IMMORTAL ASSHOLE

Elliot felt his body spasm in an aborted attempt at a tremor. His heart rabbited in his chest as they moved closer, movements slow, considering, and he cursed himself at his ill-thought answer, its message having the opposite effect to what he had hoped. He felt like he was balanced, teetering, on the precipice of something unknowable, dangerous. Elliot could feel his stomach ready to leap into his throat if he fell off the edge. 

“Mother-” He tried to wet his dry lips, his words coming out in a dry rasp. “-would commend me for being careful, and would want for me to offer my apologies in times when I did not intend to offend.” There was no time for false bravado here, Elliot wanted to get out of this situation with his skin and soul intact, thank you very much. He barely held back his flinch as the knife slid into the pocket of his shirt, the blade cold against his chest. “Thanks…I’ll keep it close to my heart, then.” 

elliot managed to keep a clear head despite the threat in front of him, able to offer a bit of quick wit in comeback to marlowe’s comments. yes, they liked him alright. marlowe knew they could be an intimidating presence but there was no fun to be had when surrounded by cowards. they needed someone with a little bite, someone who could at least stand tall in their presence. a flicker of their eyes was the only sign of approval offered to elliot’s apology, though the fact that they took their leave without acting out like a child scored was much more significant. “i hope your darling bodygaurd has a nice insurance policy. i’d hate for him to get hurt in the line of duty and leave anyone behind.” they offered in way of warning, again letting their annoyance at the other man’s presence be known. 

“Nope! Kiss it good-bye!” he called back to them without a look, just a strong wave of the hand with two fingers thrown up before attempting to make his dramatic exit by using both hands to swing open the door that would lead to sweet salvation. He pushed. It stayed. Pushed again, and again. Fuck. It locked. “Mother fucker!” Arms slapped back to his sides as he breathed in and then twisted back around, forced smile painted on his face. This was awkward. He nodded his head to himself, lips puckered up with the air being sucked in with a sharp squeal as he tried to fill in the gap of inescapable time.

“So…” he started in again, grasping at straws, “I’d guess it’d be too much to ask if you had anything to drink up here? Maybe a nice Pinot Grigio…?”

they patiently watched damion’s increasingly desperate attempts to escape the confines of the roof, a cat that was well-aware their toy mouse had cornered itself. there was no rush--no reason to not draw this out. marlowe was waiting with a grin on their face when his shoulders dropped and he finally turned ‘round to face them, the atmosphere between them light and playful despite the very real threat they posed. pointing the knife accusingly at him they said, “you’ve probably got a very nicely aged port in your gullet right now."

“an alcoholic immortal? your liver is probably richer than most of the liquor in this state.” the more they thought about it the more tempting it became to actually find out, though cannibalism was mostly out of fashion these days and they hadn’t had much an appetite for flesh--muse or otherwise. “okay how about this,” marlowe began in a giddy tone, obviously coy with their plans, “if you can hit me with the knife i’ll open the door, but you only get one throw. if you miss i’ll just knock you off the side and be on my way.” raising a hand over their heart, marlowe added, “i wont move. i’ll even close my eyes if you want!” if damion did manage to hit them, they’d open the door as promised. but marlowe always managed to get what they wanted in these situations one way or another. 

wynn struck a match to light her cigarette, illuminating a blood stained shirt for a flickering moment, as she leaned against the scummy brick wall that made up the alley of head in the clouds. it was past midnight, the club inside pulsing with music and guests of all kinds. for her, it was the low point in the night; all the weak had left, the strong were just getting started. she took a long drag, eyes darting to watch the person who was trying to cut through the alley. “this isn’t an entrance.” she called, trying to catch there attention. she loved people who lurked, trying their hardest not to be seen. she was friends with the shadows. it was easy to see those who didn’t fit there. “most people just come back here to throw up. which i’m not saying you’re going to do, but it’s going to look real suspicious if you don’t.”

"keeping the riffraff away from my club?” marlowe was a busy person, they probably didn’t spend enough time here as they should--but they had wynn for that, to take care of any.. trouble, that decided to pop its head up. noting the blood on her clothes, marlowe pursed their lips. “don’t tell me you killed the doorman. again.” there was slight exasperation in their tone. it would be the third time this month they’d had to replace staff because wynn decided they weren’t measuring up, for some reason or another. it was a bit annoying, but the muse knew wynnie got bored easily; and they could hardly blame her for that, less someone call them a hypocrite. “you know, i’m not going to pay you more just because you keep taking on other people’s jobs.” 

