01-13-2011, 09:25 PM
The flames had long since died down, but he still saw them in his mind’s eye. Since that first day back in ‘02, he’d never been able to forget what it looked like to see the city...his city...burning.
Marcus Cole, the invulnerable Statesman, sat back in an old recliner as he looked out the window, and found himself incapable of entirely resisting the melancholy mood as he took a short sip from the glass he had in hand, a bottle that the Sisters had recommended for such times. It helped, somewhat, but not enough. The aftermath of the first Praetorian invasion, the ravaging of the city he’d sworn to protect...and the wounds left behind were too fresh, too potent. He had to give it to his alternate self. Tyrant...Emperor Cole, rather, had proven to be a canny political strategist as well as a military leader. And even though Marcus knew it was an intentional ploy, Cole’s simplest stroke had been the one he was having the hardest time dealing with.
At the time, Marcus had felt oddly leery about leaving Paragon to deal with heavier Rikti activity over San Francisco, but he’d chalked this up to unease over the Well’s apparent resurgence, granting more and more heroes the spark of the Incarnate. They were smaller, weaker than Marcus and Stefan were, but the power was growing, and he didn’t know where it was going to end. Still, San Francisco had been a chance to get away from the problem for a little while and get some distance, perhaps to tackle it from another angle on his return. The Freedom Phalanx and all the other innumerable heroes of the city could look after Paragon in his absence. In a way, Marcus was relieved. His presence was no longer incredibly necessary. Paragon could protect itself without him, as had been his dream when he’d sent out the call for assistance all those years ago.
San Francisco had been bait.
Looking back on it, Tyrant’s plan was obvious. His weapon neutralized any non-Incarnates, and as far as Cole knew, Marcus and Hero-1 would be incapable of doing anything, while Recluse would be pinned down by sheer numbers within the Rogue Isles, his power broken by the sudden attack. But what Cole hadn’t known was that the Well seemingly had anticipated him, spreading its power. While Marcus dealt with Cole’s Restructurist allies delaying him in San Francisco, those chosen by the Well had stepped up, fighting back and turning the tide against the Praetorian force. In a way, Marcus was more proud than he could say. Yet, in another, it stung. Not that they hadn’t needed him, but what he had found when he came back.
Given the times he’d been attempting to dissuade other heroes from seeking the power of the Well recently, Marcus had expected that a few would certainly be rather arrogant in their new power since they’d gotten it without his help. What he hadn’t expected was the...bitterness he’d witnessed when he returned. Given Cole’s anti-Primal propaganda his Clockwork had been broadcasting constantly, there had been an undercurrent of division among the citizenry. Some supported the heroes that had protected them, but others saw this invasion as the heroes’ fault in the first place. That Emperor Cole and the Praetorians had come for the heroes, and everyone else had been caught in the crossfire.
Given the kernel of truth in that statement, Marcus couldn’t entirely deny the accusations, but the ones that had hurt more had been the questions. Why hadn’t he been there? Hadn’t Statesman promised to protect them? When they needed him most, where had he been? Why hadn’t he stopped this? Why did this have to happen?
And in the end, Marcus had no answers for them. He hadn’t been there. He wasn’t able to help. And after a few hours of assisting with cleanup work and dealing with glares and muttered words they thought he couldn’t hear, it was clear also that he wasn’t welcome. It was a brilliant move of strategic psychology on Emperor Cole’s part, and for the life of him, Marcus couldn’t figure out how to counter it. This wasn’t some some army of machines he could simply smash and break. Fighting Battle Maiden alongside the other heroes would’ve been something he could do. Assisting in the charge against Neuron’s tower in Praetoria was something he should have been here to do. But...how could he win back the trust of people who didn’t want him, and more importantly, didn’t seem to need him anymore?
The creak of the screen door on the cabin caused him to look up, wondering who was here. Only a few of the Phalanx knew about this hideaway, but Raymond, Justin, and Shalice were all heavily involved in the reconstruction efforts. So, who..?
“Grandpa? You in here?” came a young, familiar voice. No...not so young anymore, Marcus admitted, as Megan came around the corner of the front foyer. “Ah...guess so,” she said, looking his situation over. “That bad?”
Marcus considered that he probably didn’t look his best at the moment, sitting around in an old (vintage, by some people’s standards) Paragon Senators jersey, jeans and socks. Probably not the image most people had of the incredible Statesman on his days off. “...it’s been a long couple of days,” he admitted, not wanting to but knowing she’d guess anyway.
“I can imagine,” Megan said, sitting down. She was in civvies as well, which left her with the same golden hair as her mother and grandmother, in a t-shirt emblazoned with what a small part of Marcus’s formidable memory recognized as the inscription of the One Ring, and jeans much like her grandfather. Even if they were opposed in viewpoints many a time, apparently casual apparel wasn’t one of them. “Current reports for the attack note the death toll’s a lot lower than it should’ve been. And even with the official reconstruction centering on areas of strategic importance, everywhere’s getting attention...even if just unofficially,” she said. “I guess it’s something about the holidays.”
He nodded. “I suppose that’s something to be grateful for.”
