You've Seen the Butcher [Maurelle]

[Christian Moynahan]

Approaching guiding light
Our shallow years in fright
Dreams are made winding through my head
-System of a Down, “Spiders”

It was happening.

Christian had hoped it would happen later than it was, but was glad it had not been sooner. It was closing in on him; he could feel it. He was accustomed to it by then, how it felt, how it crept up on him, how it consumed him. It was a slow process sometimes, and sometimes it sneaked up on him without warning. This time, he had a very little bit of time to prepare, and he was not certain he could pull it off.

He had the misfortune of not already being in Áine, but in Maurelle’s home. They had agreed to live together, primarily in Maurelle’s house but also in Áine when one or both of them were in Los Angeles, in part to help Christian avoid taxes but mostly as another step in their relationship. They were moving slowly, carefully; their friends, even the mutual ones, did not know about their relationship yet, which, at least for Christian, was because most of his friends were dating, affianced, or married, and he did not want that kind of pressure on them just yet.

He could, of course, get to Áine in seconds, if he called Alain, but first he needed to gather some items. If he could accomplish this before she came home, so much the better. He could leave a note on the fridge explaining that business had called him back to Ark for the night. It would have been a lie, but… sometimes lies were better than the truth. That was the case this time.

I’m not the man you think I am. I’m… far from it. You’ll see it soon enough. You’ll walk away when you do. He had warned her about this, in Jung while lying on what was almost his deathbed, but he had not been clear about it. If he could get to Áine fast enough, he could stave off that eventuality a while longer. But there were matters that he had to take care of first.

The dark was nearly on him. Christian moved quickly around the room, throwing seemingly random things into a messenger bag. He did not need a change of clothes or any extra amenities; he still had plenty of that at Áine. What he did not have were the notebooks that contained the work he had done that afternoon, having spent that afternoon - again - with Maurelle. Loose bits of paper went into the bag, along with notebooks; the papers would be crushed, but that was a problem Christian would have to deal with later. He was in too much of a hurry at the moment.

The end of one notebook’s wire spiral caught him on his forefinger, biting past his skin. He yelped and threw the notebook across the room, where it hit a photo frame, which went crashing noisily to the floor. Christian barely stopped to pick it up and reset it clumsily on the chest of drawers. The notebook he picked up as well, but it slipped out of his fingers and, out of habit, he shot a psionic wall out to catch and stop it. The wall caught it, but the toxins in the wall tore through it, and a painful shot of paresthesia slammed up from Christian’s fingers to his elbow on his right arm. “Damnú air!” He’d learned to swear in Irish before he’d learned to swear in English, so he occasionally defaulted to that, as his very loud shout illustrated.

He hissed and dropped to the floor, his back against the chest of drawers, instinctively cradling his arm. Nothing that had happened in the past few seconds had done anything to ease the dark. He felt anger foremost, a violent anger, the one that had thrown the notebook across the room; and beneath that, a sickening depression, the one that had him cradling his arm and breathing heavily. The medications Marshall had prescribed for him, to be taken on a case-by-case basis, were all at Áine; he had left them in one of the guest bathrooms for fear of Maurelle seeing them. Getting to Áine was now no longer a matter of preference, but a necessity.

The paresthesia was not going anywhere anytime soon, so Christian used his off hand to place the rest of the notebooks, including the partially destroyed one, and textbooks into the messenger bag and heft it over his left shoulder. He was slipping his phone awkwardly out of his right pocket to buzz Alain as he turned around - and realized he had attracted an audience.

Maurelle was standing right there.

He was still breathing heavily, and his eyes were wide; the pain was partly to blame for that, but also the warring emotions in his head, and the dark willing itself forward, slipping into his left arm and hand, causing that hand to tighten around the phone until Christian caught it and slipped the phone into his left pocket. He blinked a few times, for clarity of sight; now he saw her in full, rather than the tunnel vision the dark had fixed in him.

He remembered the last time - no, truly, the second-to-last time, if one counted the riots - the dark had overtaken him. The feds had had the misfortune to pick that same night to arrest Christian - and Mathias had seen that darkness in full. Whether that man had known it was not Christian’s concern, but the agent had been dancing on a line then, between life and death. Only Christian’s will and an awareness of Ark’s potential perception had kept the dark at bay, but not before Mathias had seen it in his eyes; and Christian had to admit to a bit of satisfaction in seeing the man reel back a bit.

