xp_logs | The Marius Laverne Apology Detour: Arthur

The apology tour hits a detour when Marius visits Arthur. There's a fundamental gap in understanding.

An obsidian dagger was slowly drawn like a prayer, again and again and again. The magical light fell across its merciless blade to illuminate the same single eye symbol that had been engraved on a fragment of armor from another time. The light sheared as the dagger fell, plun —

No. This wasn't the important part. It wasn’t back then, it wasn’t right now.

Arthur Centino floated back in the expanse. An ocean of nothing. Adrift. A look of stubborn determination crossed his face as concentrated, and his power flared in response. He, Longshot, was a guiding star in the endless dark. A filter. A lens. His powers bloomed like the sun, and below him his light revealed the paths of causality. All intent, all turbulent paths of choice, all free will — all consumed.

An unfathomable titan rose over it all, taking all paths through into himself. It was indistinct. Alien. Hard to look at. Impossible to understand.

No.

Arthur pivoted, focusing backward. Every path consumed had a beginning. He rolled the dice in his mind and dove into the ocean.

Another scene unfolded, just like it had on that day in District X.

The same voices droned around him in the same chanting, but the setting was more modern. A similar ritual. The magical labyrinth had been replaced with the metallic sterility of a doctor’s office.

It all meant very little against the pain.

They could have sedated him, but instead they'd only used a paralytic. He could watch, comprehend, feel. The only thing he couldn't do was move. They had allowed him to be awake for this. The figure was trapped, and Arthur within him.

Awake and aware, so the vessel could fight.

Awake and aware, so he could be broken.

The blade glided across his chest, paring him away with every slice. The only interruption was the clink of metal against the bowl as the blood was periodically washed away.

Please, god, don't let this happen.

With unhurried hands they etched the symbol in blood and magic. Every stroke carved a new channel for a consciousness so vast it beggared comprehension.

M'aidez . . . s'il vous plaît . . . quelqu'un . . .

Crushing him beneath an ancient will with neither beginning nor end. A struggle as hopeless as fighting gravity. He fought like a drowning man fighting to reach the surface. Fought, and fought, only to be dragged deeper with every stroke.

Please . . . someone help me.

But he drowned, and drowned, and —

No one came.

Until now.

Arthur reached through the memory, using all of his might to pull the broken figure of Marius Laverne to him and out into the void beyond.

They floated together, one a shining star and the other a fragmentary memory that glittered like a thousand shattered mirrors pulled toward that far singularity.

Beyond all of that chaos, Arthur searched for the man inside.

Inside each cracked pane was a memory, a choice, or an intent. The Not-Marius wobbled in Arthur’s wavering light, shifting from a hungry, broken teenager to an X-Man to a wealthy playboy to a deathly creature of metallic, brutal elegance. Every Marius that was. The two had met, once, in the world before. A hundred polite hallway nods. Two people in separate orbits that never touched.

Maybe that was it.

Longshot focused, and the illusionary creature split into two. Four. Eight. Only a handful of eventual futures, only a limited number of true choices left. But . . . there was one. The chance would cost him nearly everything he had.

“Oh,” Arthur said to the image of Marius in an astonished stage whisper. “I see.”

This finally got the looming figure’s attention. The titan shifted its black, consuming gaze toward Arthur and snuffed the connection.

"Ah . . . sorry, mate, if you’re not up for it I can come back another time."

Marius was watching the blond with concern and an uncharacteristic hint of apprehension. His typical strategy was to ignore any negative feedback that might be occurring on the other side of the interaction until all intended social goals had been achieved. Arthur had consented to the visit, and Terry had allowed him in, but seeing how badly Arthur had been hurt – and now the expression on the man’s face – meant this was proving to be a challenge.

A bigger one with the knowledge it was Marius’ fault.

"I see," Arthur echoed as if he were back in that space that existed beyond choices. He was propped up against an army of pillows in his suite, the victim of a horribly unlucky violence. A man glued back together. Still, he had the audacity to smile warmly. He schooled his features against the remembered pain.

"Marius," he addressed him like a close friend, "I'm so glad that you're back."

The Australian blinked, the unexpected warmth in Arthur's voice rendering him momentarily speechless — but only momentarily. He recalled his smile like a well-heeled dog.

"The feeling is quite mutual," said Marius, glancing at the bag in his hand. "Ah, well, my apology gift of choice is alcohol, but Kyle mentioned you aren't much for drinking. I have instead procured you what I am assured is a rather good quality kombucha starter kit on the off chance you might enjoy turning your hand towards the healthier option."

This got an earnest laugh from the man in the bed. Arthur’s useful coping methods were starting to come back now that his healing had been remedied. "Next thing you'll be trying to sell me on buy-in for Jared Leto's hard kombucha. Having my own scoby sounds like fun, though. It'll be like a project to check on as I heal. Program development."