They sat in silence for a while longer, before Megan spoke up again. “It’s weird, not seeing you out there.”
Marcus blinked once, looking over at her. She looked...hesitant, but no less determined. When was the last time he’d seen that expression, without the masks in the way? Was it on her? Was it her mother? Still, not getting an audible response from him, Megan’s face set even firmer as she spoke again.
“I’ve been hearing some of what they’re saying out there.”“Then you know why I’m out here,” he said, quietly. “It’s better for Paragon, it seems, for me to step out of the way.”
“Oh, that’s a load of bullshit,” Megan said, blushing slightly when Marcus looked up at her, mildly startled by the outburst. But she kept going. “Really, it’s about as much bullshit as the whole ‘Oh, the Praetorians would’ve left us alone if not for you heroes!’ line that some idiots are spouting, as if they missed that the Rogue Isles and Europe got hit just as hard.” Outrage flickered in her eyes. “And because you weren’t here, it’s your fault this happened? San Francisco needed your help. They were still picking up the pieces after Doctor Salkar’s mutates took over Alcatraz last month. You saved hundreds of thousands of lives, but because they aren’t in Paragon, they don’t count? That’s bullshit. You helped people. That’s what heroes do. Or has that changed since you taught me?”
Marcus blinked, feeling mildly angered at the outright challenge she was slapping down in his face, like she’d done with Longbow...and the Vindicators...but then he stopped. Stopped and thought about it for a moment. Megan remained where she was, defiant, but obviously expecting some kind of rebuke or lecture....until Marcus laughed, putting a hand to his forehead.
“You’re right. Like always, you’re about as subtle as Michael with a mob of Family in his sights, but you’re right,” Marcus said, not missing the look of relief that passed over his granddaughter’s face.
Megan grinned. “Honestly, you started going outside of Paragon to deal with other threats. You haven’t left the city in years. How’m I ever going to convince you to be more proactive about things if I let you go wallow when a bunch of people that don’t know what they’re talking about make annoyingly specious arguments?” she teased him, getting another laugh
“True, true...” Marcus said with a smile, standing up. “Still, I suppose we can go do something, even if it doesn’t have to be in costume. We’ll work our way back up to full costumed demonstrations. I’ve missed out on the ground level things for a while now, I think.”
Megan nodded. “I’d like that.”
As Marcus put on his coat and followed his granddaughter out the door into the snow, he chuckled again.
“What?” Megan asked, glancing over her shoulder.“Specious? You’ve been holding out for a chance to use that one since I got you that word of the day calendar, haven’t you?”“Hey!”
---
"Oh, silver blade, forged in the depths of the beyond. Heed my summons and purge those who stand in my way. Lay
waste."
Marcus Cole, the invulnerable Statesman, sat back in an old recliner as he looked out the window, and found himself incapable of entirely resisting the melancholy mood as he took a short sip from the glass he had in hand, a bottle that the Sisters had recommended for such times. It helped, somewhat, but not enough. The aftermath of the first Praetorian invasion, the ravaging of the city he’d sworn to protect...and the wounds left behind were too fresh, too potent. He had to give it to his alternate self. Tyrant...Emperor Cole, rather, had proven to be a canny political strategist as well as a military leader. And even though Marcus knew it was an intentional ploy, Cole’s simplest stroke had been the one he was having the hardest time dealing with.
At the time, Marcus had felt oddly leery about leaving Paragon to deal with heavier Rikti activity over San Francisco, but he’d chalked this up to unease over the Well’s apparent resurgence, granting more and more heroes the spark of the Incarnate. They were smaller, weaker than Marcus and Stefan were, but the power was growing, and he didn’t know where it was going to end. Still, San Francisco had been a chance to get away from the problem for a little while and get some distance, perhaps to tackle it from another angle on his return. The Freedom Phalanx and all the other innumerable heroes of the city could look after Paragon in his absence. In a way, Marcus was relieved. His presence was no longer incredibly necessary. Paragon could protect itself without him, as had been his dream when he’d sent out the call for assistance all those years ago.
San Francisco had been bait.
Looking back on it, Tyrant’s plan was obvious. His weapon neutralized any non-Incarnates, and as far as Cole knew, Marcus and Hero-1 would be incapable of doing anything, while Recluse would be pinned down by sheer numbers within the Rogue Isles, his power broken by the sudden attack. But what Cole hadn’t known was that the Well seemingly had anticipated him, spreading its power. While Marcus dealt with Cole’s Restructurist allies delaying him in San Francisco, those chosen by the Well had stepped up, fighting back and turning the tide against the Praetorian force. In a way, Marcus was more proud than he could say. Yet, in another, it stung. Not that they hadn’t needed him, but what he had found when he came back.
Given the times he’d been attempting to dissuade other heroes from seeking the power of the Well recently, Marcus had expected that a few would certainly be rather arrogant in their new power since they’d gotten it without his help. What he hadn’t expected was the...bitterness he’d witnessed when he returned. Given Cole’s anti-Primal propaganda his Clockwork had been broadcasting constantly, there had been an undercurrent of division among the citizenry. Some supported the heroes that had protected them, but others saw this invasion as the heroes’ fault in the first place. That Emperor Cole and the Praetorians had come for the heroes, and everyone else had been caught in the crossfire.
