Crawling Chaos 37

"What about Jammers?" Orison said.

Zeke looked thoughtful. "Hang tight. I'll go see if Jimmy is real or not."

He opened the wind, turned into a frigate bird and was off.

Orison thought, "Zeke's right about one thing. I feel really unstable right now... Am I alright with having someone/thing else laying down the plan and following it, though? At least he's asking instead of just doing what he wants and pretending it's 'for the best'. I need time to sort through my mess of a life since I got here to pick out the grains of intuition truth I can use."

While he waited for Zeke, Orison ran through the books to find that he could decipher them some. It would be a labor of love to get it done since there were so many but if he was going to take a break to 'stabilize', at least it wouldn't be an idle one. Between the books, re-figuring out himself and what he was actually capable of with logging some 'real' living, he'd have plenty to keep himself occupied.

He packed it all away and a few minutes later, Zeke returned. In bird form, he hopped in through the window before tucking into a ball. That ball turned metal and rolled to a stop in front of Orison, bible passage glowing on its surface.

Scripture reading done, Zeke returned to man form and said, "The three 'J's exist, alright. Care to take a guess who they are. Here's a hint. You've already met today."

An image of three street toughs flashed through his head and he wondered how he'd never noticed the similarities between the men and the boys. Smiley's goons were Jimmy, James and Jacob.

Zeke said, "Jammers rejected the Jimmy that exists here. Even the little guy knows it would be better to not exist than serve a creep like that."

Orison said, "Hand me the trainer."

Reluctantly, the militant man did so while warning about the dangers of using it for the information inside. There was no denying that Zeke looked sick with worry while Orison held it. It didn't matter. The young mage took in the ball of essence and spirit that Jammers was and tried to anchor it to his plane. It didn't stick. Instead, the bundle of 'being' joined the rest of the future potential in the white hole center of his space.

They hadn't given up existing, Orison realized. Whether it was Jammers or the fairies, they were waiting for something more substantial and the young mage had a decent idea of what that was. He didn't quite know how he thought about it but it would be an issue for another day. Now, more than ever, thoughts of becoming a father wasn't something he was willing to entertain much less pursue with purpose. With Al's portions of Orison the most subdued it had ever been, there were a handful of things that Orison realized he wasn't enthusiastic about.

He didn't suddenly become immature and wild but thoughts of finding a good woman and settling down to a peaceful life were most definitely Al only agendas. The fire and drive to raise above and test the limits were slowly banking. The shadow of the adult that had covered the child was receding to show the spirit of a young man somewhat different than the soul that had housed and sheltered it. That didn't mean that the influence of Al was gone, it just wasn't the strongest voice anymore.

Orison muttered, "It wasn't a lie but it wasn't the truth either."

As the young mage handed over the trainer, Zeke said, "What wasn't?"

Orison continued, "The sub-mind, my memories, intentional or not, Al had his hand all over everything. I was bound and pushed on every level by my 'host'... That being said, it wasn't a lie that I was in control either. I don't have any room or reason to complain. He could have rejected me or slowly consumed me but he didn't.

"All the way to the end, he thought of me first and sought to merge and harmonize the whole time. In the end, I was the one who couldn't accept equality and he still did what he thought was right. I pretty much owe him everything and so I'll honor what part of him I am while being the me I was supposed to be."

Zeke shrugged. "Whatever track you're on, keep it up. Your aura's already more stable by a noticeable amount."

The young mage cracked open a beer from the service fridge.

"Should you be doing that? You're kinda y-" Zeke started but was cut off.

"Stuff it, time lord. You don't get to judge yourself by one standard and me by another. Take my beer away and I'm going to start calling you a toddler. Are you even three yet?" Orison said with a smirk.

The living conduit sighed and said, "Fine. I really can't win this one."

Since he couldn't stop Orison with flimsy logic, he joined in, intent on reducing the available amount.

As he watched Zeke throw back a second like he was a man dying of thirst Orison exclaimed, "Starting tomorrow, I have to babysit a recovering alcoholic! Can't I enjoy myself before I have to live dry for the sake of fair play!?"

Cracking a third with a grim face, Zeke said, "Who's stopping you?"

Eventually it turned into a good humored wrestling match over the single serving liquor bottles. It wasn't really about wanting to drink. Zeke wasn't the same Zeke he knew, not really. Orison wanted to compare the man he knew to the reality in front of him.

The man, the real Zeke, was colder and more goal focused. On the surface, he was more detached from the humanity he wore but internally, Orison got the sense that he clung to it more desperately. That was to be expected. The ex-soldier in the illusion didn't know he was a shape shifting conduit.

