The both of them would've received a text message (or phone call, perhaps) from the good Dr. Sepúlveda earlier that day. They were going to meet and he was going to explain some shit to them. An address was provided as well as a time to meet-- it was rather later in the evening than Margot had hoped for (she had class in the morning, damnit), but so be it.
Margot volunteered to drive and offered Ned a ride. She'd pick him up wherever he requested (within reason, of course-- if he wanted her to pick him up from outside the city she'd probably be grumpy about it).
Before they new it the sun had long been down and the ice chill of January in the Rocky Mountains settled in with the night. Margot drove a car that was probably about five or six years old, a little inoccuous green four-door sedan. Inexpensive, easy to afford on no credit, and most importantly easy to overlook. She kept it clean and there was a Yankee candle air freshener dangling from the rear-view mirror to make it smell like "fresh linen" in the cabin. Listened to NPR if they weren't making conversation, and contributed distractedly while driving if conversation were to be had.
Federal was a sketchy stretch of road, and Margot's reluctance to be here showed in a pinching together of eyebrows. When she found the number of the building that they had been looking for she took a left turn across the lanes to pull into the parking lot and still the car in a space. When she finally bothered to squint at the sign in the window, her jaw went a little slack.
"You've got to be kidding me."
The Paper Moon. The squat brick building painted black and left to float in its own island of crumbling concrete that the doctor told them to meet at was a strip club.
Ned
He didn't like driving much.
He could, mind you but he didn't like it. Car crashes did that to you. Especially those potentially responsible for turning your whole life view and value around until nothing makes any concrete sense any longer. So when Margot makes the suggestion and arrives to pick him up, he is somewhat askance of it all. He greets her with a careful nod and an easing into the seat, immediately reaching for his seat belt to buckle in. He sits there with his hands on his knees, staring out the windows with a furrowed brow that he probably doesn't realize is there.
The entire drive is riddled with him glancing out the window. There are a few moments where his hand comes up, half in the middle of pointing out some well-distant obstacle or problem that might cause Margot some trouble while driving, only for her careful methods to make it obsolete halfway to his pointing. Most of it is obvious, easy to avoid/notice. Evidence of his nerves.
He makes no attempt to converse, content with NPR (or maintaining vigil on the road to where they are going) and it isn't until they come to a halt and he's glancing out of the window at the sign she's brought them infront of that his brow furrows in conscious effort.
"...Apparently not." He turns to glance at her, hand moving for the seat belt, the other moving to pop the door open with a little too much effort and speed. "You bring any singles?" With seriousness implied. Then he's climbing out, slapping the door closed and staring at the window and the establishment beyond with his hands in his jean pockets, thick winter jacket a puffy cushion of warm that buttons right to his nose.
Sepúlveda
It's warm in Denver today. Clouds choked the sky all day but the temperatures reached into the fifties and now that night has fallen and the skies are starting to clear they will take what little warmth remains with them.
The medical examiner is standing outside of Paper Moon smoking a cigarette and gazing off towards the Rocky Mountains with a pensive expression on his face. His hair looks as if he - or someone else - combed it with his - or her - fingers before he continued on his merry way. He's wearing a suit which implies he had to testify in court or else assist in an inquisition or an investigation or else he just felt like putting on a fucking suit to go to a fucking strip club.
Early enough in the evening that the rowdy crowd hasn't even started considering where they were going to end up yet. Right now it's just regulars and your run-of-the-mill dirtbags.
When Margot and Ned step out of the car and come towards him he takes a final killing drag off the cigarette and deposits the butt in the canister by the wall where he's standing.
"Give me your wallet," is the first thing he says to Margot. A flick of his eyes to Ned like he already knows what's coming: "You're underaged and I'm a firm believer in the power of practical demonstration. I'll at least need something that resembles an ID."
Translation: Hi guys glad to see you made it okay are you ready for your first lesson?
Margot
The car chirped to indicate that she'd successfully locked the doors, and Margot stepped up onto the sidewalk in front of the curb the nose of her car was at. She was dressed in a pair of dark gray pants and black sneakers, with the same brown tweed coat that she'd stepped outside work wearing to chat with Ned when they first met (just a few days ago, crazy what a change a week will make). She'd tugged a hat on over her hair to keep her head and ears warm as well, and kept her hands (and keys) tucked into her coat pockets.
Did she have singles? It was probably a joke, but he sounded pretty serious all the same. "I have a five, I think? I never really have reason to carry cash, everyone accepts card."
The Doctor wasn't difficult to find, and the pair walked up to greet him. Margot looked about ready to say something about the location, her mouth had opened to begin words and she was turning her head to gesture toward the building already. She was interrupted before getting anything out, though, by a demand for her wallet. Margot blinked, caught a little off-guard, and produced a slim purple wallet from her coat pocket.
"Alright," she conceded, but quickly remembered her indignance. "Was this really the only place you could think of?"
Ned
"Could probably get change at the bar or something." Ned offers, perhaps attempting to be helpful or reassuring.
Ned's already digging into his pocket when the Doctor asks Margot for her ID. He fishes out his old student ID, flipping it over to check the face there and inspect the ID For the required information: Date of Birth, Location etc. etc. Wonderful. He taps it against his opposite hand, wallet clutched precariously between clenched fingers, even as his eyes lift back up to the sign and the establishment.
"This is either going to be depressing, embarassing or resembling violent." If it seems prophetic, then you'd be mistaken. Ned hands it off half-heartedly, quirking what might be a smirk at Margot, before eyeballing the Doc.
"...and what exactly are we supposed to do?" It comes in on the tail end of Margot's own question. Parameters. Figure out the rules of the game or the question so you can get to answering it properly. If Ned's features, bunched up into a frown. Equal parts cold and concerned.
Sepúlveda
Like the smallest bouncer this side of the Rio Grande the doctor reaches out for Margot's wallet and Ned's student ID. Rifles through the former only so far as he needs to in order to find either her driver's license or her university ID card and then thrusts the purple patent leather thing back at her.
Was this really the only place you could think of?
No Margot he also considered multiple libraries and a diner and just sitting in his fucking Toyota on a curb somewhere but then he decided if he was going to have to lay out a syllabus for Wizarding 101 to two wide-eyed young things then he wanted to drink tequila and look at bare breasts while he was doing it.
The doctor just flicks his eyebrows before removing from his own coat pocket a small gray metal box that looks like a '90s era PDA. He feeds the first badge to a slot in the side of the machine and starts to tap buttons with the pad of his middle finger.
...and what exactly are we supposed to do?
"What?" He wasn't listening. He looks up from his work. They're cloaked in shadow. No security cameras here and if there are no one is sitting in a room somewhere watching them. Closed-circuit. The machine begins to chirp and then whir. "Oh, I'm sorry, am I keeping you?"
[matter 2: MELT AND REFORM BITCHES. i think he only needs like 2 successes for it to last the rest of the scene. base diff 5, -1 for practiced effect.]
