"Mr. Moriarty," Charlie's Angels, Eric Knox/The Thin Man
Title: Mr. Moriarty
Author: drworm
Fandom: Charlie's Angels: The Movie
Pairing: Eric Knox (aka John McCadden)/The Thin Man.
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I don't own them... which is probably a good thing, seeing as I'd make them do drastically non-canon things if I did.
Summary: "He's broken every human law, he breaks the law of gravity." Eric Knox communicates with the Thin Man.
Notes: Written for "show-not-tell: love" challenge. Whew! With only 10 minutes to spare. Or something. All Biblical verses in Latin were gathered before I began writing (I'm a cheater) and there are a few notes on the translations only hinted at after the story. "Macavity: The Mystery Cat" is by T.S. Eliot, of course.
Mr. Moriarty
Vivian said he was a “weird little fuck,” and, privately, Eric Knox was inclined to agree. He had odd men working for him, certainly, but none were quite so unsettling as his newest acquisition, the new-and delightfully underestimated-talent he had happened upon a block from the New Los Angeles mission on Skid Row. The strange man was tall and painfully thin, with sharp features twisted permanently into an intense scowl of distain or concentration that was reminiscent of a hawk tracking its prey-or a vulture waiting for its victim to take his final breaths. His eyes were pale blue, and stood out from the chalky paleness of his skin like sapphires; they were also at odds with his dark hair, frequently slicked back from his forehead, and the black clothing he favored. He was not handsome, but he was compelling. The ferocity of his expression seemed to compensate for his apparent muteness, the smell of his cigarette smoke filling a room when the man’s voice could not.
Vivian resented him. Knox found him to be the perfect addition to the ensemble of thieves and murderers at his beck and call, and also found himself as intrigued by every odd mannerism or peculiar habit as he was by the man’s savagely animal approach to every combat, great or small. With no name attributed to the assassin, Knox had taken to calling him “Moriarty” after Sherlock Holmes’ villainous Napoleon of Crime-a name he had also given to a sickly black kitten adopted from a gutter when he was fifteen. The two creatures shared the same pair of blue eyes, he felt, and thus the name was appropriate. Knox was a master of using awkward humor as a method of coping during tense situations; giving such an irreverent nickname to a creature he had first laid eyes upon when it had leapt from the shadows and swiftly broken the neck of a mugger that had crouched in wait, patiently anticipating Eric Knox’s arrival, was one among many similar and subtly nasty jeers that could only be publicly voiced by Knox himself, when accompanied by a charismatic and good-naturedly lopsided grin.
After watching with detached amusement as his favorite pet had disposed of yet another stray bolt in the machine of cogs and wheels that inevitably turned Eric Knox’s way and no other, he had found himself fingering the only message the other man had ever given him within the private confines of his jacket pocket. And when the long, lean figure had materialized from within the murky uncertainties of the shadows, licking a shallow cut on his right hand and twisting the hilt of a black and silver cane in his left as a stray lock of hair tickled the jagged edge of his aquiline nose, Knox had given the thin piece of paper a reverential stroke before breaking into quiet and subdued song. “He's broken every human law, he breaks the law of gravity.” The man had looked up abruptly, intrigued by the low and sultry sway of Knox’s voice in the dim night. “His powers of levitation would make a fakir stare/And when you reach the scene of crime- ” Knox leaned forward slightly, a Cheshire cat’s grin on his handsome face, as he’d hissed the true punchline of his little joke. “Mr. Moriarty’s not there!” He’d waited a moment, allowing the ensuing silence to cover them like a blanket, before softening his smile. “Admirable. Perfect as always.”
The message had been written in perfect, spidery script on a piece of printer paper that had been folded four times and carried great distances. To Knox, it was a string of gibberish. “Eius non timebis a timore nocturno.” Of perfect Latin, with no beginning or end or apparent order to the words. “A sagitta volante in die a negotio perambulante in tenebris.” Of threats, of prophecies, of promises, Knox could not know from simply looking at it. “In tenebris ab incursu et daemonio meridiano.” He himself had left Catholic school at the age of seventeen and had not retained more than the Ave Maria that had been drilled mercilessly into his memory. He had given the note to Vivian, asking her to translate.
Vivian was frightened of him. “He’s a weird little fuck,” she’d spat through trembling lips as she’d handed him a printed copy of the English equivalent. “‘Thou shalt not be afraid of the terror of the night. Of the arrow that flieth in the day, of the business that walketh about in the dark: of invasion, or of the noonday devil,’” she recited in a nasally sing-song. “Psalm 91, verses five and six, approximately.”
