the worst of it

  If we are mark’d to die, we are now to do our country loss; and if to live,the fewer men, the greater share of honour. ( LJ caston / 804 / muse )

[laurie-caston]

ryder.

“Guess that would be the end of the road for me,” it was said in such a light-hearted tone with a chain of dead weight behind the smile, “good thing I’m pretty fucking lucky huh?” Somehow he wasn’t even sure how he survived the war, bullet lodged into his left shoulder, stuck trying to mend the wound alone until he got back to base, the nasty scar to prove it that wouldn’t even go away with immortality. He was a pretty fucking lucky bastard, was. At least for a bit. He wasn’t sure what he had now was still considered lucky. “Ooh, that is a low, especially if he was a bad ex,” he wanted to pry further, taking it as a fun exercise, but the look on Laurie’s face didn’t say the same and he left it at that,  thinking about his own low, “my lowest I bet.. was trying to camp out at NASA’s parking lot until they hired me.” He was definitely that brash idiot that knocked on their door with a pillow and blanket, “they rejected me 3 times by that point, rude.” Ash laughed, honestly enjoying the pockets of time he gets to dig back into who he was, who he used to be, even if it meant the moment he leaves here, it all goes away. “Surely somewhere in the world there’s a muse department, Canada maybe,” he wasn’t sure where they all even came about, it but seemed unlikely no one had taking hold of the leading power over the muses, not even the DIA. “I was thinking along the lines of rising our low, low bars together, but you know, I like that too, and I’d rather get a cane, that looks way cooler.” God somehow lying here, it just felt like he was 20 again.

“Good thing indeed.” There had been plenty of times during the war that Laurie couldn’t believe how Ash had survived; he’d been a reckless young man, a firecracker, throwing himself into danger at the first opportunity. Inspiring the whole platoon, and inspiring nothing more than anxiety in Laurie. Still, somehow, he survived. In body, at least, even if that bold young man had been left behind. “Somehow bad doesn’t begin to cover it. Though I suppose he’d say the bloody same about me.” A rueful smile, thinking of what they used to have. When it was good, it was like living the dream -- but a dream built on a house of cards, one that could crash down all too easily, dropping them back to reality, and took much longer to repair. He snorted at Ash’s answer, exactly the kind of thing he could see him doing. “You were really that desperate to get to space?” It was kind of adorable, the puppy-like determination to achieve his goal, however many times NASA kicked him down. “I suppose they felt guilty turning you away after that,” he grinned: it felt like they’d managed to salvage at least parts of their wartime bond, just like he’d raised that Spitfire from the sea. The familiarity remained, the casual affection, even if they’d both changed. “It would be Canada, wouldn’t it? They’d probably apologise for me dying in the first place, never mind that I’ve been alive longer than they’ve been a country.” Than the USA had been a country, actually, that concept still vaguely uncomfortable when he thought too hard about it. “The latter is more realistic, but you know what? Shoot for the fucking stars.” Gesturing to the stars above him, he offered Ash his hand. “I solemnly swear to raise my standards and not settle for shitty things in life.”

[laurie-caston]

ryder.

“A submarine just wouldn’t have the same tact you have,” Ashton pointed out, the clunky hunk of metal might just get in the way and not giving them time to pressurise. He gave a brief act of being offended with the banter of confession, “I can’t believe you never told me that before, we almost died together.” It was nice, not the almost dying together part, but having an old friend, there was something magnetic about it, a pull he long forgotten into nostalgia that he was sure that been eradicated from his entire being. Yet here it was. Nostalgia was a weird feeling, and he couldn’t tell if it’s a good or bad weird yet. “Aha, self sabotage,” Ashton lifted a finger as if cracking the case, but he followed Laurie into the space, the darkness immediately enveloping them into a comforting embrace, almost like a vacuum, sound immediately sealing itself shut into nothingness from the rest of the world, and there was peace. Ashton exhaled a long sigh, closing his eyes for a second, welcoming the silence until he peeked an eye open to look at Laurie, “the universe is our oyster.” He walked over to the console to help, more or less accustomed to the tech here, “I don’t know though, maybe the winter southern hemisphere?” Something different, far far away from where they were today, “how does a meteor shower sound to you?”

“True. We nearly broke it with just a winch.” 

[laurie-caston]

zoe.

