Gethsemane [Maurelle]

[Christian Moynahan]

Please, for me, don’t you cave in
Or lose sight, otherwise they win
Please believe your creation
will breathe life in due time
Otherwise they win
-10 Years, “Sleeper”

Now that the causes of his discomfort - the government bugs - had been removed, Christian felt much more at home at Áine. He was not sure how he had been aware of their presence, as they had been well hidden. But perhaps his hyperactive mind had noticed the smallest details - a vent opened a little farther than he had left it, a book just a touch less dusty than it had been before - all things his conscious had missed, but that his subconscious had recorded and translated into anxiety. 

That was gone now, and peace had returned to his sanctuary. He could sleep, he could work, he could watch as the sun faded beyond the horizon, as he was this evening. 

He had many different moods, some light, some very dark. This feeling, however, was new to him. It was akin to what he had felt when his home had been watched, but that had been anxiety in the present. This was anxiety for the future. 

It was the eve of his first day in court. Up to this night, he had looked forward to that day with almost a ferocity, ready to defend not only himself, but the definition of humankind. He had been ready to expose the American government for what it was. He had been ready to repay the wrongs done to him. Tenfold. 

Tonight… he was less certain of himself. He still wanted to fight; the wrongs they had committed against him still stood, and he still wanted to take down the government and their apparent strict policy of opaqueness, but he was one man, backed perhaps by a couple of other men, but that made, at best, three out of three hundred million. Three hundred million, the vast majority of which were not Specials, and any number of which still harbored negative feelings toward Ark Industries - even though the trial had nothing to do with Ark and Christian had done his best to distance himself from the corporation in the matter, the association was still there. Three hundred million strangers who, for now, still knew nothing of why Christian had committed the acts he had, who had no clue of the dangers they had faced before Christian moved to act.

And he had placed his life in the hands of twelve of them.

He’d had to plead “not guilty”; there had been no other way. A plea of “guilty” or “nolo contendere” would not have given him an opportunity to explain himself, and would simply have ended with whatever sentence the government decided would have been sufficient to shut him up for good. Life in prison, he imagined; neither plea would have led to a death sentence, not without the nation’s own people questioning the government. “Not guilty,” however… that one presented a much greater risk of it.

Yet “not guilty” would put him on the stand, and give him a chance to tell and show the nation just what had been happening beyond their perceptions, and also demonstrate, through the prosecution’s own witnesses, how his home and his life had been infiltrated, and how his personal identity as a Special had been compromised. This would not come without cost; he would very much have liked that identity to remain private, but that seemed to be very much less of an option now.

“You lost your privacy when you made yourself the face of the most reviled corporation in the world.” He liked to think that Ark had lost that title now, but he still remained in the public eye, even though he no longer had to give as many interviews as he had in the beginning, and was able to control his own schedule with less interference from his public relations team or the board of directors. As for that board, he had started his tenure at Ark by removing most of its members; now, exactly zero of them remained. They had opposed him in nearly every initiative he had proposed to turn Ark around. Now he knew better; he had cut the board down to a smaller size and filled it with figurehead stockholders. As Ark was still pulling itself out of a massive slump, their bitching was unbearable, but they let him do what he wanted, because his rewrite of the bylaws had effectively rendered them powerless. When he wanted advice, he went to Lucius or Gabriel, or to some of his own scientists.

It had been some time since he had set foot on Ark’s premises. Instead, he worked from home. That was one blessing; in Washington, Dakari had immediately invoked forum non conveniens, and, since his residence was in California and there were several federal courthouses there, he had been allowed to return to Los Angeles, albeit under strict orders not to leave the state. The bond that had been posted by his friends still held at any rate, and he was not going to break it under any circumstances.

So he remained at home save for the occasional errand here and there, and for his morning runs. The gym in his home was proving suitable enough for now. As an unexpected side effect, his dietary habits had improved since his decision to keep mostly to his house, and he was now getting much closer to the figure he’d maintained before the cholera outbreak. Rather than have his hair cut short the way it had been, however, he had decided to keep it long; it gave him a different sort of identity. And beyond that, rather than fighting to keep it combed as he had before, he had realized that, given enough length, his hair was about as tameless as he was. And so he and the hair had come to an understanding.

