WIP: Five Missing Conversations Between Vir & Mr. Morden (PG)
My turn!
Waking up my dormant muse has been a challenge, but I do have three segments of my current work-in-progress to offer for your perusal:
*****
Two
Vir spotted Morden sitting alone in the Zocalo and was sorely tempted to flee in the other direction. It would be so easy - so simple. If Vir turned and walked away right now, he could single-handedly stop a war before it has even started.
Or perhaps not. Vir didn’t believe in fate - he had tried to tell Londo that much - but he did believe Londo meant it when he threatened to find Morden himself. If Vir returned to Londo’s quarters alone, what would happen then? Londo would proceed regardless, and Vir would be hustled onto the next transport bound for Centauri Prime.
And though he couldn’t put his finger on why yet, Vir knew he had to stay.
When Vir’s shadow fell across his table, Morden looked up, and a grin spread across his handsome features. “Ah, Mr. Cotto,” he said without one ounce of surprise. “How may I help you?”
You can leave this station and never return. Grim, Vir pressed forward. “Ambassador Mollari wishes to see you. It’s about Quadrant 14.” The words tasted like ashes in his mouth.
*****
Four
“Leave me.”
That was all Londo said, and those two simple words contained a warning so dangerous and unmistakable that Vir knew Londo was offering him no choice. And so Vir ignored his screaming instincts and obeyed.
At least, he obeyed for a while.
For several hours, Vir wore down the carpet in his quarters, a ball of frustration growing ever larger between his hearts until, at last, he could no longer bear it, and he knew he had to go back to Londo to offer whatever pitiful comfort he had it in him to provide.
The last person Vir wished to see in the corridor outside Londo’s quarters was Morden.
Vir could offer no rational explanation why, but when the medical team wheeled Adira’s body out of that transport, he had thought, fleetingly, that Morden may have had something to do with her death. Seeing the glimmer of satisfaction in Morden’s eyes now, Vir was suddenly certain his suspicions were correct.
“What are you doing here?” Vir demanded hotly, his hands tightening into fists at his side.
“I merely came to offer my condolences to the ambassador… and, perhaps, to offer my… assistance during his period of mourning,” Morden replied. “That is what friends do, is it not, Vir?”
“You’re not his friend!”
Morden smirked, and Vir swallowed, fighting off a sudden wave of nausea. “That doesn’t appear to be Mollari’s opinion.”
“What do you mean?” Then Vir thought about it - really thought about it - and the possibility that emerged horrified him. “No…” he whispered.
“It seems Mollari has seen his error,” Morden continued, “and has decided to renew our previous working relationship.”
A mix of despair and rage hit Vir with the force of a sledgehammer. “That’s why, isn’t it?” Vir asked, and he inwardly cringed at the tremor in his voice. “That’s why you killed her. You wanted him to come back to you.”
“A fascinating theory, Vir - one that someone in your position will never be able to prove. And as for Mollari, well… I think he’s beyond listening. Now if you’ll excuse me, I must see to certain… arrangements the ambassador has requested.” With that, Morden turned and began to walk down the hall to the nearest transport tube.
Lightheaded, Vir sat down hard on the floor and wrapped his arms around his knees to quell their trembling. How could he? Vir thought, and he knew it wasn’t Morden who had so profoundly disappointed him. Then it struck Vir as strange that even now - even after everything - such an emotion was still possible where his friend was concerned.
Tears welled, but they didn’t fall. In truth, Vir was far too angry to cry.
*****
Five
“Going somewhere?”
Over the past few years, Vir had come to believe that smug self-assurance was the only emotion in Morden’s repertoire. When Vir stepped onto the aircar bound for Selini and took down the hood of his traveling cloak, however, he discovered he’d been wrong, and the realization filled him, momentarily, with a sense of dark satisfaction.
“Londo has a proposal. If I were you, I’d hear it out.”
“And if we refuse?”
The palace guards at Vir’s right and left then removed their own cloaks and trained their weapons on Morden’s chest. “Something tells me the consequences would be unfortunate.”
Unaccountably, Morden smiled. “Interesting. I didn’t know you had it in you. Empty threats seem more your style.”
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me. Or Londo, for that matter.”
“I see. So now I suppose you will lay the blame for all of this at our feet? We were the tools, Vir Cotto. Mollari was the hand.”
Sadness rushed in on Vir like a wave. “I know.” Then he took a deep breath and mustered his courage. “But you did misjudge him in the end, didn’t you? Promises of glory weren’t enough.”
At Vir’s signal, two guards seized hold of Morden’s arms.