“Oh…?” The word seemed to stretch on, tone fluctuating from one end of the spectrum to the other, encompassing immediate agreement before landing on utter confusion as to what he meant. Strange thing to say, but she couldn’t deny it! Must have been his weird sense of humor. Least she could do is play along with it. “Heh. Yeah, I guess that’s true! Big history buff, huh?” Shot in the dark, but in this line of work, it was part of the job. A museum full of pieces spanning hundreds–no thousands–of years, you had to have a certain type of passion for it. It usually wasn’t for the pay. She knew that.

Her hand dug through her purse again, catching his wince, dragging out a pair of sunglasses from the abyss of faux leather walls. “Hangover glasses,” she called them with a small smile before editing herself, “not that it comes up a whole lot, but like… you know, when it happens, I’m glad they’re there.” It didn’t take long for her to be distracted by his words instead of his actions, though, mind veering off to muses. It was coming up too often for it to mean what she was taught what it meant, especially in the context of the day. “Hey, you keep saying that… Muses… Could we maybe start there… maybe?” But her eyes still took in the page that was presented to her, gently holding onto it with both of her hands on either side. “Sacra Moons…?” she repeated as she stared at the symbol. “Sacra… that’s like… uhm… souls? I think? So… it is about immortality! I knew it!” Her hands shook the book up and down in her pent up excitement, trying her best not to burst in front of him. “I had gotten a tip! Like before the opening! It was all anonymous, but…” she paused again, looking back up at him with concern in her eyes. “Does this mean he’s going to be some kind of sacrifice?”

Laurie gave her an odd look; it took him a while to realise that she must not know what muses were. Most people in the art world were in on its little secret -- but he supposed he couldn’t expect a young journalist to be one of those people, when she was only just dipping her toes in. “Not quite.” Though that was accurate; even the parts of history he hadn’t lived through fascinated him. Each and every era could reveal different things about the human condition, mostly through art. “Battle of Waterloo. It’s pretty famous. I was there.” And came out all the worse for it; he smiled ruefully, even through the throbbing of his headache. 

Once they reached Laurie’s office, he was more or less preoccupied by trying to find the book; he stopped short when she offered the sunglasses, brushing them aside with a shake of his head that dragged out another wince. “I’m ok, thanks -- the bloody lights aren’t that bright, anyway.” He put his own glasses back on so he could read the book, only glancing up again when she mentioned muses. “I mean, it’ll take a while to explain, but --” nevermind, Zoe was already ploughing onward, focused on the symbols instead. Her sudden excitement would’ve been endearing if her raised voice hadn’t made his pounding head ten times worse; he tried to gesture for her to turn it down a notch, but his attention was quickly captured by what she said. A tip -- those never boded well. “Wait -- look, you’re right -- about the immortality, that is, I hope not the fucking sacrifice -- and I’ll explain in a bit, but who gave you the tip? Did you get any indication?” Laurie ran a hand through his hair, trying to put together a list of possibilities. “Because people wouldn’t just give you that kind of tip unless they had an ulterior motive...”

[laurie-caston]

julian.

“Then? They are fucking liars. What love is there if you would not die for it?” he questioned, roots digging themselves through the cold floor and clenching into the earth below, firm enough in resolve to never be moved. Even the heaviness of the implication did not make him waver, knowing exactly what was said. If it took his life to end another, it was a choice that he would not shy away from. Not now. He could let it hang in the air for Laurie to take however he wished, no clear wonder as to what he would takeaway from it. Too mindless or just dedicated enough? What did he care what the answer was? It would be done with or without him. Julian’s breath was even, temper never being erased but temporarily lulled. “You know there are muses? Here?” he changed the topic, personal curiosity fitting in. “Who?”

“There’s a difference between dying and fighting, you know.” Laurie didn’t even know why he was arguing with Julian, other than he felt some vague duty to; the recruiting officers used to take any old man with a grudge to settle, and they were always the ones who were destroyed so completely. “Getting revenge for you loss is a completely different matter than choosing to take on this battle.” Julian might be the one who was physically older, but it was Laurie who had the benefit of years, knowing he’d be better off paying his own debt and keeping out of it. Still, the selfish part of him was glad for an extra pair of hands. It had been a long time since he’d had someone to watch his back -- though that wasn’t enough to convince him to spill his guts entirely. “Of course there are bloody muses here. But most of them want to keep low -- there’s Ash’s little ginger, I forget his name, and another war muse --” and Ash & Claudia, but Laurie couldn’t bring himself to out them.

[laurie-caston]

ryder.

