Logs:Vignette - Check-in
| Vignette - Check-in | |
|---|---|
| Dramatis Personae | 2022-05-06 "And I want unilateral nuclear disarmament. Are we granting wishes, now? Is that what we're doing?" |
| Location
<NYC> Pierce's Office | |
The office is, like Pierce, something of an anachronism. Pale blue carpeting, with towering mahogany bookshelves that nearly groan beneath the weight of their contents. An original Davenport desk, far older than its owner. Several padded Edwardian salon chairs. A glass case containing numerous trinkets; a globe from the 1800s, a pocket-watch from the British East India Company, a framed map of the Dutch West India Company's colonies. A photograph of Pierce at his 12-year old niece's birthday party. What does not belong here is Captain Malthus Rogers -- dressed in black, seated in one of the pleated chairs... examining a small antique brass sextant he has taken from Pierce's desk. His lone functional eye examines the engraving along one of the sextant's edges. He appears, in every feasible way, to be a man capable of delivering tremendous yet precise violence in an instant. When Pierce arrives, he is everything Malthus is not: like someone's friendly anachronistic rich elderly uncle. He's dressed in a sharply-fitted charcoal-grey suit with a buttoned up vest and tie. He does not look capable of violence -- quite the opposite. At this moment, he's carrying a mostly-empty gift-bag from Levain Bakery that he has previously been sharing with his office's staff. "For the love of -- you couldn't call, first?" Malthus continues examining the sextant. Pierce sets the bag on his desk, then comes round to the other side. Once he's settled in, he fishes a pair of spectacles out of his pocket, dons them, then scoots in and folds his hands atop of the desk. "Well?" Malthus slides a thumb across the engraving. He does not look up. Pierce frowns. "...seriously?" Silence. "Are you -- Jesus, Malthus." Pierce takes his glasses off and rubs at his forehead. "For once, could you just talk to me like a normal human being?" Still nothing. Sighing, Pierce reaches under the desk, dims the lights with a switch, and then -- with an exasperated, long-suffering look -- lifts his right hand. "Hail Hydra," he mumbles. "Hail Hydra," Malthus whispers in return. His eye lifts to meet Pierce's. "Now, can we get to it?" "Why Fury?" "Why Fury what?" For just a moment, a genuine twinkle flashes in Pierce's eyes. "Did Fury talk to you? Oh, wait -- is this that Army vs Marine thing I hear so much about? Has Fury been bullying you?" He's trying very hard not to grin. Though Malthus barely shows it, the malice around him grows into something palpable. Pierce rolls his eyes. "I didn't put him up to it, if that's what you're asking. Really, though -- as much as you've got on your plate right now, that's why you're here?" "I want Holland back." "And I want unilateral nuclear disarmament. Are we granting wishes, now? Is that what we're doing?" Pierce lifts his hands. "You lost Magneto. You know -- Master of Magnet?" He waggles his fingers, as if controlling kitchen magnets from afar. "Had I the operational forces I needed--" "Actually, you know what? Let's do this. Let's crack that walnut open." Pierce cuts in. "At exactly what point were you planning on telling me or anyone else about your own little private Avengers initiative?" Malthus grimaces and breaks eye contact. Pierce savors the victory for just a moment, then presses on: "You know how many leaks I had to squelch to keep that tidbit out of the news? Fortunately for you, most of your men can't tell the difference between a violent mutant terrorist and one of your own. Not that there is much of a difference -- outside of general competence, I mean." Pierce reaches for his glasses once more, putting them back them. "But you do know it's just a matter of time before Fury finds out, right? I mean, I'm good, but he could solve a murder at the annual deaf-and-blind butler convention. And when he does, I'm not covering your ass from that firestorm." "I'm taking care of it." "No, you aren't. It's already being taken care of," Pierce replies, retrieving a document from within his desk. "God help us all if one of them decided to leak what they knew to the press. Which, by the way, that reminds me." Unfolding the document, he examines it closely from behind the rim of his spectacles. "Now that these detainees are under the jurisdiction of the UN, I've had a chance to review the records from the prison..." Pierce drops the document in front of Malthus, pushing it toward him. "...and I couldn't help but notice a funny little discrepancy." Malthus glances down at the document. "Magneto wasn't due to be transferred to that facility for another three months. Someone bumped him ahead of schedule. Hell of a oversight, don't you think? I mean, who'd be stupid enough to put the world's most renowned mutant terrorist in the same room as the one guy who's famous for breaking mutants out of prisons? Almost like somebody was hoping for a fight." Malthus's grip on the sextant tightens. "No one knows who authorized it, either. Which is wild, since -- knowing you as well as I do -- I figure that, in these places, a gnat doesn't take so much as a crap without getting the authorization notarized in triplicate." "What are you insinuating?" Pierce looks Malthus dead in the eyes: "I'm 'insinuating' that you should get the fuck out of my office and go back to work." Malthus rises to his feet. He sets the sextant down, with the engraving facing up toward Pierce: 'I AM THE CAPTAIN OF MY SOUL'. He moves to leave. At the door, he stops and turns -- his voice as quiet as the grave: "It won't work, you know." Pierce, already returning to his own work, barely bothers to glance up: "What won't?" "Replacing me with Fury. We hate each other -- but we know what we are. We see one another clearly. But you... when he finally sees you, the hate he has for me will seem trifling by comparison." Pierce frowns. Malthus exits and closes the door. Several minutes later, Pierce is still frowning. | |