His senses turned outward as he faintly heard the doorbell ring. Unwillingly, and uncomfortably, his mind instantly went to the last time someone had unexpectedly shown up on his doorstep. Quickly, however, his thoughts shifted away from that instance, and his powers of observation kicked in. What had he heard before that? Steps along the sidewalk and then along the concrete and up the brick steps that stopped at his front door; heeled shoes, long strides, but more out of habit than height. The last especially narrowed down the possibilities. He allowed himself a small chuckle, and remained exactly where he was, rather than answer the door.

She would hear no sounds of activity within the large house, and observe that only a lamp in the living room was turned on. Some time would pass before she received any sort of answer or indication that he was at home. Christian had intentionally left his cell phone on the back chess table; during that waiting time, he was retrieving that item. A small psionic plank pushed itself under the cell phone; it flipped the phone into the air like a lever, and, raising his hands over his head without turning to look, Christian caught the phone and tapped out a short text message.

Come around the left side.

Upon walking around the left side of the house - if she had not already started to do so already - Maurelle would find Christian sitting in his backyard. There was a swing to the right and a bench to the left of the large acacia tree that stood over the rear of the house. Christian was seated in neither. He was sitting in the grass, in front of the tree, his back to the house. The sight of him in “home” clothes - still a dress shirt and slacks, but with the shirt unbuttoned partway down and the sleeves rolled up, and the slacks a little more worn - might have been an odd one, but perhaps moreso the fact that Christian was barefoot. There was a chill in the air, and clouds hanging overhead; but then there was also the sunset that cast Áine and the tree and Christian in a soft red-orange glow.

He glanced up at her with a faint smile. The more telling feature in his expression was the exhaustion in his aquamarine eyes. It was not the same exhaustion Maurelle might have noted in him during the meeting at the Hotel Angelis, or of the dehydration immediately following his presentment in Washington, but a frustrated sort of exhaustion, and - very unusually for him - more than a shade of doubt.

“Maurelle.” He patted the spot of grass next to him. “Sit with me.”

[Outfit, complete with hair.]
[Backyard.]

[Helena Rahal]

You, now I see, keeping everything inside
You, now I see, even when I close my eyes

Maurelle did not like Los Angeles typically, the city itself seemed too busy for her, much like New York City. The people that lived in these megacities just felt more like hollow shells going through the motions of living rather than actually living life. The pollution also bothered her, there was a million and one things already naturally trying to kill humanity, humanity did not need to give nature a hand in its own destruction. It was probably already too late to stop that eventuality in truth, be it five years from now or five hundred, but they did not need to hasten its coming at least.

All the same, she had found herself in the megacity on business, a certain Special that showed potential to her organization had been spotted. The pursuit brought nothing of consequence, either for herself or the individual in question, yet it had brought her to the city. It seemed unlikely that the subject would be brought into the fold, as they had failed the first test that Maurelle had presented them. If one could not help themselves, then Maurelle would not have them. There were others she already had to gently keep at their best, she did not desire such an individual as one of her agents.

Helena though, Helena was a bit of a quandry. The woman showed soo much promise when she had just a pinch of confidence, when her self esteem was filled. Yet it was so easy to send her tumbling into a pit of self doubt and within herself, not even accepting the help others would offer her. It presented a problem, especially when men like Christian Moynahan called on you to help forge solutions to the predicaments of the nation.

That meeting still bothered her, for a great deal of reasons. Ever since that meeting, her ability to adequately predict the future had taken a great nose dive, even to the point that sometimes she could not even use her ability. There was only one other precog that she knew about that she would be willing to discuss the matter with but there was many leagues of ocean between her and them. And this was an issue that she desired to speak of privately, not even trusting her own cell phone or e-mail for the task, not with the NSA revelations the past few months.

In addition, there was having to work directly with Dakari Johessman. The woman had been a foe in the past and was fair from anything that one could call personable. Maurelle honestly did not trust her to not betray herself or Helena in the future, even though she did not think her family as a whole would. There was just something about that woman that made Maurelle's skin crawl and had her having very little faith in the woman upholding any of the agreements that she made.

