Crawling Chaos 7

Orison assessed the situation he found himself in. Across from him sat Mr. Carter, a high ranking member of the Masons. The man had 'invited' the young mage to a dinner at the only five star restaurant in town to discuss fair compensation for his involvement in the discovery of Ms. Messier's invention. Both of them knew it was bullsh*t but observance of niceties was at least a margin better than other possibilities.

Cutting viciously into a steak that was more red than pink, Mr. Carter said, "Are you a shepherd or a wolf, Mr. Cantrip?"

Orison stared down at the steamed fish that was tragically able to stare back at its current angle on the plate.

Refusing to be intimidated by the dead aquatic life form, the young mage stabbed off a forkful and washed it down with a sip of white wine. "Neither, but I sympathize with the shepherd and pity the wolf. They are only enemies of necessity because they can't understand each other. It's a common problem with many groups who compete over limited resources or find themselves in conflict due to fundamentally flawed narrow mindsets."

Mr. Carter smiled in a way that managed to be intimidating without being threatening. "Alright, my idealist friend. If you don't like my analogy, what do you consider yourself to be in the grand scheme of things?"

Orison stubbornly took another bite despite the milky eye of condemnation staring up at him. "I'd like to believe I am a mirror to the world. Sometimes I'm a little softer and flattering to what I reflect and sometimes I'm overly contrasting and harsh but I try my best to interpret what's presented to me with at least relative clarity. I don't particularly care to be idealistic or fatalistic. I don't care for overly pessimistic or optimistic points of view either. I'd claim to be a realist but that would be a lie when reality defies explanation and clear definition at every new revelation."

Mr. Carter grimaced. "That's about the dopiest and most non-committal hogwash I've had the displeasure of being subjected to in quite some time... Like to believe. Not this. Not that... So far, all I've really heard is that you're nothing. Obviously you're here, capable of taking up space. That makes you something, even if it's an eyesore. Grow a spine and take a stance I can make something of."

The young mage sighed and put down his fork, all appetite gone. "I sound non-committal because that's what I want to be. I don't want to commit to you or a society, especially not this world. I want to be a transient passing through, barely noticed, easily forgotten. That's obviously an unrealistic desire but there you have it, a stance you can finally make something of."

Mr. Carter stared at Orison with steely gray eyes as he chewed a nearly raw piece of steak with determined zeal before he swallowed it and said, "While we talk, my assistant is drawing up a sizable offer for your detective to investigate a missing person's case just a few miles north of here. Feel free to do as you like but don't expect him to come back if you don't help him."

Orison gave a saintly smile in return. "Don't expect him to be going."

Mr. Carter said, "That's the only unacceptable outcome. You can choose to abandon him, accompany him or do anything but keep him from going. Since you won't reveal your colors, we have to test you. Whatever you choose, as long as you don't bare fangs at us, we won't hunt you down."

Standing up, Orison said with a cold face, "Apathy is the deadliest threat in this world, literally. We are surrounded by, steeped in and crushed under an immense, immeasurable amount of it. I may not have the collateral to bare my fangs at the Masons but your actions have earned my apathy. By itself, it's next to nothing. But in these dark days, hate is preferable."

With a weak wave of suggestion for everyone to look anywhere but at him, Orison switched out the dress suite he had been wearing for his 'armor' using his space directly. As Mr. Carter looked up from his wrist watch and focused back on Orison with surprised anger, the young mage turned sharply away and walked out, the tail of his feather light over-robe drifting like a dark cloud behind him.

Barely within the young mage's hearing, Mr. Carter snorted. "Apathy, my a**. If that was apathy then what's his anger look like, a screaming tantrum on the floor?"

A baritone voice whispered in Mr. Carter's ear, "Thine play serves my lord's will, merely sooner than desired. Tis pity that my lord did not bare fang. Nothing thrills mine blood greater than a hunt."

With a gaze from Mr. Carter, seven other patrons at the restaurant activated a magic circle on the floor but nothing was trapped or revealed by it. Outside, Orison moved along as if he didn't have a care in the world but internally he was seething. Determined to fake it until he could make it, he kept the the emotionless facade all the way to his car and the first few blocks from the restaurant until he burst out with a string of cursing that tested the limit of his vulgar creativity.

By the time that Orison came stomping into the detective's office, it was nearly seven o' clock, almost two hours after it closed. Ignoring the faint sounds of a woman being vigorously entertained coming through the closed door to the kitchen from Neil's bedroom, the young mage walked over to the desk to see the standard contract and non-disclosure agreement sitting there. There wasn't anything fishy about the contract itself.