“I could make a few guesses.” Ash certainly seemed to be getting quite protective – from anyone else, Tammy would call his behaviour territorial, but he didn’t think Ash really understood the concept of having his own property anymore. Everything he did was for some higher purpose, that was easy enough to see – did that mean people were really after Marlowe? Not that he actually believed they’d get very far, but it would certainly be an interesting trainwreck to watch.

Tammy peered over the edge, still careful to keep one eye on Marlowe. He couldn’t afford to let them get it in their head that they could hurt him without paying first; that was simply bad business. But they were so exciting to be around – glancing over the edge, he picked up on the man who’d attracted Marlowe’s attention. “A kidnapping? How exciting.” Toying with the knife, Tammy found himself absently pitying the man. His fate would probably be extremely painful. “What’s your plan?”

plans were so frivolous. were was the excitement in everything going as it should? an utter waste of a good time! marlowe liked to go into a situation with options, but never actually commit to any of them. “i told ryder i would do things quietly.” they informed, the smirk on their face informing how little they cared about keeping their word to the DIA agent. 

after a few moments of running through their catalog of possible ideas, marlowe came across one that felt just right for the occasion. “i’m thinking... fire.” they held tammy’s gaze, something being offered. a challenge? an opportunity? both, most likely. while the young muse was charming enough to ensure marlowe didn’t preemptively end his life, he’d do himself well to remember how quickly they could grow bored of their toys. 

“so do you want to be bait, or should i give you a run-down on what paintings would be most flammable?” 

Surprise!

The knife slicked into Damion’s stubble in a heartbeat, the sound of the blade clattering to the ground lost to his outburst.

“WHAT. THE. FUCK, WENCH?! What is WRONG with you?!” Arms raised up, giving a lost expression before seeing who it was. “Ah… jeeze…” he sighed before turning around, snatching the knife and tossing it back, the skill for it nowhere on his radar. It came off as a clunky toss back. It didn’t matter. He was heading the same way he came here by with hands raised above his head. “Not dealing with this! I’m washing my hands of it! Washing my hands, Lord! Adios!”

wench?

they hadn’t heard that in... a few hundred years, give or take. 

the surprise of it had been enough to elicit a snicker, marlowe deciding not to be too bothered by the comment. as long as he didn’t say it again--then the amusement would likely wear off and they’d have no choice but to cut off his ears and feed them to a dog or something silly like that.

watching him toss the knife back, the movement clunky and slow, only drew a bigger smirk from them. “my turn again?” they asked, swiftly leaning down and grabbing the weapon from beside their boot. “should i even it up and get the other side?” marlowe offered, making a show of holding the knife in the air, preparing to throw it. “if you turn to run i’ll likely end up getting you in the arse!” they warned, voice thick with amusement. 

She was used to ridicule. It toughens you up to get knocked down a lot, but she didn’t catch that from the other. Zoe began to slowly sit down on the couch opposite to them, sinking down into the black leather cushions while she pondered the questions posed, notepad clutched in her hand and pen in another. Inspiration would take hold; she could feel it the more Marlowe spoke.

The tip of the pen had found its way to the corner of her mouth, contemplating in a bubble of silence, where only their words were let in. “But…” Her brow furrowed, eyes gradually coming back into focus with her pen swaying around. “Like couldn’t it be… like chance? I mean, okay, think of it like this. Why, out of like a billion or trillion or whatever different things out there are we the ones that are living? Does it have to have some kind of divine intervention thing? No one said anything about being chosen. It could just… happen. And plus, they never did find Jack the Ripper, so!”

they watched amused as the gears in zoe’s mind turned, marlowe’s influence expediting the process and helping her towards the answer she was unknowingly being led to. the muse let out a purr-like noise, amused. it was all so cute--the micro-expressions on the journalist's face as she danced closer and closer to the truth. “so, for reasons unknown, immortality does exist. but only for certain people.. who may or may not have been divinely chosen.” marlowe voiced the  surmise of zoe’s current thoughts, curious as to what the blonde’s theory would become once she’d had enough time to turn the idea over in her head, to shape it into something more tangible. because, words and the ideas they formed, could be art too; and marlowe did love to inspire. 