Worse yet, Christian had been arrested and charged because of that meeting, with the audacious charge of treason no less. It was irony, he was being charged with treason against the very nation that he had called the meeting to save. The aftermath was going to be very bad for the government, especially if Christian followed through on his plan of attack against the charges. Maurelle was afraid, doubly so without her ability to make the right insurance plans against the outcomes that were to come as a result of this trial. This passage was going to test her mettle as a leader, she knew that.

However, that was in the future, days and perhaps weeks away, whenever Christian's lawyers were allowed their counter attack and called him to the stands. The judicial system and trials were nothing if not slow and for that she was currently grateful, as it offered a few more days of peace at least. It was a very stale and uneasy peace that was only alive because there was no tragedy to currently known to blame on Specials, yet she had a feeling that would change very soon. Some might even blame the Special community for this famine or the cholera outbreak, once all the information was out there.

Knowing what day it was, Maurelle had found her way to Christian's house, expecting him to be there. She knew that he was working and yet also preparing for the trial, his time at the actual office had been quite scarce indeed. Even as she saw little on the outside of the house in her approach that would signal anyone was inside the home. It was far too large of a home for just a single person and Christian ... well he was not the sort who trivially would have his house look more lived in than it was.

It was several minutes after her gentle knocks on the door before she heard the ringing from her phone that signified a received text. Pulling it out from her purse, she read the message and just shook her head with a bit of a grin. Nope, not in the house indeed, but in the yard, a very surprising place for someone who was as obsessed with work as he was. Relaxing during the afternoon hours in the yard was something for more content people, not someone as ambitious as Christian Moynahan.

He was dressed very casually for him, he looked... well he looked healthier in the body at least. It seemed his dietary habits had fared for the better since his appearance in court and waiting for the trial. Perhaps that was purposeful, show the strength and vitality of a leader, of a person fighting the good fight, innocent of these ridiculous charges thrown against him.

"You look well Christian." But worried, it was subtly written across his face and this out of character behavior he was displaying as she took a seat next to him on the clean cut grass. Her skirt and nylons could be washed, she was worried about him. "You are well aren't you, ready to dispose of these fraudulent charges against you tomorrow?" She knew he wasn't but did he realize it himself?

[Christian Moynahan]

I don't worry about what the wind could carry off
I don't plan to run at the sound of sirens
I know there will be no one to dust me off - just me! -
Should there be reprise in the form of violence!
-Codec, "Gra”

There was something very peaceful about the acacia tree. In truth, he was not entirely convinced that it was an acacia. Perhaps it was one of the subspecies that had formerly fallen under the “acacia” heading and then been moved elsewhere. The salesperson had informed Gabriel that it was an acacia, however, and, with a shrug, Gabriel had relayed that information to Christian. Both men had looked at the tree, shrugged again, and continued their inspection of the house.

But it was a tree, very clearly a tree, and it was a peaceful tree. That was all that really mattered. As he sat under it, he reflected on a few things. There were the various jobs he had held before Ark, and the acquaintances he had made there; the unexpected appointment to Ark’s head office. The obvious things, the cholera, Maurelle's dilemma, the famine, and now the trial. He’d worked hard with the Kilvaynes and the others on reaching a solution for the cholera threat. He had asked for no credit; he needed no credit. The accomplishment, the knowing that he had given something to the cause, and been able to give something to the cause, was reward enough.

He had never meant to save the nation. He did not have anything against it, nor was he the all-American type. He was that middling sort of citizen, which was a fact he normally would have chided himself on - he was never “middling” in anything. But recent events had made him feel very… tepid towards it all. He just wasn’t sure. Things could go either way.

Even this trial had not made him hate the government. It amused him, mostly. Amused him in the manner that made him ready to completely expose it, throw those skeletons out of their closets for all to see, to force the government to finally act instead of trembling in their corners, afraid to act, afraid to step outside of what they knew, those comfort zones, and work for once. Oh, the last time they had worked, they had come up with a nice set of laws that had restricted his fellow Specials, but, should that happen again, he and his associates were now positioned to throw that right back out.