There was no satisfaction to be found here. Most of Christian’s body looked like and was poised as though he had been caught in some act - as he had been, about to make off for Áine. But his eyes were like a raven’s - dim, the blue and green seeming to have gone out, replaced by anger and annoyance and hunger… but he had no desire to hurt Maurelle. The dark knew better than to harm Maurelle. He hoped it understood that much.

“I’m off to L.A. to finish a project.” He was speaking quickly, more rapidly even than when he was rattling off numbers and equations in front of her, for her rebuilding or for the placebos or for ones that he tried to explain simply for an opinion. His speech was rapid enough that it could have been difficult to catch every word. “I’ll spend the night at Áine and be back for breakfast tomorrow.” He used his shoulder to nudge the bag more comfortably, awkwardly, and did not offer Maurelle so much as a goodbye kiss, as much as he wanted to; too close and the dark might decide it would take advantage of the proximity.

So, instead, he gave her a clearly forced smile. “Have a good night, Maurelle.” He started to reach with his left hand into his left pocket for the cell phone, and only then noticed that his left arm was cradling his right arm again.

[Maurelle Lacroix]

The crashing sounds had caught her attention first, as she had returned home from a quick trip into Dallas to settle some business matters. Acquisitions often required her deft touch, be it personnel or property, as she had a way of getting people to cave in to her demands. The terms were almost always in her favor, yet for the business that she was in, they could be considered generous. If those you were dealing with did not feel like they had gotten completely ripped off in a negotiation, it was far easier to deal with them in the future.

It was a bit of irony, she had no problem dealing with local mob bosses, CEOs of fortune 500 companies, and the like, yet the likes of Gabriel Constant confounded her. Maybe that was because of the shift in the power dynamic between the situations, he held it in theirs while she held it in her business negotiations. Her assertiveness won her no favors when trying to deal with the man the last the two met, yet she had managed to slip away from that situation no worse than she had entered it. It was a vexing sort of satisfaction.

She had let her emotions compromise her position in that affair though, particularly with regards to Christian. They were a couple now, slow and steady in how they were progressing the relationship, but a couple all the same. It had been a match that seemed entirely unlikely, especially given Christian's highly unusual sexual orientation. They had found equals in one another though, in mind and body, a rare thing for the both them. Perhaps that was the spark that had ignited the attraction or maybe it was simply a case of being in the right place at the right time. Fate was tricky even for a precognitive.

Fate, if that was it, had seen him come into her life, into her home, and now into a state that he had hinted at before. A madness mayhaps or perhaps just a sense of frustration but there was something physically wrong with his appearance as she entered the room. There was agitation mixed with a lamenting in his eyes while his body was tensed up, as if a prey being backed into a corner by a larger and fiercer predator. Something was definitely not right with Christian.

The confirmation came when he tried to leave without even so much as blowing her a kiss goodbye. While not a romantic, not truly, he had a way of showering her with kisses and pecks. To try to leave without doing so was all the confirmation she needed that there was seriously disturbing and wrong with Christian right now. Whatever it was, she was not about to let him leave her home as he seemed a right mess that looked just as likely to hurt himself or others around him as he was in getting home.

"You're going nowhere in the state that you are in, you can barely walk and hold yourself together." She said, motioning to how he was cradling his right arm with his left. "Sit back down on the couch and try to relax. Do you need pain medication or a doctor, I could have one here in just a few minutes." They both had teleporters in their employ but Christian was hardly in a state to try and call his. Like it or not, he was now in her care.

[Christian Moynahan]

Your pure heart, your white light
I should be put to death for ever being cruel to you
You washed me clean like no one ever could
Come closer now and step right into
the wide mouth, the sharp teeth of the one you love
-Chelsea Wolfe, “Sick”

There was a sudden revulsion, a contraction of his chest. He felt himself recoil at the command - the dark, when it took control of him, apparently did not like being ordered around. That part of him wanted to push her away, and leave as he wished. Perhaps he would not even go to Áine, for all her efforts wasted. Maybe he would go out drinking, despite his choice not to drink during Lent. Or perhaps he would find something or someone to vent his anger on. Maybe someones. Who knew? There was no stopping him in this state.