Dice: 3 d10 TN4 (9, 10, 10) ( success x 3 )
Margot
A glance was cast toward Ned, and the smirk wasn't quite returned but she did at least look a little bit less anxious for a moment. Then the Doc set to work with what looked like an old handheld from the second-hand stores of childhood gone past.
The distracted 'What?' had Margot clearing her throat and trying again.
"How do we learn at a strip club?"
Ned
"...Right. Shut up and wait." It would seem Ned is used to this sort of response. From Doctors, Nurses, Former Professors, etc. etc. A lifetime of being told you're not important enough yet and this isn't the right time for asking questions. He doesn't look perturbed or even annoyed, just impatient, eyes scaling and climbing along the length of the building they are standing in front of.
"...Imagine we try not to get distracted and see where our morals take us." It's a half-assed assurance to Margot, though no less a guess than anything else they've tried to get out of the Doc.
Sepúlveda
When he hands the ID back to Margot the state and her name and address remain the same but her birth year has dialed back far enough that so far as the plastic is concerned she is now 22 years old. Scanning the ID will tell the bouncer as much. He accomplished what he set out to do.
Which means he's feeding the little device Ned's ID as the two apprentices go on. His eyes are on the screen and not on them.
"I suggest you leave your morals and anything else you think you know about the world outside. Your environment doesn't dictate what you're capable of doing."
[matter 2: and again!]
Dice: 3 d10 TN4 (5, 8, 9) ( success x 3 )
Margot
"Of course it does," Margot retorted quickly at the bit of advice the good doctor offered about environments.
She seemed stressed, but of course she did. She was about to go into a strip club for the very first time, a place she'd have rather avoided if she could, and it was to serve as a classroom (or laboratory?) of all things. Perhaps they were just here for a conversation-- that would make sense. But if they were supposed to do anything practical and hands-on themselves....
She was beginning to think that may not be the case, though, and accepted the ID back. Looked it over and noted that the date of birth was reprinted. Same date, different year. No signs of alteration, but of course not. This was magic.
The card went back into the purple wallet and from there into her jacket again. Finally, sounding like she was trying to bargain, she asked:
"Can we at least not sit at the stage?"
Ned
"Well that's good." It genuinely was. Ned had been concerned that his efforts so far were going to be exclusive to the Hospital given most of his 'Workings' revolved around certain regular occurrences present at such a location. It was a more casual response than Margot seemed comfortable with, but at least it was a parameter he could test. He'd been scared to do much outside of the Hospital, incase something went wrong.
"So the thing with the IDs-" Ned leans over to glance at Margot's ID, taking a hard look to see if there were any noticeable discrepancies "-is part of the Trick. You paint over the current visual and replace it with whatever anyone wants to see? Or did you actually change the numbers themselves to read differently?"
"I always feel bad sitting next to the stage. I don't have any money to give them." Casual, off-hand and dismissive. Yes, he was a former university lad.
Margot
To tack onto the list of things that Ned mused the Doc might have done, Margot-- wide-eyed as ever, added brightly:
"Or did he change my age?"
Ooooh.
Sepúlveda
Of course it does.
And he hands Ned back his student ID which has undergone a similar alteration only unlike her driver's license his badge no longer says UNDER 21 in big red letters. His new birth year supports the absence of such.
"No it doesn't."
Can we at least not sit at the stage?
The longest of long-suffering sighs. He doesn't answer right away. Tucks away his little presto change-o device and runs his left hand through his hair. A man wearing a wedding band taking two underaged kids into a strip club on a Wednesday night. What will the neighbors say.
"Fine," he says.
So the thing with the IDs.
"What I did is basic transmutation. In order to alter another's perception of the contents of the license I would need a stronger grasp on the Sphere of Mind, which I don't. Yet. I reprinted the cards so they displayed a more appropriate date of birth. Nothing fancy."
That's the last question he takes before they head inside.
--
Anyone who has ever stepped foot inside of an adult entertainment establishment knows the drill. This place looks like any other 21+ night club with a dingy foyer and an unmanned coat check booth and a register counter where a bored girl with golden skin and chemically-straight black hair stands examining her manicure while she waits for customers. Low light and through the darkness newcomers can see the bar off to one side U-shaped and thin-populated and off to the right the stage. Pink and blue lights and most of the men sat right up by the stage are neither in the prime of their lives nor seem interested in what is happening.
Apart from the bartender and the cocktail waitresses every girl in here is topless.
Dr. Sepúlveda takes a shot of tequila at the bar and orders another shot and a beer back for the trip to the table. He'll pay for whatever the other two want. Does not pressure them into cola or water if they don't want anything. They're college students. Food trumps booze.
Five minutes into the indoor aspect of their adventure they're seated. The doctor twirls the wedding band one two three times. Knits his fingers and rests his forearms on the table.
"They have good chicken wings," seems to be his final comment on the matter of the location. He removes a prescription pad from his pocket opposite the side where he keeps the PDA stored and begins to scribble. "Alright. Settle a bet: how did you two meet?"
[forces 2: SOUND SHIELD MOTHERFUCKERS. this might be vulgar? no one is paying attention to them tho. welcome to mage the rules are made up and the points don't matter. -1 for practiced rote.]
Dice: 3 d10 TN4 (6, 7, 7) ( success x 3 )
NedSepúlveda
Of course it does.
And he hands Ned back his student ID which has undergone a similar alteration only unlike her driver's license his badge no longer says UNDER 21 in big red letters. His new birth year supports the absence of such.
"No it doesn't."
Can we at least not sit at the stage?
The longest of long-suffering sighs. He doesn't answer right away. Tucks away his little presto change-o device and runs his left hand through his hair. A man wearing a wedding band taking two underaged kids into a strip club on a Wednesday night. What will the neighbors say.
"Fine," he says.
So the thing with the IDs.
"What I did is basic transmutation. In order to alter another's perception of the contents of the license I would need a stronger grasp on the Sphere of Mind, which I don't. Yet. I reprinted the cards so they displayed a more appropriate date of birth. Nothing fancy."
That's the last question he takes before they head inside.
--
Anyone who has ever stepped foot inside of an adult entertainment establishment knows the drill. This place looks like any other 21+ night club with a dingy foyer and an unmanned coat check booth and a register counter where a bored girl with golden skin and chemically-straight black hair stands examining her manicure while she waits for customers. Low light and through the darkness newcomers can see the bar off to one side U-shaped and thin-populated and off to the right the stage. Pink and blue lights and most of the men sat right up by the stage are neither in the prime of their lives nor seem interested in what is happening.
Apart from the bartender and the cocktail waitresses every girl in here is topless.
Dr. Sepúlveda takes a shot of tequila at the bar and orders another shot and a beer back for the trip to the table. He'll pay for whatever the other two want. Does not pressure them into cola or water if they don't want anything. They're college students. Food trumps booze.
Five minutes into the indoor aspect of their adventure they're seated. The doctor twirls the wedding band one two three times. Knits his fingers and rests his forearms on the table.
"They have good chicken wings," seems to be his final comment on the matter of the location. He removes a prescription pad from his pocket opposite the side where he keeps the PDA stored and begins to scribble. "Alright. Settle a bet: how did you two meet?"