Panic? Almost certainly. As soon as the people heard the word “famine,” they would jump out of their seats and look around, and look at each other, and look at their food stores only to find that they were lacking nothing. That was because Christian’s team had pulled through to perfection, supplying what the nation was missing and more. Christian was impressed with every last one of the attendees. As for the search for the cause of the famine, that was ongoing. It was proving difficult, but Christian was confident that he, Lucius, and Frank would pull through in that as well.

And as for that panic, it would dissipate once the people realized they did indeed have enough food to feed their families, and at prices that were about equal to what they were accustomed to paying. What would happen next were the riots. The people would be angry at the government for keeping such a monumental disaster from them, and they would take to the streets to voice their displeasure. People would be injured; people would be killed. Towns and cities would fall. And it would be up to the government this time, not him, to stop it.



Perfect.



The people needed to get off their asses anyway.




That would be the outcome regardless of what happened to him. Christian was going to expose those secrets once the time came. But what exactly would they do to him? Shooting the messenger was feeling more and more like a legitimate possibility. Or what if they failed to believe him, and took him for a liar or a scaremonger?



Could he really pull this off?



He glanced to Maurelle as she asked whether he was well. At least he looked well. That had also been something of a concern. But was his concern that plainly written across his face? He would have to fix that before tomorrow. He needed a façade at best. If he could get his own bravery back, that would be even better. Where had it gone, anyway?

It had gone with the proximity of the trial, he thought. Perhaps with the full burden of his responsibility bearing down on him. He had told the assembly at the Angelis that he would take the fall for them. When that fall came, he had embraced it fully. He would speak for all Specials. He would tear down the government. It had sounded so heroic then. Now he felt less like a hero and more like a martyr. This was of his own making, however. There was no god to pin this on, just the hubris of one man who had thought he could just mold the world into a shape he preferred. Was he ready for those charges then? He had been, certainly. But now, in the sunset and the shadows, in what might very well be the last normal day of his life, that certainty had fled him. He was ashamed of that, and he was ashamed that Maurelle had seen it. But she had, and now he might as well give voice to what he felt.

“It will begin tomorrow. Of that we can be certain.” His gaze went back to the tree. “Beyond that, everything is out of my control. I don’t like that.” He frowned; his hands flittered for a moment before settling together, fingers intertwined. “I don’t… know anymore. Whether this was the path to take. I have to convince a jury, with what I have, with something so outrageous that the people may not even believe it. Why would their government keep a famine from them?”

He glanced to her again. “Me - with the assistance of Dakari and Adrianna - but it is me they will see on the stand. What will they see, Maurelle? As much as I’ve tried to shield Ark, they will see what they want to see… and I don’t know whether I’ve established myself as a better CEO in the public eye. I don’t know that they will want to hear what I have to say. There are too many variables. I work in concrete figures. This makes me uncomfortable.”

Now he bowed his head, his hair falling around his face, hiding his eyes. “I’m… afraid. For my life, in part. But mostly that I will fail.”

[Helena Rahal]

I woke up in a dream today
To the cold of the static and put my cold feet on the floor
Forgot all about yesterday
Remembering I’m pretending to be where I’m not anymore
A little taste of hypocrisy

His worry was washed across his face like mud smeared against a soldier's who had just completed an obstacle course. This was no simple obstacle course though where if he did not live up to the standard he merely had to go again. This was his life that was hanging in the balance of all that tomorrow would bring and begin, plus others as well. What would Ark do if their shining knight was thrown into federal prison on a life sentence for treason, what would the assorted individuals he collected to combat the famine do without him there to play mediator?

She expected the former would take another public relations hit but it was not something they were not unaccustomed to at this point. After all, there is only so much that a new shiny face could do to erase the memories of April 4th and the awful work they did with the government against Specials. They had enemies of the past on both sides of the aisle of that debate and another PR hit would just be another day for the company.