“Approximately?”
“The King James version reads a little differently… but they’re basically the same.” She’d paused. “Where did you say you found this guy again?”
The second note had come months after the first, and Knox had carried them together in his pocket, like talismans, like good luck charms. It had read “Et custodiam legem tuam semper in saeculum et in saeculum saeculi.” On this occasion, Knox had undertaken the search for the translation himself, not wanting to raise Vivian’s hackles a second time. The meaning he had found had both startled and comforted him, and he had not shared the note with anyone else. In moments of extreme paranoia, he would pull out the piece of slowly deteriorating paper and allow his eyes to flicker over the elegant curves of Latin verse, marveling at a loyalty he so desperately needed.
Vivian was jealous of him. “You spend more time with that freak than you do with me,” she had pouted, uncharacteristically sulky.
“I need him,” he had said quietly. “We need him. We need him so we can end this.”
“Why is this so important, John?” She’d asked with a toss of her soft hair, using the name he had left behind so many years earlier.
And Knox had tented his fingertips and stared off into the distance. “Because,” he’d bitten his lower lip pensively. “Because there are just some things that I don’t trust God to judge fairly.”
The third and final message came after a year of pushing limits and breaking laws, of communication consisting entirely of impatient gestures with a cigarette or sensual stretches to show off the definition of tendons and muscles and collarbones beneath smooth white skin or the occasional tremble of a sigh or ear-splitting shriek of humiliation. It was an existence that left Knox unfulfilled and bursting with questions. But as the final trial drew near, he ran on pure malevolent energy, too exhilarated to move forward, too afraid to step back. He was living in the moment, and when he found a piece of printer paper folded four times and wedged underneath his door, he placed it in his pocket where it joined its brethren, forgotten until a quiet moment of anticipation in the stone castle at Carmel. He’d pulled it out and unfolded it, surprised not to see line after line of coded allegiance staring back at him. In its place was an arrow of sorts: II Samuel, 1: 26. A single line of text followed that: “Quomodo ceciderunt robusti et perierunt arma bellica.” Then, near the bottom of the page, a furious, illegible scrawl in the place of a signature; Knox thought that he could maybe make out an ‘M’ and a ‘ty’ within the mess of lines. He smiled faintly as he reached into the duffel bag he’d shoved underneath his makeshift desk and retrieved a mottled green Bible of the Gideons his inner Catholic had insisted he bring with him to the final stage of his plan, perhaps of his life. He was glad that he had it now, its weight substantial and comforting in his shaking and sweating palms as he flipped the pages casually until he reached the Second Book of Samuel. He skimmed the tiny print, searching leisurely for verse 26. “I am distressed for thee, my brother Jonathan,” he read, before shutting the book and throwing it against one of the walls; it connected with a loud ‘smack!’ before tumbling to the floor where it lay open-faced and rejected.
Vivian appeared in the doorway. “Everything okay?”
“Fine,” Knox answered, breathless. “What’s up?”
“They’re coming,” she replied blandly.
“Already?”
“Looks like it.”
“Great. Everything’s ready?”
“Yep.”
“And…?”
“Everything is ready.” Her voice echoed menacingly as she spun on her heel and left Knox gripping the armrests of his chair. He turned his head slightly, movement on the monitors catching his attention. He stared at a sleek line of black for a moment before murmuring to himself, “There never was a Cat of such deceitfulness and suavity.” He paused a moment to lick his lips. “Ave Maria gratia plena dominus te cum.” Finally, he shook his head and stood. “You poor bastard,” he finally muttered, finding the words that poetry and prayer could not convey. “I hope you come out of this alive.” He walked slowly to where the Bible had fallen, a casualty of his fearful tantrum. Gently, he picked it up and dusted it off, as he set it on the desk. After a moment’s thought, he opened the book and pushed all three of the notes between its crumpled pages before closing it a second time. He patted the cover. “May God be with us all,” he sighed as he heard the lilt of unfamiliar female voices lifted by the sea air. “Because the end is finally here.”
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Translations (tend to vary; in general, I chose the literal translation for Psalms and the more popular translation for what was left over):
"Et custodiam legem tuam semper in saeculum et in saeculum saeculi" - So shall I always keep thy law, for ever and ever. Psalms, 119:44
"Quomodo ceciderunt robusti et perierunt arma bellica." - How are the mighty fallen, and the weapons of war perished! II Samuel, 1:27
II Samuel, 1:26 complete verse - "I am distressed for thee, my brother Jonathan: very pleasant hast thou been unto me: thy love to me was wonderful, passing the love of women." (Cut for the word 'love,' of course.)