[forces 2: SOUND SHIELD MOTHERFUCKERS. this might be vulgar? no one is paying attention to them tho. welcome to mage the rules are made up and the points don't matter. -1 for practiced rote.]
Dice: 3 d10 TN4 (6, 7, 7) ( success x 3 )
Ned"Plate of fries please." Is Ned's order, the Orderly passing on a drink except a glass of water. He doesn't hesitate and takes the Doc's offer for what it is. Food was scarce perhaps, or he just didn't seem to have the normal level of appetite one would expect for someone of his age. Disposition, events being what they were, that might be understandable.
The table they sit at is a little small, all the better for potential on the spot lap dances and lounging 'workers' offering their wares with the most flexible ease. He seems to take passing glances at the roving breast farm here or there, but doesn't commit much to the eyes or faces. He takes one of the chairs at the table, with his glass of water, sipping at it gently before turning his attention to the Doc.
"Margot works at a pot-" He pauses, eyes narrowing, pulling his winter jacket off in slow increments "-You did something. I'm suddenly a lot colder...and creeped out and it isn't the missing jacket." He rolls his sleeves up on his plaid shirt, collar half sprung, hair a touch messier than it probably should be.
"We met at a pot dispensary. She works there and I needed some. She noticed my oddness and called me out on it. I caught the same off her after that and we exchanged numbers." Ned's plate of fries arrive quickly and he accepts them without meeting the girl's eyes. Presumably the table goes quiet on her arrival and only picks back up again when she leaves.
"Guess you could call that the meet-cute to this hurricane..." He begins munching on some fries, pushing the plate forward for folks to help themselves.
MargotInside the strip club Margot felt out of place. She was sure that she stood out, but in truth nobody really gave a shit about whether she was there or not. She ordered the chicken wings, per recommend, and a bottle of beer. As they found their table and settled in, Margot glanced around the establishmennt and looked vaguely as though someone put a bad smell right under her nose.
That look would fade when their conversation kicked off and food arrived, and she was able to focus on something beyond the topless women roaming around and stewing in her own little cloud of young-minded feminist righteousness.
The wings were surrendered to the center of the table as well, and they were pretty good as a matter of fact. She washed them down with her beer before cutting immeditely to a question of her own
"What happens to the folks like us that don't find each other?"
Her look was probably comical for how serious she was on the side of the table opposite the good doctor.
SepúlvedaYou did something. I'm suddenly a lot colder...and creeped out and it isn't the missing jacket.
The doctor flicks his eyebrows but does not offer up a concrete explanation. He's in the middle of scribbling out what he wants the universe to do and it's not the most intricate or precise effect he's ever fired off on a whim but it does what he set it out to do. The cocktail waitress can hear them only because she's inside the area of effect.
Once she drops off the fries and wings and a third shot of tequila she steps outside of it again the Work he just performed reveals itself. They cannot hear the Iggy Azalea song the bleach-blond anorectic is dancing to right now. They cannot hear the din of the crowd. They cannot hear the bass throbbing out of the speakers. They cannot hear the kitchen door opening and closing. A yawning effect when the force shield engulfs them and the inevitable cold of the doctor's resonance and that is that.
The term 'meet-cute' makes him scowl and knock back his second shot of tequila. He lets the burn burn for a few seconds before dragging his beer closer. He does not touch the fries or the wings.
What happens to the folks like us that don't find each other?
"Well..." He does not think her look comical. The man has seen some shit. Before he answers he scratches at his forehead. Gold band dull in the multicolored light. "The resourceful ones make valuable use of inductive reasoning. They learn valuable life lessons, pick up a variety of cosmetic and hepatic scars, and more often than not disappear from the streets and return months later to begin their lives anew as Technocrats. Most folks don't go very long without finding a mentor. If it's any consolation." Beer. "Being as you found a mentor, my gift to you--" A pantomime as if he's bestowing a bounty upon them. "--is deductive reasoning. If we all focus and remain on task and set out reasonable and attainable goals for ourselves and each other, by the time you achieve a higher state of enlightenment and can function on your own you will be able to solve most of life's problems using your Spheres and trusting in your Avatar not to lead you astray."
Beer.
Ned"....Avatar. I'm going to assume you aren't talking about Air-Benders or Blue giants." The term gets stored away in Ned's brain. He had been tempted to bring along a notepad but thought better on leaving behind paper trails for people to find or localize. The less evidence the better and really, he wasn't in any danger of forgetting what was happening anytime soon. The terms would come easily enough.
He turns, almost sharply to shake his head vigourously at an approaching dancer, no doubt with an intent to offer a Lapdance and some 'friendly conversation', sending the girl shrugging on to another table with a single fellow dressed in greedy eyes.
"Spheres. Are th- Wait..." Ned pauses, eyes narrowed in regard of the Doc, leaning forward with his elbows on the table. "You said 'Set out reasonable and attainable goals for ourselves..and each other'..." Another brief pause, to ensue everyone heard it correctly.
"Does that mean we can expect to have goals for you?"
MargotMargot, too, wriggled free from her coat and draped it over the back of her chair. Under the coat she wore a black long-sleeved shirt with a boat neck and a thin chain about her neck holding a small charm that was made to look like a bookcase. She brushed her fingers back through wavy-messy brown hair to tuck the right side behind her ear.
A carrot stick was plucked from the basket of wings, and she nibbled this while producing a small notebook and pen from a pocket in her coat. She promptly set this on the table and ducked her head down to begin scribbling notes quickly-- just terms, really. Avatar. Spheres. Mentor. Just to name a few.
Ned asked about Avatars, but more importantly asked about goals they could set for their mentor. Sharp hazel eyes skipped up from her notebook and to the doctor's face, still looking as serious as before, when she asked what she felt to be a more pressing question.
"What's a Technocrat?"
Sepúlveda[manip + subt: i am not pleased by the fact that you're taking fucking notes]
Dice: 2 d10 TN6 (8, 9) ( success x 2 )
SepúlvedaThey're new. They're so new. They just stepped off the boat and they're new and they can both see Dr. Sepúlveda take a deep breath to remind himself that he needs to be mindful of this and not talk to the two of them like they're actual interns. Actual interns he can treat like shit because it builds character and hardens them to the harsh realities of forensic pathology.
These two met because one of them works in a medical marijuana dispensary while going to school and the other one wipes down stretchers and mops floors at a fucking hospital. They didn't sign up for this.
Director's commentary: it warms the cockles of his shriveled lump of a heart that Margot starts taking fucking notes. His poker face is just fine as long as you don't read the movement of the muscles beneath his beard.
Does that mean we can expect to have goals for you too?
He flicks his eyebrows. Yes. That is a reasonable assumption.
What's a Technocrat?
"We'll get to that," he says.
The weight of the project they've undertaken has settled on his shoulders. Their mentor is roughly the size of a fifteen-year-old boy and does not have broad shoulders. His spine is straight and strong though. Plus he has something fifteen-year-olds do not: alcohol.
