Crawling Chaos 4

"Acting all mysterious, raising all kinds of questions and then vanishing with a gust of wind... Considering that it looked like he didn't know whether to help me or rip my face off, I suppose I'll count my blessings," Orison muttered as he trudged his way up to Neil's office for the man's final verdict.

Neil was sitting behind his office desk staring at a cheap pair of reader glasses with a kind of bizarre fascination. When Orison walked in, the man's attention focused on the teenager. Asking Orison to stay where he was, Neil put his cheaters on and then took them off a couple of times.

Looking at Orison oddly, he said, "What was in that grass soup you left for me?"

Orison said, "One of the cornerstones of eastern medicine is secrecy in recipe and method. There's two reasons for that. One is to lower the possibility of competition, both for patients and resources. The second is so that the patients of such concoctions are able to freely live their lives unburdened with the knowledge of what they put into their bodies... Both are equally relevant in why I won't tell you what was in it."

Noticing that Neil looked a little green, Orison added, "Whatever you're imagining is probably worse than the truth. Suffice it to say that in this case, almost all the ingredients were herbal in nature." To himself he thought, "Two of which will be controlled substances in your world's future and one of which is a deadly poison if not administered with care or more than once every few years."

Neil read over a messily scrawled list before crumpling it up and tossing it in the trash. "Alright, kiddo. Let's play it by ear. I got two hard rules that are deal breakers if they aren't followed... Every cent that goes into your pocket, you earn with honest work. No stealing.

"I'm not much for lying either. A little white lie might be needed from time to time but you're going to be pure as driven snow with what you tell me. I need to know where you are and what you're doing when you're not here. And since you want me to say you work for me, you will but I'll keep it light and easy as long as you're pulling your weight and keeping your nose clean."

Orison frowned but didn't immediately lose his temper. "Since you want honesty, I'll give it to you. I WILL steal from thieves and those who earn their money through harmful methods and I WILL keep it if there's no direct person who I believe deserves to be reimbursed.

"I'll honor the spirit, if not the letter, of letting you know where I am and what I'm doing. The limit of that lays in what is courteous, fair and needful, not beyond. As far as working for you enough to make it truth, I've no problem rolling up my sleeves and putting some effort in but I have priorities. As long as what you want done isn't unreasonable and doesn't conflict with those priorities, then I'll do it.

"I'm aware that what I'm asking of you makes you partially responsible for my actions and will keep that in mind. I'm a cautious person by nature and even if I can't promise I won't cause you any grief, I'll keep it to a minimum. I only have one rule and it's the good ol' fashioned golden one. As long as we're both willing to compromise in the millions of little ways people have to in order to tolerate and enjoy each other's company, I doubt we'll have any real concerns."

Neil pinched the bridge of his nose. "Explain to me how stealing from criminals is 'cautious' behavior and I'll skip over the rest. I don't think I can handle getting talked circles around and that's all I think I'd get."

Orison gave a saintly smile and said, "In much the same way a private detective can do their job without getting maimed or killed, I would imagine. You calculate the risk and don't bite off more than you can chew."

Neil glared at the young mage and said, "That's a low blow. We're just chatting here. No need to swing below the belt."

Sighing, Orison added, "You saw how I handled things in that alley. I did what I could while minimizing the risk to myself. But believe me when I say, when cunning and reason fail, I can speak the language of pain far more fluently than the clowns that beat you. The problem is, the next guy might not be interested in arguing with his fist and just spray a block with bullets to pass on the message. That would be a lot more dangerous and could get other people involved."

Neil said, "I need a drink."

Orison said, "No, you need a glass of water and more rest but if you're not going to kick me out, lets get those papers signed so you can take it easy for a couple of days."

A few more minutes of bickering saw them in a taxi to the Hall of Records. Orison made quick work of what needed to be done and they were back at Neil's apartment before the second half of the draught effects kicked in. Fortunately, there was plenty of toilet paper.

Over the next couple of days, while he did some touch-up work on Neil, the young mage renovated the rather spacious storage closet into a two door bedroom. After making a trip to a couple of pawn shops and a posh jewelry store, Orison paid the bills, stocked the apartment with amenities and even got a used car that he had up and running after some liberal uses of 'mend'. He also made a few extra bucks doing some plumbing and electrical fixes. Frank, the landlord, didn't give him half of what it would normally cost but since most of it was mend work, Orison just pocketed what he could and didn't say a word.