Arthur caught himself. Those weren’t his words. Board meetings, funding . . . that was psychometric bleed. He deployed a smile. Blank and empty.

Oblivious, Marius grimaced as he moved to set the bag down on the nearest chair. "Let's not bring Jared Leto into this, I only just escaped the last cult. I've been told microbrewing can be quite fulfilling, however. Certainly low-impact during convalescence." His eyes flicked across the other man again, re-cataloging the visible injuries.

"Speaking of," the Australian continued, "I know Kyle said he'd be helping me ease back into life here for a bit, but are you going to be all right on your own? If it comes down to it I'm the one sound of body right now. And, being the one who did it, I can't help but feel a bit responsible . . . "

"Stop, please." Arthur's interruption was earnest, brimming with understanding instead of any sort of reprimand. Honesty. "It was my choice. I would do it again. Plus, I think both David and Terry moved in."

"Be that as it may, I very much hope you'll not have reason to." The phrase "it was my choice" struck Marius as odd in this context for reasons he couldn't quite put his finger on. Arthur, he assumed, had been trying to pull his attention away from the girl by making a show of things. The final stand seemed as if it could have been better executed, he allowed, but one of the few things he knew of Arthur was that the man had been a stunt performer and minor actor in his time, and Marius could appreciate dramatic flourish. Still, it niggled.

”Good luck.”

But, generally speaking, he was not the sort to borrow trouble by being too curious. Particularly not in a situation like this, where he was speaking to a very injured man accepting a visit from his erstwhile assailant with inexplicable aplomb. Perhaps it was the painkillers. Ah, well. If it was something important Marius would find out later.

"Having spent more than my fair share of time in recovery I won't take up any more of yours," said Marius, still puzzling over the man's oddly familiar smile, "though when you're back on your feet I could perhaps treat you to lunch. Providing that's not too on the nose, of course."

This got another laugh, which was followed by a wince due to broken ribs. "As long as I get to pick this time, as you're a very demanding first date. You know what, though?" Arthur shifted forward. "I've never been this bad before. It's my luck, you see. This experience should really help me broaden my craft."

Arthur could see this was playing a bit over the top, but leaning into a role was what he knew how to do. Time to adjust in-scene motivation. "What's your opinion on knitting? You said you have experience in recovery. I'm not going to write the Great American Screenplay, but I could probably do socks."

Dying inside only slightly, Marius added 'broken ribs' to the internal tally. That had been an unlucky throw indeed. "As personal preference? I find knit fibres a bit hard to handle, but I'm told it's quite soothing. I myself perfected the art of languishing. Took the time to cultivate a sort of Byronic dishevelment, if you will. Oh, and binged cooking shows. They're oddly mesmerizing."

"Oh, like that BBC series with Jonny Lee Miller? The restbed as a stage. Me, on the verge of a Victorian wasting sickness."

Arthur's expression was shifted by sudden inspiration. Channel the injury. "Wait, I know why you're here."

"You do?" Marius perked up a bit; he felt he'd been starting to lose the thread himself.

The other man now appeared openly skeptical. "Dr. Voght has already lectured me twice about my concussion. Yet here you are, with a sweet gift and clever words coaxing me into watching television and staring at screens. I'm not falling for it."

Concussion? On the one hand, that was yet another entry to the list, but on the other, it might explain certain aspects of this interaction. Marius wondered if this feeling was relief.

"You've caught me out," the younger man agreed. "Consider this a test of your mental acuity and adherence to medical advice. I shall relay that your short-term memory appears to be mercifully intact. They do worry about such things after a head injury."

"I knew it!" Arthur was alert now, his eyes darting around the room suspiciously. "I know about the spies in the walls too. Who's clever now, Amelia? I'm delighted by the attention, of course, but this seems like entirely too much effort."

Marius considered this comment with more than an average level of credulity. Was this head trauma, or an entirely normal aspect of living in the mansion? Impossible to say.

He’d been hoping the transfusion would have seen Arthur further along in his recovery than this, but in truth it had probably only brought the man’s body back to where it would have been had Marius not fed on him. Magic blood or not, Arthur did not possess a native healing factor. The recovery he had ahead of him might yet be a long one.

"I'm sure it's purely out of concern for your comfort and safety," Marius offered. "That said, I can ask if they'll be more subtle in their attentions. We don't want you needlessly disturbed during your convalescence. At any rate," he clapped his gloved hands together with some of his more habitual aplomb, "I'll take up no more of your time. Rest. Recover. Ferment quality tea. I shall be in touch." He paused. "Figuratively speaking, that is."

The blond man across from him tried to hold up his trademark smile with pure spite, but it snagged at the corners like the strings had gone slack. He was quite visibly tired, and that was the truth. "Marius," it was an end of credits stinger delivered in a sigh, "je suis dévasté pour toi."