Jessica & Arthur | Inbetween the Rubble
Apr. 8th, 2024 11:11 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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xp_logsJessica and Arthur discuss what they found (and didn't find) in their inspection of the destroyed Murderworld. Conversation turns to more intimate topics: teenagers, coping mechanisms, and Arthur's past psychic trauma.
A flash of gold light faded from the car interior, leaving the man before Jess looking deflated.
Arthur Centino sighed from the middle of their assorted collection of debris. The robotic hand had been the best find, but the rest was a scattering of battered and pulverized office equipment. A burned and bent USB. What must have once been a coffee cup handle. The ripped remnants of some sort of high end fabric. A crushed taser with teeth marks. What might have been pink parasol made of steel. Everything coated in a sickly looking layer of concrete dust.
The man shook his head and clenched the one leather glove he had removed in a white knuckled grip. He'd offered very little explanation to his conspirator, so Jess had the lunchtime entertainment of watching the blond cautiously touch all of their finds one by one. He'd been hesitant, almost reluctant, at first, but had increased in speed and resolve with each new item.
Whatever had happened, it wasn't a victory.
Jessica, somewhat bemused, watched Arthur, her eyebrows coming together as he clutched the glove. She finally broke the silence they'd been sitting in. "Listen, I know you're into some hippie shit because I have literally seen you drink kombucha, but what the fuck are you doing?" Despite the actual words, this was offered almost gently, perhaps to interrupt something she felt was becoming too intense.
Arthur responded with a slow blink, as if clearing clouds from his mind. It took him a moment to refocus. Jess received a soft laugh as Arthur visibly unclenched, coming back to his usual ease. "You know, I'd never thought about what this all looks like from the outside." Another laugh.
Watching Arthur reorient himself had deepened Jessica's frown to something more along the lines of concerned and dubious. "What what looks like?" she asked, a little pointedly - a person who did not enjoy feeling like she was missing the point.
"Oh," he said with a self-critical shake of his head. "Right. I've got psychometry plus the luck."
Jessica closed her eyes and vented a breath through her nose. "Please pretend some of us don't have every mutant power indexed in our heads."
Arthur wiggled his fingers. "I can see memories on objects," his look drifted to somewhere else as he explained, "the past, sometimes the future. Just the strong stuff, really, like how I now know what it feels like to be attacked by a cougar."
"Fucking Sharon," Jessica muttered as her brain processed - the other thing. "Memories on objects. That sounds - inconvenient." She slid a glance toward him, down to the glove in his hands, her expression shuttered. "See anything useful?"
Another sigh through clenched teeth. "Just panic and fear, and only a handful of imprints. I was hoping for more."
"I figured." Jess lifted a shoulder, but her disappointment showed anyway, in the twist of her mouth and the way she looked back down at her own hands. "I figured. Considering the level of that demolition and the organization it'd take to kidnap more than a dozen kids."
"You're more right than you know," the other man admitted as reached to grab a tiny hand sanitizer from the car's center console. His eyes met Jessica's, suddenly sympathetic. "They got to them through Match. Sent him free tickets as part of some legit promotion. No wonder why he doesn't want to talk about it."
Dark eyes widened; Jessica's jaw clenched, the muscle working, and her hands curled in on themselves. One might suddenly remember, looking at her, that this was a woman capable of incredible strength. "That fucking kid," she said, her voice uncharacteristically high. She swallowed, and it took her some moments to speak, though it was closer to her normal pitch when she did. "Not that he'd take any fucking help anyway."
"Have you tried asking?" A simple question, but Arthur's eyes had narrowed slightly.
The look she gave him managed to be irritable and defensive all at once. "Of course," she said. She sighed, drumming her fingers on the car door near the window, the back of her head hitting the seatrest as she thought. "Guess I'll have to fucking try again. He won't even see a goddamned doctor, though, and that's just in general."
It was Arthur's turn to find his hands. "It," and his voice was suddenly much softer, "can be hard to admit you need help. Hell, I thought I was fixed way back when I first came to New York." Another dry laugh now, but it was clearly forced. "I'm glad that they didn't go through anything like that, but I think Match lost a lot back in Chicago before any of us knew him. Give him time."
