Alea Iacta Est
By Artemis
Goddamnit, she always calls first.
That was all I could think when I heard the key turn in the lock. I’d’ve noticed sooner, too, if it hadn’t been for the perfume the girl I was kissing was wearing.
Okay. First of all, I know how it looked. Kristen was this blonde bartender from a place around the corner, and we’d gotten together once or twice. It was nothing special. Never pretended I was living like a monk, and she was available. Young, gorgeous, more than willing.
Yeah. It sounds like that to me too. She was a smart girl, actually—getting a degree somewhere or other and planning on law school. And she lived nearby, which was both good and bad. It was always easier, on the road, because I was always going to be gone in a day or a week or whatever—didn’t much matter. I tend to forget that, now.
So I’d run into Kristen at the bodega on the corner, where I was picking up a couple of six-packs, and when she asked was I going to watch the game it seemed easy and convenient to say yes, ask if she was too. I was just getting my head back into normal life, just back from a three-week gig for Chuck that had taken me into some places that I wasn’t too thrilled to have been visiting. A little relaxation with a cute blonde seemed warranted. And she liked sports. Always a plus.
But usually we went to her place. When she said her roommate had company and maybe we should go to mine, that almost ended the idea right there. Not that I haven’t brought women home before, but rarely the same one twice. And she’d been there before. I was starting to get the feeling that Kristen was wondering if this thing was going somewhere, and that meant that at some point I was going to have to tell her it wasn’t, and that’s just a lot easier to do if they haven’t been where you live.
Should have listened to my instincts. But I figured what the hell, it didn’t matter. She’d go home for the summer and forget all about me anyway. So she came back with me, almost killed herself on the stairs in these ridiculous shoes she was wearing, and I got about as far as putting the beer in the fridge before it became glaringly obvious that she had very little interest in anything but indoor sports.
I had her up against the counter in a pretty heavy clinch when I heard the fucking key. I jerked away from her and just left her standing there, hoping she’d pull her shirt back down before the inside door opened.
Then I heard the outer door open again, and I realized Kristen’s shoes were lying out there in the entryway and—Marie’s bright too. I moved, fast. I didn’t really think about it, all I knew was that I couldn’t let Marie leave like that.
She was still on the stairs when I got to the door, and I felt like a fucking idiot. “Marie…” What was I going to tell her, It’s not like it looks? I mean, it was like it looked. She stopped, and it took her a second, but when she turned around she was smiling. Shit. That was probably worse.
“Sorry,” she told me, and made a face. “I didn’t know you had company. Bad timing.”
“It doesn’t matter.” She was brushing it off with incredible determination, but I knew if I let her play it that way, if I just let her leave, no matter how much easier that might seem in the short run, it was going to come back to haunt me.
Four years ago, when I moved out of the Mansion, I didn’t handle it too well. It wasn’t just because of her, and that’s the honest-to-God truth. I’m just not good at community living—kids running around day and night, all the school shit and the team meetings and—christ. The place is a fucking zoo.
But I can’t deny she was part of it, and she knew it. She was never going to get over that crush she had on me with me living there. And yeah, I wanted her to get over it. It was getting out of hand. She was dating that kid Bobby Drake and any time she saw me, she’d leave him flat and find some reason to come talk to me, sit by me at meals—there was something wrong with that. I talked to Jeannie about it once and she seemed more amused by it than anything.
“I warned you, you know,” she told me. We were leaving one of Scooter’s interminable meetings, and I was in a bad enough mood already without Jean getting all arch and I-told-you-so on me.
“So what’m I supposed to do about it?”
I must’ve sounded mean, because she cooled it. “There isn’t much you can do except wait. For heaven’s sake, Logan, you saved her life. It’s natural that she feels attached to you. If it makes you uncomfortable, maybe getting your own place is a good idea.”
I’d been thinking about it anyway, but that conversation kind of decided me. I knew Marie’d think it meant I was really leaving, and I tried to make sure she knew it wasn’t like that. I took her on a couple of the appointments to see places with me, told her I needed some advice. She seemed to like that, but after I bought the place and was getting ready to move out, she got real weird about it. The night before I left, she finally said something. She was sitting on my bed, folding up things and putting them into my duffel bag, wearing long gloves like she always did back then. Then she put down what she was holding and came out with it, and it was obviously something she’d practiced.