"Before we go any further, I need you two to divest yourselves of the notion that your lack of consent insofar as Awakening goes is a variable in this equation. Very few people choose this, and the ones who do had coaxing. I, myself, would not have Awakened were not for a more powerful Scientist recognizing some kind of potential in me and introducing her paradigm to my life. Which, in case you're wondering: I went to Denver University on a minority scholarship to study biochemistry. Graduated in 2000. Med school: Johns Hopkins. Anatomic pathology residency: Stanford. Forensic pathology fellowship: Miami. When I Awakened I was alone in the chem lab at DU and a shadow started whispering to me. Just over my shoulder, disappeared soon as I turned around. I followed it." A beat. "Right through a wall."
He gives them a moment to both digest that and wrap their heads around the fact that he took a sharp left away from their questions. Keeping to the syllabus they haven't received yet.
Ned"....A Shadow." Ned might be incredulous at such an innocuous mention, but-
"Mine was a puzzle." He frowns, eyes flicking toward Margot for a second. She had mentioned a Goddess. "Infinite colours and untold shapes. Nothing but shifting pieces and some...well, lovecraft level symmetry. Non-euclidian? Felt like I was trying to put together a map for epilepsy." It's clear in his demeanour, slightly hunched shoulders, darting eyes and the discomfort clouding his face that this is new territory to talk about. New territory he has been avoiding.
"Everything I've done which...well, really isn't much...sort of solves a part of it. Or...unfolds new parts, I dunno." His gaze finds Margot again. "You said a Goddess. A War one." And back to the Doc. "Is there any rhyme or reason to these images? Are they random or actual entities or...?"
Translation: Should we be scared?
MargotWhatever pleasure it may have caused their thirty-something teacher to see her actively taking notes in her little notebook went missed-- Margot's head was ducked, eyes on the words she was writing. By the time she'd looked up he had his poker face well affixed and had moved on to other thoughts.
She paid attention when he spoke of his Awakening. She remembered him mentioning something about a book, but glanced to Ned when he mused about the shadow then took a moment to speak at length about his Avatar. He'd find her already looking at him, meeting his gaze when he mentioned hers briefly-- the Goddess of War (or, well, one of many really).
She didn't speak to confirm or give anymore insight into her Avatar. Didn't even come close to touching on her Awakening. Ned already knew that she was adamant about not talking about that particular subject just yet. Which made her feel just a little bit like shit, because here he was laying cards and great detail on the table even though his body language spoke of clear discomfort. Sorry, buddy. Not just yet.
After a moment or two's delay she turned her attention and gaze back to the Doc as well.
"You said that a book awoke you. Did it speak of shadows as well, or was that just.... what found you?"
Sepúlveda"The Avatar!"
Sudden enthusiasm from a man who from the looks of him ought to be a sarcastic piece of shit who hates everything. He's small and a bit sallow the long hours underneath the fluorescents eating away at his melatonin and besides that he works with dead bodies all day. The impression they have gotten from him so far is that he is beleaguered and hyperactive. Talks a lot. That's a side effect of being a decent teacher.
His non sequitur outburst is just that. He's fucking scatterbrained. As Ned talks he thinks of other things. Listens sure and retains but his primary focus is internal.
"Okay. Listen: your Awakening is the closest to a definition of you, as a.. mage.. as you're going to get. Everyone has a different word for what it is. You listen to the Choristers it's the shards left over from the One ringing the note that begat the universe. The Cultists think it's... everything. Weed. I don't fucking know. Cultists are insane." Says the mad scientist. "It's... I think it's a higher consciousness. An inner awareness that allows you, the willworker! Your will is what allows the things you do to happen as they do. You. Not... your instruments, not your rituals, not your candle-burning throat-singing nonsense. You. Some people have very strong Awakened selves and others are... ephemeral. Barely capable of lighting a candle. The stronger your Awakened self, your Avatar, the more Quintessence, the raw Stuff of the universe, you're able to work with. Even if it's weak, it finds you when it's ready for you to open your eyes."
Time for questions. His third shot of tequila is yet untouched. A good sign.
Ned"Quintessence. Alright..." Ned clears his throat, leaning over the table again, hands to elbows, forearms to cheap wood furnishing.
"So our awakening, is an emergence of Will, as defined by our own personal belief structure, whatever that may be. Belief, by my own definition, is the strongest representative values within my own core understanding of the world including morality, tenacity and conviction all blended together. In essence..." He holds up a finger, eyes falling to the table for a moment of speculation and attempted word adjustment.
"...Whatever we believe on some greater level, be it apathy, faith, logic or compassion, will drive not only how we perform these 'Acts of Will' but also why it happened to begin with. The emergence happens when we're "Ready"..." He air quotes "Which is ambiguous enough to warrant this being some pyramid scheme only...well we've got the evidence to prove our special powers, don't we?"
He exhales. Loudly. Getting used to the cone of silence they were in. The background tits and poor music are easier to ignore when in here.
"So when Margot and I emerged, presumably-" A glance that could be apologetic, thrown at his fellow apprentice "-we did so with a sudden explosion of belief and conviction, that resulted in a hard knot of 'Will' capable of re-organizing Existence. Our own personal bubble of 'Id and Ego trumps all'..."
He pauses, eyes tracing the Doc.
"How am I doing?"
MargotSepúlveda and Ned both got affixed with different stares. First, for the good doctor, was the stare of a student trying to sponge up all of the key points in a lecture. Bright-eyed, a blank slate willing to (at least with a grain of salt) believe that you knew exactly what you were talking about. He was about a third of the way through his spiel before she remembered and looked down to frantically scribble notes and catch back up.
Then Ned got to talking, relaying what he was perceiving from their conversation, and the stare he received was more impressed than anything. His question of how he was doing hung in the air. This time around Margot didn't come up with any questions of her own to tack onto his, as had apparently become her habbit.
Instead she combed her fingers through her hair again, this time with a bit of exasperation, and reached for her beer bottle.
"This is so fucking philosophical."
Of course it does.
And he hands Ned back his student ID which has undergone a similar alteration only unlike her driver's license his badge no longer says UNDER 21 in big red letters. His new birth year supports the absence of such.
"No it doesn't."
Can we at least not sit at the stage?
The longest of long-suffering sighs. He doesn't answer right away. Tucks away his little presto change-o device and runs his left hand through his hair. A man wearing a wedding band taking two underaged kids into a strip club on a Wednesday night. What will the neighbors say.
"Fine," he says.
So the thing with the IDs.
"What I did is basic transmutation. In order to alter another's perception of the contents of the license I would need a stronger grasp on the Sphere of Mind, which I don't. Yet. I reprinted the cards so they displayed a more appropriate date of birth. Nothing fancy."
That's the last question he takes before they head inside.
--
Anyone who has ever stepped foot inside of an adult entertainment establishment knows the drill. This place looks like any other 21+ night club with a dingy foyer and an unmanned coat check booth and a register counter where a bored girl with golden skin and chemically-straight black hair stands examining her manicure while she waits for customers. Low light and through the darkness newcomers can see the bar off to one side U-shaped and thin-populated and off to the right the stage. Pink and blue lights and most of the men sat right up by the stage are neither in the prime of their lives nor seem interested in what is happening.