*****
I'd welcome any suggestions on how I can flesh this story out!
Waking up my dormant muse has been a challenge, but I do have three segments of my current work-in-progress to offer for your perusal:
*****
Two
Vir spotted Morden sitting alone in the Zocalo and was sorely tempted to flee in the other direction. It would be so easy - so simple. If Vir turned and walked away right now, he could single-handedly stop a war before it has even started.
Or perhaps not. Vir didn’t believe in fate - he had tried to tell Londo that much - but he did believe Londo meant it when he threatened to find Morden himself. If Vir returned to Londo’s quarters alone, what would happen then? Londo would proceed regardless, and Vir would be hustled onto the next transport bound for Centauri Prime.
And though he couldn’t put his finger on why yet, Vir knew he had to stay.
When Vir’s shadow fell across his table, Morden looked up, and a grin spread across his handsome features. “Ah, Mr. Cotto,” he said without one ounce of surprise. “How may I help you?”
You can leave this station and never return. Grim, Vir pressed forward. “Ambassador Mollari wishes to see you. It’s about Quadrant 14.” The words tasted like ashes in his mouth.
*****
Four
“Leave me.”
That was all Londo said, and those two simple words contained a warning so dangerous and unmistakable that Vir knew Londo was offering him no choice. And so Vir ignored his screaming instincts and obeyed.
At least, he obeyed for a while.
For several hours, Vir wore down the carpet in his quarters, a ball of frustration growing ever larger between his hearts until, at last, he could no longer bear it, and he knew he had to go back to Londo to offer whatever pitiful comfort he had it in him to provide.
The last person Vir wished to see in the corridor outside Londo’s quarters was Morden.
Vir could offer no rational explanation why, but when the medical team wheeled Adira’s body out of that transport, he had thought, fleetingly, that Morden may have had something to do with her death. Seeing the glimmer of satisfaction in Morden’s eyes now, Vir was suddenly certain his suspicions were correct.
“What are you doing here?” Vir demanded hotly, his hands tightening into fists at his side.
“I merely came to offer my condolences to the ambassador… and, perhaps, to offer my… assistance during his period of mourning,” Morden replied. “That is what friends do, is it not, Vir?”
“You’re not his friend!”
Morden smirked, and Vir swallowed, fighting off a sudden wave of nausea. “That doesn’t appear to be Mollari’s opinion.”
“What do you mean?” Then Vir thought about it - really thought about it - and the possibility that emerged horrified him. “No…” he whispered.
“It seems Mollari has seen his error,” Morden continued, “and has decided to renew our previous working relationship.”
A mix of despair and rage hit Vir with the force of a sledgehammer. “That’s why, isn’t it?” Vir asked, and he inwardly cringed at the tremor in his voice. “That’s why you killed her. You wanted him to come back to you.”
“A fascinating theory, Vir - one that someone in your position will never be able to prove. And as for Mollari, well… I think he’s beyond listening. Now if you’ll excuse me, I must see to certain… arrangements the ambassador has requested.” With that, Morden turned and began to walk down the hall to the nearest transport tube.
Lightheaded, Vir sat down hard on the floor and wrapped his arms around his knees to quell their trembling. How could he? Vir thought, and he knew it wasn’t Morden who had so profoundly disappointed him. Then it struck Vir as strange that even now - even after everything - such an emotion was still possible where his friend was concerned.
Tears welled, but they didn’t fall. In truth, Vir was far too angry to cry.
*****
Five
“Going somewhere?”
Over the past few years, Vir had come to believe that smug self-assurance was the only emotion in Morden’s repertoire. When Vir stepped onto the aircar bound for Selini and took down the hood of his traveling cloak, however, he discovered he’d been wrong, and the realization filled him, momentarily, with a sense of dark satisfaction.
“Londo has a proposal. If I were you, I’d hear it out.”
“And if we refuse?”
The palace guards at Vir’s right and left then removed their own cloaks and trained their weapons on Morden’s chest. “Something tells me the consequences would be unfortunate.”
Unaccountably, Morden smiled. “Interesting. I didn’t know you had it in you. Empty threats seem more your style.”
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me. Or Londo, for that matter.”
“I see. So now I suppose you will lay the blame for all of this at our feet? We were the tools, Vir Cotto. Mollari was the hand.”
Sadness rushed in on Vir like a wave. “I know.” Then he took a deep breath and mustered his courage. “But you did misjudge him in the end, didn’t you? Promises of glory weren’t enough.”
At Vir’s signal, two guards seized hold of Morden’s arms.
*****
I'd welcome any suggestions on how I can flesh this story out!