Chapter 37: Tales of Marcellus Severan (2)

"Ohhh--!" The cable ended faster than he expected.

Marcellus saw the far platform, realized he had no method for braking, and simply let go.

He dropped the last two meters into soft, wet earth.

Momentum took him, as he hit on one shoulder, rolled hard through the mud, and crashed sideways into a low canvas barrier that marked the edge of the receiving camp.

"...Ah, I feel like I snapped my back," he murmured to himself.

Just then, he heard a collective sound of shocking inhale of breath from the group of women in training gear who had been waiting on this side of the drill.

Marcellus pushed himself up to the sitting, mud covered one side of his coat, his trousers and most of one cheek.

He checked his limbs, and found nothing broken. The belt was still looped in his hand. The buckle had twisted under the impact and refused to sit flat.

He stood, shook once, and attempted to threat the belt back through his trouser loops. He tried again, and it would just not sit right.

One of the cadets, short dark hair, training shorts, still holding a clipboard, stepped forward after a second of hesitation.

"Mister Severan...let me," she dropped to one knee in front of him without thinking about the angle, took the belt from his hands, forced the buckle straight with both thumbs and bean tying it.

Other cadets had their phones already up, as seeing a heir outside their suite and the main tower was rare.

Marcellus looked down at the cadet’s head, then at the ring of devices pointed at them.

"Not the best pose to be caught in," he murmured.

"There!" she patted the buckle once and stood up, brushing her knee.

"Thank you for that," he nodded.

"Pleasure helping you," she winked.

"Oh right...way to the council room would be?" he asked.

"Council room?" She furrowed her brows, and looked up to the zipline cord.

"You’re on the other end of the Island," she said and then pointed at a path in the wet mud, wooden tiles led to the side of the river that crossed through the centre of IAA’s Island.

"Head that way to reach the main tower," she said.

"I see, thanks," He nodded, wiped a streak of mud from his jaw with the back of his hand, and continued his way to the council room.

---

The wooden tiles ran out into packed dirt, and dirt ran alongside the river until the noise of the camp behind him faded into just water, and wind.

An old man sat on an upturned crate near the bank. A think line cast out into slow-moving current, a wide stray hat tilted low to shade most of his face.

Beside him there were three buckets. Two of which were already filled. One with a single fish flopping weakly against the other.

Marcellus slowed down. He’d seen combat gear, chemical apparatus, an entire kitchen, in last hour. A bucket of fish, by comparison, was almost simple.

He crouched near the buckets, ignoring the mud that still dried on his coat and peered in.

"Three different species," he said, mostly to himself. "Caught at three different depths, going by the colouring."

"Mm." The old man didn’t look up. "Most people just see fish."

"How are you sorting them without checking the line depth each time?" he asked.

That got the man to tip his hat back an inch.

"Hmm..." he looked at Marcellus. "You’re the new Pillar Union is making fuss of," he said.

"Didn’t expect someone who could fix a dead core to be crouched over my fish bucket," he said.

"..." Marcellus frowned.

"Pillar news is ...generic. But, how are you so sure I am the one who fixed the dead core? Could’ve been anyone," he said.

"Could’ve been anyone," the old man repeated, and finally set his rod down across his knees. "Sure. Could’ve been anyone."

Marcellus sat beside the man. The old man handed him a second rod without asking. It’s line was already baited. He then, gestured at the water.

"Cast it out, not far, just let it sink. Then hold still and stop thinking so loud," the man said.

"I never got your name," Marcellus said.

"Leopold Weber," the man said.

"Observe the river, listen to its water, cast your shadow upon it," the man said.

[Axiom]

[Executing: Observation.]

Marcellus began reconstructing the mechanics of line itself. The tension, drift, physics of hook, flow of water, type of environment, fishes...

"Wrong," Leopold said without looking over. "Don’t think. Calm yourself. And learn to enter the reality. Don’t consider yourself as if you’re a mere soul trapped inside a human body, become one with the body."

[Observation: Intent Recognition.]

"I said stop thinking!" the man said.

"I-I’m not! If you keep saying that I’ll just keep thinking about how to stop thinking!" Marcellus replied.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.

The room was completely dark when the bells rang. The soft chime of visitor bells, repeated and continuous.

Maeve’s eyes opened, and for a second, the ceiling did not make sense. She had fallen asleep exactly as she collapsed after her bath, hair still half-wet, naked and sheets twisted around one calf.

The bells kept going.

She turned her head, the phone beside her showed 19:47, it was past evening.

"Ugh," she sat up, the sheet slid off her completely as cool air moved over her breasts, and soft plane of her body, to the top of her thighs.

She swung her legs off the bed, walked bare feet on the floor. She walked out of her bedroom, and the main living space was dim from evening light.

One of Marcellus’s white shirts lay draped over the arm of the sofa where he had left it the morning. It was oversized for her, and clean, so she picked it up, pushed her arms through sleeves, pulled it over her head, as the hem fell to mid thigh.

The bells had not stopped.

She crossed to the entrance, ran a quick hand through her tangled hair, and opened the door.

"..." A woman with bright silver hair stood at the entrance as Maeve opened the doors of the suite. Inessa Monfort. Beside her, Brody Jaxon leaned against the frame with one of his hand in his pocket, other scrolling through social media apps.

’Why is she wearing his shirt?’ Inessa thought.

"Where is he?" Inessa asked.

"?" Maeve furrowed her brows.

"He left for the Council meeting hours ago," she replied.

"What?" Inessa was confused.

"Don’t tell me...he never reached the council?" Maeve asked and ran her hand through her hair.

"Oh?" Brody raised his brows, and then showed the screen of his phone to Inessa.

There was a post of Marcellus Severan, a photo clicked from the woman’s sauna in the main tower. Several women with towels wrapped stood surrounding him while he just showed a cheese sign.

"What is it?" Maeve asked, and rested her hand on the wooden door, holding it with side.

"..." Inessa took the phone from Brody, and showed it to Maeve.

"..."

"Oh there’s another," Brody leaned in, and swiped to next post.

This time the post was uploaded from back of the Island. Marcellus was slightly shabbier than before, and the worst part of all was that a bob cut woman knelt just in front of him with her hands on his belt.

*Thcck*

"..." Maeve’s grip tightened on the corner of the door, and squeezed hard enough that the wood just snapped.

Brody took a step back instinctively and Inessa looked at the raw strength that Maeve has, and raised her brows.

"I---" Brody, took the phone gently. "I think he’s lost...so I’ll go find him, don’t you guys worry!" he said, and walked away.

Inessa looked at Maeve who was clearly not calm. Maeve took in a deep breathe, and turned around.

"You’re not going to look for him?" Inessa asked.

"Not in this attire, at least," Maeve replied.