“And?” He didn’t even know where they where getting with that observation. Yes, he has higher ups, yes he has orders, yes he had purpose. Suddenly not so much since they shifted him to New York but.. He still mattered, somewhere. Ashton noticed their hand gestured for the knife back and only then did he fully turn around to face them. Those icy blues stared down at them, trying to work out how much they were lying to him, how much they weren’t. “No commotion,” he repeated as a warning, but knowing fully well himself that it didn’t mean shit. Silent shenanigans could very well compromise his own mission. But as they continued his eyes narrowed at the notion, “and who will that be?” The sudden drop in his gut more worried about the muses he watched over, the people he’s keeping track. Or maybe it’s as irrelevant to him as the Poldark actor, currently he couldn’t give a damn about that.

while marlowe hated how quickly it could go to his head, they had decided to allow a certain amount of give-and-take with ryder--largely, due to who he worked for. while the muse could easily handle ashton and even a few of his... cohorts, having the entire DIA on their case would be another story. they’d have to take drastic measures, bust out the big guns, as it were. and marlowe wasn’t ready to leave new york just yet; not when they’d built themself such a cushy little empire. so for now they’d let ashton have his answers, if only to keep him off of their back. "they’re not a muse, so i don’t think you really need to concern yourself with the matter.” marlowe informed, reaching out to snatch their toy back from him. “mind your business and stick to your orders, pup.” 

Rafe told him, once, to be careful around other muses. That some had long lost their humanity to the sheer burden of endless youth and immortality. That some had already lost their souls to begin with. 

“Thanks, I’ve always fancied myself being wittier than those around me, but with this added threat of my life, why my skill would grow my leaps and bounds.” Did his tone sound a touch hysterical? Elliot would not lie to himself. He knew he was out of his depth the moment they stepped closer, stalked closer, not quite a monster, but every bit a predator. “Artists-” He wet his lips, his words coming out more honest than he intended. “-artists always want, because to want is to discover, to create.” He pauses for a moment, then:

“Oh, I’ve heard about your club, alright.” Elliot’s tone turns grim. His heard snatches of it, rumors, terrible, fantastical stories he is too frightened to find out are actually true. “I’m afraid I wouldn’t be much fun there. Not really my scene.” 

as he spoke marlowe’s gaze drifted down to the knife in their hands, fingers gently running over the sharpened blade--nonchalant, though well aware of their surroundings. the corner of their lip twitched upwards, though they didn’t lift their gaze. “i like to think i bring out the best in people.” eli continued to talk, offering a thoughtful perspective on the matter ( or at least, what a mortal would consider a thoughtful perspective ). 

a low noise rumbled in their chest; a growl of dissatisfaction at the sharpness of his comment--intentional or not. marlowe was... offended, at the reaction. flicking their eyes up from the blade, it was clear that his response had annoyed them. “it has a reputation, yes.” they bit back, snapping their palm shut around the knife. “for good reason, as you’ll find out, if you’re not careful.” while most would see it as a threat, and in a way it was, the words were meant as a warning: marlowe was honest when they’d said eli entertained them. it would be such a shame for him to end up getting himself killed.

“i’m—i,” how old was she supposed to be. if she looked at the id in her wallet would it make sense. would she have the same answer twice in a row. she was too old, should have died low before the roof top existed, before the question was ever formulated. “twenty six.” it sounded close enough to a right answer. she’d been around that age when she finally died. she didn’t have the first inkling who the person in front of her was, the thought alone was enough to stop her from spilling the truth. she’d learned her lesson once. she was trying desperately to stay that way. “i’m just not, i’m not comfortable at parties.” which paled in comparison to what they said. of course she was out of place, she was lost and tired, and given a choice between adapt or perish—she would have chosen perish long ago. “i won’t be much fun.”

she continued to trip over her words, trying and failing to offer answers that would appease marlowe--words to sate a stranger’s curiosity. maybe if ophelia had stumbled into anyone else on the rooftop they would’ve accepted her reply, as flimsy and half-hearted as her answers had been. but it wasn’t just anyone on that roof; it was marlowe, someone who had outlived their humanity lifetimes ago. “i have a difficult time imagining you comfortable anywhere.” they replied, pausing at her side and sizing her up. “so timid. like a little rabbit.” she would likely jump at her own shadow, if it caught her off-guard. unsure why the thought came to them, marlowe realized that she was exactly the kind of person ryder would throw himself on a sword to protect. hm. maybe they’d have to put that theory to the test one day. “rabbits can be fun,” they asserted, tone suddenly lighter, a new pep in their step. “have you ever heard one squeal? such a silly noise.”

“do you think i could make you squeal, rabbit?”

for what my muse would say upon hearing about your muse’s death.

     laughter is their first response, loud and rapturous as it rains down from their lips. opehlia, that was her name? maybe it fit her–they didn’t know. marlowe had only been drawn to the girl because of the delicious fear she radiated, so easy to send her body trembling over the edge of terror. was she dead because of something they’d done? it was possible. they didn’t always keep track of these things.

🔪 for the eulogy my muse would give for yours.

