#mpara

'Will he ever shut up?' Yasha found himself thinking as Ivan seemed to not take the hint he wasn't in the mood to be lectured. He just figured if he stayed quiet and allowed the other man to rant he'd finally shut up -- that was nearly thirty minutes ago. Truthfully, he didn't even remember what his lover was chiding him about, his attention had been focused on the television before him, and even then he wasn't paying much mind to it.

"Ivan! I get it!" Yasha snapped angrily at the other man as he reached for his buzzing phone, he had been messaging Lucya earlier before she had checked into HQ for a mission report. A small smile tugged at his lips at the message, of course she'd want to know how the other man was. Although the two had previously dated before he had gotten with Ivan they remained close -- she had been the first person told of his affair with the younger man.

'WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU WANT TO LEAVE HIM? WHAT'S GOING ON WITH YOU TWO NOW?' Yasha shook his head, snorting at the message -- what wasn't wrong with their relationship?

'I CAN'T HANDLE HIS BULLSHIT ANYMORE, LUC. HE'S UNBEARABLE -- I NEED TO LEAVE FOR GOOD, I NEED TO FOCUS ON MY WORK AND NOT HAVE TO WORRY ABOUT HIM, YOU KNOW EXACTLY WHAT HE IS. HE'S RECKLESS, IGNORANT, CHILDISH AND A FOOL.'

Mulan wasn't the best liar. She felt guilty lying to her parents but it was the only way she would be able to go and see the Quidditch World Cup. They would lock her in her room and throw away the key. It was improper for a young lady to act and behave in such a manner. Quidditch was for boys and girls of "low birth".

Mulan made up some summer study group that would be meeting all night and her parents bought it. She tucked her Falmouth Falcons shirt into her rucksack and sprinted out of the house before her parents caught on to the lie. 

This wasn't entirely unexpected. Remus had been joking about it for weeks now. The only problem was he hadn't actually done anything about it. Wishful thinking perhaps? He knew it the second he was called back to the office. It was the same story every time, "we need someone who can devote more of their time to the job" in varying degrees of kindness. Despite the repetition, the process never seemed to be easier or less painful. Now would come the stress, managing money more strictly to make it last, worrying about getting a new job with no references, lying to everyone about how he's "doing just fine."

Remus ran his fingers through his hair nervously, the cigarette between his lips shook slightly. What was he supposed to do now? Right after the holidays, after he'd spent all his money on gifts and celebrations. Why me crossed his mind briefly but he stopped before it could even start. He knew the answer and it wasn't one he wanted to remind himself of. A public street wasn't exactly the place for a mental breakdown. He would just have to collect himself and start looking for something new. And he would find something. He had to. 

It was one of those days that dragged on for far too long. One of those days where Remus couldn't wait to bolt out the door by the time his lunch break came around. Not that he had anywhere to be or anything to do but by Godric if he didn't get away from that counter soon he might reach across it and strangle the next person he sees. He slipped out the back door of the shop and into the alley, a small sandwich in one hand and a pack of cigarettes in the other.

He found himself a place to sit against the alley wall and pulled his sandwich out of the wrapper, swallowing it in hardly any time at all. After a few moments, Remus selected a cigarette from the pack, rolling it between thumb and forefinger for a few long seconds as if contemplating whether he should smoke it or not. Finally, he made his decision, bringing the cigarette to his lips and lighting it with a disposable lighter. He inhaled deeply and leaned forward as he blew the smoke from his lungs, turning his head to the entrance of the alley and watching the people and cars go by on the street beyond.

Equipment M had told him that he needed it, and Maxwell hadn't questioned it even though he didn't understood as he whipped the young man to virtual pieces. What am I doing? He had asked himself, as he watched skin break open and blood bloom and groans of pain muffled by the slave's blood red lips. Only more guilt can come out of this, more trauma, more pain for him. Yet he hadn't stopped, and he was eventually grateful that he did not, that the slave did not stop him and continued his litany of "You need this". Because damned if he didn't.

Once he knew the slave would live, there was a weight lifted off his shoulders. Not just the weight of the feeling of responsibility for the state he left the slave in, but all of it. The weight of responsibility for Anna's death, for his failure to protect her, for his direct involvement in her death simply by loving her and trying to prove to the world that she was not the cast-aside slave girl that they made her out to be. Most of all it was the weight of knowing he wasn't guilty, everything that so many others, and most recently Annette Miller had spoken to him, absolving him. His inability to absolve himself of the crimes he believed he committed against her because it would have made him passive in her life and in her death, useless, unmoving, paralyzed, unable to do anything. Responsibility somehow seemed better. The guilt was justified and he could finally feel it all.

The vindication of his guilt was a kind of release. It washed away the feeling that he had gone mad when he saw her face worn by another, her scent and her laugh gifted to another human being who was so close yet so far from her. Who disappeared, mysteriously, just as she had arrived making him think she was just a spectre of a memory, come to haunt his deteriorating mind. Accepting and feeling the responsibility for her death made him know for certain that what he had seen in the mysterious Sarah Turner wasn't real. A mere projection. wishful thinking, the repressed guilt talking.

He spoke to Annette Miller of still feeling that guilt as she tried her very best to reel him in, sexual or romantic or plain platonic, anyway she seemed to be able. He could not explain to her how his transformation came about, out of selfish self-preservation though he did wish all these beautiful young women who took an interest in him did know about the side of him that had been unleashed with the slave. That he was capable of so much wrong, that he was dangerous, that he was not entirely the man they saw him to be. But at the same time, now he wanted to be that person, to atone for the crimes he now recognized as his own and he could not be with that shadow of his actions lurking behind him in the public's gaze. He had M's silence by virtue of his profession, as well as that of the doctor. No one else needed to know and public acknowledgement of his crime was not a necessity. As they could go on thinking he bore no responsibility for the death of his beloved.

It had been a quiet past few days for Maxwell, sitting largely in his villa, a little afraid to go outside. Meeting Sarah Turner had affected him deeply, seeing the ghost of his beloved in her eyes even though that was impossible. He didn't feel like seeing anybody, however, and for the first time he had withdrawn from the friends he had made there at Orenda, from people like Andrea, Delilah and of course, Vienna, who he had come to increasingly adore over the last couple of weeks. Vienna with her sharp yet knowing eyes, youthful face yet an edge of maturity that indicated that she had seen a bit too much in her young life. An opposite of the sheltered Maxwell who knew nothing of the world until Anna came bounding into it, tearing it apart, making it new, making it clearer than it ever was before before taking it all away with her death. Everything came back to Anna, and it was paralyzing and it needed to stop. 

He forced himself out of bed that day, however. An hour of sitting and drinking tea in front of an audience, to do whatever was required of him for the sake of VIenna's protection. He hadn't wanted to take part in the demo, until he had realized it could be a good way to  ensure that Vienna remained safe and she was not forced to do anything she did not want to do. It was a pity it would earn her no points, however, as he wanted her to obtain the greater freedom supplied by higher status.