The amount offered and 'per diem' allotted for daily needs were generous but not to a suspicious degree. If not for the location Neil was being sent to, Orison would have cleared the contract as a huge opportunity for the detective to garner notice from the elite. Because it was past the border of what belonged to the 'others', he wanted to rip it up and say 'be damned, the consequences' but after a second thought, it represented an opportunity.

Orison had already begun batting around the idea of how to broach the topic of the supernatural world with the detective. Depending on how the conversation went, the young mage would find an opportunity to expose Neil to a light risk amount of inert essence and feed the man a dan to see how THAT went. If it went well, or at least didn't scare Neil off, Orison would explain what he was up to and let the detective make informed choices along the way rather than continuing to covertly groom the man to be his backup.

While the young mage was organizing his thoughts, Neil poked his head out of the door to the kitchen.

Seeing the teenager, he whispered, "Think you could clear out for a few minutes?"

The sound of a shower turning on echoed out from behind him.

Looking sheepish, distracted and building up a little renewed interest, Neil added, "Make that another hour?"

Orison waved the contract and said, "No problem but don't wear yourself out to the point we can't talk about some important things before you call it a day."

Hardly listening, the man responded, "Sure thing, kid."

Considering the issue resolved, Neil closed the door. Not wanting to turn accidental eavesdropping into intentional, Orison hurriedly finished his business in the office and gathered a few things from his room. Unfortunately, he wasn't quick enough to avoid being exposed to far more graphic sounds, as the shower was just on the other side of his bedroom wall. An uncomfortable truth rose up to remind Orison how long it had been since he had tended to sensitive private matters.

For a half second, Orison was tempted to take advantage of the free radio broadcast to handle business but common sense asserted how difficult it would be to face Neil later if he did. Hitting himself with a frigid casting of 'Degree Shift', the young mage quickly but silently made his way out. After running off three boys not too far from his own visible age with a dollar apiece bribe, Orison didn't have the face to even stay in the building.

With money burning holes in their pockets, the boys from the building begged Orison to take them to the 'park' which was code to take them to the penny arcade with pinball machines that didn't have too bad of a reputation nearby. The parents knew but Orison had built a solid reputation in the building and being that the kids would be out of their hair but not roaming the streets, the two families they came from were all too happy to consent. Needing a relatively wholesome distraction himself, Orison obliged. An hour later, Orison brought back the 'three J's and made his way to Neil's office.

When the young mage walked in, Neil was staring at the wall in the kitchen. Lost in fond recall, Neil sprawled on his chair in lazy satisfaction, clad in nothing but boxers and overheated boldness. Absentmindedly, Orison noted that Neil's physical fitness level was shaping up even faster than the young mage originally predicted. It suddenly occurred to him that under that three years of empty calorie gut was a relatively active person who wasn't a stranger to military style discipline. He made a mental note to start looking for another car because he would likely be handing the keys of his current one over to Neil soon.

Sighing, Orison sat in the other chair and said, "It's almost eighty degrees in here. Why didn't you turn on the swamp cooler?"

Neil snapped out of his reverie and said, "It, uh, fell out of the window."

Eyebrows raising, the young mage said, "I put two safety brackets on it... You know what, never mind. I'm sure there's a story I don't want to hear in there somewhere."

The detective eyed Orison's 'turtleneck shirt'. "I'm sure there's a story behind black long sleeves in a sweltering apartment too."

Orison smiled. "Thanks for the lead in. We'll get back to that in a moment... Please tell me that the guest you were entertaining was from anywhere besides accompanying Mr. Carter's assistant."

Defensively, Neil said, "What does that have to do with anything?"

Smile taking a razor's edge, Orison replied, "Because I had a most unpleasant dinner with Mr. Carter earlier and now I have to have an awkward conversation with you that I wasn't ready to have yet... Do you know anything about the Masons, Neil?"

The frown that was already building from Mr. Carter's name being brought up, quickly congealed into a scowl. "Since I doubt you're talking about the garden variety, you must be talking about that hush-hush group of well-to-do's behind a good number of the city's charitable organizations?"

The young mage nodded, "That would be them. And as you can well imagine, there's a lot more under the surface but we're not going to focus on them directly. There are other groups out there with similarly mysterious agendas. The East Village Tong, The Charitable Order of Poor Knights in the western suburbs, even the Mother's Arms Botanical Garden Group in Rose Cliff to our south share a secret.

"I'm going to tell you what that secret is after you swear not to share it with another living soul without clearing it by me first. I hope the reason will be clear after I'm done explaining. Even if you don't believe a word I say or are willing to believe that THEY believe it when you don't, everyone that hears what I'm about to tell you can get on their radar. If they feel threatened by you, they WILL make you disappear."