Apart from the bartender and the cocktail waitresses every girl in here is topless.
Dr. Sepúlveda takes a shot of tequila at the bar and orders another shot and a beer back for the trip to the table. He'll pay for whatever the other two want. Does not pressure them into cola or water if they don't want anything. They're college students. Food trumps booze.
Five minutes into the indoor aspect of their adventure they're seated. The doctor twirls the wedding band one two three times. Knits his fingers and rests his forearms on the table.
"They have good chicken wings," seems to be his final comment on the matter of the location. He removes a prescription pad from his pocket opposite the side where he keeps the PDA stored and begins to scribble. "Alright. Settle a bet: how did you two meet?"
[forces 2: SOUND SHIELD MOTHERFUCKERS. this might be vulgar? no one is paying attention to them tho. welcome to mage the rules are made up and the points don't matter. -1 for practiced rote.]
Dice: 3 d10 TN4 (6, 7, 7) ( success x 3 )
Ned"Plate of fries please." Is Ned's order, the Orderly passing on a drink except a glass of water. He doesn't hesitate and takes the Doc's offer for what it is. Food was scarce perhaps, or he just didn't seem to have the normal level of appetite one would expect for someone of his age. Disposition, events being what they were, that might be understandable.
The table they sit at is a little small, all the better for potential on the spot lap dances and lounging 'workers' offering their wares with the most flexible ease. He seems to take passing glances at the roving breast farm here or there, but doesn't commit much to the eyes or faces. He takes one of the chairs at the table, with his glass of water, sipping at it gently before turning his attention to the Doc.
"Margot works at a pot-" He pauses, eyes narrowing, pulling his winter jacket off in slow increments "-You did something. I'm suddenly a lot colder...and creeped out and it isn't the missing jacket." He rolls his sleeves up on his plaid shirt, collar half sprung, hair a touch messier than it probably should be.
"We met at a pot dispensary. She works there and I needed some. She noticed my oddness and called me out on it. I caught the same off her after that and we exchanged numbers." Ned's plate of fries arrive quickly and he accepts them without meeting the girl's eyes. Presumably the table goes quiet on her arrival and only picks back up again when she leaves.
"Guess you could call that the meet-cute to this hurricane..." He begins munching on some fries, pushing the plate forward for folks to help themselves.
MargotInside the strip club Margot felt out of place. She was sure that she stood out, but in truth nobody really gave a shit about whether she was there or not. She ordered the chicken wings, per recommend, and a bottle of beer. As they found their table and settled in, Margot glanced around the establishmennt and looked vaguely as though someone put a bad smell right under her nose.
That look would fade when their conversation kicked off and food arrived, and she was able to focus on something beyond the topless women roaming around and stewing in her own little cloud of young-minded feminist righteousness.
The wings were surrendered to the center of the table as well, and they were pretty good as a matter of fact. She washed them down with her beer before cutting immeditely to a question of her own
"What happens to the folks like us that don't find each other?"
Her look was probably comical for how serious she was on the side of the table opposite the good doctor.
SepúlvedaYou did something. I'm suddenly a lot colder...and creeped out and it isn't the missing jacket.
The doctor flicks his eyebrows but does not offer up a concrete explanation. He's in the middle of scribbling out what he wants the universe to do and it's not the most intricate or precise effect he's ever fired off on a whim but it does what he set it out to do. The cocktail waitress can hear them only because she's inside the area of effect.
Once she drops off the fries and wings and a third shot of tequila she steps outside of it again the Work he just performed reveals itself. They cannot hear the Iggy Azalea song the bleach-blond anorectic is dancing to right now. They cannot hear the din of the crowd. They cannot hear the bass throbbing out of the speakers. They cannot hear the kitchen door opening and closing. A yawning effect when the force shield engulfs them and the inevitable cold of the doctor's resonance and that is that.
The term 'meet-cute' makes him scowl and knock back his second shot of tequila. He lets the burn burn for a few seconds before dragging his beer closer. He does not touch the fries or the wings.
What happens to the folks like us that don't find each other?
"Well..." He does not think her look comical. The man has seen some shit. Before he answers he scratches at his forehead. Gold band dull in the multicolored light. "The resourceful ones make valuable use of inductive reasoning. They learn valuable life lessons, pick up a variety of cosmetic and hepatic scars, and more often than not disappear from the streets and return months later to begin their lives anew as Technocrats. Most folks don't go very long without finding a mentor. If it's any consolation." Beer. "Being as you found a mentor, my gift to you--" A pantomime as if he's bestowing a bounty upon them. "--is deductive reasoning. If we all focus and remain on task and set out reasonable and attainable goals for ourselves and each other, by the time you achieve a higher state of enlightenment and can function on your own you will be able to solve most of life's problems using your Spheres and trusting in your Avatar not to lead you astray."
Beer.
Ned"....Avatar. I'm going to assume you aren't talking about Air-Benders or Blue giants." The term gets stored away in Ned's brain. He had been tempted to bring along a notepad but thought better on leaving behind paper trails for people to find or localize. The less evidence the better and really, he wasn't in any danger of forgetting what was happening anytime soon. The terms would come easily enough.
He turns, almost sharply to shake his head vigourously at an approaching dancer, no doubt with an intent to offer a Lapdance and some 'friendly conversation', sending the girl shrugging on to another table with a single fellow dressed in greedy eyes.
"Spheres. Are th- Wait..." Ned pauses, eyes narrowed in regard of the Doc, leaning forward with his elbows on the table. "You said 'Set out reasonable and attainable goals for ourselves..and each other'..." Another brief pause, to ensue everyone heard it correctly.
"Does that mean we can expect to have goals for you?"
MargotMargot, too, wriggled free from her coat and draped it over the back of her chair. Under the coat she wore a black long-sleeved shirt with a boat neck and a thin chain about her neck holding a small charm that was made to look like a bookcase. She brushed her fingers back through wavy-messy brown hair to tuck the right side behind her ear.
A carrot stick was plucked from the basket of wings, and she nibbled this while producing a small notebook and pen from a pocket in her coat. She promptly set this on the table and ducked her head down to begin scribbling notes quickly-- just terms, really. Avatar. Spheres. Mentor. Just to name a few.
Ned asked about Avatars, but more importantly asked about goals they could set for their mentor. Sharp hazel eyes skipped up from her notebook and to the doctor's face, still looking as serious as before, when she asked what she felt to be a more pressing question.
"What's a Technocrat?"
Sepúlveda[manip + subt: i am not pleased by the fact that you're taking fucking notes]
Dice: 2 d10 TN6 (8, 9) ( success x 2 )
SepúlvedaThey're new. They're so new. They just stepped off the boat and they're new and they can both see Dr. Sepúlveda take a deep breath to remind himself that he needs to be mindful of this and not talk to the two of them like they're actual interns. Actual interns he can treat like shit because it builds character and hardens them to the harsh realities of forensic pathology.