❝ ryder was a pain in my ass for who knows how many years–truly, i really don’t know. i’m starting to think he was around a lot longer than i realized. he was a bleeding heart moron who lacked the spine to stand up to anyone, and in the end that’s probably what got him killed!!  

    –well, either that or the several explosive devices i hid in his car. who’s to say, really. the point is he’s dead and i’m not so once again, i win! ❞ 

     they grinned cheekily, though the expression turned sour the moment they realized ashton had never gotten around to paying the damages on their Lamborghini after they’d ran him over with it. twice.

                    ❝ ryder… don’t think i won’t dig you up and sell your parts.  ❞

Elliot felt his body tense despite himself, cursing that perhaps he should have swiped the knife when he had the chance, not that he’d know what to do once he got it. Probably toss it to Mac, that would be the most logical thing. “Art without an audience - that takes dedication to another level.” He spoke, his town measured, trying to keep the other person within his central vision at all times. 

His instincts were screaming at him, telling him this person was different, dangerous, other. They had that aura them, that spoke of blood and centuries, a concept that was too vast to grasp in his single lifetime. 

Muse. And a deadly one at that. 

“Ah, my mother insists on Mac, and I’ve always been a dutiful son.” He tries for nonchalant. He fails. “Besides, from my experience, artists can be a vicious lot, so one always has to be careful.” He spoke with no trace of humor in his voice, tone steady but hands trembling. 

they let out a dismissive hum, shoulders rising before deciding ‘mac’ was of no consequence. marlowe carried on as if he wasn’t there, though continued to watch his movement from their side view.

“you’re funny,” his comment amused them, the sudden smirk stretching across their face making that known. “that’s good. hold onto that.” marlowe offered, sincere in the advice. they were well aware they had a nasty habit of... hurting people, when bored. it wasn’t often for someone to entertain marlowe without their entrails hanging out, but it wasn’t unheard of either. turning thoughtful, the muse commented, “i’ve noticed that, for some reason, people seem to live longer around me when they have a sense of humor.”

at his final comment, marlowe leaned in slightly, voice going low so that only he could hear. “y’know--i’ve always thought the same thing. artists. they’re the real menace, aren’t they? always taking, but it’s never enough.” marlowe bemoaned, though the laughter that followed made it apparent that these comments were made to tease--not to be taken seriously. 

Was it that bad to let him brood, there was always so much to think about, so much to do, so much to worry. The work never ends, and Ashton couldn’t remember ever stopping. He scoffed with the question thrown back his never, it’s never easy with them to get a straight answer, “and that’s where we stalemate again.” Neither of them ever giving way, too stubborn for anything. He had the knife in his hands, a little blood from the catch but nothing he couldn’t brush off, nothing immortality couldn’t fix. “I am, but I’m more certain explosives would’ve been too messy for tonight, too much effort,” Ashton played with their knife, methodical in his process of thinking, not really giving it back yet, lest they stab him with it again, “do I need to be worried tonight? About you, or anyone else?”

suddenly exasperated from the back and forth, marlowe let out a groan of annoyance. “you’re the one with a handler, ryder, not me.” they reminded him, fingers dancing in their upturned palm as a silent prompt for their knife to be returned. marlowe thought over his questions for a few moments, eventually deciding to answer if only to get ashton off of their back. “i’m not going to cause a commotion, if that’s what you’re worried about.” they’d come with an agenda, yes, but one that could be carried out in relative secrecy. “i’ll get what--who--i’m here for, and then i’ll take my leave.” marlowe assured him, confidant that ashton would be too busy following his orders to actually interfere with their plans. 

“Thanks.” Tammy shoved the knife into his belt, still stained slightly with his own blood; the cut stung, a kind of biting pain that made the world seem sharper at the edges. It couldn’t hold a candle to the other things Marlowe had done to him, though, bruises beneath his shirt more than a testament to that. “I’ll think of you next time someone tries to assault me in an alleyway.”

Marlowe’s words only hammered home an inevitable truth: that eternity was stretching before them both, them a wearied traveller through it and him only just beginning his journey. “Why did you come, then? Just to throw things at people? Because you could do that literally anywhere else.”

for a moment it seemed they’d decided to ignore his questions, though, marlowe just needed a moment to digest their own response. “it’s better to stay informed,” they began, walking to the edge and looking out at the city. “people have a way of coming out of the woodwork, showing up at the most unexpected places.”

marlowe half-turned their head back towards him, an amused smirk at the very idea they were about to propose. “and there are people--very few of them--that have it in their head they’re capable of ruining all the fun i’ve been having lately.” living as long as marlowe had, without any regards for loyalty, the muse had made quite a few enemies; though none of them would ever be able to get as close to marlowe than their own sibling had, several decades ago.