Wasn’t that a good thing? That he could still be useful to them, that they still wanted him, that he wasn’t deemed useless just yet because he didn’t want to think what would come after. New York.. was almost easier than anything they’ve put him through, one year past, two years past, he could work with it, he could maybe live a little. Ashton simply shrugged it off, “better than being useless to them.” Who knows what would’ve happened to Ophelia, if he didn’t bargain with them to let her go. A huge defiance to them, he couldn’t risk that consequence and punishment on him again. “Oh yeah? What do you think is the lowest bar you’d go?” Ash brought up a fun food for thought, considering they’re reputable men of low standards about their lives’ situations. “Aww, that’s the brother in arms I love, thanks,” he patted the hand around his shoulder. While his tone was light, there was still a heaviness of sincere gratitude, he wasn’t sure if Laurie could hear it, it was terrifying to know that Laurie had known him for so long, but also comforting. “Oh yeah, whoever created the muses did not think through the bone aching pain in the knees.” Ashton laughed, knowing he was definitely much younger to have felt any of it. “Damn straight, much better than being a sorry sight alone,” he grinned and turned towards Laurie, “we should make a pact.” The brothers in the army did it all the time when everyone’s lives were constantly at risk.

Ash had a point; the army was particularly good at breaking its toys, or moving on to newer, shinier ones. He was lucky he was unbreakable, the latest model in what had been, until the discovery of muses, generals’ wet dreams of super soldiers. “Your luck’ll run out one day, you know.” It wasn’t meant unkindly, a simple, flat fact: Laurie was determined to get his friend out before that day came. “Shit, I don’t know.” Running his free hand through his hair, he sighed. “Taking my ex back, I guess. That’d be pretty fucking low. But I don’t even know where he is these days.” There was a relationship that was best left in the past, one that had ended with blood in the grass. With screaming ringing in his ears, what have you done to me -- it almost swallowed him up, Ash’s voice pulling him back to reality. “Hey, it’s no problem.” If anything, that brief pat was a relief, a sign that he had got the measure of their friendship after all. They still knew their way around each other, even with that ocean of time washing away some of the nuance. “D’you think there’s anywhere we could file a complaint? Because I’m pretty sure I’m going to need a bloody hip replacement sometime soon.” Every muse’s body ended up like this, a damaged tool, a testament to their years; their minds tended to disintegrate too, without companions. “What kind? A pact to stay with each other, even when we need Zimmer frames?”

[laurie-caston]

zoe.

“Gotcha,” she began to nod, showing a support to the choice. Was it a choice? She looked over his face for a moment. It wasn’t from a lack of looks, but his level of intimidation was striking. “So, never tempted, huh? That’s cool. It’s def not for everyone! Like my… Eh, nevermind.” She thought the better of it, stopping herself from going on as she finally realized he was trying to joke, smile thrown at her. She guessed it might be rare, better not jinx it while she was ahead, even as she stared at him for dryly taking the pill. “That… must be some headache,” she went on, a small attempt at a joke right back while her mind thought of the possibility that it simply came from experience.

“You mean like how the swastika was good before like Nazis ruined it and stuff?–I did an art history course… and it was also in The Da Vinci Code. Seriously a really good book.” Her fingers tucked back a strand of her hair behind her ear before she hurriedly followed after him, enough to skip a few steps in excitement before remembering the consequences her small heels could offer with her lacking coordination. Clunky steps echoed in the gallery behind him, not loud enough to drown out his words. “For not being what they wanted?” she pondered out loud curiously. “What do you think that is? Do you have an idea of what they took him for, then?”

“Oh, I’ll live. Beats getting hit in the head with cannonball shrapnel, I can tell you that.” Laurie shook his head as if that would be enough to shake the headache away, and not just make it worse. “Thanks, though.” If there was one thing he wasn’t used to, it was any level of concern, people looking out for him always made him vaguely uncomfortable. The thanks was slightly awkward, but genuine at least.

“Mmm, a bit like that --” Laurie kept walking, brushing off the dizziness that told him the headache was definitely trying to turn into a migraine. As much as Zoe’s incessant chatter only aggravated it, he couldn’t find it in him to be truly annoyed; her exuberance reminded him of the young soldiers he’d led, full of bright ideas, convinced they could change the world, or at least that they had the power to. “Well, we can reasonably assume they’re involved with -- bloody hell --” He flicked on the light to his office, wincing as the sudden brightness sent a stabbing pain behind his eye. “With muses. I think it’s in here --” Ransacking the pile of reference books on his desk, Laurie eventually pulled one out, flicking through it before showing Zoe the page. “The ouroboros, and the Sacra Moons cult. I’m pretty sure there’s more symbolism in that painting, but it’s a start.”

