Magnus Servus

“you’d find it hard to guess what i do choose to believe.” for who alone had thought apoxyomenos was good enough to sculpt. certainly not the artist to which it had been attributed. but she was beyond claiming the rights to her work, it would only call her own being into question now. still she sipped her wine, let her companion lead wherever she might feel like following. “is there no time left for you to achieve your goal?” then again, she’d had hundreds and had resigned herself to the arbiter of the medium not the artist. “or are you of the mind that no amount of hard work can trump talent.”

her eyes flashed, something dark and old, intelligence cut right under the surface. a cup of wine was not enough to dull her sense, the way it was seeming to on her companion. “what questions should be asked of you? should i like to know where you’re from?” of course that talk was so small, all she really cared for was the work or lack there of. “what sculpture would i attribute to you?”

"I think I’ve made all the art I’m able to make for a lifetime. I may look young but I’m an old... soul. Sometimes you just know when you’ve completed your masterpiece and that things will never look up from there, artistically. However seeing your face does unite something inside of me that makes me yearn for stone and a pick which to immortalize it in.” He sipped from his cup and continued to admire her across the table.

Damion raised his brows as he looked away. Damn, touched on a sore point, note taken! “To be fair, what did you want out of him?” he went on as he still played with his drink, trying to come up with the courage to take a sip. Was getting drunk worth sacrificing his palette? “Not surprising,” he mumbled about the missing girl as he took a sniff of the drink before redoing his response with a glance over at him, “Again, sorry to hear it. You know… better luck out there. Chin up.” That ought to do it before he bit the bullet, taking a sip, instantly opening up his mouth to have it pour back out. “Uhg, I’ll take the Lysol…” The glass was pushed slowly away from him, napkin taken as it ran over his mouth, ordering a beer in a bottle, the safest bet at any bar. Hadn’t he learned that by now? “No, thank you.–No offense,” he added. “All I need is a bad bond to break, and good-bye cruel world. Know anyone sketchy for the job?”

Magnus considered the question. “I guess I wanted someone willing to put their everything into the art and not someone complacent.” Magnus watched him toy with his drink. “Cut the foreplay, man. Drink it or don’t. And yeah, I appreciate it. I mean I’ll probably never see her again but who knows.” Magnus rolled his eyes a bit when Damion spit out the drink. “For a man who is tired of living you sure do have high standards.” He finished his drink and ordered another one. Life was long and things could be worse than a bad tasting drink in a bad smelling bar. “Well, you could free me of Patricia. Take over her bond or something, I don’t really care what happens to her. She doesn’t take the art seriously anymore so I don’t take her seriously anymore. Just haven’t found anyone else and nothing bad has happened to her.”

she had to do nothing but sit and wait while he gets new drinks, if some kind of complicated thoughts are supposed to be running through her head, they simply haven’t been inspired. it turns out there’s nothing she needs to have prepared anyways, his talking takes over the whole of the conversation, as though she were going to disappear at any moment. she lets a silence hang as she processes all the questions that have been thrown her way. 

“rose.” she settles on finally. it’s not so far from the truth. and perhaps in the past centuries she’s used it nearly as much as her own name. the rest of the questions are given passing thoughts. she doesn’t supposed she even knows the answers to them. introspection has never been her strong suit. “i’m a sculptor.” which is neither where she’s from nor her heart’s desire, but it’s something that he can grab on to if he’s going to continue taking the lead of the conversation. she’s not opposed to it. “how do you know a person? surely more than just her wishes.”

“Rose, thats a lovely name. A name I’ll grow fonder of with each passing day.” Her voice resounded within his ears and brought him a sense of warmth and peace that he had longed for in the centuries since he had last been in love. “A sculptor. I sculpted once. I’d tell you my greatest work but you’d not believe it. Hardly unreasonable though, we’ve just met.” His eyes fixated on hers. He wanted nothing more than to hear everything about her, to know what went on behind those eyes. “I think you start there. I think you can’t know a person until you know what they want, what dreams they hold closest. I wished once to be the greatest artist ever but life didn’t have that in its plans for me.”

she liked to think she wasn’t a sloppy immortal, but there was only so long you could stay in a certain place without your face starting to draw attention, people wanting to know more of a story than the half-hearted lies she spun. but she could tell when she over stayed a welcome, it would be her last night in town. she was thinking she would make her way up further north. she might as well. it was a perfect night to disappear after all, the crowd around her was so rowdy, so full of life, imprinting on her memories the perfect final glimpse. crystallize another chapter of her life in some perfect memory, and leave behind all the rest.

by the time the man sat at her table, she’d already finished her wine and resigned herself to moving on. his face was a blur, it would never be important. “greetings.” she raised her empty glass, pressed a smile to her face, “i should like to say yes, but my cup is empty.” which isn’t to say she wants it to stay that way, but she figures she’ll see what magnus does. “i’m afraid my evening wouldn’t last very long.”

"Oh, that simply wouldn’t do for such a beauty, would it? If the lady desires more wine then she has but to ask it and I will make it so.” His smile beamed wide, his purpose in life temporarily revived by the infatuation that had already begun building in his heart the moment he laid eyes on her. “I will be right back.” He finished his own glass and quickly collected her cup and returned once they were filled to the brim again.

“Lucky us,” he mumbled, the lack of enthusiasm heavy on his tongue as he finally was served his drink. He eyed it for a long moment as Magnus continued on, judging the color of it with an appalling glint. “I did hear about that…” he agreed vaguely, distracted by something floating in his drink as he held it up to the light before giving a glance to the fellow muse. “Sorry to hear it. A real loss. All those happy trees,” he added quickly when it was obvious it didn’t appear he was paying attention to the right things, only to go back to the drink in his hand and pour the top of it off into the open well from behind the counter. “She’s not that one you were going on about?” Still wasn’t convinced that she wasn’t some fever dream, but that was what living for this long got you: a basic grasp of time and reality. Hell, Magnus was more than twice his age. Couldn’t imagine standing that long; he didn’t even want to stay this long as he was.

Damion’s head was thrown to the side like a twitch of sorts, face scrunched up as Wynn immediately popped into his mind at the description the other gave. He hated that. He came here for a good time, not to be attacked. Still, it was better than admitting that he had no one. “Mmm… She’s something all right,” he finally answered with squinting eyes before taking a strong sip, already another regret added to the list. “Lord, if I fucking die from this, I’m going to be livid.”

"Fuck those happy trees. Bob was so much more than that, he could have been anyways, if he had been more dedicated.” He paused, unsure of when the last time he had seen Damion was. The 80s maybe? He had known of Patricia then and had already assumed he would be taking her on once Bob had retired. She had been young then, and so full of that youthful desire to be a part of something great. But it would have been too early for Magnus to have been going on about her. A realization hit Magnus. “If you mean her, then no. I haven’t found her yet.” Magnus was surprised to find out that there was a her in Damion’s life too, and his her seemed more complicated than artist and muse. He was a bit surprised. He was pretty sure that Damion was into men exclusively. Maybe he had misjudged him. “If you die here, consider yourself lucky. You could be living as long as me.”

it took time to adjust to immortality. settling into a body while time rushed around her, the stone in an ever flowing river. at least she had time to get to rome. she’d heard the whispers of a project, too big to be believed. entertainment for the masses. it turned out that she now had the time to watch it be built, to see how such a structure turned out. if people used it. she stood, watching the construction. could a hundred men create something beautiful. could a thousand? she missed her workshop, the neat work of one person. but she couldn’t show her face in athens any time in the next century, she might as well see how this played out.

she stood in the sun, daylight reflecting on the stone and letting the details glimmer in the afternoon. she was watching the work on a column when suddenly a gasp went up from the crowd. she couldn’t tell where she was supposed to be looking, but the expressions around her were that of people who’d just watched something horrific—a body falling was her most likely guess. the acid churned in her stomach, the question being posed was that of art over life. or was it simply entertainment. she had no answer, and little positivity to be found. at least she’d been saved the sight of another person flickering out; the sour taste of death she hoped she would never grow accustom to.

she pushed her way out of the crowd, she had little interest in staying to watch the body carried out. perhaps rome wouldn’t do after all.

Magnus had awoken a new man, an immortal, a servant of the arts. He had no recollection of what caused his fall, but he didn’t regret his death. For years he had found a bond with a man, his artistic successor, and lived a happy life with him. But that life was over now and Magnus had to move on.

“Lord, give me strength,” he mumbled under his breath as he readjusted in his seat, now feeling unclean in the bar thanks to the description provided. “Do they serve Lysol?” Nose wrinkled, judging the place around them before sighing, crossing his arms to lean against the counter, careful to just allow the cleanest part of the edge to touch him. “I’m not a special case. It was featured in Bon Appetit magazine.” He looked at Magnus with a look of shock when it sank in that there was no notoriety behind the name to him before going on, as if saying a date would further job the memory that most likely did not exist in the other’s mind. “December of…. Two-thousand…seven? Seventeen? Seventy-one? What year is it again?” Numbers. Not his forte. What did it matter if it was just another year down the drain?

Damion’s face squinted up at the question, trying to pull something new from their last encounter. Break-up. No artist. Aspiring serial killer friend. “…I saw a pigeon with one leg yesterday. I think it was an omen.” He gave a shrug. “You? Got an artist?”

“I don’t think you’d want to drink Lysol. Then again I don’t tell you how to live your life and you don’t tell me how to live mine. I hear some people think it cures viruses. Then again, so does time, for us anyways.” Magnus listened but didn’t register much. “I’m sure it was. Probably looked right fancy in that magazine. I can assure you that it will be much less fancy here.” Magnus shifted ever so slightly towards Damion. “Bob died, you might have heard. New artist. Shes a lush, shes a flirt, and I absolutely despise her. But it keeps me young- well younger, until someone with actual talent comes along again. She was promising when we first bonded but somewhere I think she got it into her mind that loving me would make her immortal to something. You know how those mortals get stupid ideas in their heads. Anyways, you’re into omens now? Got a witchy little pagan woman as an artist or something?”