"Ave Maria gratia plena dominus te cum." - Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee.
Author: drworm
Fandom: Charlie's Angels: The Movie
Pairing: Eric Knox (aka John McCadden)/The Thin Man.
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I don't own them... which is probably a good thing, seeing as I'd make them do drastically non-canon things if I did.
Summary: "He's broken every human law, he breaks the law of gravity." Eric Knox communicates with the Thin Man.
Notes: Written for "show-not-tell: love" challenge. Whew! With only 10 minutes to spare. Or something. All Biblical verses in Latin were gathered before I began writing (I'm a cheater) and there are a few notes on the translations only hinted at after the story. "Macavity: The Mystery Cat" is by T.S. Eliot, of course.
Mr. Moriarty
Vivian said he was a “weird little fuck,” and, privately, Eric Knox was inclined to agree. He had odd men working for him, certainly, but none were quite so unsettling as his newest acquisition, the new-and delightfully underestimated-talent he had happened upon a block from the New Los Angeles mission on Skid Row. The strange man was tall and painfully thin, with sharp features twisted permanently into an intense scowl of distain or concentration that was reminiscent of a hawk tracking its prey-or a vulture waiting for its victim to take his final breaths. His eyes were pale blue, and stood out from the chalky paleness of his skin like sapphires; they were also at odds with his dark hair, frequently slicked back from his forehead, and the black clothing he favored. He was not handsome, but he was compelling. The ferocity of his expression seemed to compensate for his apparent muteness, the smell of his cigarette smoke filling a room when the man’s voice could not.
Vivian resented him. Knox found him to be the perfect addition to the ensemble of thieves and murderers at his beck and call, and also found himself as intrigued by every odd mannerism or peculiar habit as he was by the man’s savagely animal approach to every combat, great or small. With no name attributed to the assassin, Knox had taken to calling him “Moriarty” after Sherlock Holmes’ villainous Napoleon of Crime-a name he had also given to a sickly black kitten adopted from a gutter when he was fifteen. The two creatures shared the same pair of blue eyes, he felt, and thus the name was appropriate. Knox was a master of using awkward humor as a method of coping during tense situations; giving such an irreverent nickname to a creature he had first laid eyes upon when it had leapt from the shadows and swiftly broken the neck of a mugger that had crouched in wait, patiently anticipating Eric Knox’s arrival, was one among many similar and subtly nasty jeers that could only be publicly voiced by Knox himself, when accompanied by a charismatic and good-naturedly lopsided grin.
After watching with detached amusement as his favorite pet had disposed of yet another stray bolt in the machine of cogs and wheels that inevitably turned Eric Knox’s way and no other, he had found himself fingering the only message the other man had ever given him within the private confines of his jacket pocket. And when the long, lean figure had materialized from within the murky uncertainties of the shadows, licking a shallow cut on his right hand and twisting the hilt of a black and silver cane in his left as a stray lock of hair tickled the jagged edge of his aquiline nose, Knox had given the thin piece of paper a reverential stroke before breaking into quiet and subdued song. “He's broken every human law, he breaks the law of gravity.” The man had looked up abruptly, intrigued by the low and sultry sway of Knox’s voice in the dim night. “His powers of levitation would make a fakir stare/And when you reach the scene of crime- ” Knox leaned forward slightly, a Cheshire cat’s grin on his handsome face, as he’d hissed the true punchline of his little joke. “Mr. Moriarty’s not there!” He’d waited a moment, allowing the ensuing silence to cover them like a blanket, before softening his smile. “Admirable. Perfect as always.”
The message had been written in perfect, spidery script on a piece of printer paper that had been folded four times and carried great distances. To Knox, it was a string of gibberish. “Eius non timebis a timore nocturno.” Of perfect Latin, with no beginning or end or apparent order to the words. “A sagitta volante in die a negotio perambulante in tenebris.” Of threats, of prophecies, of promises, Knox could not know from simply looking at it. “In tenebris ab incursu et daemonio meridiano.” He himself had left Catholic school at the age of seventeen and had not retained more than the Ave Maria that had been drilled mercilessly into his memory. He had given the note to Vivian, asking her to translate.
Vivian was frightened of him. “He’s a weird little fuck,” she’d spat through trembling lips as she’d handed him a printed copy of the English equivalent. “‘Thou shalt not be afraid of the terror of the night. Of the arrow that flieth in the day, of the business that walketh about in the dark: of invasion, or of the noonday devil,’” she recited in a nasally sing-song. “Psalm 91, verses five and six, approximately.”
“Approximately?”