Something in Jessica's expression seemed to shutter, closing or attempting to close against some stronger emotion. "Yeah," she said, more quietly. She looked sidelong at Arthur again, her fingers tapping something staccato against the plastic of the windowsill. She spoke quickly, as though unable to help herself: "You mentioned once on those stupid journals - something about mind control. That what you mean?"
The conversational whiplash momentarily stunned Arthur. His mouth tightened, gaze sliding impatiently elsewhere. Jessica could see him considering stepping away from some dark, vulnerable truth, but instead he admitted, "I signed a bad deal back in Hollywood. Years ago. My agent had a telepath, and they figured out my luck made for better reality television when . . . " He stuttered a little then. "Let's just say it works easier when I don't think about it. So, clear out some memories. Make me the perfect star. Get good ratings." He took a deep intake of breath through his nose. "It was seven years of that."
"Shouldn't have asked." It was almost an apology, as she looked away, out the window that had been cracked to keep them from looking like necking teenagers behind steamed-up glass. It did cost her something to add, tightly, "Me too," when she knew that Arthur already knew. "Sorry. I've been wondering about it for a while. After what you said."
This got her a somber, understanding smile as he put on his gloves, but it did reach his eyes. "Enough about me now," and it wasn't a closing of a door into that part of his life, but a gentle wedge shut. Arthur's expression brightened as his armor fell back into place. "We're friends, after all, and friends are open books. But this book is hungry and I still owe you lunch."
He gestured to the remnants around him and lowered his voice to a dramatic whisper. "Plus, I have to get all this to the X-Men supercomputer."
Grateful for the out — and still a little perplexed by herself — Jessica relaxed minutely. “Please tell me that actually exists,” she said. “Someone has to be able to take a robot hand and get something out of it.”
"Never been an X-Man," Arthur said with a grin, "But there's definitely something techy in the basement that has only gone evil at least once." He shrugged. "We'll see what it or the super science types can see. But: first, and more importantly, food."
A turn of the keys and they left what was left of this Murderworld behind.
A flash of gold light faded from the car interior, leaving the man before Jess looking deflated.
Arthur Centino sighed from the middle of their assorted collection of debris. The robotic hand had been the best find, but the rest was a scattering of battered and pulverized office equipment. A burned and bent USB. What must have once been a coffee cup handle. The ripped remnants of some sort of high end fabric. A crushed taser with teeth marks. What might have been pink parasol made of steel. Everything coated in a sickly looking layer of concrete dust.
The man shook his head and clenched the one leather glove he had removed in a white knuckled grip. He'd offered very little explanation to his conspirator, so Jess had the lunchtime entertainment of watching the blond cautiously touch all of their finds one by one. He'd been hesitant, almost reluctant, at first, but had increased in speed and resolve with each new item.
Whatever had happened, it wasn't a victory.
Jessica, somewhat bemused, watched Arthur, her eyebrows coming together as he clutched the glove. She finally broke the silence they'd been sitting in. "Listen, I know you're into some hippie shit because I have literally seen you drink kombucha, but what the fuck are you doing?" Despite the actual words, this was offered almost gently, perhaps to interrupt something she felt was becoming too intense.
Arthur responded with a slow blink, as if clearing clouds from his mind. It took him a moment to refocus. Jess received a soft laugh as Arthur visibly unclenched, coming back to his usual ease. "You know, I'd never thought about what this all looks like from the outside." Another laugh.
Watching Arthur reorient himself had deepened Jessica's frown to something more along the lines of concerned and dubious. "What what looks like?" she asked, a little pointedly - a person who did not enjoy feeling like she was missing the point.
"Oh," he said with a self-critical shake of his head. "Right. I've got psychometry plus the luck."
Jessica closed her eyes and vented a breath through her nose. "Please pretend some of us don't have every mutant power indexed in our heads."
Arthur wiggled his fingers. "I can see memories on objects," his look drifted to somewhere else as he explained, "the past, sometimes the future. Just the strong stuff, really, like how I now know what it feels like to be attacked by a cougar."
"Fucking Sharon," Jessica muttered as her brain processed - the other thing. "Memories on objects. That sounds - inconvenient." She slid a glance toward him, down to the glove in his hands, her expression shuttered. "See anything useful?"
