Mutants & Masterminds: The Magisterium - [Fiction] Fireside Communion

[Edward Mansfield]

Edward buttoned the last button on his shirt and rolled the shirt sleeves up to his elbows. It was the first time since arriving that he had woken up early - four-thirty a.m. on the dot, though there was no clock to confirm it. It was the first time he'd woken since being rescued and hadn't to shake off confusion regarding where he was or what was real. He knew his history now, knew when he'd been taken and how much of his life had been a lie. Reading through his file had laid the questions and uncertainties to rest - now all that was left was to regroup, and take action.

,,

Of course, there wasn't much action to take at four forty-one in the morning, in the jungles of Guatemala. He doubted there was anyone else awake, and seemed to remember that breakfast had usually been brought to him a couple hours later than this, on the mornings he'd noticed it at all. So he'd gotten up, and taken advantage of the morning quiet to utilize the shared restrooms. He relieved himself, and allowed himself a full two minutes longer than the normally allotted seven-minute shower he usually took. The facilities were crude, but welcome. He'd toweled off, and used the full-length mirror they'd somehow acquired and a razor blade he'd found lying about to shave. Then he'd made his way back to his simple room, behind the privacy of his blanket-draped doorway, to dress.

,,

He pulled on his shoes and headed out, through the hallway towards the temple's back entrance. He climbed out of the hole in the ground with a bemused smirk - he'd stayed in worse conditions, but never fully underground before, and it amused him a bit to realize there were still new experiences after over a hundred years of living. Once he was outdoors, in the dim light of the jungle dawn, he pulled out his pack of cigarettes and lit one. He had taken a drag or two of it before realizing that he heard something out of place. The jungle was full of strange sounds, especially in the still of the morning, but he was pretty sure that the soft sound of a woman singing wasn’t normally one of them. He made his way down along the wall of the temple, and then circled around towards Lamia’s hut.

,,

The smell of baking bread and drying herbs greeted him the moment he rounded the corner of the temple, Lamia’s stone house coming into view across the cleared grounds immediately around the ancient building. She had a large hearth and gathering area with a stone tables and benches enough to seat as many as Edward had seen here and probably half a dozen more with ease. The woman herself was singing softly in a language Edward had never heard before as she went about her own morning routine: getting the fire started from the evening’s embers, starting the cooking for breakfast, checking on the drying herbs, the smoking meats, and the curing leather. Water had already been procured from the stream and set to heat in the stone cauldron, a light broth set to simmer for the afternoon meal.

,,

She smiled as she lightly ran her hands over the buckskin leather she’d been carefully tanning over the past week and picked up a small stone jar, scooping out a handful of fat, spices, and other unknown but pungent ingredients. She began to methodically rub the into the leather, giving the buckskin a glossy shine and keeping it supple as it cured. There was a peaceful practiced rhythm to her movements, the song almost an afterthought to add melody to the beat of her actions. It was soothing to watch and Lamia was herself lost in the comforting repetition of a morning routine older than the stone of the temple Edward was standing next to.

He stood and watched quietly for a moment as he smoked his cigarette. It was beautiful to him, her morning routine - he could feel the presence of time in it, like the peace one feels when traveling a well-worn road, or the feeling of sitting down with a cup of coffee and a newspaper every morning. Finally he moved closer, clearing his throat softly as he approached in order to get her attention. “Good morning, m’lady. What a delightful surprise - I didn’t expect to find anyone else up this early.”

,,

She turned, still smiling, and nodded to him. “Well met this morning, Edward. I seem to usually be the first one to stir, or at least to I do not much see the others until breakfast is being served.” She motioned for him to join her in the gathering area, still methodically massaging the spiced fat into the leather, working her way from one corner to the opposite one. “Does something bring you out so early today?”