[laurie-caston]

julian.

“Bullshit?” he repeated, the tip of the iceberg in challenging it. “Joder. You’re fucking wrong. Luis is dead because of that cabron. If that is not a cause? To pick me? What is?” Laurie was right, though. Battles were man-made, an object to absorb bloodshed and uncontrollable lust for it, but there were people like Julian who were not built to be subtle, to ignore, to not be pulled in as if there was any choice on their part to decline. Loyalty ran deep with his veins, and once violated was his own lifesource pooling on the floor. He had been picked by life, indeed no commander in sight, only one dead body to have him enlist. Laurie’s words were not acknowledged, how his friend’s blood was not on his hands; he knew better. Somehow even hearing that he was two-hundred years shy of a millennium did little to sway his thoughts. “Until there are no more? You will never die. There will always be more.”

Julian might’ve thought his words were an argument, but for Laurie they simply confirmed what he’d said. History repeated itself in the most painful ways, and here it was: a man who’d lost someone taking that loss, weaving it into the very fabric of his bones, taking that war and assuming it was his battle. “Not everyone loses a loved one to something and decides they’re going to defeat it.” His way of saying you still picked this battle, you still picked this war. Sometimes Laurie wondered whether he could’ve saved Luis, whether he could’ve done enough. Whether that would sway Julian from the path he was on now, a path that only led to a war that would last long beyond his lifetime. “I know. Perhaps one day I’ll get sick of it, but that’s not fucking likely.” Some people were just made for fighting -- people like them, set apart by their need for a cause.

[laurie-caston]

ryder.

“I-” Ashton couldn’t find the immediate answers to that, I don’t know, he wished he could just shrugged it off like a kid making bold statements based on some skewed manufactured instinct. “They would’ve long disposed of me.” Killed was just a technicality muses couldn’t use anymore, but there certainly was a lot of ways they could still be killed. And they pushed him, but never pushed him over the edge of a certain death. They cared enough to not get rid of him after they were done with him, they took him in instead, trained as their own, given an agent ID. “I’m a man of low standards.” Ashton joked as if it was the most blatant fact ever. He long lost his rights to having standards. “I am embracing myself for who I am,” he proudly proclaimed, but who was he then? Who was he now? Slivers of moments that still floated and reminded from a friend was all he had to hold on to, embarrassing or not. “We’re just a couple of old men now, we’ll just have to accept it,” a sigh was exhaled, dramatics and all, but yet the truth lingered. He shouldn’t’ve even entertained the question, knowing Laurie was right, they’d still be stuck here. “We’re just a couple of ball-less old men now,” Ashton corrected himself with a chuckle, watching the sky shift slowly.

“They only haven’t because you’re useful to them.” Laurie could only imagine what they’d done to him when they first figured out what he was; experiments, testing every limit of how far immortality could stretch. Probably trying to siphon it off, turn it into some kind of commodity -- the fact that Ash was still here probably meant they hadn’t succeeded, so they were keen to make use of the one immortal agent they had. “I’d tell you to raise them, but I can’t fucking talk.” He’d offered himself up as a vessel for the military all too many times, but across the Atlantic, and long before they’d refined the methods they probably tried on Ash. “Alright, alright. I guess I’m honour-bound to embrace you, too.” Grinning, he closed the gap to put his arm around Ash, the same casual physical contact that was so common in the army. He gave a snort of a laugh at that comment, stretching a little. “Fuck, yeah. This ‘eternally young’ thing is bullshit, my joints certainly feel their age.” Sure, they all looked dazzling enough, but beneath the glamour of eternity were the scars, the centuries of wear and tear. The regrets. “We’re a sorry fucking sight, aren’t we? But at least we’ve got each other.”

[laurie-caston]

ryder.