These two met because one of them works in a medical marijuana dispensary while going to school and the other one wipes down stretchers and mops floors at a fucking hospital. They didn't sign up for this.
Director's commentary: it warms the cockles of his shriveled lump of a heart that Margot starts taking fucking notes. His poker face is just fine as long as you don't read the movement of the muscles beneath his beard.
Does that mean we can expect to have goals for you too?
He flicks his eyebrows. Yes. That is a reasonable assumption.
What's a Technocrat?
"We'll get to that," he says.
The weight of the project they've undertaken has settled on his shoulders. Their mentor is roughly the size of a fifteen-year-old boy and does not have broad shoulders. His spine is straight and strong though. Plus he has something fifteen-year-olds do not: alcohol.
"Before we go any further, I need you two to divest yourselves of the notion that your lack of consent insofar as Awakening goes is a variable in this equation. Very few people choose this, and the ones who do had coaxing. I, myself, would not have Awakened were not for a more powerful Scientist recognizing some kind of potential in me and introducing her paradigm to my life. Which, in case you're wondering: I went to Denver University on a minority scholarship to study biochemistry. Graduated in 2000. Med school: Johns Hopkins. Anatomic pathology residency: Stanford. Forensic pathology fellowship: Miami. When I Awakened I was alone in the chem lab at DU and a shadow started whispering to me. Just over my shoulder, disappeared soon as I turned around. I followed it." A beat. "Right through a wall."
He gives them a moment to both digest that and wrap their heads around the fact that he took a sharp left away from their questions. Keeping to the syllabus they haven't received yet.
Ned"....A Shadow." Ned might be incredulous at such an innocuous mention, but-
"Mine was a puzzle." He frowns, eyes flicking toward Margot for a second. She had mentioned a Goddess. "Infinite colours and untold shapes. Nothing but shifting pieces and some...well, lovecraft level symmetry. Non-euclidian? Felt like I was trying to put together a map for epilepsy." It's clear in his demeanour, slightly hunched shoulders, darting eyes and the discomfort clouding his face that this is new territory to talk about. New territory he has been avoiding.
"Everything I've done which...well, really isn't much...sort of solves a part of it. Or...unfolds new parts, I dunno." His gaze finds Margot again. "You said a Goddess. A War one." And back to the Doc. "Is there any rhyme or reason to these images? Are they random or actual entities or...?"
Translation: Should we be scared?
MargotWhatever pleasure it may have caused their thirty-something teacher to see her actively taking notes in her little notebook went missed-- Margot's head was ducked, eyes on the words she was writing. By the time she'd looked up he had his poker face well affixed and had moved on to other thoughts.
She paid attention when he spoke of his Awakening. She remembered him mentioning something about a book, but glanced to Ned when he mused about the shadow then took a moment to speak at length about his Avatar. He'd find her already looking at him, meeting his gaze when he mentioned hers briefly-- the Goddess of War (or, well, one of many really).
She didn't speak to confirm or give anymore insight into her Avatar. Didn't even come close to touching on her Awakening. Ned already knew that she was adamant about not talking about that particular subject just yet. Which made her feel just a little bit like shit, because here he was laying cards and great detail on the table even though his body language spoke of clear discomfort. Sorry, buddy. Not just yet.
After a moment or two's delay she turned her attention and gaze back to the Doc as well.
"You said that a book awoke you. Did it speak of shadows as well, or was that just.... what found you?"
Sepúlveda"The Avatar!"
Sudden enthusiasm from a man who from the looks of him ought to be a sarcastic piece of shit who hates everything. He's small and a bit sallow the long hours underneath the fluorescents eating away at his melatonin and besides that he works with dead bodies all day. The impression they have gotten from him so far is that he is beleaguered and hyperactive. Talks a lot. That's a side effect of being a decent teacher.
His non sequitur outburst is just that. He's fucking scatterbrained. As Ned talks he thinks of other things. Listens sure and retains but his primary focus is internal.
"Okay. Listen: your Awakening is the closest to a definition of you, as a.. mage.. as you're going to get. Everyone has a different word for what it is. You listen to the Choristers it's the shards left over from the One ringing the note that begat the universe. The Cultists think it's... everything. Weed. I don't fucking know. Cultists are insane." Says the mad scientist. "It's... I think it's a higher consciousness. An inner awareness that allows you, the willworker! Your will is what allows the things you do to happen as they do. You. Not... your instruments, not your rituals, not your candle-burning throat-singing nonsense. You. Some people have very strong Awakened selves and others are... ephemeral. Barely capable of lighting a candle. The stronger your Awakened self, your Avatar, the more Quintessence, the raw Stuff of the universe, you're able to work with. Even if it's weak, it finds you when it's ready for you to open your eyes."
Time for questions. His third shot of tequila is yet untouched. A good sign.
Ned"Quintessence. Alright..." Ned clears his throat, leaning over the table again, hands to elbows, forearms to cheap wood furnishing.
"So our awakening, is an emergence of Will, as defined by our own personal belief structure, whatever that may be. Belief, by my own definition, is the strongest representative values within my own core understanding of the world including morality, tenacity and conviction all blended together. In essence..." He holds up a finger, eyes falling to the table for a moment of speculation and attempted word adjustment.
"...Whatever we believe on some greater level, be it apathy, faith, logic or compassion, will drive not only how we perform these 'Acts of Will' but also why it happened to begin with. The emergence happens when we're "Ready"..." He air quotes "Which is ambiguous enough to warrant this being some pyramid scheme only...well we've got the evidence to prove our special powers, don't we?"
He exhales. Loudly. Getting used to the cone of silence they were in. The background tits and poor music are easier to ignore when in here.
"So when Margot and I emerged, presumably-" A glance that could be apologetic, thrown at his fellow apprentice "-we did so with a sudden explosion of belief and conviction, that resulted in a hard knot of 'Will' capable of re-organizing Existence. Our own personal bubble of 'Id and Ego trumps all'..."
He pauses, eyes tracing the Doc.
"How am I doing?"
MargotSepúlveda and Ned both got affixed with different stares. First, for the good doctor, was the stare of a student trying to sponge up all of the key points in a lecture. Bright-eyed, a blank slate willing to (at least with a grain of salt) believe that you knew exactly what you were talking about. He was about a third of the way through his spiel before she remembered and looked down to frantically scribble notes and catch back up.
Then Ned got to talking, relaying what he was perceiving from their conversation, and the stare he received was more impressed than anything. His question of how he was doing hung in the air. This time around Margot didn't come up with any questions of her own to tack onto his, as had apparently become her habbit.
Instead she combed her fingers through her hair again, this time with a bit of exasperation, and reached for her beer bottle.
"This is so fucking philosophical."
Sepúlveda
This is so fucking philosophical.
"Of course it's fucking philosophical. We're discussing the foundation of reality."
Belief is as good a word as anything from which to hang the rest of the lecture and the Etherite considers its appropriateness and Ned's question with a swallow of beer and a frown.
"You're doing fine."
He picks up the pen he'd used to scrawl on the prescription pad and clicks it several times before continuing on.