,,

“This is my usual time to rise. In my virtual prison, and in my true life before that, I was a businessman. It has always been my practice to keep to a strict schedule whenever possible.. I’m not fond of wasted time. Waking up early allowed me to complete my morning duties early enough to...” To see the children off before work. He paused for a moment, as if he were about to say one thing, but then changed it to another. “...start my day off without rushing.”

,,

She nodded, though her glance said that she’d caught the dissimulation, but she didn’t press the question. Edward was still mostly a stranger and it wasn’t Lamia’s way to pry. She had learned, over time, that most secrets came to light and that most people confided in the person who never asked the direct question. “I see. For myself, I find it comforting to see a true sunrise and hear the world waking. In my captivity they made a room with walls that appeared like woods or plains or sand and the ocean, and they made the sounds, but it was never the truth.”

,,

She took a deep breath of the fresh jungle air and let it out slowly. “I enjoy the truth of these mornings.”

,,

He nodded, with a sad smile. “My prison was too real - created by machines hooked in directly to my thoughts. I never knew it was fake until I was free of it. The truth is indeed a precious thing.” His eyes flickered over her space, as he took in everything she was occupied with.

,,

“My father used to hunt, but the servants always took care of the details afterward. I’ve never seen anyone tan a hide before. May I?” He motioned to the jar, and she nodded slightly. He picked it up and sniffed it, his nose wrinkling slightly at the smell. “What's in it? How does it work?”

[z024]

"That is ilshrush," she said, the unfamiliar word rolling off her tongue with a vaguely French or Spanish feel to the word. "It is made from the fat and brains of the animals I've hunted, a number of herbs I've found in the area, and urine and dung." She chuckled as he pulled the jar away from his face and set it carefully down on the table. "Noxious, I know. The herbs are mostly to help cover the smell, though they do add a nice smell to the leather once it is finished. The rest of it will keep it from rotting, remove any hair I missed with my scraper, keep it supple, and lighten the color."

,,

She continued to rub the mixture over the hide, never missing a beat even at the flicker of disgust that had crossed Edward's face as she listed the ingredients. "I've used many different recipes to tan hide, but this one produces the softest, most beautiful and longest lasting leather. It also provides something of a seal on the leather, so that it can be gently scrubbed down without being ruined by the water or soap." She finished on the largest skin and moved over to the half-dozen smaller skins stretched out on smaller versions of the simple wooden frame holding the large hide. "It is especially good on rabbit hides like these, when you're looking at making shoes or gloves or needing to stitch something larger together. And for all that this," she held up a small dollop of the goo, "smells badly, the hide itself won't smell nearly as much as others leathers come to over time."

,,

"As for how it works," she shrugged, "I'm not entirely certain on the chemistry of it. I learned this particular mixture over many years of simply trying different things. I've always preferred leathers to most linens or other cloths. The cloths are lighter, but more likely to catch on things or be made into silly ornamental clothing that is impractical to move in, especially if you are living in the woods and hunting regularly." She finished up the smaller pelts quickly, cleaning her hands in a small stone basin of water and a simply herb-infused lye soap. The jar was set next to the large pelt, the stone lid heavy enough to leave out without fear of animals getting into the rub.

,,

She stood and stretched, well-toned muscles rippling in the morning sunlight under the plain green t-shirt and denim jeans that currently made up her outfit. She had a whole (small) wardrobe of similar clothes courtesy of Mary and was grateful for the well-fitting outfits but unless she was heading back into a populated area sometime soon, she would enjoy wearing the leather clothes she would make herself as soon as the skins were done tanning. She hadn't worn anything of her own making in centuries, just as she hadn't hunted or cooked for herself in near the same amount of time until she'd been freed from DEHA. Being mostly self-sufficient again felt empowering, and being able to provide food and other necessities and amenities to her rescuers and new-found descendants made her smile in happy contentment for a moment. That smile, warm and beautiful, was turned on Edward after a moment. "The bread won't be ready for another hour or so, but I have some left-overs from yesterday, along with butter and berry jam, if you're hungry. I was about to make some tea as well. There's an herb here I don't know the name of yet that goes well with spearmint and lemon grass. Would you like a cup?"