He wished his mouth didn’t grow dry trying to say they’re different. Instead he bit back his responses flooding in a mess to that question. He rested an arm over his eyes, if he couldn’t try and block his ears, “some parts are true. Or I couldn’t even be here.” He’d still be stuck at the base, and the muses population would’ve slowly moved from New York into DIA. “They’re not the worst.” But the hard thing is that he trusted Laurie. He trusted him with his life. Fighting side by side together does that. He never wants to belittle his concerns. “God, of course you haven’t,” Ashton groaned at the reminder but paused and taken a stand, “no you know what? I stand by my stupid decisions. Even the spaceship toilet seat.” Young spirited Ashton had done a lot of stupid things, including getting stuck in the toilet seat playing pretend with his own spaceship, his mother never let that go. Ashton now proudly huffed, owning up and embracing it all, if only to hold on to every single good memory that hadn’t slipped up his damaged mind, every day after dying, felt like he was losing a part of himself. “Would the artists here clutch their tools if I said we have way too much colour now?” Too much colour, too much confusion, too grey. “They had the dogs and Pancakes as their children, to grow old with,” he chuckled if only the small consolation to know they weren’t alone. “The biggest shit,” Ash muttered in agreement, “..couldn’t we, though?”

Laurie hated upsetting his friends, touching raw nerves they usually tried to hide -- but the alternative, allowing Ash to continue believing the DIA’s lies? That was worse. “What bits? Because they don’t care for you, or any of us. We’re just assets to them.” Most likely, the DIA were playing the long game. Gathering information before they swept the muses up, or declared them unconstitutional or some other bullshit. “That’s a low fucking bar, you know.” But Laurie’s anger petered out, not wanting to push the topic any further. This place was supposed to be their refuge from all that; he offered a grin, slipping back into playful ribbing. “Even the spaceship toilet seat? You must be feeling bold.” It wasn’t like Laurie didn’t have his own slew of embarrassing stories -- he knew if there was any way for Ash to meet his mum, she’d tell him all about catching her son in a hay loft with a travelling pedlar’s son. “They probably would, but you’re right. The world moves too fast for these old bones.” He couldn’t help laughing, realising how much of an old man he sounded; in a way, he was, trapped in a much younger body. Which wasn’t so bad -- it kept him going, after all, but it meant he rarely got to take a break. “You wouldn’t have defied your precious DIA, would you? Or they wouldn’t’ve let you. And I didn’t have the fucking balls.” 

[laurie-caston]

julian.

His own question filtered deeper into his being, the answer from Laurie chasing after it. He didn’t need help, but he did need something. How much longer could he sustain this without burning himself out with nothing to show for it? For a moment, he stood still before turning back, facing the other with a twist of the head, dismissing the idea that there was any option but joining. “No. It picked me.–How can I say no and mean it?” Redemption and revenge pulling the plunger, working in tandem in mysterious ways, enough to keep him rooted to the cause in front of him. His jaw shifted, the perspective offered of the toll immortality could give being weighed before Julian could find enough to purse his lips. “Even when their death is because of someone?” he questioned. “How old are you? What do you think? For yourself?”

Laurie raised an eyebrow, trying to parse out what exactly Julian meant by that question. There was an edge to it, a hidden meaning he couldn’t quite put his finger on -- but then again, he’d never been one for the nuances of diplomacy. Only the straightforward paths of strategy, means to an end. “Bullshit.” But it wasn’t an accusation, or a show of anger; it was a simple assessment, there’s always a reason. Even the men who claimed patriotism didn’t go to war for that alone. “Battles can’t pick their soldiers. Only commanders can do that, and there aren’t any here.” But an extra pair of hands would be appreciated: he sighed, giving Julian the curt nod that indicates you’re in. His question provided further insight as to why he even wanted to take on someone else’s battle: grief, as Laurie had suspected. “Then that person has their fucking blood on their hands. But it’s not your fault.” No need to go to war as some kind of atonement. Laurie almost hesitated in answering, not wanting to think about himself; the truth came slowly, sluggishly. “I’m eight hundred years old, and I’ll be here until there aren’t anymore battles for me to fight. So I’ll be here a long time.”

[laurie-caston]

claudia.

she swings back and forth on the pendulum of death. she’s always pushing—jumping out of moving cars, standing on the edge of high rises, fixing wiring she had no business even touching. but so much of it was never going to stick. if she was going to die she would have bled out long before this. “who knew there’d be so many different types of pizza.” it’s hard to not let her eyes wander to the skin of his arms. her own body is less scarred, whether because its had time to heal or she’s less danger than she thinks, she’s not sure. “we’re not that lucky yet.” she doesn’t know if she’s referring to herself, or someone else. he whose name shall not be spoken, lest it ruin a good mood. “unless you’re holding out on me.”

