpain. No offence." He looked into the distance for a moment. "I've been spending a lot of time in New Orleans, making contacts and pretending to be a homeless guy, which, incidentally, sucks. This time of year," an image sprang up on the table, a street in New Orleans, rain sheeting down and street lights glistening on the road. "It's a decent place, this time of year."

"Yeah? Never been. Don't travel much." Gabriel glanced at the image on the table. He was convinced Artie had one of the more intriguing mutant powers, even if it came with a tradeoff that was inconvenient as hell. "Homeless though?" He raised his eyebrows. "Why is that?"

"Mutant trafficking," Artie replied. "I was the lure. Harmless, you know? Fucked up tongue, disabled, maybe not too smart. I was the way in."

"Dude." Gabriel just blinked. "Fuck. People do that? Why?"

Artie sighed and let text drift across the table. "Slaves... freak shows.... or the mutant equivalent to guys taking rhino horn pills.... I've seen mutants bought to be eaten, even. You name it." He didn't mention that this had been Yvette, years ago. "Mostly, though, we do other things. This was a once-off because our networks were disrupted."

"Well." Gabriel didn't say anything for a little bit, instead staring at the spot where the text had just been. "That's a hundred different kinds of fucked up." He crossed his arms then looked up at Artie. "You like the undercover spy shit, though?"

Artie shrugged. "Most of it isn't undercover." It was a non-answer. "Someone has to do the job. I have unique skills and I want the work. Better I do it than someone else. Why - you looking to join up?" An image of Gabriel appeared, wearing trenchcoat, sunglasses and fedora.

Gabriel snorted as the holographic him appeared. "Fuck no, although I would rock the hell out of a trenchcoat." He glanced from the image to Artie. "I dunno. Just, you know, I've lived here for 9 months or whatever, and I still don't know half the people here or what any of the X-groups do." Except save the world and get teenagers killed. "Since I'm obviously sticking around, feels like I should make more of an effort."

"Oooh, 9 months?" Artie shook his head, wiped the floating text away with one hand. "Try 13 years. If you want to make an effort, make one. If you don't ..." He shrugged. "No one wants you to sign up for -- " he gestured expansively "- this if you don't want to."

Gabriel set his jaw for a few seconds and tried not to roll his eyes. "Didn't mean anything by it. Was just saying." He waved a hand dismissively. "Getting more familiar with my surroundings."

"Do you know how I ended up working for the trenchcoat brigade?"

"Nope." He was about to suggest it was Artie's silence, but that was tasteless, even for Gabriel.

"I got caught." He told the rest in images - scamming the casino, Arcade, X Force's rescue op "and I fucked off to sulk." More images - the safehouse in the sewer - "and talked to Remy. He sent me to learn things."

"Oh." Gabriel said nothing for a while. He shifted a little uncomfortably. "And you did."

Artie gave a nasty smile and nodded. A moment later, he was wearing a close facsimile of Gabriel's face. A moment later, the library vanished, a bubble of projected image covering the shelves and floor with a blank, gray moonscape.

"Impressive." Gabriel meant it. "Your party tricks are a lot more interesting than mine, I'll give you that." He craned his neck back and forth, scanning what had been the library for the cracks in the facade. He didn't find them, so he whistled appreciatively.

Artie let the illusions vanish. "You sure you want to get involved in ... things? I'd be dead now if it wasn't for Amanda. I've done some pretty terrible things, too."

"Not getting involved," Gabriel said pretty emphatically. "But if I learned anything in January, it was that being ignorant of things doesn't make you any less guilty by association. I don't like not knowing what goes on in a place where I sleep."

"That's fair," Artie replied, running a finger across the scar on this temple. "I'd want to know what's going on too."