[Edward Mansfield]

"That sounds delightful, thank you." He watched her quietly, finishing his cigarette as she completed her work with the leather. He put it out and tucked the crushed butt into the box, the same as he had yesterday. "Is there something I can do to assist you?"

"Certainly. Let's see.. you could help cut up fruit and vegetables, maybe mash the fruit and berries together for the jam? Or I suppose if you'd prefer, you could cook the meat. I understand that is something men prefer to do now - the cooking of the meat?" She tilted her head, and he laughed, shaking his head.

,,

"Not this man.. not for a long time. The servants did most of the cooking for us, or on the weekends, my w--" He stopped, the smile dying from his lips. She could see the flicker of pain as it crossed his gaze, before he pushed it away with a blink and a deep breath. When he spoke again, his voice was sharp and angry. "That sort of thing has been done for me, for quite awhile now. I wouldn't trust my skills. Best I stick to the fruit." He walked over to the wash basin, picking it up and tossing the dirty water out. He poured some of the fresh from the pitcher in, and methodically scrubbed away the smell of nicotine from his hands. Then he walked over and picked up a knife and began to peel, de-stem, and chop the fruit quietly. He was out of practice, but after a few tries it came back to him, and his cuts got a little more even than they had been to start. Within the span of a few moments, he had gone from a charming laugh and a warm smile to a dark, silent scowl.

[z024]

She brought him the tea once it had seeped, the stone mug heavy but cool to the touch while the tea itself still let off plumes of steam. She let him sit in his anger for a while, watching him become more focused and precise in his cuts for it. Some wounds could not be salved by soothing words or idle conversation, but a task at hand, something to give the body movement and the mind focus, could take the sting away after a bit. She continued her morning routine around him, setting out strips of smoked meat to warm on the grill and then taking a seat next to him cut the vegetables into finger-food chunks.

,,

She began to hum and sing softly again, a wordless tune echoing from happier times in her life; she offered a small smile to Edward, a small gesture of offered comfort and companionship. Some of the tension had eased out of him, bleeding off the sure strokes of the knife, and eventually she asked quietly, "Would you like to speak of it? Or ask me other questions?"

,,

She could have engaged him more subtly, lead the conversation 'round about a longer path so that he would speak of his angers and pains without even realizing how he'd come to do so, but like a number of the men at the temple, Lamia read him as one of a pride that would be more offended to know he could be so manipulated than to be asked blunt, even rude or intruding questions upfront. His anger would help him focus in the battles ahead, to dissect their enemies as he had the berries now being crushed into jam, but the pain....That would leave him weak, brittle to the right prod or goad by DEHA. They had enough trials to overcome; fighting their own inner demons would need to happen before the greater battles in the world or they might find themselves strong in power and weak in the will to execute it.

[Edward Mansfield]

He was quiet for a long moment, long enough that she didn't think he was going to answer her question, either way. But then he let out a small sigh, and she saw his shoulders slump slightly. "I am a stupid fool, still in mourning for people that have never truly existed."

,,

Her brow furrowed slightly, confused by his round-about phrasing. "I do not know what you mean. Why would you mourn someone who does not exist?"

,,

"Because I was fooled into believing they did." He continued to mash the berries together for the jam she was planning, focusing on them as he spoke. "DEHA had me hooked up to a machine that let them study me by observing my actions in a virtual mindscape. Do you know what that means?"

,,

She shook her head briefly, and he continued. "What it means is that there was a machine that was feeding information to my brain, tricking me into believing the experiences it was creating in my mind were real. That included real people - a wife, and children. I've spent the last twenty years or so living a life - several lives, in fact - that don't actually exist, and loving people that were nothing more than figments of a computer programmer's imagination."