In any other circumstance, her comment probably would’ve made him laugh, even in irony. But the tension between them, the unspoken acknowledgement of the blood on their hands, sapped the conversation of anything that could approximate joy, or humour. “Who knew anyone would think to put pineapple on pizza?” Laurie made a face, but even that sarcasm fell flat, silenced as he felt Claudia’s eyes on his scars. A few self-inflicted, souvenirs from a time when he felt like time was slowly crushing him -- he’d dragged himself out of it, as always, but the story was still readable on his skin. “Oh, I’m not done here yet. Not even close -- but mortal peril makes it so much more exciting, you know?” Deliberately skirting around the real implication.

[laurie-caston]

headcanon list

BASICS ―

full name: laurence john ‘LJ’ / ‘laurie’ caston

birthday: 13 march

age: 800 give or take

zodiac sign: pisces

religion: raised catholic; atheist

religious level (1-10): 1

birthplace: king’s langley, england

current residence: new york, NY

height: 6′

hair colour: blond

eye colour: blue

sexuality: asexual

love/romantic preference: biromantic

relationship status: single

languages known: english, latin, french and german

DETAILS ―

car: a black audi a3 quattro

phone: iphone 6

music genres: hozier, 

wardrobe: leather/denim jackets, brass knuckles, docs VS big sweaters

estimated net worth: who knows? definitely not him

ransom value: don’t ask for money, just pray

BLOODLINES + CONNECTIONS ―

ann caston ― mother (deceased)

richard caston ― father (deceased)

elizabeth caston ― older sister (deceased)

margaret caston ― younger sister (deceased)

isobel beck ― cousin (whereabouts unknown)

edmund altair ― ex-lover

ashton ryder ― closest friend, reason for his high blood pressure

claudia marshall ― awkward friend bonded by murder

julian santiago ― ally

zoe marshall ― acquaintance/research partner, migraine inducer

LEVELS ―

drinking (1-10): 7

swearing: 10

smoking status: 2; occasionally

drugs: 1; not anymore!

cooking proficiency: 5

intelligence: 8

emotional/social intelligence: 6; a good leader & motivator

creativity: 7-8

temper: 8; controlled but god does he get pissed

[laurie-caston]

ryder.

Ash stayed silent for a long painful while, stewing at the instigation Laurie presented. Maybe the smallest part of him knew, his gut knew something was wrong, but it can’t be that wrong, can it? And then maybe another part of him just refused to believe he could be on the wrong side of things again. “They want to help us too, to keep us safe,” Ashton’s gaze hardened but kept it upwards to the projected sky, believing in that, and needing that to be true, to make everything that happened to him make sense and worth something. He much rather turn his turmoil and focus on the memory of his amazing mother instead, “she was, you were her outlet to share all the embarrassing childhood stories.“ Ashton didn’t bring home many dates much to his mother’s dismay and so she holds on to the friends that do come over, treating them like family, she was always such a good entertainer. "Ironically it feels like simpler times, doesn’t it?” Today everything was just too much, and he was constantly trying to catch up. In hindsight, Ash wasn’t sure if giving him the option at that vulnerable state was a good idea either. “I had my orders,” he gave Laurie a side glance, managing a small smile, mellowed into acceptance of what it was. “I hope they lived a good life.” That was all he could hope for, stripped from his filial duties to make sure he could give them that. It was for the best, it had to be. They said so.

Laurie sighed, not a slow release of breath but more tense, shoulders tightening with frustration. Seeing Ash parrot someone else’s words -- the DIA’s words, despite, or maybe because of, what they’d done to him -- wrenched his chest. “Come on, you know that’s not true. When has any part of any government ever really cared about us?” Perhaps that was a lie he had to tell himself, but Laurie refused to stand by and let his friend be poisoned by the DIA’s lies. Getting swept into war at such a young age was bad enough, but to have a life, a bright, shining life, cut short and scraped out? That was far worse. “I haven’t forgotten any, for the record.” He couldn’t help grinning, despite the ache in his chest; Mrs. Ryder had that affect on everyone, maybe because she’d had to do the same, keep smiling in the face of adversity. “Oh, yeah. Everything was black-and-white back then.” War and peace, a battlefield with an enemy at the other end of it. Orders to follow -- Laurie’s breath caught, hearing Ash use that exact phrase. Orders, from people who couldn’t give a shit about him. “I think they did. From what I saw of them, at least.” It would’ve been better with their son, but he couldn’t bring himself to put that weight on Ash’s shoulders. “It’s shit, leaving your family, isn’t it? But it’s not like we could’ve done much else.”