The latter though, she expected that it would splinter, fracture, and all the work they did come to nothing. There was already divisions in the group, it was plain as day to the whole of them and Christian had to know that. He had invited very different personalities from all walks in life for their different perspectives, personalities that would clash without a mediator. He had decided to undertake that role the moment he had decided to call them together to pursue this venture they had going and without him to play that role, it would all be for naught anyhow.

She listened to him speak and thought of how young he sounded, how he sounded more like a scared little boy who just had their puppy taken away rather than a man facing treason charges. Just days before he had seem like a knight ready to go on crusade against this tyrannical government that was wronging him to a great extent. Now though, he was just a scared man afraid of what fate had in store for him. He was a mortal instrument after all, just like the rest of them, it was a sobering thing for him to realize he was just like everyone else.

And it was not about to get any easier for him, for if he wanted a shoulder to cry on, then he had befriended her in entirely the wrong manner. There were those in hew circle that she relied on, there was those that relied on her, and then there were those were the relationship was mutually beneficial. Christian fell into the last of those groups, where as Helena fell into the second of them, their relationships had been formed in completely different circumstances and for different reasons. That made all the difference in this moment, when he was at his low point and her here to deliver what was needed next.

So she slapped him with her right hand, her left hand, and one last time with her right hand. It did not have quite the same effect if they were say in New York or Boston where the air was frigid and the ground hard, but it was a start. "Now you listen here Mr. Moynahan, we are going to be having none of this self pity on the eve of the most important weeks of your life so far." No, this was not going to be pleasant for any of them if this is how he walked into the courtroom the following day.

"You are Christian Moynahan, CEO of the Ark Industries and you are about to go on trial for espionage and treason. Tell me, is this really how you want people to see you, defeated and distressed? You know what they will see if you go into the courtroom like this tomorrow? They will see a guilty man who is about to walk freely into his grave, making peace with his fate already. They will see a shell of a man who has already died." It was tough, tough love, but she was not going to be gentle just because of their friendship.

"You made your decisions and be it that they may damn us all, you have to stick by them now more than ever. It's time to suck it up pretty boy and chin up, put your best foot forward, and get ready for the fight of your life. If you want to win, you can not go in there with any amount of fear or doubt on your face or the prosecution will pounce on it like a shark to blood in the water. You have to go in there strong and swinging or else you are doomed to failure." She sat back on her palms and let those last five words hang in the air.

"The Christian Moynahan that I know is no failure and hates the very word of it. Tell me, have you seen him around, for I would dearly like to speak to him."

[Christian Moynahan]

So the water’s thickening
his collar’s pulled
begin to be aware
…it’s on…
That he needs to focus
beyond that man
He brings a world of pain
-Chevelle, “Bend The Bracket”

Nothing had ever felt like this. No play in elementary school, no presentation in college, no press release for Ark. This was nothing he had ever come across. This was fear. It had to be. This was uncertainty. It might have been shameful if it had not pulled him down to his deepest depths, beyond his happiness, beyond his loneliness, beyond his sadness, beyond the darkness that so few people had seen. This had him shaken inside, and everywhere else, apparently.

He was not sure what response he had expected Maurelle to give. It was mostly by chance that she had arrived at his home, and it had taken some self-persuasion for him to open up to her. They were acquaintances at least and friends at best. It was the “friend” side he had been looking for, he supposed. Someone to at least listen as he said his thoughts rather than keep them festering inside his insulated mind.

So when Maurelle slapped him the first time, he took it as a complete surprise. His head swung almost violently under the force of it. “Wh-“ He hardly had a moment to finish the word before she issued the second slap, which sent his head spinning as well. The third slap made him lose his balance a bit, as he was already reeling from the first two; he had to press his arms into the grass in order to keep from completely falling over. But that was when he understood his point, even as he rubbed his sore face.

She was right. He had fallen into self-doubt, but also self-pity. He was feeling sorry for himself, and he hated that. He needed no one’s pity, not even his own. That was shameful enough. But he was defeated and distressed; it would take all the willpower he had to defeat that. Or, alternatively, he could turn that willpower within himself, and restore that confidence - and that arrogance, to some extent.

