Crawling Chaos 18

As Orison continued to subtly steer conversation so that the ifrit would reveal more information about greater reality, he became stunned at the sheer overwhelming arrogance Ignatius possessed. It actually managed to go full circles back to understated confidence. It was like the ifrit's delusions of grandeur had developed self defense mechanisms to keep from ever possibly being broken, wrapped in pockets of false humility and backhanded admiration towards anything undeniably more powerful than himself.

Unable to help himself, Orison said, "It must be difficult to live in an existence incapable of recognizing just how important you are to it."

"You say that sarcastically but one day you might know the feeling yourself, if you live long enough," Ignatius delivered with a straight face.

After a few stops and getting some information from locals to find his destination, Orison was close to Neil's 'new' office of eight years. There was an equal sense of anticipation and dread at the upcoming meeting. The detective was his only real 'friend' on this world and that friendship hadn't been in very good shape when they parted ways.

Stepping through the outer hall, a small bell with an irritating pitch let anyone within its hearing range know that someone had walked in. A gaunt, slightly hollow eyed woman approaching middle age shuffled towards them like an aged granny. Orison gazed at her with spirit sight to find that she was almost invisible. As if held together by sheer will, the woman's life force had ebbed so low that if she didn't have warmth and a slow pulse, he'd have thought he was looking at an animated corpse.

Pointing to a tray at one side with a coffee/tea carafe and assortment of cheap cookies, she said. "You and friend take. Eat a nibble at least, then I hear. If not, then leave."

Close to death or not, there was a power in her voice and a thrum of supernatural command about her that coerced a modicum of obedience.

Ignatius grabbed a cookie. "You're wanting to exchange host protection for guest rights?"

The woman slowly shrugged. "Protection, yes. I give no f*** about you and your tricky fairy friend."

Orison grimaced at her but grabbed a cookie. "The feeling's mutual, ingrate. How have the last nine years treated you since I dragged your a** out from the jaws of hell?"

Her eyes shot up but didn't say another word, waiting for them to eat the cookie. Orison licked it and threw it in the trash. Seeing how the young mage handled it, Ignatius did the same.

Taking a slow, steadying breath, she led them into a cheap but cozy waiting room before helping herself to a somewhat threadbare chair. "I've been, how to say, full of p*ss and vinegar but grateful for every heartbeat. When Neil returns, I give apology once he says you are the one you claim."

Orison asked, "When will that be?"

She shrugged. "It's already been six months. Unless someone gets him like last time, he's probably not coming back."

Orison's face fell. "Is he still alive?"

The woman pulled out a pack of weathered, hand painted cards. Once she cut them, she flipped a few out and read them. In spirit sight, Orison could barely sense small tendrils of some kind of force between faith and old magic.

She looked tired but said, "In a way, he'll be alive for years but the window to save him gets smaller. Two or three weeks, he might as well be dead."

Orison saw her eyes dance over the cards and she didn't like what she saw. Leaning on the empathy that the stag pin granted, Orison noted that she felt tired and sad. There was something she needed to do but didn't feel up to it. Suddenly a wall slammed down between them and he couldn't feel anything from her.

Sneering at Orison in a parody of normal amusement, she said. "There's not much worth seeing but if you want peepshow, you pay first."

Orison gave a nasty sneer back of his own and said, "How much for the rest that the cards told you? You know, the parts you don't feel like sharing?"

Looking him over in a suggestive way, the woman said, "You can give kiss of life? Three months given with glad heart. If not, I get jar and you bleed three months for me."

The young mage noticed a faint ghoulishness about her and knew where it came from after the last sentence. If it weren't for the faint sense of reluctance and bitter look on her face, Orison wouldn't have had anything to do with her. She was resorting to some black magic out of desperation not desire. It wasn't just because she wanted to live longer either. She had a look of determination that spoke of things needing to be done.

Orison said, "If it's vitality that you need, I can provide better options than dark methods that take more than they give. I'll go above and beyond your price by quite a bit if you promise to never resort to using those ways again. You're very close to the tipping point as it is."

Raising an eyebrow, the woman said, "Tell me something I don't know. No really, I could use some good news."

The young mage said, "Give me a closed magic circle. I don't have all the materials to create a proper medicine with the vitality giving ingredient I have."

Nearly half an hour later, Ignatius watched with mild interest as Orison made medicine and Zora made a special lunch with the leftover parts and dregs.

"Why a magic circle in the kitchen? This is a permanent inlay. Surely you don't do your ritual work here too?" Orison said, slightly bewildered.

Zora smirked, "You think I show you ritual room!?... Every living herb and animal has touch of life preserving quality. That is lost when cooking normally. You should ask why all who know of such things and can capture it, DON'T have magic circle in kitchen!"