[laurie-caston]

ryder.

“I know..” Ashton tensed up his shoulders as he folded his arms, feeling the weight on his chest heavier than ever with that responsibility. So many times he felt like, he was just one person, even with Laurie, there wasn’t much they could do, looking after muses one by one when more were just slipping through. He wasn’t doing he job right if that was the case. “It is, there’s nothing to do about it anyways,” It is fine. His mind echoed back, their words hammering back from deep in the roots of it all when it all began with the DIA - they did it out of empathy, they faked his death and gave him a funeral and made him watch it, they wanted to let him have closure, to let him know his family had closure. “Oh my mom loved you,” he laughed at the memory, she’d always make a fuss about a big dinner when he came over, visiting a few times after ‘nam. “They sound amazing and strong, it’s hard to stay that way,” Ashton gave him an empathetic smile, knowing what it’s like having war live within the family all his life, his mother always staying strong when his father was in the cold war, but he knew she cried in her room when she thought he was asleep. To have both husband and son deep in war back to back, she is the strongest woman he knows. “I wanted to, but.. they wouldn’t let me.”

The weight of other people’s lives was almost heavier than the weight of the centuries; if Laurie wasn’t so used to it, if he didn’t need the pressure to keep him from slipping into lethargy again, he could easily have crumbled under it. Ash didn’t deserve that kind of burden -- at least, not the Ash he knew, the bold firecracker who should’ve gone to space. “Is it? Or is that just what they want you to believe?” What did they do to you, the eternal question, the one that hummed in the air between them. Time alone couldn’t explain the differences: someone had taken Ash and moulded him into the perfect little weapon, scraped out most of the fieriness that had Laurie constantly worrying for him in the war zone. “She’s amazing.” Was, technically; was the closest thing he’d had to a mother in centuries, bustling him in whenever he came to visit and probing him for details on every inch of his life, how he was doing, whether he had someone back home for her to meet. “God, it was such a different time back then. War was just all we knew.” Yet these days were hardly so different; Ash’s mother had to let go of her husband and son, surrender them, at least for a time, to the ravening jaws of war, and pray they came back. “I’m sorry. They should’ve let you choose.”

[laurie-caston]

zoe.

“Oh, are you married? I mean, I’m not, but if I were her, yeah, I’d def feel bad, if that’s what you meant,” she amended herself several times in the course of one rambling sentence. It wasn’t for a lack of trying on her part. Dates that turned into boyfriends that further evolved into realized mistakes, never fulfilling an expectation. Her head snapped to, not expecting him to take her up on her offer, but only nodding when he did. “It’s gotta be pretty bad. You don’t really seem like the kind that likes taking things, you know, even with them being offered,” she told him as her purse was being sorted through before taking out the bottle, popping it open to hand him one. “I don’t think you want some of my Sprite in here, but you can have it, if you really need it.”

If nothing else, she hoped that Laurie could validate that what she saw made sense, that the two dots weren’t as far apart as anyone else could see on first inspection. She waited patiently, feeling uneasy in the pit of her stomach from apprehension until he finally gave his word. A small smile spread. “Yes!—Yes,” she adjusted, but firmly nodded. “But you think it might be from a cult?” She hadn’t thought about it in so many words. It was a peculiar set of circumstances, though; it would have only been a matter of time before she thought about the same on her own. A wild imagination would do that by itself. “I could see it! For sure.–That would… maybe mean that he could still be alive, right?”

“No, no, I’m not married. Never have been.” Never had the time, and besides, it had been illegal until a few years ago. “I don’t see the fucking point, to be honest. Other than the tax breaks.” Laurie grinned wryly, his attempt at a joke to lighten up the atmosphere. As if they weren’t standing in a dimly-lit exhibition at 12:30 in the morning, the dull pounding behind his eyes settling in for the foreseeable future. Zoe’s assessment of him was cuttingly accurate; he wasn’t sure whether it was a veiled criticism or a simple observation. Either way, he’d take running the risk of being drugged over the risk of a migraine, taking the pill and dry-swallowing it with only the barest wince, and a muttered thank you.

“It’s just a theory, but -- I did a study on this, symbols used in art that’ve been co-opted by larger movements --” if it was a cult, then that rewrote the battlefield, gave Laurie a whole new angle of exploration. “Hang on, I think I have a book on that in my office --” He began to walk, glancing behind to make sure Zoe was still following him. At least it gave him the opportunity to put a reasonable amount of distance between them, the steady baseline of apprehension finally fading to nothing but his usual background hypervigilance. It wasn’t even that he had anything to fear, from her or from most other people; it was centuries of training, hammered in so deep they had become part of his soul: watch out, stay alert, trust no-one. “Hmm, theoretically. But he also might’ve been killed, for ritual purposes or just for not being what they wanted.”