"The Awakening is a burst of wild talent that one must sublimate into belief, and eventually a paradigm, or you're no better off than a sleepwalker. Without belief in something, you cannot change reality, and that belief is the core of your paradigm. A reflection of your place in the world and how what you do affects the change you want to see. Paradigm is more of an intellectual framework than belief is, but you see, they need each other. One is the how and the other is the why, yes?"
Ned
You're doing fine
Ned couldn't help but crack a smile at that, the confirmation some solid piece to the puzzle he'd described before. It brings about a small burst of internal joy, like fitting pieces to the corner of a jigsaw you've been staring at for the better part of a year.
"It's not difficult to understand why most people have failed to emerge then. Belief, denial and delusion are so tightly wrapped up with one another in Western society, one mistake sends most of us spiralling off into skepticism and...uhh..." He blinks, frowns and bites his lips, possibly coming to some sort of internal realization in that moment just then. His shoulders hunch a little bit and he takes a few fries.
"Paradigm. A structural basis for a concept or idea, meant to translate into practicality...or at least something resembling practicality. Ultimately, we want something practical, functional and most of all, believable, to ensure we can Work without compromise or conssession." A pause, re-thinking. "We want to be able to do what we want, but we have to think and believe in it, in terms we can trust. Like the kid who imagines his blankets are a forcefield against the boogieman. Doesn't matter who believes it, so long as he does. For all intensive purposes, it keeps him safe until morning, whether folks know there's a boogieman or not. That's enough reasoning for the belief to be strong, regardless of whether anyone's seen the boogieman or not, the kid included. So..."
His eyes flick up toward the Doc and briefly around at Margot.
"What happens when that belief is compromised? What happens when I stop believing the blankets are forcefields?"
Margot
Through the conversation, Margot had been jotting down notes in the petite notebook that she'd brought along with. A glance at the page (when visible from behind her hands and arms) would reveal tidy handwriting with things scrawled in bold and underlined and asterisks holding places for questions and further thoughts as well. She glowered at the pages like they would organize themselves or fill themselves in. It was partway through the analogy about the boogeyman that she stilled the ballpoint on the paper and looked up.
It was like a light was turned on-- not immediately, but with a dimmer switch that was only just inched up enough to begin the flow of electricity. There wasn't enough light to make out the room, but she could at least see the source from which the light came.
"You need to replace the blankets with something else-- like a teddy-bear guard, or a 'sword'. You've got to adapt the belief or replace... right?" The right is directed at the Doc, of course, checking her theory. "If you simply lose it, then you've lost everything else too."
Everything. As though this ability to bend and manipulate and sense reality beyond what they used to know was the only thing that mattered. But when you were awake it was so difficult to fall back to sleep again, wasn't it?
Sepúlveda
The kids start to lose him around the time Ned refers to instruments of practice in terms of childhood application of fantasy to protect them from forces they do not understand. Across the table his disapproval appears as mild disgruntlement.
Dr. Sepúlveda is old enough to be Margot's father, at least. Ned escapes that designation by virtue of the laws of biology but judging by his career and his position and the salting that has already introduced itself to his hair and beard he is at least twice Margot's age. Nothing fatherly about him otherwise but age has its place in their society as much as it does anywhere else. Not in terms of enlightenment but life experience.
These two have had their fair share of the latter if only by Awakening. He has surpassed theirs by surviving. He remembers being a teenager and he remembers being in his twenties. Even when he attains the power necessary to travel through time he rests assured that for no sum of money would he willingly go back to being a young man.
Anyway:
He's scowling a bit as Ned continues on paraphrasing a sentiment he did not express. Takes a long swallow of beer at the point of the blanket forcefield keeping the kid in question safe until morning and then he looks away to find their server. Puts his empty shot glass pointed near the edge of the table to draw her over.
It's slow tonight. Even though she cannot hear them she can still see them.
By the time Margot has laid the facets of her hypothesis upon the table their server has ambled over and breached the sound shield. Dr. Sepúlveda swipes his hand through his hair and orders three shots of tequila. For the table. He is not going to be the one imbibing all of them. She does not question it. Just picks up discarded dishes and returns to the bar.
"The instruments you use to Work are nothing like hiding your head under a blanket because you're five years old and think there's a monster under your bed." <i>Christ</i>, he doesn't say. "You're on the right track, but--"
This is not his first time working with students. Frustration is a universal part of the student-mentor relationship however. Doesn't matter how many times a body puts himself through it. Stupid shit has the power to transcend time.
"Let's go back to belief, for a moment, yes? This is important: Paradox. To use your..." Sigh. "... 'sword' analogy, changing reality is such a thing, double-edged. You use this sword to do as you wish, but in doing so, the blade can cut you. There will be consequences for doing as you do without proper respect for the laws of physics. One day I'll demonstrate for you what occurs when one attempts to reshape the world in circumstances that are less than ideal. In front of Sleepers, say, or without the tools necessary to one's paradigm."
He could just tell them a story but a lecture does not take the place of practicum when teaching students how to operate beyond the confines of what the average person can understand. They don't need to hear about his wife dying twice right this second.
"On another night I will explain Paradox. What it is, why it exists, how you get around it, but for right now, wrap your heads around the fact that it is what happens when the reality that the world accepts and the reality that you make exist in the same place at the same time and your reality is the one that gets its ass kicked by the world's reality."
Here come their shots. Dr. Sepúlveda knocks his back and trades the server his empty glass for the three fresh ones.
"Your instruments aid you in shaping reality," he says after she's left. "You aren't children. Boogiemen are very real, and hiding won't save you if you don't know what the hell you're doing. Drink."
Ned
It's Poly sci all over again
Ned's hands come up to scrub at his face, pushing his eyes in slightly and wincing with the effort. The Doctor order's shots and Ned doesn't offer much by way of argument to his corrections (no small amount of attempts at clarification and getting reamed out in front of the lecture hall, instilled that thought process early on) and his hands come away to slump back onto the table in time to collect the Doctor's sword analogy.
Two separate realities. Perform belief or get fucked up by existence. Tools...
"So these tools we're using are what? Physical representations? I don't necessarily need them to do these Works-" He pulls a face at the word, obvious unsatisfied with it "-but I'm liable to get hurt if I don't? Are the Tools symbolic then or actual? Am I getting some sort of chip to help me recognize how long I've been sober from reality or being asleep or-" Ned looks down at his shot of Tequila, a frown crossing his face, but he doesn't stop his sentence "-are these instruments there to help lubricate the ass kicking process?"
He finally halts long enough to give the Tequila shot another look, toying with it between the fingers of his right hand.
"I really do hate Tequila."
Ned's hands come up to scrub at his face, pushing his eyes in slightly and wincing with the effort. The Doctor order's shots and Ned doesn't offer much by way of argument to his corrections (no small amount of attempts at clarification and getting reamed out in front of the lecture hall, instilled that thought process early on) and his hands come away to slump back onto the table in time to collect the Doctor's sword analogy.
Two separate realities. Perform belief or get fucked up by existence. Tools...