Unable to help himself, Orison asked Zora where she came from and after a snarky response about how babies were made, she offhandedly said she grew up Romani. The look of defiance and bitterness spoke of a story she was unwilling to share and Orison didn't particularly care to ask.

Orison said, "I never thought I'd get to meet a real life gypsy witch. That's kind of cool."

The look of absolute fury on Zora's face as she spun around with a kitchen knife, had Orison prepared to defend himself until she said, "I am not a gypsy and I am not a witch!" She lowered the knife with a weary, defeated look. "I am nobody important. An outcast with some good teaching, that's what I am. You don't even know enough for me to stay angry. Witch means something different to me and that different is bad. Maybe is split hairs but let me cling to some pride."

As they sat around the kitchen table to an overly sumptuous midday meal, Zora took the medicine Orison had made with the oldest of the immature ginseng. It seemed that over the nine years Orison was trapped, Flora had tended them well but the parent ginseng was far too precious and the first generation of seedlings from it were only about six years old with only about as much vital essence as the smallest whisker from the original. Even with the makeshift recipe, it would safely add seven or eight years before losing its potency for Zora. Orison was certain that she had methods, meal included, to get more mileage out of it but he had no real idea of how much.

Ignatius was helping himself to a third helping while he said, "This is delicious. I haven't had black bone chicken soup since the night of my second marriage."

Orison raised his eyebrows. "You're a married man?"

A brief shadow passed over Ignatius' face while he replied, "She was a mortal. Our grandchild's grandchildren are all dust by now."

Stepping on landmines left and right, Orison decided to spend the rest of the meal in silence, studying the ingredients of the meal. He noticed that quite a few were 'warm' ingredients that would help to bank the coals of her life force but was slightly concerned about their affects on himself and a thousand year lonely ifrit. Wordlessly, he made some chrysanthemum tea for himself and offered it to Ignatius as well but the ifrit chose to steal an old beer from the kitchen's fridge instead.

Seeing a few knowing glances pass between the ifrit and Zora, Orison felt somewhat perplexed and a little left out. It wasn't so much that Zora was even someone he'd spare a second glance at on the street but that didn't make him feel any less irritated at being overlooked so blatantly. That feeling of irritation grew stronger at being put off til the next day with the excuse of needing to spend some time digesting the benefits of his medicine before she was ready to speak about the cards. It wasn't that unreasonable of a request. It just exhausted any official reason for conversation between them. She made no bones about that meaning she didn't really want to talk with him much at all despite having plenty to chat about with Ignatius. Reading between the lines, Orison realized that she wasn't being intentionally snubbing to him.

In her eyes, he was too young and too inexperienced to be a good conversation partner and she seemed to have some reservations about fey blooded individuals to begin with. It wasn't that she didn't recognize that he possessed some inner maturity and humanity. It still didn't change his breadth of knowledge and worldly experience and she wasn't in the mood for intellectual conversation at any rate. As for other kinds, apparently Ignatius was more 'interesting'.

Throwing a little caution to the wind, Orison asked about decently safe places to spend some recreational time and left Zora and Ignatius to explore each other's company, unwilling to play awkward third wheel. After burning some afternoon in the nearest park for another round of meditation and training, Orison turned to the lower end of the sprawling metropolis to a more artsy community where he could blend in a little easier. Until deep in the evening, Orison lost himself in a small sea of oblivious mundanes.

Between the colorful music and string of freestyle poetry of a coffee shop that offered a great deal more recreational drinks and eats to people who looked 'cool', the young mage flexed rusty social skills. It didn't take him long to figure out that he could fade from people's perception or become the undeniable center of someone's attention even without glamour. It was hard to re-fade from someone's attention but between his qualities as a climber and the boosted empathy the stag pin granted, he could manage long enough to slip away to another corner of a crowd.

It was flattering to know that he had the power to move people off of sheer looks, social grace and the touch of additional 'realness' he possessed but it was a little scary how easily attachment and even subtle affection could quickly form. When his sub-mind noticed a few more details he missed, he went from being a little scared of his ability to cold, subtle horror. When he bent and concentrated his attention on a person, his fey heritage would change his 'scent' and the dragon part would guide his body language and spiritual aura in small ways. One to lure and the other to unobtrusively display superior or desirable qualities. A supernaturally gifted individual wouldn't be overly affected by either but a mundane person was susceptible.

While Orison digested these newly found parts of himself that would make him have to walk eggshells around mundanes to keep from irresponsibly 'playing' with them, he spotted a couple who weren't so mundane. They had noticed him awhile back but had respectfully waited, projecting a calm acceptance and approval of his restraint. Much like him, they looked young but exuded a maturity beyond their apparent age.

As was custom, when they made their way to him, in a way that left him room to retreat if he wasn't interested in meeting, they didn't introduce themselves but jumped into a pleasantly shallow conversation instead. Once they got a feel for Orison, they tested the waters with a piece of personal information. The man and woman were much like Orison in that they had lineage which made it hard to mingle with mundanes without causing harm if they weren't careful.