[laurie-caston]

julian.

“If it was for an artist? What would you do? The same?” Even he couldn’t tell if he was curious or wanting to find a way to argue, just grasping at an instinctual need to preoccupy the mind, to channel it all into something that could wind up in split knuckles. He could only shake his head at Laurie’s words, how he spoke with conviction about Muses being unable to die, the mere sentence just making him huff a hollow laugh, hands waving, the direction flinging somewhere towards Luis’ works as he began to step away but not exit. He stayed like a reluctant animal in captivity within the exhibit, stewing in his deafening silence where movement spoke for him. His hand shoved into his pocket, fingers toying with the cigarette lighter, tempting to either take a smoke or burn. It must have been a familiar feeling for the other, words sinking in while Julian’s tongue grazed the back of his teeth behind tight lips. “And the ones that want to die? What do you do? How do you save them?”

“If an artist needed my help, yes. And Poldark certainly does, however much of a prick he is.” Muses, artists, it was all the same fight, a battle that kept adrenaline pulsing through Laurie’s veins, stopped the weight of the centuries getting heavy enough to crush him. But it wasn’t Julian’s fight; the way he laughed spoke of loss, the hollow disbelief that echoed through so many years of fighting alongside men who’d lost loved ones. They were always the most reckless, the most angry. They almost always went over the top first, and almost always never came back. “Go, if you want. You don’t have to pick this battle.” Because the clear undertone was stay, and we’re in this together. This will become your battle, so consider it carefully; yet grief was hardly ever conducive to critical thinking. “I don’t know. Sometimes they don’t need saving, you know. Has anyone ever begrudged their grandparents for dying of old age?” That was the cruelty of immortality, not having an expiry date on your suffering. But Laurie knew too well who that question referred to. “Anyway, they don’t need a soldier. They need a therapist.” 

[laurie-caston]

ryder.

“Mm potato potahto,” he waved it off like he would’ve at a ripe age of 21, looking back at after their battalion was pulled back, after Ashton left the army for NASA, they didn’t spend almost every waking day and night together anymore, maybe the once in awhile catch up, before Laurie found himself in yet another war to fight for. Or simply fight in. “No you’re right,” Ashton sighed heavily, shaking his head lightly to shake off the self pity he was clinging onto. Laurie was right, he was here to help others, muses, dedicating himself to the orders of others. “Some muses might need our help,” others deserve to carve out a better life other than the paths they’ve fallen into. Somewhere deep down, Ashton was used to Laurie’s presence and touch, not freezing up with the terrified instinct to defend when he felt the hand on his arm, a comfort tearing back from the past that hurt yet soothed. “I’m fine, it’s fine,” he couldn’t even remember how much it actually hurt when it numbed. Besides, he didn’t matter, not when he’s the one that let them down. “Thanks.. for checking in on them,” Ashton wasn’t even sure if he ever thanked Laurie for that, suddenly the free painless time in New York giving him pockets to process it all. “That can’t be easy, I’m sorry,” Ashton wouldn’t be able to do that if he had the choice, “what was your family like?”

“As shitty as it is, we’re some people’s last line of defence.” Muses who’d slipped through the cracks, who were at risk of being preyed upon and mutilated just like Ash. Who were at risk of pouring themselves into cause after cause, searching for something that would make them feel alive. Their futures were guarded by people like the two of them. “It’s not fine.” And neither are you, not spoken but implied -- but it wasn’t like they could change either of those facts. Muses were never fine, there was no way to even approximate it when you’d been ripped from your family and tossed into the sea of immortality, without ever being taught how to swim. “Hey, it’s no problem. They’re lovely.” It was the least Laurie could’ve done, for Ash and for his parents. They’d almost become something of a family to him; after eight centuries, a tie that bound him, a promise to come and visit again soon. “Oh, um --” He could talk about war and strategy all day, but when it came to his family, the words stuck in his throat. “They were poor. Everyone was back then, I suppose. But -- they were kind, and as happy as you can be when your country’s being torn apart by civil war.” They didn’t deserve to be abandoned. “I almost told them, you know. Did you -- did you ever consider telling your parents?”