“The King James version reads a little differently… but they’re basically the same.” She’d paused. “Where did you say you found this guy again?”
The second note had come months after the first, and Knox had carried them together in his pocket, like talismans, like good luck charms. It had read “Et custodiam legem tuam semper in saeculum et in saeculum saeculi.” On this occasion, Knox had undertaken the search for the translation himself, not wanting to raise Vivian’s hackles a second time. The meaning he had found had both startled and comforted him, and he had not shared the note with anyone else. In moments of extreme paranoia, he would pull out the piece of slowly deteriorating paper and allow his eyes to flicker over the elegant curves of Latin verse, marveling at a loyalty he so desperately needed.
Vivian was jealous of him. “You spend more time with that freak than you do with me,” she had pouted, uncharacteristically sulky.
“I need him,” he had said quietly. “We need him. We need him so we can end this.”
“Why is this so important, John?” She’d asked with a toss of her soft hair, using the name he had left behind so many years earlier.
And Knox had tented his fingertips and stared off into the distance. “Because,” he’d bitten his lower lip pensively. “Because there are just some things that I don’t trust God to judge fairly.”
The third and final message came after a year of pushing limits and breaking laws, of communication consisting entirely of impatient gestures with a cigarette or sensual stretches to show off the definition of tendons and muscles and collarbones beneath smooth white skin or the occasional tremble of a sigh or ear-splitting shriek of humiliation. It was an existence that left Knox unfulfilled and bursting with questions. But as the final trial drew near, he ran on pure malevolent energy, too exhilarated to move forward, too afraid to step back. He was living in the moment, and when he found a piece of printer paper folded four times and wedged underneath his door, he placed it in his pocket where it joined its brethren, forgotten until a quiet moment of anticipation in the stone castle at Carmel. He’d pulled it out and unfolded it, surprised not to see line after line of coded allegiance staring back at him. In its place was an arrow of sorts: II Samuel, 1: 26. A single line of text followed that: “Quomodo ceciderunt robusti et perierunt arma bellica.” Then, near the bottom of the page, a furious, illegible scrawl in the place of a signature; Knox thought that he could maybe make out an ‘M’ and a ‘ty’ within the mess of lines. He smiled faintly as he reached into the duffel bag he’d shoved underneath his makeshift desk and retrieved a mottled green Bible of the Gideons his inner Catholic had insisted he bring with him to the final stage of his plan, perhaps of his life. He was glad that he had it now, its weight substantial and comforting in his shaking and sweating palms as he flipped the pages casually until he reached the Second Book of Samuel. He skimmed the tiny print, searching leisurely for verse 26. “I am distressed for thee, my brother Jonathan,” he read, before shutting the book and throwing it against one of the walls; it connected with a loud ‘smack!’ before tumbling to the floor where it lay open-faced and rejected.
Vivian appeared in the doorway. “Everything okay?”
“Fine,” Knox answered, breathless. “What’s up?”
“They’re coming,” she replied blandly.
“Already?”
“Looks like it.”
“Great. Everything’s ready?”
“Yep.”
“And…?”
“Everything is ready.” Her voice echoed menacingly as she spun on her heel and left Knox gripping the armrests of his chair. He turned his head slightly, movement on the monitors catching his attention. He stared at a sleek line of black for a moment before murmuring to himself, “There never was a Cat of such deceitfulness and suavity.” He paused a moment to lick his lips. “Ave Maria gratia plena dominus te cum.” Finally, he shook his head and stood. “You poor bastard,” he finally muttered, finding the words that poetry and prayer could not convey. “I hope you come out of this alive.” He walked slowly to where the Bible had fallen, a casualty of his fearful tantrum. Gently, he picked it up and dusted it off, as he set it on the desk. After a moment’s thought, he opened the book and pushed all three of the notes between its crumpled pages before closing it a second time. He patted the cover. “May God be with us all,” he sighed as he heard the lilt of unfamiliar female voices lifted by the sea air. “Because the end is finally here.”
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Translations (tend to vary; in general, I chose the literal translation for Psalms and the more popular translation for what was left over):
"Et custodiam legem tuam semper in saeculum et in saeculum saeculi" - So shall I always keep thy law, for ever and ever. Psalms, 119:44
"Quomodo ceciderunt robusti et perierunt arma bellica." - How are the mighty fallen, and the weapons of war perished! II Samuel, 1:27
II Samuel, 1:26 complete verse - "I am distressed for thee, my brother Jonathan: very pleasant hast thou been unto me: thy love to me was wonderful, passing the love of women." (Cut for the word 'love,' of course.)
"Ave Maria gratia plena dominus te cum." - Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee.