[TM] 294. Passing
Aug. 3rd, 2009 04:14 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
elementof_risk[ooc: Companion piece to this]
All of his life he's prided himself on being the best at what he does, the man you want for you, not against you, the one you go to when you need a job done. He's the power behind the throne, never seeking it for himself, a business man with no aspirations for greatness for himself, but to come out on the winning side. Assessing the risks, he aligns himself with the strongest in the situation and plays his hand close to the vest, giving away only what is necessary to get what he needs, and never sticking around long enough to get caught. Powers rise and powers fall, players come and players go, endgames succeed or endgames fail, and when one cell dissolves, another will organize to take its place. There will always be someone in need of his skills--it's best not to tie his allegiance too closely to someone so that their fall becomes his own. Life changes, and he moves on.
Then there was the immortal and the advantages he provided and the vision he pitched with the resources he had at his disposal were too seductive to walk away from easily. They moved through the streets, and Sark felt truly part of something, connected to someone for the first time in a long time, their resemblance so far beyond a passing one that it made heads turn and made him feel they were bound, as if they had found each other for a reason. He'd never been one for fanciful notions--that was more the immortal's style--but he who had suffered defeat so recently, and faced death's shadow in the eyes of too many enemies for so young a life could not help but look at the immortal in awe. A passing conversation with a mutual friend, a seed planted, a hesitant broaching of the subject, a gleam of amusement, a sigh of relief, and hope...It could be more than resemblance, more than trick of genetics. With the right science, the right working, they could be one and the same, the immortal's DNA passed on to him, pressed into him, overriding his own until he became a carbon copy of the other man for all time.
Until the moment the geneticist came rushing to them, eyes fever bright with accomplishment to say he'd done it, built it, made it work, he hadn't truly believed it possible. But Sark had seen the Helix machine before, and there in the lab it sat, and he ran his fingers over the metal slowly, watching as the immortal did the same, their fingers already moving in sync as if their bodies knew the change that was coming. A shiver ran over him as his mind caught up with the concept, the mutation to be pressed into his cells. Time would press on, marching forward inexorably. The world would change. He would not. If he were not careful, did not cling to his sense of self through it, and to what he knew, and those around him, it would pass him by. It was partly what she feared, he knew--to be left behind, but he wouldn't, not that, not ever. This was for them, to save them, to be able to be there, to protect them...His eyes met the immortal's, flickering a bit as time slowed and stretched between them. The decision waited, moments clicking away as he seemed to stop breathing, and then it all snapped and the air rushed through him once more.
"Let's do it."
Elation and something else made him feel lightheaded, as the immortal smiled at him, not in joy, but in something else, something darker and deeper at the same time, from over the machine, and he felt himself echo it back, and felt destiny shift to conform itself to his will.
All of his life he's prided himself on being the best at what he does, the man you want for you, not against you, the one you go to when you need a job done. He's the power behind the throne, never seeking it for himself, a business man with no aspirations for greatness for himself, but to come out on the winning side. Assessing the risks, he aligns himself with the strongest in the situation and plays his hand close to the vest, giving away only what is necessary to get what he needs, and never sticking around long enough to get caught. Powers rise and powers fall, players come and players go, endgames succeed or endgames fail, and when one cell dissolves, another will organize to take its place. There will always be someone in need of his skills--it's best not to tie his allegiance too closely to someone so that their fall becomes his own. Life changes, and he moves on.
Then there was the immortal and the advantages he provided and the vision he pitched with the resources he had at his disposal were too seductive to walk away from easily. They moved through the streets, and Sark felt truly part of something, connected to someone for the first time in a long time, their resemblance so far beyond a passing one that it made heads turn and made him feel they were bound, as if they had found each other for a reason. He'd never been one for fanciful notions--that was more the immortal's style--but he who had suffered defeat so recently, and faced death's shadow in the eyes of too many enemies for so young a life could not help but look at the immortal in awe. A passing conversation with a mutual friend, a seed planted, a hesitant broaching of the subject, a gleam of amusement, a sigh of relief, and hope...It could be more than resemblance, more than trick of genetics. With the right science, the right working, they could be one and the same, the immortal's DNA passed on to him, pressed into him, overriding his own until he became a carbon copy of the other man for all time.
Until the moment the geneticist came rushing to them, eyes fever bright with accomplishment to say he'd done it, built it, made it work, he hadn't truly believed it possible. But Sark had seen the Helix machine before, and there in the lab it sat, and he ran his fingers over the metal slowly, watching as the immortal did the same, their fingers already moving in sync as if their bodies knew the change that was coming. A shiver ran over him as his mind caught up with the concept, the mutation to be pressed into his cells. Time would press on, marching forward inexorably. The world would change. He would not. If he were not careful, did not cling to his sense of self through it, and to what he knew, and those around him, it would pass him by. It was partly what she feared, he knew--to be left behind, but he wouldn't, not that, not ever. This was for them, to save them, to be able to be there, to protect them...His eyes met the immortal's, flickering a bit as time slowed and stretched between them. The decision waited, moments clicking away as he seemed to stop breathing, and then it all snapped and the air rushed through him once more.
"Let's do it."
Elation and something else made him feel lightheaded, as the immortal smiled at him, not in joy, but in something else, something darker and deeper at the same time, from over the machine, and he felt himself echo it back, and felt destiny shift to conform itself to his will.
