1o ɂ spam

[mattersverymuch]

spam } victor creed

[There isn't any point in waiting. The marquis wants to start this now. In part because he trusts Iris's judgment, in part because she's right, he's bored, in part because he'd like to see if he can warp a monster into a different kind of monster even in this place with all of its bizarre checks and balances.]

[He follows Victor starting shortly after lunch, watching his path out of the cafeteria carefully. He knows Victor's habits; he knows most people's. And while he starts out following at a distance, he gradually decreases subtlety until he is abruptly waiting for Victor by the door to the CES. Just watching.]

private/video } dean winchester

[The decision is made abruptly. Succinctly. Like a light turning on, or off, or the breaking of a bone.]

[He sits on a flat stone step in his room, or what passes as his room; he sits on it like it's a throne, and he smiles for the camera.]

Have you ever heard the story of Puss in Boots?

Comments

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[mattersverymuch]

It makes me laugh.

[The marquis's expression now is a perfect mimic of Dean's - bright but not amused. The sharp edge of a half-drawn knife.]

[Yes. It's funny. He enjoys it. He isn't sorry. Not for the pain he's caused, nor for the slice of empire he's built for himself. His reputation makes him as close to happy as he'll ever be, for happiness in the marquis's eyes is certainty of security. Of carrying on - breathing another day.]

[Occasionally he regrets having lost the rarely-tempting privilege of feeling fondness. Then he regrets his regret, and washes it downriver.]

You disagree?

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[surfaceshine]

[This, too, is the difference: the Marquis would be the last one standing at the end of the world, and consider himself the victor. Dean found himself the last one standing of his family and refused to accept it as reality. That isn't security for Dean. Carrying on another day at all costs is not safety. His eyes search the Marquis's through the smokescreen of the network, two predators caught on opposite sides of a viewing glass.]

I certainly don't agree. But then, I know the story isn't over.

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[mattersverymuch]

[An interesting point. The story isn't over . . . well. The marquis knows that isn't true. But he also knows that the way Dean would like the story to go is not where he wants it to go. He will have no part in any Bildungsroman; he will not learn lessons; he will not become better, work towards some greater whole, because what would be the benefit to him, then?]

[Something flickers in his eyes, uncertainty or anger or a combination thereof; and he shrugs, disdainful.]

Stories don't always end the way you expect them to.

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[surfaceshine]

[Dean doesn't move for several seconds, watching, clever eyes missing nothing. He never does, when he's paying attention, and the Marquis has it all for now. At last Dean smiles, satisfied with whatever he's seen, and sits back. A few moments later he's leaning back, kicking his boots up onto the corner beside the communicator, relaxing bonelessly into his chair.

The smile spreads to a grin, a low chuckle.]

No. No they don't. But that's the point too, isn't it?

Are we done with this metaphor yet?

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[mattersverymuch]

[The marquis shrugs, unbothered, at least on the surface, by Dean's dismissal.]

If you like. I've said what's to be said.

[And he has been understood. Remarkable in its own right, even if Dean also argues too much for his own good.]

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[surfaceshine]

[Dean will always argue. It's how he shows affection, how he makes his stand, and it's one of the first things anyone notices about him. It masks how quickly he comes to care about people, how willing he is to intervene on their behalf, even with themselves.

It lets him drive away when it's over. Now he rolls his eyes at his friend - his friend - and taps the communicator with his foot in lieu of slapping the man's shoulder or elbowing his side.]

You eaten lunch yet?

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[mattersverymuch]

[Technically, he should be offended. He knows this, and is therefore highly irritated by the surge of affection he feels. No gestures of affection from him, just a blank stare instead of the normal sharp-toothed grin. Which . . . is really as close to a genuine expression of acceptance as he gets.]

I'm not hungry. [A pause.] I will be eventually. [He can stuff several burgers in his pockets at dinner.]

[Yes, he is inviting himself to have dinner with Dean. Your point?]

For the record. It's an allegory.

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[surfaceshine]

[It's okay. Dean doesn't need affection and he is virtually impossible to intrude upon. He rolls with whatever gets thrown his way and always has. He purses his lips outward, considering while pulling the face, then nods as he puts his foot back down so he can lean forward again.]

I always am. [So really, whenever. He reaches to pick up the communicator, rolling his eyes.]

Your face is an allegory. [Which would be a childish comeback, except the quick flash of teeth that punctuates it.]

Enjoy your castle.