Given the kernel of truth in that statement, Marcus couldn’t entirely deny the accusations, but the ones that had hurt more had been the questions. Why hadn’t he been there? Hadn’t Statesman promised to protect them? When they needed him most, where had he been? Why hadn’t he stopped this? Why did this have to happen?
And in the end, Marcus had no answers for them. He hadn’t been there. He wasn’t able to help. And after a few hours of assisting with cleanup work and dealing with glares and muttered words they thought he couldn’t hear, it was clear also that he wasn’t welcome. It was a brilliant move of strategic psychology on Emperor Cole’s part, and for the life of him, Marcus couldn’t figure out how to counter it. This wasn’t some some army of machines he could simply smash and break. Fighting Battle Maiden alongside the other heroes would’ve been something he could do. Assisting in the charge against Neuron’s tower in Praetoria was something he should have been here to do. But...how could he win back the trust of people who didn’t want him, and more importantly, didn’t seem to need him anymore?
The creak of the screen door on the cabin caused him to look up, wondering who was here. Only a few of the Phalanx knew about this hideaway, but Raymond, Justin, and Shalice were all heavily involved in the reconstruction efforts. So, who..?
“Grandpa? You in here?” came a young, familiar voice. No...not so young anymore, Marcus admitted, as Megan came around the corner of the front foyer. “Ah...guess so,” she said, looking his situation over. “That bad?”
Marcus considered that he probably didn’t look his best at the moment, sitting around in an old (vintage, by some people’s standards) Paragon Senators jersey, jeans and socks. Probably not the image most people had of the incredible Statesman on his days off. “...it’s been a long couple of days,” he admitted, not wanting to but knowing she’d guess anyway.
“I can imagine,” Megan said, sitting down. She was in civvies as well, which left her with the same golden hair as her mother and grandmother, in a t-shirt emblazoned with what a small part of Marcus’s formidable memory recognized as the inscription of the One Ring, and jeans much like her grandfather. Even if they were opposed in viewpoints many a time, apparently casual apparel wasn’t one of them. “Current reports for the attack note the death toll’s a lot lower than it should’ve been. And even with the official reconstruction centering on areas of strategic importance, everywhere’s getting attention...even if just unofficially,” she said. “I guess it’s something about the holidays.”
He nodded. “I suppose that’s something to be grateful for.”
They sat in silence for a while longer, before Megan spoke up again. “It’s weird, not seeing you out there.”
Marcus blinked once, looking over at her. She looked...hesitant, but no less determined. When was the last time he’d seen that expression, without the masks in the way? Was it on her? Was it her mother? Still, not getting an audible response from him, Megan’s face set even firmer as she spoke again.
“I’ve been hearing some of what they’re saying out there.”“Then you know why I’m out here,” he said, quietly. “It’s better for Paragon, it seems, for me to step out of the way.”
“Oh, that’s a load of bullshit,” Megan said, blushing slightly when Marcus looked up at her, mildly startled by the outburst. But she kept going. “Really, it’s about as much bullshit as the whole ‘Oh, the Praetorians would’ve left us alone if not for you heroes!’ line that some idiots are spouting, as if they missed that the Rogue Isles and Europe got hit just as hard.” Outrage flickered in her eyes. “And because you weren’t here, it’s your fault this happened? San Francisco needed your help. They were still picking up the pieces after Doctor Salkar’s mutates took over Alcatraz last month. You saved hundreds of thousands of lives, but because they aren’t in Paragon, they don’t count? That’s bullshit. You helped people. That’s what heroes do. Or has that changed since you taught me?”
Marcus blinked, feeling mildly angered at the outright challenge she was slapping down in his face, like she’d done with Longbow...and the Vindicators...but then he stopped. Stopped and thought about it for a moment. Megan remained where she was, defiant, but obviously expecting some kind of rebuke or lecture....until Marcus laughed, putting a hand to his forehead.
“You’re right. Like always, you’re about as subtle as Michael with a mob of Family in his sights, but you’re right,” Marcus said, not missing the look of relief that passed over his granddaughter’s face.
Megan grinned. “Honestly, you started going outside of Paragon to deal with other threats. You haven’t left the city in years. How’m I ever going to convince you to be more proactive about things if I let you go wallow when a bunch of people that don’t know what they’re talking about make annoyingly specious arguments?” she teased him, getting another laugh
“True, true...” Marcus said with a smile, standing up. “Still, I suppose we can go do something, even if it doesn’t have to be in costume. We’ll work our way back up to full costumed demonstrations. I’ve missed out on the ground level things for a while now, I think.”
Megan nodded. “I’d like that.”
As Marcus put on his coat and followed his granddaughter out the door into the snow, he chuckled again.
“What?” Megan asked, glancing over her shoulder.“Specious? You’ve been holding out for a chance to use that one since I got you that word of the day calendar, haven’t you?”“Hey!”
---
"Oh, silver blade, forged in the depths of the beyond. Heed my summons and purge those who stand in my way. Lay
waste."