He dropped his arm and snarled. She was a stranger to him, an obstacle, just blocking his way. “I said I’m going to L.A.,” he said, a coarseness to his tone. “You’re not stopping me.” He reached into his pocket for his phone - and dropped it. He could not grip or hold anything in his right hand the way it was; his fingers were practically stuck in place, as though the joints had been glued together, as if his muscles had been pulled so taught that they could stretch no more. But there was the additional pain of the paresthesia, and in a moment of anger and frustration, he ground the cell phone under his heel, further breaking it. Had he been able to access any of his reason at the time, he would have recognized that he had just personally taken out his main method of getting in touch with Alain. But this ting, it had no reason, no logic, it just was, the bleakness anti-life warring against his love for life.

“I’m fine.” The words were uttered in that same sandpaper tone, the smoothness of his voice gone now, replaced by just an unfulfilled lust for destruction. Maurelle, standing before him, was a blurring, formless shape; this was the worst episode Christian had ever experienced, perhaps precisely because there was someone with him. He tried to remember the riots. They had been formless too, just solid forms, blocks he had cut down in or out of his way. This one was different. This one had a more personal feeling to it.

It was that personal feeling that pushed against the dark. Both sides agreed on one thing, however: no doctors. None could be trusted to keep his condition a secret except for Doctor Quatrevaux and the staff at Jung - and Doctor Couteau, but this was not her specialty - and the last thing he needed was for Marshall to actually see him in this state. So far, as with Maurelle, he had only told him that it existed. Even if it was a psychological thing, something that could be cured with therapy, or medicine, he would not want it. There was nothing wrong with him.

“There is nothing wrong with me.” He glared at her and meant to take a step toward her - but Christian took over and pushed the step back. Another few, effortful steps took him back to the couch, where he fell into the cushions. His thin body was trembling, and he was breathing heavily. It was a physical war - but inside him, the sort of thing any shrink would have drooled over, some case of something new, or new to Christian, at least. He shut his eyes tightly and took a few deep breaths. When he opened his eyes, she had taken form again. Maurelle was there. He knew how much danger she was in. He doubted that she did.

The saving grace was that he was now in too much pain to do much harm, and the division in his mind would not allow him to focus enough to press a psionic attack. He brushed both of his hands through his hair, front to back, his darkened gaze set on Maurelle. Had it not been so long since they had danced together at the ceili? Had it not been so long at all since they had last made love? And here she was again, now, rather than the best of him as before, facing the worst of him - staring into the monster’s gaping maw, giving instructions to him and asking what he needed. He needed help, and he knew it.

“Don’t come near me, Maurelle,” he said quietly, in a moment of clarity. “I don’t know… I won’t hurt you. Just… let it pass. It will pass. It always does.”

Why did she have to see this? Sometimes it went away in a few minutes, but this one, he was fighting, he did not know what would come of it. Whatever she might choose to do next - to walk out, to kick him out, to never speak to him again - it would pass, and he would be alone again, just like the dark wanted, but permanently this time. It hurt him more than he thought he had expected, even when he had warned her against it. In his mind, he cursed himself for being whatever this was.

[Maurelle Lacroix]

"You're going nowhere and most certainly not L.A. You can not even walk in a straight line or grip your phone." Maurelle did a quick mental check off in her head, thinking of where various weapons and other instruments of incapacitation where. If she needed to, she would sedate him and let whatever this was dissipate while he was left unconscious. It was not the course of action that she would wanted to take, yet the look in Christian's eyes told her that she needed to be prepared to take any course of action to neutralize him.

"I do not have to stop you, you will stop yourself." The double meaning of those words were not probably lost on Christian in his current state. Even if he wanted to leave, his body was not going to let him, it was far too weak and growing weaker by the moment if she was reading him right. The fact that he had stepped on and apparently meant that his phone was broken also meant that Alain would not be a viable option. "You are stuck here, so you might as well get comfortable cause you are not walking out that door."