But it hurt. It was insulting. To have been made to feel this way… it might have been the worst punishment the government could have inflicted on him. They would not see that, however. They could not, Maurelle was right.. They would eat him alive, and nothing he could say after that would make the jury see him as anything other than a desperate man trying to fight his way off the inevitable path of death row.

He gritted his teeth and shut his eyes. He had others to think about. He had done his best in shielding Ark, but it would undoubtedly suffer in some way; he had never revealed who his co-conspirators were, but he was responsible for them too. Sometimes he thought he was all that was keeping them together. But that was a bit of a narcissistic idea, and while he was many things that could be considered negative, “narcissistic” was not one of them.

He had decided that he was going to tear the government down and let the country fall into madness. He still wanted that. The question was whether he could do it. Still rubbing his face, he glanced at Maurelle as she spoke of failure. That had never been a possibility Christian had ever recognized. He never failed. Of course, he did often fail - in his work, attempting to design some new medical or new mechanical prototype, but those failures always led to successes. This time, there was no room for mistakes. There would be no trial-and-error. There was only the moment, a series of moments, that he would could neither correct nor take back. He could only make each one count as they passed.

“You’re right,” he murmured. Of course she was. Maurelle was always right, at least in these matters. “You are. But it is easier said than done. I don’t have the energy for it. I can pretend to care…” He paused there. He did care. That was why he had begun. He cared about the people and that they should know the truth. He cared about the people enough that he had initiated a partly illegal operation to bring food into the country. He certainly cared about his own life. What, then, was he caring to pretend about?

“I do care. It’s just harder to do when the day of reckoning is looming so near overhead.” He felt himself shiver faintly; the move reflected in his hands. “I’ll be fine. It will pass. I have….” Letting Maurelle know that he was not always entirely in control of his mind at times would be a sign of weakness. He was always in control, he was the strategist, the micromanager, always thinking, always planning. That was what he wanted everyone to think, and so far, they did. Now was no longer the time to give Maurelle cause to think otherwise.

His jaw set in a line, the determined look he often wore. “I brought this on myself. I will see it through. That… is a daunting prospect. I’m not sure whether I realized how difficult it would be when I first set out to do it.” He took a deep breath and dipped his head again.

“He’s in here somewhere. I’m sure I can find him. I just-“ He took another deep breath, then another. His hands were shaking. “Fine. I’m fine. It will pass.” He was not fine, but that was irrelevant. He gave Maurelle a faint smile. “And I’ll show them what they chose to bring on themselves tomorrow.”

[Helena Rahal]

I fell asleep at the door
As the hour of the reckoning drew near
Sheltered from the fear by a warmth hearth
Asleep at the door I was
And to this day I never knew if it was fate
Or the right thing to do, asleep on my post

Maurelle felt something change, perhaps it was the current of the air, perhaps it was herself, or perhaps it was Christian. Something was definitely different though, she could feel it in her bones as she watched Christian recovered from her scorning. Perhaps she had gone too far in trying to push him swiftly out of the funk that the dawn of the trial had put into him. It would not have been the first time that she had pushed someone too far, had made a mistake in deciding how to handle a delicate situation.

There was something about the look in his face, how it had changed from just moments earlier. Inwardly she frowned as she realized that Christian was withdrawing back into himself. There was a moment there where Christian had been laid bare and was expressing actual human emotion besides what he put up. It was a moment she had destroyed in her haste to get him looking prim and proper for the events of the morrow. It was unlikely that there would ever be that moment again and if there was, odds were that she would not be around to see it.

He confused her greatly, with his talk of caring and not caring about the people. It was a bit of hypocrisy she thought, considering what he planned to do and what he hoped to create with those actions. For someone that said they cared about people, someone who had decided to save the nation, the very action for why he was on trial no less, he was no prepared to destroy them and it. She had warned him of it and yet he still desired to do so, to damn them all with his actions.

They were set on a course now that could not be undone, because of his decisions and actions. All of what he wanted to do and create, the web of fate centered along him for this moment in history. Maurelle would have seen to things quite differently, she would have used her power and influence to have this never even gotten to the public. Christian never would have been charged for treason and seen as a traitor to the nation, he would have been a special consultant to the government for some crisis the public would have never known about. In the end, everyone would have benefited, but that was not to be.