Another sigh through clenched teeth. "Just panic and fear, and only a handful of imprints. I was hoping for more."
"I figured." Jess lifted a shoulder, but her disappointment showed anyway, in the twist of her mouth and the way she looked back down at her own hands. "I figured. Considering the level of that demolition and the organization it'd take to kidnap more than a dozen kids."
"You're more right than you know," the other man admitted as reached to grab a tiny hand sanitizer from the car's center console. His eyes met Jessica's, suddenly sympathetic. "They got to them through Match. Sent him free tickets as part of some legit promotion. No wonder why he doesn't want to talk about it."
Dark eyes widened; Jessica's jaw clenched, the muscle working, and her hands curled in on themselves. One might suddenly remember, looking at her, that this was a woman capable of incredible strength. "That fucking kid," she said, her voice uncharacteristically high. She swallowed, and it took her some moments to speak, though it was closer to her normal pitch when she did. "Not that he'd take any fucking help anyway."
"Have you tried asking?" A simple question, but Arthur's eyes had narrowed slightly.
The look she gave him managed to be irritable and defensive all at once. "Of course," she said. She sighed, drumming her fingers on the car door near the window, the back of her head hitting the seatrest as she thought. "Guess I'll have to fucking try again. He won't even see a goddamned doctor, though, and that's just in general."
It was Arthur's turn to find his hands. "It," and his voice was suddenly much softer, "can be hard to admit you need help. Hell, I thought I was fixed way back when I first came to New York." Another dry laugh now, but it was clearly forced. "I'm glad that they didn't go through anything like that, but I think Match lost a lot back in Chicago before any of us knew him. Give him time."
Something in Jessica's expression seemed to shutter, closing or attempting to close against some stronger emotion. "Yeah," she said, more quietly. She looked sidelong at Arthur again, her fingers tapping something staccato against the plastic of the windowsill. She spoke quickly, as though unable to help herself: "You mentioned once on those stupid journals - something about mind control. That what you mean?"
The conversational whiplash momentarily stunned Arthur. His mouth tightened, gaze sliding impatiently elsewhere. Jessica could see him considering stepping away from some dark, vulnerable truth, but instead he admitted, "I signed a bad deal back in Hollywood. Years ago. My agent had a telepath, and they figured out my luck made for better reality television when . . . " He stuttered a little then. "Let's just say it works easier when I don't think about it. So, clear out some memories. Make me the perfect star. Get good ratings." He took a deep intake of breath through his nose. "It was seven years of that."
"Shouldn't have asked." It was almost an apology, as she looked away, out the window that had been cracked to keep them from looking like necking teenagers behind steamed-up glass. It did cost her something to add, tightly, "Me too," when she knew that Arthur already knew. "Sorry. I've been wondering about it for a while. After what you said."
This got her a somber, understanding smile as he put on his gloves, but it did reach his eyes. "Enough about me now," and it wasn't a closing of a door into that part of his life, but a gentle wedge shut. Arthur's expression brightened as his armor fell back into place. "We're friends, after all, and friends are open books. But this book is hungry and I still owe you lunch."
He gestured to the remnants around him and lowered his voice to a dramatic whisper. "Plus, I have to get all this to the X-Men supercomputer."
Grateful for the out — and still a little perplexed by herself — Jessica relaxed minutely. “Please tell me that actually exists,” she said. “Someone has to be able to take a robot hand and get something out of it.”
"Never been an X-Man," Arthur said with a grin, "But there's definitely something techy in the basement that has only gone evil at least once." He shrugged. "We'll see what it or the super science types can see. But: first, and more importantly, food."
A turn of the keys and they left what was left of this Murderworld behind.
no subject
Date: 2024-04-09 05:24 am (UTC)This was so good and perfect and little shots of pain.
no subject
Date: 2024-04-09 06:57 am (UTC)Look, just because it's true doesn't mean you have to SAY it.
Jessica angrily experiencing emotions of unadmitted attachment and protectiveness is my favorite. Seeing Arthur momentarily lower his guard around her here is also great; that's a side he doesn't show often, and certainly not to her. Makes him more real to her, I think, and potentially gets her to feel a little less alone in her experiences.