“I’m sorry if I’ve been too much of a pest. I didn’t mean to make you feel like you couldn’t stay here.”
“It’s not about you. I just need more space.” I wasn’t real thrilled to be having the conversation, inevitable as it was, and I probably sounded pretty curt. “You do too. Always seems like you hang around with me instead of your friends,”
“And that bothers you.” I was pulling something down from the closet and I wasn’t looking at her.
“Makes me a little uncomfortable, yeah.” When I turned around she was getting up.
“I know. That’s why I’m sorry.” She didn’t even look at me, she just left. I let her. I thought I’d see her before I left, but I didn’t, and after I moved out, I thought she’d call. I gave her the number for a reason, for chrissakes.
I finally called her after about a month. I invited her over to see the place and she came. It was awkward as hell at first when she showed up. But then it got easier, like old times—I ordered in pizza, we watched some TV, and she chattered on about everything under the sun just like she used to do. It got too late for her to go back to the Mansion alone, so I set her up on the futon in my back room. It wasn’t until she was changed and ready for bed that she finally came across with something honest. She came to give me a hug and she wouldn’t look up at me when she said “I missed you.” Then she turned around and went into the back room and I knew that the whole evening had been just one long brilliant performance on her part. I saw her face when she left.
I can’t describe it. Something broke that night, something I wasn’t sure could be fixed. She cried herself to sleep. Very quietly, but I could hear her, even two rooms away, and I still don’t know why I didn’t just go in there.
I just wouldn’t have known what to do when I got there. I kept telling myself it might hurt her now, but I’d always preferred it quick and clean myself, so I just figured it would be better that way.
I still don’t know. There was probably a better way. I didn’t know it then and I’m not even sure I’d do any better now. She was seventeen, damn it. And I’d promised to take care of her.
I don’t think I really slept much. And the next morning, it was like it hadn’t happened. She was bright and perky and she let me take her out for breakfast and then back to the Mansion on the bike, and when she hugged me goodbye and ran off into the house, I knew she’d given up on that crush.
Which was good, right?
I looked back over my shoulder and Kristen was straightening herself out behind me. “Give me a few minutes,” I said, stalling for time.
“That all it takes?” Jesus. Marie had teased me about my ‘conquests’ before, but that had an edge on it. She seemed to hear it too and she laughed, kind of nervously. “Sorry. Couldn’t resist.” She started to turn around again. “I’ll catch you later. I was just on my way back to Westchester, anyway, thought you might want to get dinner or something. I should have called first.”
Yeah, and don’t I wish you had. “Don’t. Give me fifteen minutes.” I heard Kristen moving behind me, but that wasn’t really my concern at the moment. “Get a cup of coffee at Melissa’s or something. I’ll come get you.”
“No!” She looked horrified for just a split second. Then she pulled it together. “It’s no big deal, Logan. Don’t be silly. I’ll call you later this week and we’ll do something.”
“Marie…” All right, that would be the easy way out. But you know what, fuck that. Something else was going to break if I let her walk away this time, and I was damned if I was making that mistake again. “Fifteen minutes.” I said it so she’d know I meant it and then I went back inside.
Kristen was trying for arch indifference, and not really succeeding. “So…not a good night, huh? Or too good.” She went and got her purse from where she’d left it on the couch. “You could’ve told me you had a girlfriend.”
“She’s not my girlfriend. But yeah, this isn’t a good time.” I just wanted her out, before Marie had time to think twice.
Kristen stuck her chin up at me. “Yeah, right. No one jumps like that if it might just be their roommate getting home.” I must’ve looked as confused as I felt for a second, because I saw her expression change. She headed for the door and I was relieved, but I realized what she was doing a second too late. By the time I got to the entryway, she was in there with the door to the bedroom wide open.
Fucking hell. I’d forgotten I’d told her I had a roommate. Most women don’t even notice there’s another room in this place, but she had, and I’d explained it that way when she’d asked. Which I’d forgotten for a crucial moment. Goddamnit, I’m losing my touch.
See, when I do bring a woman here, I don’t use the bedroom. Make what you want of it. By New York standards, just the one room is a larger-than-usual studio. I use the futon in the back room, I don’t have to deal with some stranger’s perfume or personal scent messing with my head for the next week, and—I don’t have to justify it to anyone. It’s just better that way.
But Kristen, like I said, was a bright girl. She’d been a little pissed when she thought I was rushing her out to make it up with a girlfriend, but that was nothing to how pissed she was when she put it together. She stared into the other room for a few seconds, and then she just went for her shoes where she’d left them on the floor. I didn’t say anything. Wasn’t really anything to say. She stood up and glared at me once she was done with the footwear. “Nice. Way to make a girl feel cheap. Do me a favor and find a new bar to hang out in.” Then she left, slamming the door behind her.
Okay. One pissed-off woman down, one to go. I gave it a couple of minutes for Kristen to get out of the immediate area before I went to find out exactly what I was dealing with.
Marie’s there. I’m relieved, frankly. Not sure what I would’ve done if she’d taken off. Gone back to the Mansion and waited, probably. Anyway, she’s there in front of the bakery, helping some woman with one of those baby strollers the size of a Volkswagen maneuver it into the store. I come up to her and gesture back towards the house. “Come on.”
“You didn’t have to do that.” Yeah, she’s angry. And when Marie gets mad, it can be—unpleasant.
“It doesn’t matter. It wasn’t—“ This isn’t going to get me anywhere. “Just come on.” I reach for her hand and she pulls away.
“Careful. Hot coffee.” But she moves past me, heading back across the street, and I follow her. I wait until she’s safely inside before I say anything else.
“I’m sorry. Didn’t mean for that to happen.”
She shrugs. “Bound to happen eventually, I guess. You didn’t have to get rid of her.” She gives that slightly nervous laugh again. “I’m sure she’s good and pissed.”
“Yeah. Don’t worry about it.” All I can do, I figure, is tell her the truth. She lets me take her jacket and goes to sit down on the couch, and after a minute I go and sit down too, in a chair next to her. She sips her coffee, ignoring me for the moment, and I look at her.
She’s worth looking at. Long auburn hair, with those twin streaks of white framing her face in front. Big brown eyes, cast down at the moment. No makeup. Gorgeous, perfect skin—it always seemed unfair that something so pretty was untouchable.
I touched it. Twice. That second time, up there on the Statue, all I could think was how goddamn unfair it was, that she’d never get to grow up, that she’d never feel anyone touching her ever again. When she came to tell me she’d finally gotten control of it, I remembered that, just for a second. She doesn’t remember that night at all after the machine started up, she’s told me, so she can’t know that’s what I was thinking about when I kissed her forehead to congratulate her.
She was seeing Bobby then. I was teaching a defense class at the School, and whenever I saw them after that he always had his hands on her, somewhere. Holding hands, or around her neck or her waist or something. I could understand the impulse.
Finally she looks up at me and grins a little. “Well. That was awkward.”
She’s right, there. “Like I said—didn’t matter.” I’m repeating myself here, but maybe if I say it often enough she’ll get it through her head that it’s true.
“Sure it did. I’m sorry.” She seems sincere enough about that. “I shouldn’t just assume you’re always free to—“
“Cut it out.” Goddamn it, there it is again. I never meant her to think I didn’t want to be around her. “She’s just some girl I met in a bar.”
Now she really does smile. “So’m I, come to that. What’s the difference?”
That’s better. “Good point.” I nod towards the paper cup she’s still holding. “You want a real mug for that?” She nods back and I go to get her one, grabbing a beer at the same time. I bring her back the mug and sit down. A minute later she’s eyeing my beer.
“Got any more of that?” I give her a look, mostly just to tease her. She’s gotten herself into some scrapes with drinking over the years, but only once was it really bad. Anyway, she’s long since legal now, so I go to get her one.
What possessed Jubilee to organize a whole field trip that night just so she could go meet her boyfriend in the Village, I have no idea. It wasn’t too long after I’d moved out, and after that strange night Marie had spent at my place I hadn’t seen her again for a while. It was just a damn good thing that Kitty knew where they’d gone when I called. I found Marie at this club, half in the bag, with some collegiate asshole trying to get his hand up her skirt. I was just too late to keep her from getting a headful of frat-boy sex fantasies, so technically she didn’t need me to get him off her, but I still gave the little prick a lesson about transfer of force that he wasn’t going to pick up in Physics 101.
That got ugly. I found old Fire and Ice upstairs even drunker than she was, but hell, they were in college, they could fend for themselves. I hauled her out of the club and she got into a weepy, self-pitying thing that it was hard to snap her out of. The next day I pretty much tore Jubilee a new one. I just couldn’t believe her, dumping her eighteen-year-old friend in the middle of Manhattan. Sure, you can say I’m over-protective, but christ, what was she thinking? Dressing her up like that, too. Don’t think for one second I didn’t know exactly where Marie had gotten everything she had on. I made her come and get Marie just so I could read her the riot act the next day, told her she could forget about working on my team or going on missions at all if she didn’t straighten out her act.
Probably overdid it, in retrospect. I saw Jubilee a couple of days later, at the Mansion, after we’d both had a chance to cool off, and I kind of apologized. Jubilee gave me a big hug, and I smacked her on the ass and told her to hit the Danger Room with me for a serious workout, and we’ve been pretty cool ever since. Guess it was hard for her to remember that not everyone’s as streetwise as she was.
Not that Jubilee’s as streetwise as she thinks, either. Found that out for herself on her first mission. That shook her up, but good. Marie too—she was really upset when she found out we’d ducked out of the Mansion New Year’s party a couple of years ago, and especially that her best friend was with us. Took me a while to talk her down to where we could get back to our usual teasing thing. She finally let it go and started sulking pointedly about not getting kissed at midnight.
So I kissed her. Just once, just real fast and not pushing it or anything. She’d just finished telling me that she and the Ice Cube had called it quits and—I don’t know. She’d given me an excuse, and maybe I just wanted to find out whether her lips were as soft as they’d always looked. “Happy New Year,” I told her.
“Happy New Year.” And that was it.
I hand Marie her beer and wait while she takes a sip. Then she looks up at me. “What?”
“Anything else? Newspaper, blanket, chocolate chip cookie? Or can I sit down now?”
“No, I think I’m good.” She has a little smile on her lips as I sit back down.
See, the whole teasing thing, it’s kind of a signal we send each other when things get too tense. Helps with the uncomfortable moments. Sometimes it’s a relief. Sometimes it’s a pain in the ass.
“So what’d you have in mind?” She doesn’t follow. “Pizza? Chinese? Indonesian?”
She frowns at me. “There is no such thing as Indonesian takeout.”
There is, as a matter of fact. “This’s New York. You could get takeout from Pago Pago if you knew where to look.”
She clearly doesn’t believe me. “Maybe Indian? I feel like something spicy.”
“Okay. You know where the menus are.”
“Later. I think I need to recover from the drama.”
Yeah. Drama is right. My life is a fuckin’ soap opera. I turn on the TV and find the game, giving me something to concentrate on other than her lips on the neck of that beer bottle. She almost catches me looking anyway, and I mutter something about guarding the goal.
All right. So I’m looking. From under my eyelids, but damn, I’m looking. Fact is, I don’t know why I haven’t made a move before this. At first it was just her age. Not necessarily a problem, never claimed to be a saint, but with her, yeah, that was an obstacle. Then she was with Drake for fucking ever, and just when I thought she was over him she took up with some Cajun jerk who’d joined up while I’d been away. Whatever made her happy, I guess, although I could’ve told her how that one was bound to end.
The only one I ever really worried about, though, was this guy from her college. Not that way—hell, if she was happy, like I said—but he was this rich-kid prep jerk with entitlement issues and a mean streak a mile wide. I met him once, for ten minutes, and I could smell it all over him. Marie and I had a serious fight when she told me she was planning on going away with him for the weekend. I just kept telling her she shouldn’t. Apparently wasn’t explaining myself too well, though, because she just got more and more frustrated with me. Then she came out with something that set me back on my heels.
“If you won’t tell me what you’re thinking, I can always turn the skin on and find out.”
Huh. Until she said it, I didn’t realize how much that idea shook me. She jokes about picking up my taste in beer and women, sometimes, but I never really thought about what else she might have gotten. I stared at her for a second, trying to figure out whether that actually bothered me or not. Then I went back to teasing her, because damned if I knew.
“You do that again, you better be bleeding. A lot.” But I got it. I wasn’t explaining, I was just telling her not to go, and that wasn’t working. So I came out with some of the real reasons, and well, she didn’t go.
Good thing. I hate Atlantic City.
“Want another?” Marie’s voice brings that little train of thought to a halt. She gets up, takes my empty beer bottle and goes off towards the kitchen. I hear her opening the fridge and cleaning up in there, and I smile to myself. Little caretaker, that one. She’d’ve spit-polished my camper within a week if it hadn’t gotten blown up first, I know that now.
She comes back with fresh beers for both of us. “Should remember to clean out the fridge once in a while, sugar. Someday the EPA is gonna fine you.”
I love it when she calls me that. Kind of thing a guy could get used to. She doesn’t do it much, though.
She sits back down and watches the game for a while. Eventually the Rangers’ center does something stupid, as usual, and I swear under my breath at him. “Messier, you fucking idiot.”
For some reason this seems to amuse her. “What do you care who gets penalized? These aren’t even your teams.”
True, but still. “Principle of the thing. They play like shit.” I just hate seeing anything done badly. “You hungry yet?”
“Sure.” She goes and gets the menu, and I can feel her body heat when she comes back and stands behind me, waiting for the end of the period. I get up then.
“What do you want?” She tells me and I head for the phone to order. When I get back, she’s commandeered the remote and has the channel changed to one of those godawful cop shows she likes so much. “Forty-five minutes,” I tell her, and watch for a minute. The cops are interrogating someone, completely incompetently. “That guy. He did it.”
She turns around and rolls her eyes at me. “And how the hell would you know that? You don’t even know what’s going on.”
“They’re all the same goddamn plot. The actor who has the most innocent look on his face always did it.” To say nothing of the fact that any murderer who was half as dumb as all theirs seem to be wouldn’t take a full hour to catch, convict and execute. Christ. How she can watch that crap, I’ll never know.
The rest of the night goes better. Back on track. Food, TV, little chatter during the commercials about what she’s got planned for the week. It’s easy, we’ve done it a thousand times before, and I don’t know if I like it. After what happened earlier, I’m wondering if this is another performance piece, and I’m not gonna catch all the fallout till later. But the evening slips away, I’m no good at starting conversations, and then all of a sudden she starts cleaning up again.
“I should get going.”
“Stay over if you want.” I mentally kick myself immediately. Shouldn’t have said it like that—should’ve suggested that she stay, not given her a choice. Maybe, in the morning—
“Mmm—I’d better get back. Got stuff to do tomorrow.”
Shit. I knew it. Fallout. “You sure?” I look at my watch, hoping it’s later than she thinks and maybe she’s missed the last train, but no, she’s got time. When I look up, she’s mad again.
“Yeah. Then you can get back to your regularly scheduled programming.”
God damn it. Shouldn’t have looked at the watch, either. “Marie—“
“You know what, Logan? I’m sick of this.” It scares the shit outta me for a second, because, well, this is not good. If she’s that pissed, still—“I am not a child, you get it? I don’t need to be walked to the train, I don’t need you to play pity date for me, and I sure as hell don’t need you to pretend you don’t screw blondes you pick up in bars.” She bolts for the door and I get there first. No way am I letting her leave before we get this straightened out. Not this time.
“Yeah? What do you need?” Suddenly I want to hear her answer to that so bad it’s killing me. “Tell me. You’re not dropping a line like that on me and walking out of here.” It seems like it takes her a fucking week to turn around and answer, but when she does, it’s worth the wait.
“I need for you to quit acting like I’m your little sister. I need for stuff to change, because I really seriously need never to show up here again and have my nose rubbed in it that you need something I can’t give you. Because I need for you to either want me back, or I need to end this. I can’t do this any more, Logan.”
She’s shaking, and she still hasn’t looked up at me when she gets through with all that. All I can think is, I better not fuck this up. I put one hand under her chin and make her look up at me.
“I need to know you’re sure about this, darlin’.” If she isn’t, I’m going to take a hell of a shot at making her sure, at this point, but she doesn’t put me to the trouble.
“I’m sure.” God, that breathy little voice of hers—it’s a near thing whether I slice her clothes right off her and take her here and now, up against the wall. I manage to rein in the urge to pop the claws and live out that little fantasy, but just barely. Instead I just lean down and kiss her, hard, and I gotta tell you, at least three years of preparation is going into that kiss.