Chuckling a little nervously, Neil said, "I'm game, kid, but don't expect me to buy some phony baloney."

Orison grabbed the third chair from the table and set it behind the fan. Then Orison started filling up the sink as he set the dish rack into a drip pan, placing that on the chair. As Neil watched on in curiosity, Orison took an old bucket handle and dipped it into the sink as he turned off the water. After a few seconds of concentration, the young mage lifted the handle back out of the sink. The large, wet piece of ice which was connected to the handle, he sat on the dish rack. The oscillating fan carrying cooler air across the kitchen bore testament to something that Neil couldn't easily explain but wasn't overly threatened by.

As Neil began rationalizing and picking apart what he saw, Orison interrupted him to say, "Oh, that wasn't a demonstration or anything. I just thought it was a little uncomfortable in here. If you want, I could, though. Which would you prefer, to be lifted off the ground for a couple of seconds by an invisible force, interact with a summoned being or... Those are some pretty nasty scratch marks you have there. I could heal those up in a few seconds."

Half in disbelief, half afraid Orison would do one of the first two, Neil stood up and turned his back to Orison. "That bruise under my left shoulder is starting to hurt something fierce. Whether it's quack medicine or voodoo, it'd be nice if I didn't have to deal with that in the morning."

Orison said dryly, "And the mystery of the falling swamp cooler is solved... Sure thing, Casanova."

After having a couple seconds of healing slapped on him, Neil sat down a little weak kneed with delayed realization about a lot of little strange things he'd noticed around his teenage roommate. He figured things out for a living and he wasn't bad at it. The only thing that kept him from understanding sooner was a preconceived notion of how the world was and the evidence he was given didn't match so he just rationalized it all away. Neil somewhat thought that Orison was a talented stage magician most of the time.

The young mage gave Neil some time to let the shock wear off a little. While he waited, He grabbed a few lemons and made some half and half with the ice tea left in the fridge. Dumping a generous amount of sugar in it, Orison handed a glass to the detective as he made himself comfortable in his chair. Soon enough, Neil's natural curiosity got the best of the man as he started firing off a list of questions that ranged from religious to ethical concerns. When the man's curiosity turned to practical and theoretical queries, delving into what all Orison was capable of, the young mage stopped him.

Orison said, "With some time and trust, I'll get around to all of that. Focus on what you really want to know. We've got other ground to cover tonight and you need to log some good sleep for tomorrow no matter how the rest of this conversation goes."

Neil said, "Is it something you're born with or can it be learned."

Orison said, "Yes to both. Learning is required, being born with a gift is better and makes things much easier. If you're not born with it, you have to be exposed to some dangerous stuff for the possibility of acquiring a gift. I'm not certain if there are ways in this world to gain supernatural ability through academic pursuits alone but I'm sure there are. I'm also fairly sure that the chances of finding out how could turn out fruitless after a lifetime of pursuit, unless..."

Neil's eyes lit up. "Unless one or all of these secret societies have already figured it out."

Orison nodded. "However, I'm pretty sure that with the state of the world being what it is, I'd bet the majority are the ones born with it. They probably pour most of their accumulated knowledge and resources into a sure bet instead of the riskier and and more time consuming methods. Pure academics might exist in their ranks but I doubt they go far."

"Look, Neil. I was going to get a feel for if you'd be interested in leaving behind the safety and comfort of the life you know for this. I didn't want to forcefully take away the limited protection being unaware provides if I didn't think you'd want to know. The current circumstance has removed that luxury and it's indirectly my fault.

"I can tell myself that you'd have died from internal bleeding the day we met but I don't know that for sure. Maybe they wouldn't have gotten so carried away if they thought you wouldn't have help or maybe they would have went further but all that is 'IF' and it would only serve to make me feel better for dragging you into this. All I can say is I'm sorry but I'll do what I can to make sure you survive it and maybe, with a little luck, become a person who needs to be reckoned with rather than pushed around."

The silence stretched out for awhile until Neil broke it. "Listen, kiddo. I know how hard it is to go at it alone. I ain't been much help to you and you've busted your a** lighting a fire under mine. If it hadn't been me it'd have been some other poor schmuck. At least I didn't have that much to lose. Here's the thing...

"I've been waiting for the other shoe to drop for awhile now. In a way, I'm relieved. I mean, I wasn't expecting this wackadoodle situation but I was expecting some kind of big trouble... I've been dealt raw hands most of my life, then you show up and it's all aces. No offense but I've been waiting for the deuce to get dropped. So lay it on me. How dirty of a deuce are we dealing with here and how can we turn it into a flush and send it down the river?"