Fridge empty and buzz wearing off all too quickly, Orison said, "Thanks for going easy on me and letting me get a couple... While you're out there busting your a** for me, don't forget to have some fun too. To me, more than a conduit, you're Zeke; the lion who wanted to lay with the lamb, the guy who wanted to recapture and misspend some youth and my friend."

Not really in the mood to make it more unbearably mushy than it already was, the young mage went to his room and tried to get some rest. Early the next morning, Orison did the indoor version of his routine before stepping out to see what the plan was to find that Zeke was gone. A couple copies of the same note were in obvious spots so there wasn't any chance they'd be missed. The man had gotten a head start on the day and would be back once some things were in place.

The young mage resisted the urge to write a few notes of his own stating that he ran away to join the circus or something. It was the first time in a long time that someone was basically taking care of things for him and although it sounded nice, it didn't feel too great. He reminded himself not to be so sensitive. It wasn't necessary to be in control over every little detail and if he didn't like something, that was easy enough to take care of when the time came.

With whatever downtime he'd have while he waited, Orison took a stock inventory on his belongings. His essence starved space had made quick work of taking what it wanted and needed. What remained was a walk-in closet's worth of boundary items with no real special effects and the stuff from the ruby ring that weren't any different than he remembered from the illusion. The capsule hadn't been some wondrous goody bag prepared by some caring ancestor, it was a collection of captured climber goods.

When he turned his attention towards his inner plane, the young mage immediately swung his attention away again. It was big but only a very small part towards the very middle was particularly real. His casual glance towards it had crumbled away the outer ten percent and destabilized another ten to twenty.

Whatever the second scroll was that contained the power to 'fill in gaps', it's remaining power must have been used on his plane. Over time, his essence starved space would be able to support the delicate structures the scroll had made but that would take time. What that meant was Orison would have to be hands off and not pay attention to his plane for awhile for fear his gaze would invalidate valuable future resources.

He still had a pretty good idea of what was usable. He could still use his space as an intermediary to access those usable herbs. He also caught a glimpse of something that heartened him. There was a semi transparent sapphire with an illusionary key suspended in it, laying on the ground towards the center of his plane. It was far too fragile to interact with at the moment but it made the young mage excited.

When he turned to his abilities, there was equal parts dread and hope. That feeling didn't change after a preliminary inspection. The silk purse had done a number on him. Through the illusion, it had muddied his understandings, polluted his concepts and crippled him supernaturally. For all its prowess, it had made one crucial mistake. That mistake was something his intuition had utilized to its utmost. The purse had allowed ritual magic concepts from this world to make it into the illusion.

Through that slip up he had managed to survive, take control of a part of the illusion and honed himself in unique ways. Ultimately, it had lead to him being able to escape and prevail. The costs had been huge but the gains weren't something to scoff at.

The restoration he'd received may have removed falsehoods and contradictions. It may have condensed and refined his concepts into seeds that would sprout into abilities he'd be able to use in the mid-dimensions. It had also utterly reduced them to being unusable, pure verified theory. That was the despair.

The hope laid in ritual work and the translatable books from the ruby ring. The one personal journal penned by the maker of the ring and the 'Rosetta stone' for his foray into other works, named him 'The Great Magi from Dharitri'. He was a cruel and cautious man with delusions of grandeur but a true scholar none the less. More importantly, his collection of knowledge came from a world of magic and mysticism in the mid-dimensions, making it greatly valuable.

A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. He quickly put everything away and answered the door. Behind it was a teary eyed, tired looking bellboy who had stifled a jaw cracking yawn.

"A package for you... sir." The bellboy handed a brown paper wrapped bundle to Orison as he decided polite address despite being slightly older. "Your uncle sent a cab to take you to your relative's place. They'll wait for an hour."

Seeing the boy waiting expectantly, Orison fished in his pocket for his last two dollars, handing the bellboy one. With a last weak smile, the hotel employee was on his way and so was Orison. A forgettable breakfast and cab ride later saw him outside of Neil's place.

If anything, the real place was slightly more seedy than the illusion version and Orison had to wonder just how safe such a building was to live in. Armed with a modest amount of money and a legitimized identity, he took a deep breath and walked up a vaguely familiar set of steps to his new home. He hoped it was a home for only a month. The building was a dump.

As soon as he opened the door, Orison was assaulted by a speech from Neil. "Oh, so it's the kid from yesterday. I was wondering why a scary guy would show up at my office with such a hair brained proposition... Not that I mind much but you're on probation. Your uncle will come and snatch you up the moment you start going wild."

Settling into the role he was expected to play, Orison retorted, "The moment you start acting like a funny uncle, I pack up and report you to the police... I'm glad we have the unpleasant stuff out of the way."

Neil geared up to angry for a split second, "Now see here!... No, that's fair. We're strangers and you should be careful. That's just the rub, see? I really don't understand what your uncle was thinking cutting you loose with only a stained shirt like me to keep an eye out for you."

Clearing his throat, Orison said, "That's just the thing. I'm emancipated and the best person for me is a person who knows his way around where I'll be and not overly intent on trying to take charge... I'll keep my head low and nose clean so you won't feel like you have to."

After some banter and laying down of the law on both sides, they settled into a grudging truce that had been carefully crafted by Orison to lay lines down right where he wanted them. There was a small problem with it, though. His starting point with Neil was a stance and life position far weaker than the ones he'd had in the illusion. He wasn't a weird kid with some medical skills or a supernatural savior. He was a brat the detective was compensated for providing an adult anchor to.

Never the less, if a desirable resource exists and another is willing to demonstrate and provide for reasonable expectations, the bait will be taken. It just took longer to get the ball rolling. That translated into slower progress. It probably didn't help that Orison wasn't a whip cracker this time around. He had his own problems to deal with.

Accurate translation was going slow on the core journal and there hadn't been much positive reinforcement for his motivation either. The first couple of chapters were almost nothing but a long and deplorable brag speech about how much power and wealth, how many wives, children and slaves the man had accumulated before he 'turned his back on it all' for 'real power'. He sold his slaves, liquidated his wealth and abandoned his wives and children to fend for themselves for a 'noble quest' to seek truth, spirituality and freedom.

Orison had thrown the journal more than once in horror and frustration. That wasn't the only thing frustrating the young mage either. There was no Mrs. Derby but there was a Mr. Derby that was ramping up to pressure a certain waitress into an illicit affair to keep her job. It hadn't reached that point yet but it would. He flat out gave Rachel the formula for the mascara with some business instructions, a couple hundred bucks and a suggestion she cut ties with her old life.

After that, the young mage lost his appetite for pleasure eating. Instead, he took up hobby cooking which Neil enjoyed because it meant free food. Because Neil was a slob, Orison took to cleaning the public spaces of the apartment on a regular basis too. By the end of the second week, Orison all but ran out screaming.

On his way to the bar with a pinball arcade, Orison muttered, "Neil's a f***ing boring sh*t. The only positive difference was that he was too poor to be an alcoholic. He let himself go and got unhealthy looking a little faster so he's not even an older lady's man and he's not a particularly good PI. To be fair, he never was and only became a good one later. I'm literally leaning against the illusion of the man as motivation to keep going.

"I'm translating the work of a self absorbed bigot. I'm playing a f***ing house maid and I haven't so much as had a single 'fun' moment in almost half a month! I can live with that but I don't HAVE to live with that and I don't WANT to live with that!"

Fifteen minutes and three dimes later, Orison was drinking a soda the nice lady behind the bar spiked for him with a wink. Al's memories of flashier entertainment put a dimness to the pinball game's enjoyment but it had been so long since he'd done anything like it, there was fresh enjoyment to be had. Since it was a slow night, the bartender's general flirtiness which was presumably spread out for all to enjoy was almost entirely focused on him and a couple of regulars which made the atmosphere pretty enjoyable as well.

Her father, the bar owner, curtailed people taking advantage of his daughter's efforts for generous tips but saw no harm in letting her 'practice' on a 'harmless teenage boy' so he was getting a lot more service than was probably appropriate but if no one was going to complain, he wasn't. The heckles from the two other regulars only made him smile a little and didn't make him the least bit embarrassed.

Pouting, the amply endowed young woman with a decent blond dye job said, "Hey, cute boy. Have you already made some sweet girl cry over you? You've got some thick skin."

Orison thought back and instead of taking it for the joke it was, he said sadly, "One, I think. We were separated. She had responsibilities she couldn't walk away from and I respect that very much. Another may have but even so, she pretty much made me cry first so we're even. One just stomped all over my feelings and I don't even think she knows how to cry."

She looked at him blankly and then smiled warmly. "Everything is so new and raw for you right now. I'm sure none of them were as serious as you think. If you're willing to treat a girl right, you'll get a girl that'll treat you right too. You remember that. Just...give it a couple more years there, Romeo."

He was about to respond when he was bumped out of the way. The offender in question took one of the dimes Orison had laid out on the machine and helped himself to a free game. When the young mage was about to give a solid return for the favor, the bartender pulled him away. It took all of half a second to recognize the offender and the two friends that set up shop around him.