Participants:
| Scene Title | Intuitive Self Deconstruction |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Arthur comes to Mortimer to offer him a job after discovering his handiwork in the destruction of the Primatech facility. The offer does not go quite as planned… |
| Date | July 3, 2009 |
It's late, and despite all the recent therapy, courtesy of one Tracy Strauss, Mortimer misplaced his meds the day before. He thought he was doing well on his own, figured he could go without them, but the second he slipped into using his ability the chemical imbalance came rushing in. Eyes silvery, wearing a white button up shirt, neatly fitting blue jeans, and his black boots, he holds his head, groaning in an alley as he tries to control himself. "No, no! I don't want this! I don't wanna see these things, they're not real! I want my life!"
Ripping that prosthetic arm off and throwing it on the ground, he proceeds to grab a broken bottle laying near a dumpster. "I don't want anything from this ability, I don't want it!" Then, raising the bottle, he seems very ready to stab his eyes out.
The fit can be heard down the alley and halfway out into the Rookery, but even beyond that, back when Mortimer's frustration was just murmuring and growling, someone could hear him. Say nothing for the heartbeats of people in adjacent buildings, the fluttering wings of buzzing flies, or the sound of a gun discharging seven times thirty blocks away. Once this acuity of hearing was the domain of Gabriel Gray. Now, another eavesdropper all together has taken up that mantle.
Fortunate timing, he has.
"I don't think you really want to do that," the old and weary voice from the far end of the alley croons out, New York accent thick despite the somewhat grandfatherly tone. "Your ability is a remarkably valuable asset… and you've done me a great service. I guess it's lucky I decided to come looking for you now." Dress shoes crunch broken glass underfoot as Arthur Petrelli steps out into the grimy yellow light of a streetlamp at the mouth of the alley, casting deep shadows at his eyes and down one side of his face.
"Mortimer," a hand motions up, two fingers raised, and Mortimer can feel some unseen hand gently trying to urge his down, away from his face, "calm down now, son. You've got too much potential to be wasting away like this…"
"I don't want this ability anymore, it's dangerous, it makes me dangerous, it changes me." Mortimer, lowering his hand, dropping the glass, he just hunches down and holds his head. "I'm not my mother, I'm not some NASA engineer, I just wanna be me, I don't need it! When I find a way to get my arm back, and rip these eyes out of my head…"
One black brow slowly rises as Arthur takes a few more steps forward, "Mortimer, Mortimer." His eyes narrow slightly, "I can help you learn to control it, help you get yourself on your feet again, learn to master it. Could you imagine the things you could do, the things you could create?" His blue eyes drift up and down the troubled young man, eventully coming to a stop just within arm's reach.
"I can offer you peace of mind, Mortimer. Don't… don't run away from the ability you have. With the funding I can give to you, and the doctors we have on hand… the people I work for?" A smile creeps up on his weathered lips, "You could build miracles with just one hand." His eyes downturn to the prosthetic arm laying on the ground, watching it twitch and convulse all of its own accord. Arthur reaches up, laying a hand on Mortimer's shoulder cautiously.
"Come with me," his voice is soothing, eyes focused on Mortimer's silver ones, "come with me and I can make the pain go away. I owe you that much, Mortimer. Think of the marvelous things you could do."
"I know what I can do, I know what I've done. This ability is a weapon, it made me insane, it's stained with blood. I want to cure it, I don't want to master it, or build miracles, I want it gone." Mortimer stares up at the man with defeated eyes, just shaking his head. "I don't know what I've done for you, but if you have all these doctors, then just, get rid of it. I'll do anything, I'll work for you, I don't care. I can still fight, I was the top of my class, I'm not stupid. I'll do whatever, just, find a cure…"
Arthur's lips downturn into a frown, disappointed. To Mortimer, his appearance awkwardly and violently warps and distorts, seeming to make the man tower too many feet taller than he really is, eyes blackening and the shadows on his face casting deeper than normal, as the machinist's hallucinations drive deep and hard into his mind.
"I don't need a fighter, Mortimer." Arthur's tone of voice changes, less gentle, more chastising, "I need an engineer like yourself." There's a pause, and Arthur's eyes drift up and down Mortimer with a resigned sigh that escapes him shortly thereafter. "You're absolutely certain, that you won't consider utilizing this ability of yours? You're sure you want… something done about it?" There's a distaste there, in Arthur's voice.
"I've been killing people and destroying god knows how many families for I don't know how many years, all because of this ability. It's selfish, but I don't care who it could help, I just don't want it." Mortimer stares at Arthur's changing appearance, then holds and shakes his head. "I want it to stop! If you want an engineer so badly, talk to my mother, she has the same ability!"