On the third day of 'life with Neil', Orison was internally griping about how there wasn't any way to make 'mend' cheaper. A few casts of the novice 'spell turned ability' were all it took to reach the edge of what he could recoup in a single day. Conversely, he could keep a five pound capacity telekinetic 'third hand' going non-stop and perpetually break even. With some effort, he could condense a shield to comfortably past bullet proof or even levitate up to 250 pounds without nosebleeds but his reserves fell with alarming speed.

A quick calculation gave Orison the guesstimate of a two week tank but if it fell past half, recovery would take a great deal longer the more empty it became. As the young mage adapted more and more to this world, his ability to access supernatural ability was improving but usage would have to remain rather frugal if he didn't want to be left vulnerable for an extended period of time. Such knowledge only impressed on him the need to maintain his resolve on remaining low key.

One bright ray of sunshine in all of his internal poking and prodding was the realization that the silk purse digestion was going to lead to the 'breaking' of his teleportation spell. Transmutation was even showing some additional signs of integration. It made him wonder just what the purse had been used for. Given how much it reeked of malicious intent, it couldn't have been anything good.

There was only one change Orison observed that left him concerned and puzzled. Where it seemed like a no-brainer that the purse would strengthen or expand his inner space, it didn't. Instead, the young mage felt the small bit of spiritual bloodline that Keita had hijacked from Rithus for him, grow deeper and more substantial. The possible consequences and side-effects of such a thing left Orison feeling uneasy.

Wrapping up his martial and meditative practice, the young mage joined Neil for a relatively late breakfast as the man said, "I never thought of myself as a slouch but when you're not sitting around like you got a broom up your keister, you really get the lead out."

Orison said, "It's called meditation and if you added a little of it to your daily routine and stopped treating your guts as a grease trap, you might actually stay healthy til you're forty."

Neil gestured with his fork, "I'm at the prime of my life with the best years ahead of me."

Orison nodded. "All five of them... I'm telling you, Neil. When I first met you, I thought you were thirty-four or so. I wouldn't have guessed that you were only twenty-nine. If you don't change how you treat your body, your going to have a heart attack in a few years... On the subject of your health, yesterday's ten o' clock is going to be here in a half hour. I don't want to know what kind of surveillance she has you do at her house but you're not cleared for heavy lifting yet and she's a lot of woman."

Cleaning up the office had left Orison wondering if being a private detective was just to add a veneer of respectability to Neil being a cheap gigolo for middle aged women. It occurred to him that Neil probably didn't see it that way but the list of regulars that barely kept his bills paid didn't seem to be employing him for anything meaningful. Considering how cruel reality had been for the man, Orison just didn't have it in him to bruise Neil's fragile ego anymore than it already had been.

Neil's ears took on a crimson hue as he stammered out, "The lady puts a lot of good doe into her bird watching hobby. She just wants to know if her feeders are being vandalized by squirrels or neighborhood children."

Orison said. "Well, you've been at this for three years. When you first started, helping lonely older women tend to their bird feeders was probably the only steady work you could get but you've done enough leg work to move past that. I don't know if you have the potential to contend with that Richards guy who works as a police consultant or that Payne fellow who climbed deep into the newspaper's pocket but you should be able to handle middle ground.

"If you tell me you'll put half day house visits for five dollars and a decent dinner on the bottom of your priority list, I'll get you a couple of bespoke suits, a new camera and an ad in the paper. If you stop treating donuts, coffee, cigarettes and whiskey as your four major food groups, I'll replace the surveillance equipment I can't fix. Finally, if you add a morning exercise routine, I'll let you borrow the car until you can get one of your own. I'll even give you two months to raise up to half police cadet standards and if you reach full standard by the end of month three, I'll give you the car."

Neil looked at Orison and said, "Why?"

The young mage said, "Slow suicide is painful to watch. Torturing you into a healthier and more successful person is more entertaining. Mostly, I don't want to get bored and complacent."

As soon as Orison received a lukewarm and all together unreliable commitment to 'try', Orison snatched up Neil's pack of cigarettes and ashtray. Before the detective could even figure out what happened, there was a tin of lozenges and a pack of cinnamon toothpicks in front of him.

A complaint of 'Now see here!' was quickly blocked with, "Don't try. Do or die... I'll take your word on the first part but the second, surveillance equipment will be considered on loan until you're a month smoke free and sober. One butt or finger of booze touches your lips in my sight and that deal's off the table. When you start exercising in three days, you'll be glad to have that much of a head start.

"If you start to get tremors or feel like you'll chew through a table leg if you don't get a cigarette, take a lozenge. They'll reduce your cravings for pretty much everything. Don't chew them and don't lean on them too much or the next tin will taste how a urinal cake smells."