They claimed to be part of a loose collective that peppered the country and kept other secret societies from making things too hard on independents. Their main goal was to preserve certain heritages that were on the verge of extinction. Since every magic and blood heritage had something unique to bring to the table, the major societies were amicable enough as long as the collective didn't infringe on any important places. That, and as a entity itself, any single society that managed to evoke the outrage of this peaceful giant, found out that it had teeth when it needed them.

Once the young mage had confirmed that he wasn't being groomed and that there wasn't any kind of cult vibe, he relaxed back into casual conversation again. Seeing that they were hitting it off well, the couple invited him back to their 'pad'. Safely away from mundanes, they let their tightly drawn in auras settle back to comfort. After that, the evening bled into late night fairly quickly with a few more supernaturally inclined flatmates filtering in from parts unknown.

Within the swirl of easy going energy, Orison had a moment of clarity where things were going. He could choose to bow out gracefully or 'stay the night' with the group of flatmates who were 'making themselves comfortable' in a way Orison could relate to. He never considered himself a person that was okay with casual intimacy but casual exhibitionism had never been something that scared him. A touch of loneliness and disconnection had him a little more open to the idea of both.

As the sun crested over the eastern horizon, Orison came to feeling a little lighter and 'unburdened' but in need of fresh air, cleanliness and a comfortable distance from the tangle of a cuddle puddled he had came out of trance in. For a half second, Orison weighed the past night's events on a scale of enjoyment vs. regret and found there wasn't much weight on the regret side except some personal boundaries that had been temporarily compromised in the heat of the moment. There had been a great deal of enjoyment, however.

As Orison politely offered and was taken up on some light healing with some intimate cleaning added in to insure future consequences didn't arise, even the regret side was eased by friendliness and appreciation of his thoughtfulness. After all, some might have been secure enough in their emotional connection to be freer with their and their partner's physical enjoyments but most wanted the involvement of another to be limited. A person who was mindful of that would always be more welcomed to return and even though Orison wasn't very keen on the idea, he didn't want to completely dismiss it either. The pain of realization that came from his newfound knowledge of his effect on mundanes and just how far he had become removed from the world of mankind was too fresh to cut off even as dubious a form of comfort as this had been.

As Orison drove back to Neil's office/ rental flats, he contemplated the benefits and negatives of relaxing a little of his preconceived notions and judgments on personal boundaries. There were some things that would never be up for consideration. Once he found a woman to pour his love and affection onto without reservation, the line of thought would no longer have any real meaning as he knew exactly what kind of relationship he wanted and what he wanted from it.

Still, until that day came, there wasn't any major reason why he should close off opportunities for relief and companionship just because it wasn't something he was familiar with or raised to consider 'normal'. He was so far outside those borders as a 'climber' that it made no sense to him only clinging to conventional thinking on something as ultimately harmless as physical enjoyment and comfort. He resolved to not be as adverse to unconventional affection as long as those involved were as respectful and 'accommodating' as his first encounter with such a thing had been.

In a cheerful mindset, Orison walked into the waiting room of the office and made himself comfortable. It was an interesting discovery that he could 'feed' off of extreme emotions like ecstasy with the same effect that a hearty breakfast could provide but decided that he wouldn't indulge in such an ethereal fair often. His fey heritage was already stronger than he could completely handle as it was.

The young mage flared his aura as a way to announce his presence and waited while faking patience to the best of his abilities. Two minutes later, Ignatius appeared in a flash of desert wind, dressed in garishly colored silk pants. He also wasn't trying very hard to look human either. Despite his neutral face, the ifrit carried a demeanor of frustration.

Conspiratorially, Ignatius said, "Mortal women are so fickle. I find the challenge of it endearing and the constant possibility of it capable of angering me to death."

Zora sauntered down the stairs looking like a person reborn, willowy and filled with exotic temptation, even merely restored to early forties. "Strong and virile man, yes. Pretty boy, maybe but probably not. Half demon and changeling?... Snowball's chance in hell."

The look of strong desire and mild rage that danced in Ignatius' eyes spoke volumes as Orison quipped, "This pretty boy changeling pulled your candy a** from the edge of the grave... twice. I don't give a sh*t if you think my tractor's s*xy or not but show a little gratitude."

She stared blankly at him for a moment before she peeled into a sharp but not unpleasant cackle. "You're tractor? This, I like. I must remember that. As for grateful, I am that too... I am only blunt because it is better than sharp and mean. If I did not like you at all, I would not talk... It is that I respect your danger. You are that. Both of you. Women who fall for fairy tricks and devil tongues suffer. This I know."

Orison smirked. "Well, since your legs look sturdy enough to keep you from 'falling' for awhile, mind finishing that card reading from yesterday? We might be having a good ol' time but I doubt that Neil is."