There, in that note, does Arthur's dark brow rise up just a touch higher. His eyes narrow, lips pressing into a thin line as he considers the implications of a mother and son with matching abilities. "Then," he states with a tilt of his head, "allow me to relieve you of your burden of competence." One wrinkled hand lifts up, grasping to the side of Mortimer's head, palm pressed to his cheek. In that instant, a painful prickling sensation builds up in Mortimer's extremities, followed by a sudden fish-hook sensation in the center of his chest.
Immediately following the onset of pain, a surge of white light rips forth from Mortimer's body, a ghostly and ethereal silhouette of his own form, drawn out from his body in an excruciating fashion, the flickering, ghostly after-image of himself soon siphoned towards Arthur's form, super-imposing over his own body for a moment before fading away into wisps of light. Arthur keeps one hand gripped on the side of Mortimer's face, then pushes to the side and tosses the troubled young man to the ground.
Silvery, metallic eyes stare down at the former machinist, dark brows lowering as Mortimer sees his own expression mirrored in the chromatic hues of Arthur's eyes. "It's all… so clear now," he states as if in some dreamlike state.
Tossed aside, Mortimer holds his head, the feeling of the chemical imbalance gradually correcting itself as he looks up at Arthur's form, eyes wide. "What did you do? You… took it. You can't use that, it's dangerous!" he exclaims, his mind too foggy to really get up and do anything. "It'll make you insane…"
Looking down at Mortimer with brows raised, Arthur's eyes slowly fade from silver back to their normal blue. "Oh, I wouldn't worry about that, Mortimer…" a smile creeps up on his lips, "thanks to a friend of my son, I have a very strong understanding of exactly how an ability like yours works." Though, Arthur's burhs with intuitive aptitude has done nothing for his sanity. "I think you'll find I make a better use of it than you did. But, you did mention something intriguing, and I think I'd like to find out more…"
Raising a hand, Arthur motions towards Mortimer and jerks him off of his feet, sending him up against one of the alley walls, pinning him against the rough brick. There's a feeling, a dull ache in the center of his forehead, and a resonant echo in his mind, like stereo feedback of a low volume. "You have an interesting family tree, but what I want to see, is who else you know with abilities."
Moving forward in slow, creeping steps, Arthur's mind invades Mortimer's fragile one. Then, with a quirk of his lips, he notes in a whisper, "Cassidy." His head tilts to the side subtly, "…and Edward Ray." Blue eyes fix on Mortimer's, "My, my, Mortimer. You have quite the collection."
Tracy Strauss, the nameless (in his head) Toru, and Abigail Beauchamp are among a few more names that pop into his head. "You leave Cassidy alone!" he exclaims, rage quickly filling his eyes. "I swear to god, if you hurt one hair on Cassidy's head, there's not one inch of this city I won't destroy to kill you! I still have a gang!"
"Oh," Arthur's brows both rise up, "I'm terrified." That feeling of hollow echo ceases as Arthur seems to have found everything he's looking for inside of Mortimer's thoughts. "No, Mortimer, I don't plan on hurting her, but there are uses for an NYPD agent who's gone off the reservation, as she has." Keeping Mortimer pinned there telekinetically, Arthur turns and begins heading back down the alley, but strangely, his skin begins sliding and slithering around, moving in liquid undulations as bone shifts and restructures itself, skin changing tone, and his suit becoming somewhat slack. Finally, Arthur's appearance solidifies, his appearance mirroring Mortimer's save for the dark suit he wears.
"Thanks, for the inspiration." Arthur states in Mortimer's own voice, finally letting the troubled man fall to the alley floor. "You've been a great help, despite yourself."
"Leave her the fuck alone!" Mortimer exclaims again, struggling with what little strength he has left from endless walking and straining to suppress his ability. "Damnit!"
Arthur shakes his head, turning slowly to where Mortimer has been deposited on the ground. "I think," he notes with a wagging motion of one finger, wearing Mortimer's face, "I wonder how she'll take to a more personal face-to-face meeting." His brows rise in quiet questioning, followed by a dry laugh as his skin shimmers for a moment, bending and distorting light in a chameleon-like camouflage into the background of the alley. "Goodbye, Mortimer. Enjoy the remainder of your mediocre life…"
"Leave her alone!" Mortimer repeats, yelling at the top of his lungs, over and over. Completely helpless, Arthur gone, it'll be all he can do for a few minutes. "I— I'll kill you, I… swear…" are the last hateful words uttered from his lips, before finally passing out from the mental strain.
Once a killer, always a killer. The thought carries through Arthur's thoughts as he leaves Mortimer face down in the alley, heading towards the neon glow of the Rookery's heart not far away. It doesn't take an ability to turn someone into a lunatic, just the proper conditions. Deep down, he knows this shouldn't be as amusing as it is, that there shouldn't be some child-like entertainment derived from Mortimer's suffering. But yet, he can't stop smiling.
Troubling, that.