"If you give up, I'll quite hounding you and let you do as you like. I don't waste time on losers... Hey, take it easy. I don't think you are one. So don't prove me wrong."

"Brat!" Neil growled before grabbing up the lozenges and toothpicks off the table.

The detective was angry but there was a little something else there too, a light of determination. That light of determination blazed a different hue when Neil came out of his bedroom wearing only a towel and a demon face.

"Where the hell are all of my clothes!?" Neil all but screamed.

Orison said blandly, "If it had a hole, sweat stain or cigarette burn on it, probably being sifted through by hobos on Picket Street... Grab a set of whatever you need from the packages on the office couch but leave the rest. They should be cleaned once before worn."

Nearly hyperventilating through his nose, Neil stormed into the office. On the way back to his bedroom the man looked conflicted but resigned.

When he came back out in a relatively decent store bought, the detective said, "I don't know where you got so much money but you need to stop spending it on me. It's not appropriate. That's not pride talking. It's just plain truth."

Orison sighed and said, "You're not going to get decent clients dressed in church charity. Public service requires a sharp image and the facade of prosperity. It is no less a requirement of your trade than a handyman's box of tools. That goes for a fresh notepad and a nice pen among other things. If you feel I've spent too much, consider that I feel I only got you the bare necessities and spend some time working out why our opinions differ.

"If you think I'm being a spendthrift, look at your competitors. Long before they buy state of the art gadgets, they have a closet of presentable suits. Eighty percent of your job is public relations. That should reflect on the percentage of your time and resources spent in that area. Initial investment is the most expensive and aside from work done, you're not at square one but you're not that far away from it either."

Neil squeezed the bridge of his nose and said, "Since I'm expecting a client at any minute, this talk is shelved. That don't mean it's done, not by a long shot."

Orison said, "Then let me say this and I'll stop taking liberties. I'm trendy, have a car and maintain a white collar image. How badly do I stand out when every visible aspect of my life outshines my employer?... I like you, Neil, but half of my motivation is purely selfish."

To earn some equilibrium, Orison penned in 200 worth of prepaid consultation and investigative services into Neil's ledger. Since there wasn't a single thing that Orison brought in that the detective didn't actually need or want so badly there was little difference, Neil grudgingly accepted. He also promised hellfire retribution if Orison crossed personal boundaries to that degree again.

To add some levity back into the stiff atmosphere, Orison 'showcased' Neil's favorite shoes and hat that had been saved from elimination, only cleaned and repaired. With a witty comment about 'knowing where the real personal boundaries were', Neil's appointment showed up and after offering refreshments, the young mage made himself scarce. As he dipped around the corner, Orison pantomimed lifting the woman and making a big X with his hands. Neil made a dry cough to keep from interrupting his client's saccharine fawning with a disrespectful snort.

The young mage's time didn't remain free either. After checking in on Mrs. Derby's progress and Ms. Messier's emotional state, Orison was approached by a East Village courier with a receipt for goods at Mr. Wei's shop. On the back of the receipt was a quickly scrawled sketch of a bowman shooting a nondescript animal that was half in a river.

Stopping in to inform Neil of his trip to the Apothecary, the young mage got roped into being a chauffeur for a few minutes. Seeing that Neil didn't exactly look unhappy to have an evening with bird feeder lady, Orison reevaluated the situation a little and mentally cut the detective some slack. Apparently, the little bit of money and a task that needed done was a way for both of them to ease the anxiety on what it was really about and it wasn't nearly as one sided as it seemed to be on paper.

With a little nudge to move that portion of Neil's affairs to private life concerns that were none of his business, Orison chucked his cover identity's issues to the back of his mind. With a switch of focus, Orison prepared himself for whatever 'Jianghu' wanted with 'Wild Hunt'. After a quick stop at a gas station to change out of civilian clothes, he and the stick shift automobile he was still getting the hang of, made their way to East Village.

What he hadn't considered was the difficulty of finding a place to park once he got there. Being the middle of the day, there were plenty of cars on the street and little room for more. Finding himself walking two blocks despite having driven there, Orison wasn't in the greatest of moods when he walked through Mr. Wei's doors.

The fresh faced young woman looked up from where two other male residents of East Village were asking over goods in the display case with less than honorable motives, being that everything they were asking about were on the bottom shelf. Orison wondered why the woman was tolerating it when he noticed that the light harassment was being accompanied by actual purchases. With studied patience, the woman rang them up and saw them out the door before turning to Orison.

In a familiar annoyed voice, she said, "You couldn't get here faster? Because of your visit, I had to wear this dress instead of my normal smock. Have some courtesy for those of us that actually work during the day."