Mordecai Roberts (septman) wrote in revoltic, @ 2019-11-02 23:49:00 |
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Entry tags: | !: log, -player: natasha, -player: tiny, arrowverse: caitlin snow, chrestomanci: mordecai roberts |
Narrative: Mordecai Roberts
Magical experimentation with unpredictable and barely understood substances was an act of desperation. Mordecai knew that. If he could think of another alternative, he would take it. If he could think of another alternative, he wouldn't be anywhere near this room. The amber was a fascinating substance, its mysterious relationship to the World Edge intriguing, but unlike some, Mordecai did not spend his time longing for the home he'd left behind. There were, if he were honest, aspects of Twelve-A that he missed, but even he was self aware enough to know that those things were more phantom than real now. He missed what it had been - what he had been before - or rather the friendships he'd had when he pretended to be that man. There was nothing pleasant the amber could show him of his future, but the fact that it could show him anything meant that it was still linked back to Twelve-A. That link might be enough to magnify the summoning spell and call Gabriel here to the Compound. Gabriel was a good man. He did the right thing, and if he arrived in New York, he would surely see that helping Ellana was the right thing to do. And maybe, just maybe Mordecai would be able to convince his former employer not to expose him outright. They were far outside the jurisdiction of any British magistrate. He hadn't intentionally fled custody, although he'd certainly seized his liberty with both hands once he found it in his grasp. If deWitt could be persuaded to let him remain in exile… That was all supposing that this worked at all, and Mordecai didn't simply wake up with a head full of unwanted memories - or worse, no memories whatsoever. He'd prepared for the latter possibility, at least. He'd delicately broached the mechanisms of preserving memories with fellow practitioners and made arrangements. The potion appeared to have worked for Caitlin. The alternative didn't bear thinking of. He smiled brightly at Caitlin, nodded at the expected warning and disclaimer, and stepped forward to stand in front of the pod. Someone had tagged it and labeled it with his name and awakening date in neat and precise script. Mordecai Roberts. 27 April 2370. With his right palm hovering a centimeter above the smooth surface, he said precisely but very quietly, "Chrestomanci, Chrestomanci, Chrest-" He dropped his hand. "Oh, blast." Mordecai had suffered some dreadful hangovers in the past, including ones which had led him to swear off liquor (supposedly) forever, but even those miserable awakenings usually contained some pleasant recollections of the night before. Celebrating the completion of his university studies with Franklin Howe… bidding a fond adieu to Charlotte Howe before taking up his new civil service position… toasting a successfully closed case with Flavian… honoring a win with the Castle cricket team… a softened glance from Rosalie at a staff Christmas feast... lifting a glass at the commencement of a long term assignment… sipping champagne with a lovely singer on the first floor of a London establishment... downing shots of whiskey in bitter victory while trying to burn away the last glimpse of Christopher's charred skin... dancing with Vala at Luminous… commiserating with Alicia over wine and lost love...reaffirming a friendship thought broken while Flavian poured brandy into a pair of glasses... waiting on the slow movement of government to condemn or pardon… spilling his heart to Rosalie through a haze of white rum and being told his feelings had been returned once… sipping exotic cocktails with Margo and Eliot while the latter assured him of other fish in the sea... discovering Tchaikovsky in the company of two lovely friends… stealing a New Year's kiss on the dance floor of the Sadler Complex lounge... sharing s'mores beside a campfire… hiding behind the shield of wine and interplanetary distance to confess everything and nothing… The memories were all there and then some. Some of New York, some of England, some of a mythical island that he now knew from memory and experience and not just hearsay. He could better appreciate Alicia's enthusiastic greeting now and Clarke's confidence. The ache of shame and heartbreak was old and new and old again. Mordecai had known he had no hope of winning Rosalie's heart long before her confirmation that he was too late. The lingering sting was less for the old loss than for the lasting regret. He'd behaved unforgivably, and she couldn't forgive. That was no surprise. But even in the midst of that there was hope beyond comprehension. It would take time to process. He hadn't yet processed it - not really - when he remembered the more salient point. Mordecai fumbled for his phone, found it, and checked the network. There was no sign of Gabriel, no text with the notification he'd requested months ago. The experiment had not worked. |