I’m not complaining, you understand, but when I kissed her at New Year’s I think she was just too surprised to do anything but stand there. This time she’s participating, and she damn well knows what she’s doing. It takes her about half a second before her hands are on my neck, holding on, pulling me closer, and the feel of her skin on mine makes me want more, all of it, right the fuck now. I have her bra undone and my hand on her breast before I even realize I’m doing it, and she breaks her mouth away from mine with a startled little gasp. “Oh, god—Logan!”
I stop. I stop everything. No matter what, this is gonna be on her terms. She says wait, she says slow down, I’ll do it. Somehow. “What’s wrong, baby? Too fast?” Please god let her not say yes to that.
No. That’s not it. Her body arches even more firmly against mine in response. “This is—for real, right? You’re not going to change your mind tomorrow?”
Aw, hell. Is that all? I smile at her. “Nope.” And then it’s all good, her hot sweet mouth on mine and those incredible breasts under my hands, finally. I feel her hands move down towards my waist, yanking at my shirts—she wants them off and I’m more than happy to oblige her with that unspoken request. I get rid of her shirt and bra, too, and it occurs to me that a lot more contact could be achieved sitting down, so I pick her up to take her back to the couch and her legs lock around my waist for the first time ever—
Damn. Life is good.
It’s even better on the couch. I’ve got her in my lap, her whole body pressed up against mine, and she’s kissing me with an almost desperate intensity, like she thinks I might disappear if she stops even for a second. I take her head in my hands and break my mouth away from hers. “Take it easy,” I tell her. I don’t want to rush any part of this. “We got all night. And tomorrow and the next night and so on.”
“Okay.” She takes that in. “I just—don’t want you to stop.”
God, she’s beautiful. And she’s mine. “I won’t.” Her lips are every bit as soft as they look, but I could never have imagined the taste of her, the way her tongue meets mine as those little hands rake over my body—I spend some time finding out how all those things feel, put together, and then she’s got something else on her mind.
“Logan—why tonight?”
There’s no short answer to that. It would take me a month to explain it to her, even if I was any damn good at it, and I’m willing to try, but just not right now. I try to come up with something that won’t sound like I’m just brushing it off, though, because none of this is accidental or unimportant. Finally I give up and just cut to the chase. “Because I love you.” Christ, I didn’t think she could get any more beautiful, but the look on her face when I say that just takes her to a whole new level. “I’m not much of a talker, darlin’. You want to know the rest, right now—let it slip and take a look.” Don’t let it slip too much, though, baby, I’d really like to be conscious for the rest of the night.
But she’s already shaking her head, throwing her arms around my neck, tight. “No. No way in hell.” Her mouth is right up against my ear. “I love you too. You know that, right?”
Jesus. I knew, yeah, in some way, but it’s not the same as her saying it out loud. “I know, baby. But it’s good to hear it.” Her cheek is so soft against mine, and I can feel her heart beating, she’s so close. “It was time, for both of us. That’s all.” That is all, really. Me waitin’ for her to grow up, her waitin’ for me to figure out my shit—it’s over. I have to laugh at how fucking simple it seems all of a sudden. “Besides, it was the best way I could think of to shut you up.”
I’m always gonna tease her a little, I think. I don’t give her a chance to tease back, though. I just kiss her again and then I pick her up and carry her through to the bedroom. I want to remember every second of this night, every sound she makes and how she tastes and smells, every image of her in my bed for the first time. I take things as slow as she’ll let me, but—
Yeah. It was time. It’s morning now, just past dawn, and Marie’s asleep. I lift myself up on one elbow, looking down at her, wrapped up in a sheet with all that long hair spilling down over the white linens. I memorize that picture too.
She shifts a little, and her eyes open. She smiles when she sees me watching her. “Hey. What’re you doin’?”
“Just looking.” She turns to snuggle closer to me and I put an arm around her. “You’re pretty when you sleep.” She doesn’t answer with words, just laughs a little and burrows her head down against my shoulder, and she’s asleep again before I know it. I lie there, in the peaceful early-morning silence, and it occurs to me that my whole life, up to now, has been about fighting, one way or another. The enemy, myself, my past, even her. I’m not even sure whether this last battle was one I won or lost, but as I finally let my eyes close, there’s one thing I’m damn sure of.
The war is over.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Companion piece to Lose All The Battles. Logan's POV. Yes, I wrote my own remix. Oh, and the title means 'the die is cast,' Julius Caesar's famous pronouncement on war.