Marie-Ange & Arthur | The Fool's Journey
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xp_logs(Slightly backdated) Marie-Ange visits Arthur as he continues to recover, and they discuss the cost of foresight as friends and nothing else.
The world came back suddenly.
The man in the bed thrashed with the onset of memory. They were cutting into him again with that long knife. He was prostrated on an altar — nothing but a sacrifice, an offering to a nameless end. Arthur's breathing hitched as he tried to take in more than his broken ribs could manage.
"No, no," but he wasn't there anymore. He was back in his room. As Arthur tried to resituate himself, he found that his arm was unexpectedly heavy. A cast? When had he gotten a cast? Cheerful scribbles and sharpie drawings decorated its surface, a testament that he hadn't been alone either.
A particularly long, jagged line drew his attention to his visitor, sitting there with a pen. He wasn't alone.
"I'm sorry," and he was so tired of being sorry, "I lost myself."
"That does seem to happen with our sorts of powers." Marie-Ange took a second pen — light blue with a brushstroke end — out of her mouth, but continued to draw on the cast without looking up. "Blue columbine, the state flower of Colorado. Which is actually white and lavender as well." Another handful of pens were tucked into a cup on the bedside table. "It is far prettier thing to draw than the national flower of South Africa. I can draw that as well if you like." She swapped pens back to the blue one, and drew more petals around the line, turning the unexpected mark into more flowers.
"Wow," he responded rather ineloquently. Following her sure pen strokes was visibly calming the man. His hitched breathing evened as she worked. "I always liked the Rocky Blue. They're everywhere in the mountains — scattered like stars on trails and the side of the roads. They always come back. Year after year."
Arthur paused on that last consideration, his eyes moving past Marie Ange's head to a dry erase board mounted on the wall. Its cheerful smiley face had been given a star for an eye at some point. The message still assured: "You are okay! This is your room."
He took a long, controlled breath.
"Marie-Ange, how much do you know? I've been losing time. Have I told you what happened?"
"I know your powers are erratic right now." Marie-Ange set her pens down. "I have to confess, we talked about it amongst X-Force. Artie is having powers issues, and I was not until I was." She tapped at her eyepatch. "I resumed an automatic drawing habit before the attack on the city, and I had some issues with images recently. But powers difficulty is all I know."
"No no, not that," Arthur replied with a shake of his head. "Back then. I told you what I was going to do over the comms, I think. Please tell me that was real."
"Oh, yes. You protected Ms Summers, and dropped a satellite on Death." Marie-Ange said. "And before that, you had Death's armor.' She had been, until now, strangely casual, leaning on the edge of Arthur's hospital bed with her art markers and ink-smudged fingers, and now she was rigid, attention only on him, and not the impromptu artwork on his cast. "Oh, you used your power on it. I was — I was not aware that you had succeeded."
His eyes lit up like Christmas. "It worked. It worked. I was able to guide it this time."
"Ah." She didn't quite know how to reply. What did you say to someone excited that they'd read the past or future of the armor of a cultist, even an unwilling one. "Do. you want to? talk about it?" The question was hesitant, awkward. "I do not want to pry unless you want to share, I cannot imagine it was pleasant visions but I am very glad to see you were able to control it."
"Oh," and his voice suddenly went very small. Arthur had been healing finally, but the look of triumph in his eyes faded as the scenes came back. Knives. Chanting.
"I..." He sighed, unsure where to begin. "I have to focus on the good part, you know? I saw . . . I saw them making Death. Before. I was the sacrifice. It's just that I can also pull it back if I try — it was like seeing Haller's path laid out back at Halloween, but simpler. There weren't many choices to make."
He shook his head like that was too simple.
"I am getting ahead of myself. I saw so much that I don't know where to start? I've kept trying to tell people, but no one else understands. But you . . . you know."
Marie-Ange tucked her feet under herself, attentive and curious. "I live inside seeing so much I am never sure where to start. I very much understand. I . . . ' She was briefly serious, Tarot, the spy, the leader of spies and not Marie-Ange in a sweater with bunched up sleeves and yoga pants, and then it broke, and she shook her head and let hair fall over her face, obscuring the eyepatch and softening her expression. "I should . . . bugger, I should professionally debrief you and I am not going to right now, and future me may regret that but it can wait, you are hurt. What do you want to tell me? You . . . " She stumbled on her words, awkward with kindness. "You are hurt and exhausted, I only want you to tell me whatever you want to tell me, even if it just that this power is a burden and a headache.'
"How about I tell you a secret instead?"
"Arthur, I am a spy. I love secrets," Marie-Ange said. "Even the sad ones."
"I," he began, and there was a jangle as he shifted his free hand to show off the power inhibitor that was currently a featured accessory. "I was so excited to get something I could use, you know? A real superpower. Not just being someone's lucky star. So I spent last year so set on mastering it, like a screen read or some call back audition. My big break."
Arthur tried to laugh, but it came out as a sigh. His earlier excitement had practically evaporated.
"I wanted you to be proud of me. Everyone else? Everyone else said I'd hurt myself. They didn't trust it. Be careful. But Marie-Ange?" He bit his lip. "She'd know. But . . . you do, don't you?"
"I do know. I know so well, and I am so very sorry you had to learn it too.' She was a woman not prone to physical gestures, and still pushed the chair towards the head of Arthur's bed. "Your powers are off, I can hug you without risk of you and I having another moment of precognition tango." Marie-Ange reached across, careful to not put weight on Arthur's casted arm, and gave an entirely awkward hug. "I am impressed that you sought this out, that you trained on it, because it is the worst power, and it does hurt, and no one should have discounted you. "
The man practically melted into the hug like a creature too long starved of touch. After the last year, he may have been. "He didn't have many futures left. There was one I could give him."
"You were in my drawings." Marie-Ange said. "I did not know it was you, but it was. A crashing star and broken scythes." She patted Arthur's shoulder. "He is awake, you gave him a good future. We were horrible, making sure Marius had not chosen to be Death, that it was thrust upon him. I was horrible. He is awake and he has a future, you did that."
A wince crossed Arthur's face at the name. "He came to visit me, you know? I don't think he knows what happened, but," and his eyes narrowed, "that's actually amazing. Everyone likes to tell me about how my luck means that everything I do is given to me or predetermined. Easy. Worse off, when I try to be honest they think I'm dangerous."
He had to pull back for a minute. Reset.
"They're right, though. I'm already struggling to keep my role believable."
"We are all dangerous, Arthur. Every single one of us here is dangerous. Anyone who dismisses your powers, the luck or the reading is a fool and a hypocrite." Marie-Ange reached over to her pile of art supplies and plucked a card out of the mess — a gesture, and a look and she had a little man dancing on the edge of the cliff that was Arthur's bed. "You are loved by the universe and she — he — it — it asks a terrible price of you, and anyone." She punctuated her thoughts with a little jab, and the image of The Fool jerked as though a puppet on strings. "Anyone who knows, knows that is a terrible bargain for luck and foresight."
His eyes were fixed on the dancing image. It carried a sack full of knowledge and a single rose that was, supposedly, freedom. "I know you said the Fool is a positive card, I do," Arthur sighed, "but I have spent the last eight years stuck believing I had to be positive, always, or my luck would tear apart the world. Head empty, no thoughts. Stay at the mansion, and don't make waves."
His attention diverted, and he used a finger to trace the new flowers on his cast. "I'm tired of feeling foolish."
The Fool dissolved without a sound or a movement or so much as a wisp of ectoplasmic mist. "What would happen if you started testing? A little thought, to see how the universe reacts? Perhaps you are not The Fool, or even the Wheel of Fortune. You are too complex for just one card. You helped save a universe, I think perhaps if she loves you, she can let you have some of your life back." Marie-Ange reached across the little pile of art supplies and took up her pens again. "You have admitted that the reality of you is different from the star we see. I think we can suffer a little back luck if if we get to keep the man, and not the fool or the lucky star.'
"No," and his correction was sharp, "I saved one man. I . . ." and Arthur struggled to find the exact words here as he chewed on the concepts, "There weren't many options left, so very few choices. What I chose was the only one for Marius, not the one where we won. But, one life might be a universe."
The man sighed, biting his lip. There was a slight tinkling from the power inhibitor as his free hand started to tremble. "I've hidden so much and felt so alone lately, but I'm not sure who I am without the act. Is there a card for that?"
"There is more than one, but," Marie-Ange took out her pen and very gently took Arthur's casted arm, returning to her art, "there is a story, a man goes out to the beach to find a child throwing starfish back into the ocean. He tells the child, there are so many starfish dying here, what you are doing does not matter." She drew another cluster of blue flowers, five petals around a small center. "You know this one, yes, and the child says, but it matters to the starfish. What you did mattered, you saw a future and saved a man. I deal a lot in death, but the first future I ever saw? I saved a man. Now I think it is time to be yourself, give yourself time to be Arthur, and discover who he is. I told you the Fool is a good card, did you know it is about the Hero's journey? The fool becomes the hero."
That actually got a smile that fully reached his eyes. "I do love a good story. I don't regret what I did," and he meant it, "and it continues to feel right. Every starfish deserves to be saved. What I didn't see, though, was that rebuilding would be so hard."
Arthur made every effort to keep still, but now fully devoted his attention to the flowers continuing to bloom on his cast as he finally relaxed. "So what adventures does this fool get into?"
The world came back suddenly.
The man in the bed thrashed with the onset of memory. They were cutting into him again with that long knife. He was prostrated on an altar — nothing but a sacrifice, an offering to a nameless end. Arthur's breathing hitched as he tried to take in more than his broken ribs could manage.
"No, no," but he wasn't there anymore. He was back in his room. As Arthur tried to resituate himself, he found that his arm was unexpectedly heavy. A cast? When had he gotten a cast? Cheerful scribbles and sharpie drawings decorated its surface, a testament that he hadn't been alone either.
A particularly long, jagged line drew his attention to his visitor, sitting there with a pen. He wasn't alone.
"I'm sorry," and he was so tired of being sorry, "I lost myself."
"That does seem to happen with our sorts of powers." Marie-Ange took a second pen — light blue with a brushstroke end — out of her mouth, but continued to draw on the cast without looking up. "Blue columbine, the state flower of Colorado. Which is actually white and lavender as well." Another handful of pens were tucked into a cup on the bedside table. "It is far prettier thing to draw than the national flower of South Africa. I can draw that as well if you like." She swapped pens back to the blue one, and drew more petals around the line, turning the unexpected mark into more flowers.
"Wow," he responded rather ineloquently. Following her sure pen strokes was visibly calming the man. His hitched breathing evened as she worked. "I always liked the Rocky Blue. They're everywhere in the mountains — scattered like stars on trails and the side of the roads. They always come back. Year after year."
Arthur paused on that last consideration, his eyes moving past Marie Ange's head to a dry erase board mounted on the wall. Its cheerful smiley face had been given a star for an eye at some point. The message still assured: "You are okay! This is your room."
He took a long, controlled breath.
"Marie-Ange, how much do you know? I've been losing time. Have I told you what happened?"
"I know your powers are erratic right now." Marie-Ange set her pens down. "I have to confess, we talked about it amongst X-Force. Artie is having powers issues, and I was not until I was." She tapped at her eyepatch. "I resumed an automatic drawing habit before the attack on the city, and I had some issues with images recently. But powers difficulty is all I know."
"No no, not that," Arthur replied with a shake of his head. "Back then. I told you what I was going to do over the comms, I think. Please tell me that was real."
"Oh, yes. You protected Ms Summers, and dropped a satellite on Death." Marie-Ange said. "And before that, you had Death's armor.' She had been, until now, strangely casual, leaning on the edge of Arthur's hospital bed with her art markers and ink-smudged fingers, and now she was rigid, attention only on him, and not the impromptu artwork on his cast. "Oh, you used your power on it. I was — I was not aware that you had succeeded."
His eyes lit up like Christmas. "It worked. It worked. I was able to guide it this time."
"Ah." She didn't quite know how to reply. What did you say to someone excited that they'd read the past or future of the armor of a cultist, even an unwilling one. "Do. you want to? talk about it?" The question was hesitant, awkward. "I do not want to pry unless you want to share, I cannot imagine it was pleasant visions but I am very glad to see you were able to control it."
"Oh," and his voice suddenly went very small. Arthur had been healing finally, but the look of triumph in his eyes faded as the scenes came back. Knives. Chanting.
"I..." He sighed, unsure where to begin. "I have to focus on the good part, you know? I saw . . . I saw them making Death. Before. I was the sacrifice. It's just that I can also pull it back if I try — it was like seeing Haller's path laid out back at Halloween, but simpler. There weren't many choices to make."
He shook his head like that was too simple.
"I am getting ahead of myself. I saw so much that I don't know where to start? I've kept trying to tell people, but no one else understands. But you . . . you know."
Marie-Ange tucked her feet under herself, attentive and curious. "I live inside seeing so much I am never sure where to start. I very much understand. I . . . ' She was briefly serious, Tarot, the spy, the leader of spies and not Marie-Ange in a sweater with bunched up sleeves and yoga pants, and then it broke, and she shook her head and let hair fall over her face, obscuring the eyepatch and softening her expression. "I should . . . bugger, I should professionally debrief you and I am not going to right now, and future me may regret that but it can wait, you are hurt. What do you want to tell me? You . . . " She stumbled on her words, awkward with kindness. "You are hurt and exhausted, I only want you to tell me whatever you want to tell me, even if it just that this power is a burden and a headache.'
"How about I tell you a secret instead?"
"Arthur, I am a spy. I love secrets," Marie-Ange said. "Even the sad ones."
"I," he began, and there was a jangle as he shifted his free hand to show off the power inhibitor that was currently a featured accessory. "I was so excited to get something I could use, you know? A real superpower. Not just being someone's lucky star. So I spent last year so set on mastering it, like a screen read or some call back audition. My big break."
Arthur tried to laugh, but it came out as a sigh. His earlier excitement had practically evaporated.
"I wanted you to be proud of me. Everyone else? Everyone else said I'd hurt myself. They didn't trust it. Be careful. But Marie-Ange?" He bit his lip. "She'd know. But . . . you do, don't you?"
"I do know. I know so well, and I am so very sorry you had to learn it too.' She was a woman not prone to physical gestures, and still pushed the chair towards the head of Arthur's bed. "Your powers are off, I can hug you without risk of you and I having another moment of precognition tango." Marie-Ange reached across, careful to not put weight on Arthur's casted arm, and gave an entirely awkward hug. "I am impressed that you sought this out, that you trained on it, because it is the worst power, and it does hurt, and no one should have discounted you. "
The man practically melted into the hug like a creature too long starved of touch. After the last year, he may have been. "He didn't have many futures left. There was one I could give him."
"You were in my drawings." Marie-Ange said. "I did not know it was you, but it was. A crashing star and broken scythes." She patted Arthur's shoulder. "He is awake, you gave him a good future. We were horrible, making sure Marius had not chosen to be Death, that it was thrust upon him. I was horrible. He is awake and he has a future, you did that."
A wince crossed Arthur's face at the name. "He came to visit me, you know? I don't think he knows what happened, but," and his eyes narrowed, "that's actually amazing. Everyone likes to tell me about how my luck means that everything I do is given to me or predetermined. Easy. Worse off, when I try to be honest they think I'm dangerous."
He had to pull back for a minute. Reset.
"They're right, though. I'm already struggling to keep my role believable."
"We are all dangerous, Arthur. Every single one of us here is dangerous. Anyone who dismisses your powers, the luck or the reading is a fool and a hypocrite." Marie-Ange reached over to her pile of art supplies and plucked a card out of the mess — a gesture, and a look and she had a little man dancing on the edge of the cliff that was Arthur's bed. "You are loved by the universe and she — he — it — it asks a terrible price of you, and anyone." She punctuated her thoughts with a little jab, and the image of The Fool jerked as though a puppet on strings. "Anyone who knows, knows that is a terrible bargain for luck and foresight."
His eyes were fixed on the dancing image. It carried a sack full of knowledge and a single rose that was, supposedly, freedom. "I know you said the Fool is a positive card, I do," Arthur sighed, "but I have spent the last eight years stuck believing I had to be positive, always, or my luck would tear apart the world. Head empty, no thoughts. Stay at the mansion, and don't make waves."
His attention diverted, and he used a finger to trace the new flowers on his cast. "I'm tired of feeling foolish."
The Fool dissolved without a sound or a movement or so much as a wisp of ectoplasmic mist. "What would happen if you started testing? A little thought, to see how the universe reacts? Perhaps you are not The Fool, or even the Wheel of Fortune. You are too complex for just one card. You helped save a universe, I think perhaps if she loves you, she can let you have some of your life back." Marie-Ange reached across the little pile of art supplies and took up her pens again. "You have admitted that the reality of you is different from the star we see. I think we can suffer a little back luck if if we get to keep the man, and not the fool or the lucky star.'
"No," and his correction was sharp, "I saved one man. I . . ." and Arthur struggled to find the exact words here as he chewed on the concepts, "There weren't many options left, so very few choices. What I chose was the only one for Marius, not the one where we won. But, one life might be a universe."
The man sighed, biting his lip. There was a slight tinkling from the power inhibitor as his free hand started to tremble. "I've hidden so much and felt so alone lately, but I'm not sure who I am without the act. Is there a card for that?"
"There is more than one, but," Marie-Ange took out her pen and very gently took Arthur's casted arm, returning to her art, "there is a story, a man goes out to the beach to find a child throwing starfish back into the ocean. He tells the child, there are so many starfish dying here, what you are doing does not matter." She drew another cluster of blue flowers, five petals around a small center. "You know this one, yes, and the child says, but it matters to the starfish. What you did mattered, you saw a future and saved a man. I deal a lot in death, but the first future I ever saw? I saved a man. Now I think it is time to be yourself, give yourself time to be Arthur, and discover who he is. I told you the Fool is a good card, did you know it is about the Hero's journey? The fool becomes the hero."
That actually got a smile that fully reached his eyes. "I do love a good story. I don't regret what I did," and he meant it, "and it continues to feel right. Every starfish deserves to be saved. What I didn't see, though, was that rebuilding would be so hard."
Arthur made every effort to keep still, but now fully devoted his attention to the flowers continuing to bloom on his cast as he finally relaxed. "So what adventures does this fool get into?"
no subject
Date: 2024-01-25 05:51 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2024-01-25 05:58 pm (UTC)I love this line.
This is a beautiful log. I love seeing the softer side of MA as someone who can understand the burden of precognition, enough even to make her put aside her duties for XF to comfort a friend. Her gesture with the cast, also, was so sweet. It's sad that it was Arthur's desire to escape the passivity of feeling like nothing but a good luck charm that took him to this point. No good deed goes unpunished, after all.
no subject
Date: 2024-01-25 06:13 pm (UTC)""You are loved by the universe and she — he — it — it asks a terrible price of you, and anyone.""
Copied this line and sent it to people not in the game because it's so good.
no subject
Date: 2024-01-25 06:24 pm (UTC)And Arthur... so broken and yet broken in different ways with everyone who has seen him. They all start similar and all go in varying directions.
Well done you two <3
no subject
Date: 2024-01-25 08:32 pm (UTC)The world came back suddenly.
...
"I'm sorry," and he was so tired of being sorry, "I lost myself."
The way you've used these two sentences throughout the series of Arthur logs as the one stable point in his life right now has been brilliant. Never has so little had so many layers of meaning.
And Amanda is sorry she had to be the hardarse in their log. Apparently she and Angie switched places. ;)
no subject
Date: 2024-01-26 01:56 am (UTC)