How proud did he have to be to try and say that he was fine in this state as he struggled against his body and mind. Struggling to even stay upright, grimacing from the pain that was apparently throbbing through his body and arm. "Pride cometh before the fall." She murdered to herself and kept herself semi crouched and ready to pounce should Christian make any aggressive moves towards her. A few deft moves and she could locate his pressure points and bring him to his knees... but she did not think even with as wired as he was now he would attempt something so... foolish.

She sighed as he once more tried to assure her that there was nothing out of the ordinary before falling backwards and into the couch. Fine was not the right word at all, although the acronym seemed quite apt given the circumstances. Chrisitian definitely seemed a bit freaked, neurotic, insecure, and emotional at the moment from this episode. Dare she approach or just keep her position as force, a barrier keeping him inside and away from any sort of destructive behavior that lay outside those doors?

"And if it does not? What will you do then, come at me like a rabid animal? Trying to convince me you are fine and then losing the battle to yourself, your body giving way. Geez Christian..." No one would believe this was the man that the public thought was the hero of the nation like this. Broken down and defeated, looking half hazard and feral, it was quite the sorry state.

"I have sedatives... if I need to use them."

[Christian Moynahan]

This is the piece that resisted
This is the piece that you’re missing
A little luck
This is a major commitment
This is the last time you’ll face it

This is his last-ditch resistance
This is the road to persistence
If this is the major attraction
Are you alarmed?
-Parabelle, “Are You Alarmed?”

A major mood shift occurred in the room. That shift centered itself directly on Christian. He knew she was right on all counts. He knew that even in his blackened state. He had no intention of harming her, but with the dark pulling so tight on him, he had no way of expressing that. The dark itself could make no such claim. The way she crouched over, the way her back curved ever so slightly, gave him the image of an animal cornered but ready to attack, and he knew how deadly Maurelle could be. He was a force in his own right… but he would much rather not find out who the stronger of them was.

Yes, he would stop himself. His own body was betraying him. He was losing control of it; the dark was gaining it. He had no idea what would happen next; this was as much a first for him as it was for Maurelle. He hated himself for behaving this way in front of her, and felt ashamed of himself besides; but the dark would not allow for that. Yet this was new to this hidden facet of his personality as well; the dark had never been up against this serious, this dedicated an opponent. It had never considered a factor like Maurelle… and the feelings Christian might have for her.

These unexpected and unaccounted-for factors put everything in a new perspective. So the dark took a different route. Christian was already sitting, pressed into the back of the couch; he closed his eyes for a few seconds. That was when the shift took place. When he opened his eyes, his body stopped shivering, and he allowed himself to exhale. Then he looked perfectly composed, relaxed, completely in control, as he always did. Only someone who knew him intimately would be able to spot the difference - the still-present dark, lurking behind his eyes.

“I apologize if I have disturbed you.” His deep voice resonated a bit more than usual in his chest, but otherwise, he sounded the same. “I assure you, no sedatives will be necessary. I am perfectly in control of myself.” As proof, he levitated the broken phone and brought it to himself.The only sign that he felt any pain this time was that he closed his eyes; he let the apparatus land on the sofa next to him, where he fiddled with its broken glass and parts.

He seemed to be paying more attention to the phone than Maurelle for a bit, but then he looked up at her, his eyes clearer now, and inquisitive, more the Christian Maurelle was accustomed to. “I believe we started on the wrong foot just now,” he said in the same casual tone. “Would you like me to make you something to eat? I, for one, am quite famished.”

But the dark was receding, and Christian could feel it. It had no power over Maurelle. The reason, he suspected, was his love for her; no negative energy could stand against that. But it was too late now to change what had happened, and he feared he had turned her away now. He suddenly realized how empty his life would be without her. He had gone from never needing anyone, needing nothing but his work, to finding a hole in himself that she had unexpectedly filled. Would there ever be another like her? He was not sure. He doubted it.

“What do you think of me now, Maurelle, a mhuirnín?” he asked quietly. “Now that you’ve seen what I am, or what I can become, in my worst moments? I know it doesn’t make sense now, and I know I don’t deserve it, but I need you right now.”

He gestured from her to himself, using the line that in the past had signified some sort of trouble or prank, but which more often now was sincere and well-intentioned. “Come here, please.”