#thread; mason

@mxrvelouscreations​ sent: “ you’re just… you’re extraordinary. “ (Mason from Elliot)

     It wasn’t the first time someone had said this, or something similar, to him. Not surprising. After all, he wasn’t an ordinary man. Extraordinary applied to him in every sense of the word. 

     If this person thought to flatter him, however, they were mistaken. 

@lunatempus​ sent: ❛ there’s still good in you. i know. i’ve felt it. ❜ (mason)

     For a time, he said nothing. An ice cube clinked against the side of his glass as he brought it up for another drink. The whiskey was the finest sort, from the cellar where he’d kept it for years. Only the best, he thought. And so it had been for years. Only the best power, the best magic, the strongest witches would do for his purposes. He’d stolen power and riches, and killed only the best. And then he’d done his best, righting wrongs and besting those who opposed him in the defense of the helpless.

     But good, as stringent a concept as that was, had never factored into it. Whatever morality Matt deigned to understand was not Mason’s own. This feeling he thought he had? Inconsequential. He’d done horrible things and had redeemed himself time and time again, but this good, as Matt knew it, did not relate to him. And there was no way he could explain such a thing to him, when rigid morality lived in such absolutes of black and white, good and evil. Mason did not fit in those categories but somewhere in between, where good did not truly exist.

     He drained the whiskey and placed the empty glass on the sideboard. He fussed, momentarily, with his cufflinks, turning them until the light caught the gold inlay and made them shine. "Perhaps,” he murmured. “I will concede with perhaps but nothing more.”  

He'd said it on a whim, with very little forethought. It was that time of year when red and pink hearts dominated every landscape, prompting acts of love and affection. Mason was fond of Emma, so why not? It could be fun. Silly.

@badassxbirdy

"I have more than an idea," he stated, looking down at the man's unconscious body. It hadn't taken much to bring him down—a modified sleeper-hold, a touch of magic. It worked every time to pacify would-be assailants, at least those of the human persuasion. Studying him now, Mason recognized a few familiar features.

@gentle-hearted

"That isn't necessary--

And it certainly wasn't. Mason could balance the delivered packages and open the door to his shop quite easily, if not with his hand, then with a push of magic. The girl had no way of knowing, of course, and her kindness was a soothing balm to end a terrible day.

His fingers brushed down Emma's arm as she turned, soft contact, lingering touch. With a smile, he accepted the food container--another brush of fingers against hers--and immediately opened it. A fork appeared in hand.

"Thank you," Mason said after he ate a bite. It was good, but so was anything Emma made.

     Mason was nothing if not a master of masking his true emotions and weaknesses from those around him, but tonight his subterfuge waned. Weariness seeped through his stony façade.  “I had hoped for peace,” he admitted. That seemed such a simple goal, but clearly unattainable for the moment.