#outpost three

For a moment, Michael truly regretted killing Mutt and Jeff, if only for the opportunity to do so again. Slower, this time. And more painfully, solely for the fact that they unleashed Venable to his new world.

But he would deal with the head bitch later.

“And what,” he asked, glancing at the book and college-ruled spiral notebook by her feet, “was so worth incurring the wrath of Venable?”

He stepped directly in front of her, looking down pointedly. She was a full head shorter than he was and his close proximity forced her to look up.

Rather than waiting for her answer, Michael knelt down to the floor. The book she was reading from was an old occult text outlining the history of magic. In Latin.

But what truly caught his attention was the spiral-bound notebook. In careful, neat lettering, she was writing out English definitions. Michael picked them both up, setting the notebook on top as he flipped backward.

Sure enough, page after page of definitions. Towards the beginning, multiple charts of standard declensions and conjugations.

He tilted his head, stunned for the first time since discovering who he truly was the night of his first Black Mass.

“You’re writing a Latin dictionary?”

Adding to his surprise, the girl’s cheeks flushed. Still, she looked up, meeting his gaze with that same fierce defiance he had seen when he first ordered her to stand.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

She swallowed, eyeing her work as if she was afraid he would take it away. "That which we don’t save is lost.”

He followed her gaze back to her writing, the perfectly constructed charts, the crisp lettering. Time and care had gone into all of it.

She had risked punishment to save a dead language.

After an evening of listening to half a dozen people blather on about their uses while whining about their circumstances, he was awed.

"Acta non verba," he murmured aloud.

"Deeds, not words," she translated without missing a beat. Her eyes met his, no longer defiant and defensive but curious. "You understand Latin?"

Michael nodded. His birthright had come with a variety of powers, including the ability to comprehend and speak any language across time. “Where did you learn?"

"High school. I'll admit, it's been quite a while. My translations are far from perfect. I remember learning a lot more about Roman farmers and a lot less of the occult than the boys of Hawthorne."

"I take it your knowledge is of Classical Latin rather than Ecclesiastical."

Her eyes widened and her breath hitched ever so prettily. "Exactly! It's why this dictionary has been so much more of a struggle."

The excitement coating her words almost made him smile. It had been a long time since he saw or felt true excitement. Someone able to make something from the rubble rather than languishing like the rest.

There was a warm, fuzzy sensation in his chest that he couldn't name. 

Her words somehow caught up to his brain. There was something about the way she had said 'this' that gave him pause. "Have you made more than one dictionary?"

The flush stained her cheeks again, like she had been slapped. Yet somehow, it was even more enchanting.

Madeline nodded. "I'm more fluent in Ancient Greek than Latin. Both Attic and Koine, which are the main dialects that--”

“Attic was an Ionic dialect associated with many of the classical texts and the early philosophers,” Michael interrupted. “Koine was a more common, widespread tongue. The early editions of the New Testament were written in Koine.”

She nodded again, momentarily stunned. "Y-yes. I wrote out an Attic dictionary already but I only had one notebook left.” 

Madeline gestured to the spiral-bound atrocity in his hands. It was plebeian, vulgar.

For some reason, it pissed him off that she was recording lost knowledge with a ballpoint pen and something school children would doodle in.

She should be writing in ink or fountain pens. Her words not bleeding through the thin pages, leaving indents behind in what would otherwise be perfection.

“I figured one of each language was better than two Greek dialects. Plus, some of the Koine rules are just so specific, I didn’t want to make a mistake and... I’m rambling. Sorry. It’s been a long time since I spoke to someone who knew anything about dead languages.”

“Indeed,” he agreed. “Did you learn Greek in high school, as well?”

She shook her head. “Undergrad. I double-majored in Ancient Civ and Ancient Greek. What about you? It was hard to find someone in the old world who knew the differences between Greek dialects. I didn’t think to look for it in a Cooperative adjudicator.”

Usually, personal questions pissed Michael off to no end. His business was his own but he couldn't help but wish he had a better answer for her.

For some inexplicable reason, he wanted to tell her the truth. His birthright, his abilities and understanding of languages. Would it impress her that he could read fluently from every dead language known and unknown to man?

But to tell her would be to admit who he was. That could interfere with his plans for Outpost 3, for those who resided there as well. 

He chose the most simple answer. “My father had an ear for languages. He began teaching me when I was young.”

She offered a small smile that shot through him like a drug. His pants grew uncomfortably tight.

How… strange. He usually had more control over such bodily functions. He'd never struggled when the need arose but that had never just happened on it's own.

“I’m glad to hear that other languages will survive, at least a little bit longer.” Her tone was wistful, longing.

He thought of the books and artifacts saved in the Sanctuary. Pieces of art and history that he deemed worth saving.

What would she think of his choices? Would her eyes light up if he showed her? Would her cheeks burn red if he fucked her against a two-thousand-year-old tapestry?

He barely withheld a moan at the image.

Her petite body wrapped around his, nails digging into his shoulders as she would cling to him. Her teeth sinking into his neck as he whispered all the dirty things he would do to her. 

Madeline Sage.

He regretted not having familiarized himself with the files before his arrival. He knew her name was not on the original roster for Outpost 3. He would have recognized it.

But Venable and the other Outpost leaders had sent updated rosters within a week of the explosions and one of his assistants had compiled files on each of them. 

Histories, family trees. Their kindergarten report cards all the way to their employee reviews at their jobs. Credit reports and IQ. 

He hated not knowing only a little more than he hated asking.

For the first time in any Outpost, he was looking forward to interviewing someone for something beyond the fleeting amusement of watching them squirm.

But, oh, to watch her squirm...

"In hindsight, though, I probably should have studied engineering," she added. "I feel like the ability to make a radio or make a wind turbine would have been a lot more useful."

Michael smirked. He already had several dozen people at the Sanctuary for that but no one who knew the major dialects in ancient languages. He wondered what else she knew about.

"I'm not sure I'd agree. The preservation of knowledge is a… noble pursuit."

She shrugged off the praise in a way that made him frown. Either she wasn't used to it or someone had made her feel less for her endeavors. A spike of rage hit him in the chest, making him want to lash out at all those around her, past and present.

"It makes me feel better but I'm not sure how much good it will do."

"Good is rather subjective. Is making yourself feel better not enough?"

She seemed to consider it before inclining her head. "Some days it is. It's not like I ever expected to make a big difference in the world before it went to hell. It's just some days it feels pointless."

"And what do you do on those days?"

She raised her chin. "I get up and do it anyway."

"You're a rebel,” he commented, fighting a smile

"I prefer 'civilly disobedient'."

This time, he couldn't stop the smile from spreading. She was magnificent.

"Rules were made to be broken, then?"

"Often. But they need to be understood before they can be discarded."

"And why do you think you're forbidden from these texts?"

"Knowledge is a dangerous thing." She shrugged. "Or the Cooperative is made up of fascists. Take your pick."

Little Madeline thought to taunt him?

How… fascinating.

"An interesting sentiment to pass on to the Cooperative representative who chooses if you live or die," he said imposingly, resisting the urge to set her straight that such rules stemmed from Venable and not from him. At least, for now.

She raised a defiant brow. "Prove me wrong."

He hummed. "The others of this Outpost seek to find their way to Sanctuary at all costs. Lying, betrayal, begging.” Fuck, he wanted to see her beg. “And yet you disrespect the only one who could save you.”

“Would you go as far as to say I’m not cooperating?”

He ignored her question, narrowing his eyes. “Do you fear death?”