She had made her peace with it, as much as it had saddened her to do so. And now she was here for a friend, if they were indeed friends at all, doing what she could to make sure he was ready to do as he had planned. Maybe it would have been better for her to let him linger in that pity and doubt that he had, to let the thought of failure sink into his thoughts so that he would recognize the risk that he had decided to take in this venture.

Alas for her soft heart, that's why she should not get personally involved in these matters. She cared about people as much as she tried to distance herself from them and in the end, somehow she always found herself trying to do right by them. It was a damn weakness that always seemed to bite her in the ass.

"There will be a show alright. A grand spectacle." Who would be the hero and was this even a grand tale or another tragedy? Not even she could see what was to come to pass and part of her did not desire to know it either. With everything she had desired coming undone, it was not likely going to be a future that she wanted to see coming. "We do what we can with the time that is afforded to us, it us up to ourselves to make it worth the while. Find your strength and write a mighty epic worthy of being retold in the future."

[Christian Moynahan]

Buail-se an bóthar caol úd soir,
mar a maolóiidh romhat na toir,
mar a gcaolóidh romhat na sruth,
mar a n-umhlóidh romhat mná is fir…
-“Caoineadh” (Traditional/Christopher Tin)*

Perhaps he had been wring in chasing his own private beliefs when there were others who were on the line as well, other who were counting, others who just might hang if he were hanged. Perhaps. But it was too late to change that now. All he could do was be strong, no matter how much it strained him.

There had been a reason he had made that choice, however, and it still remained the case. He could not and would not shrink back from it simply because he was afraid. Fear was an entirely new concept to him, though, and it had struck him hard, with the force of nearly thirty-four years behind it. Tears he had spent not knowing or understanding the concept of fear.

So this was what it was like. Physically, his cheeks were still sore from Maurelle’s slaps, but inside, there was a sickening, a turning in his stomach that he could not place. It would pass, however, as he had said. It had to pass; All of these emotions and moods he felt always did. Whether it would pass before tomorrow afternoon, he was unsure. Perhaps a night of sleep would scare it away.

The point of it, and the point of Maurelle’s actions, however, as for him to scare it away now. No one needed him to be weak. The people did not need him to be weak. Whether they hated or liked him, they needed to know what their government was keeping from them. That belief had grown from his statements at the Angelis and taken a full turn and then grown into what they were now, or at least had been before the anxiety set in.

He smiled softly as Maurelle spoke of writing an epic for all time, and leaned back, his palms flat against the grass. There had been Moynahans. and other spellings of the name, who had accomplished great things, but none in his direct line. He would certainly make a name for himself and his line… but would it be one of triumph or of infamy? His children would bear the pride or the scars of whatever happened here… if he had any children. His family was about as far removed from him as a family could be, so perhaps they would remain insulated. He wanted to stand alone on this. He should have thought about that before he launched himself heart first into this mess.

“A spectacle, yes. The government will be the clowns.” He hoped he sounded certain about that. Yet as he spoke, he did feel stronger. “They think themselves lions; I am the tamer. I am the ringleader.” His words were still coming out softly, but more surely, with as much certainty he had shown in fear of his own failure before, but in the opposite direction.

He was what they made of him, but only in a public sense. They wanted him to play the angel; he was the angel. They wanted him to become the devil; he was the devil. They wanted him to be cast a martyr; he was a martyr. But just as far as he would allow it. He had been rolling like this for so long, gathering momentum, now facing a downward slope; and what would he be taking with him? who would he be rolling over?

”I hope you know what you’re doing,” had been a phrase he had heard often, from both colleagues and friends, as well as the media, to whom he had always declined to respond. He did know what he was doing. He always did. His scientist’s mind was only trying to make sense of the variables, and it was failing. Sometimes the presence of too many variables meant a lack of data; he would surely be able to remedy that once the trial began and he got an idea of what route the prosecution was going to take. Until then… he had to stop wondering and start arranging everything he could on his end.

She was correct in her other points as well, in that he had to make of it what he could. “This will be worthwhile,” he said, glancing to Maurelle. “No matter the outcome for me, the people will win, if they choose to take the information I gave them and see it for what it is. That will be the real trial. I have to… come to accept that I have no control over that.”

He ran his hand over the grass absently. “I don’t want to die or spend my life in prison. I don’t want the prosecution to get the best of me.” He sighed and sat up; his eyes closed for a moment. His feelings crossed themselves. He wanted the people to live; he wanted the people to die. Not explicitly; was it not he who had initiated the gathering supplies so that no one would even be aware if the famine? But he wanted riots, he wanted the country to turn in against itself, and against the government. He wanted the people to move. There had been far to much standing aside.

And he wanted the government to fix itself. It had to come together; and it had, amusingly, in the case against Christian Moynahan. But in all other things, they were divided; gone were the days of bipartisanism, of reaching “across the aisle”; even the parties themselves were divided. Not one person in the country was certain of where the country was going. Christian could not claim to know either. But he did have something in mind.

“This is the movement everyone has been waiting for, that everyone has been so reticent about instigating. I hadn’t wanted to be at the center of it, but here I am, and I put myself here.” He lowered his head again and took another deep breath, then glanced toward Maurelle again, his head still somewhat bent, his hair falling into his eyes. “I’m getting there, Maurelle.” as though it had been an afterthought, he added, “Thank you.”

He sat up and smiled; the smile had a touch of amusement and that familiar arrogance to it. “I believe I promised a war. A war it shall be.” A thin rod appeared between the fingers of his right hand; he twirled it among his fingers for just a moment before striking it against his left palm. The rod caught flame, as psionic as the rod was, a bluish-greenish shade of flame. He flicked it forward, where it met the grass; the grass appeared to catch fire, but anyone who was paying attention would know it to be an illusion. Still, it captured his message well enough.

“Strike a match. Watch it burn.”




*A ”caoineadh” was a traditional Irish poem ( more specifically, a “keen”), written by a widow, and was performed by the widow over her husband’s deathbed. This one, the Caoineadh Airt Uí Laoghaire, is one of the most enduring, and beautiful; the widow implored her husband to return to life. The composer Christopher Tin set an excerpt of it to music. Above I shared an excerpt of the excerpt. The translation:

Strike eastward on the narrow road,
For the bushes will bare themselves before you,
For the streams will narrow on your path,
For men and women will bow themselves before you…

fin Christian

[Helena Rahal]

I am left in the wake of the mistake, slow to react
Even though you're close to me, you're still so distant
And I can't bring you back

He was gaining confidence, that was good for him and the trial that was in store for him. However his words did not comfort her in the least and she did not like that he was thanking her for what she was doing. It was all against her own plans and designs, the wishes that she had desired to see out. She felt pained by having helped Christian in this matter, that she had in essence betrayed herself. He would not see though, he would only see her smirk as he pulled his illusion.

Illusion, that was it all came down to in the end, the illusion of strength and importance. It was what this trial was about, what so many wars had been fought over whatever else may be claimed. Everyone wanted to be seen as a person, as a nation, as a force that mattered and moved things. In truth, there were but a few who could ever have claimed to be one of these individuals or a part of such a nation or organization. Her own lofty goals were even subject to this truth.

What she hoped was that the flame would not spark a wildfire that would be beyond anyones containing. If there was no nation left standing, there would be nothing left for her organization to control. It was a simple matter of supply and demand, even for people who were in her position, people who some often saw as evil. She was not evil but she was far from being good either, she simply wanted her domain and to control it like a puppeteer controls the puppets in their show.

Maurelle turned her head toward the sky and muttered to herself a small prophecy. "Je veux voir le jour que le soleil se tenait toujours. Quand tout le monde a été mis à genoux par la vérité, quand les mensonges sont jetés loin. Et puis, dans la beauté du monde hideux qu'ils ont construit, ils regardent et disent m'aider. Et je dois tourner la tête et à pied. Pourtant, je vais leur offrir ma main, le sauveur de la tête maudite par le devin aveugle. Quel belle ironie."

FIN