"So these tools we're using are what? Physical representations? I don't necessarily need them to do these Works-" He pulls a face at the word, obvious unsatisfied with it "-but I'm liable to get hurt if I don't? Are the Tools symbolic then or actual? Am I getting some sort of chip to help me recognize how long I've been sober from reality or being asleep or-" Ned looks down at his shot of Tequila, a frown crossing his face, but he doesn't stop his sentence "-are these instruments there to help lubricate the ass kicking process?"
He finally halts long enough to give the Tequila shot another look, toying with it between the fingers of his right hand.
"I really do hate Tequila."
Margot
When she had time to think about it later, the Cone of Silence would be a pretty impressive trick that she'd have to try wrapping her mind around. Somehow dampening sound from passing a certain point in either direction could be pulled off a couple of ways, she imagined, if you could just force reality to do things for you and could bypass the need for scientists and inventors to find way to bend with traditional science and technology instead (after all, she imagine that flight was something only the Awakened had obtained before balloons and airplanes came along).
Ned pondered tools and wondered what would happen if the tools were removed from the equation-- after all, The Doc had mentioned how you could still manipulate reality without a tool, but then reality would be upset with you and cause Paradox (whatever that was, they'd learn some other tie no doubt). This brought forward doubts about the necessity for tools in the first place or how faith and belief could still be upheld if the tools weren't needed after all.
Margot contemplated her shot of tequila when it had arrived, reached out and tapped the glass edge quietly with the pad of her fingertip.
"The tool.... helps. It refines things, makes them more reliable. But kind of like a burst of adrenaline, I guess, you can still <i>make</i> things happen without your tools." She glanced up from the shot of liquor that she was addressing to begin with and looked between the two. "The blood, the time, the ritual-- it all makes things easier and more natural. It... flows, I suppose. But I was able to sense everything without it in a pinch. It was on a wing and a prayer, I suppose, that I was able, but I wasn't sure it would work, and I wasn't quite sure what answers I would get either. Instead of building with a reliable method and plan, it's more like groping wildly in hope that something will happen."
Ned hated tequila, but Margot didn't seem to have the same troubles with it. With an almost grim look on her face she tossed her head back to take the shot. While grimacing and shutting her eyes to the burn that she wasn't quite familiar with, she set the glass gently back down onto the table instead of slamming it. Through her teeth, she spoke again.
"I'm more worried about the boogiemen."
Sepúlveda
"Eh, worrying won't do you any good. Preparing, though, as you're doing now, this will enable you to face the boogiemen without fear for your sanity."
Without perspective they will have no idea of their own limitations. It's the sign of an advanced mind and an advanced understanding to be able to grasp and articulate dichotomies. Needing tools and being able to perform impossible feats without them. They call it Paradox for a reason.
"Forgive a clichéd statement, but you cannot run until you learn how to crawl. Your able to Work is thus far limited to the perception of what's known in the common parlance as the Pattern of things. With the proper Spheres you can sense... space, or probability, or natural forces. And so forth. Nine Spheres altogether. To achieve mastery of a Sphere, one must undergo a series of... Seekings. Tests that your Avatar will put you through. If your mind is open and willing, you will succeed, and you will find yourself capable of greater levels of comprehension and ability to manipulate reality."
He pauses to take a swallow of beer but not long enough for them to interject just yet.
"Until such a time as you attain higher levels of enlightenment, you cannot perform feats that are likely to induce Paradox. If you attempt to bolster your own mind, or sense other lifeforms around you, or sense the, eh, strength of the barrier between the physical and spirit worlds, and you attempt to do so without the use of an instrument, you may find it impossible, and reality may bang you up a bit, but it will be no more of a blow than attempting to scale a wall with your bare hands and falling. If I, however, attempt to, say, heal someone with fatal injuries, and I do so without the use of my tools, I may find myself thrown into another realm of existence. You must use your instruments while you are learning how to manipulate reality, not your will alone. You will never attain further enlightenment if you attempt to do so with your will alone at this stage in your training. Does this make sense?"
Ned
"More Tests..."
Ned downs the tequila. It's the quick shot-wince-shake-breath motion, brushed aside with the drumming of fingers. His first taste of alcohol since...well, this all started some small while ago. He sets the glass down on the table, with a grimace, eyes creeping back open a moment later to regard the Doc where he sits.
"I've done a little bit of that here or there. Senses the consistencies and inconsistencies in several patients and people. Heartrates, blood pressure, irregularities. I could even-..." A pause, eyes narrowing, clearing his throat of the burn. "-see the Cancer in one of the patients, though I had to touch them to be sure. Seemed to...make it-" Ned's eyes narrow, gaze finding the Doc again from that brief moment of reverie.
"Contact with the individuals seemed to make it clearer. I could feel and see colours and sensations under my fingers and over my vision. The cancer was this...bulbous, purple. All ridges and violets-" He clears his throat again, coughs a little "Pardon, sorry."
"So Paradox is Reality telling you 'no' and your Tools are a bit of sleight of hand, to ensure Reality doesn't notice you doing what you're doing...at least, not as easily given you can still fall apart or get cuffed for it." He can't help but huff a small laugh. "Kind of like mom with the cookie jar-" He loses the smile and glances at the Doc. "Sorry." For the analogy. Then he coughs again, thumping his chest with his fist gently. "Really hate Tequila..."
"The stronger we get though...the worse the comeuppance when we get caught?" Ned's frown was back. No going back to what they were but...things got more dangerous the further they went. Could one just stand still maybe? He didn't ask that. Somehow he guessed the Doc's answer would be unhelpful.
Margot
"Well, think about it."
It wasn't that Margot was trying to sound like a know-it-all, or even that she necessarily did. It was more like she might be catching on to things a little bit quicker. Maybe it was something about the process of pen on paper and putting it all down into a page (creating a manuscript, perhaps, like the monks of old times gone past), that helped her process and grasp as she did. She didn't seem to be the kind of girl that ran with the popular circle of kids in high school, so it was easy to see her instead pouring into her schoolwork and keeping a closer circle of like-hearted souls nearby instead.
She reached for some of the fries in the center of their table and wagged them a little to emphasize as she spoke. "The stronger we are, the more we can do to reality. The bigger the changes we make. So that would be much bigger waves in the water. If we fuck it up, the tidal wave that comes crashing back is stronger too. At this point we'll just get our heads wet, but the Doc here?" She glanced to the Doc next. "He could drown."
After finally eating the fries she'd claimed for herself, Margot went back to her beer and sipped what was left of it down.
"So, Doc, how does this work from here? Do we have, like, scheduled times that we're supposed to meet regularly? Or do we go out on 'field study'--" this said with the quotation marks almost visible, they were so heavy, "on our own and reach out to you as a kind of Wikipedia?"
The tone suggested she was ready to wrap it up and get going. It was likely no coincidence that she'd just been reminded of where they are by looking up and glimpsing the pole routine happening up on stage.
Sepúlveda
Punishment is the least effective form of behavior modification but there's something to be said for negative reinforcement. If knowing the possibility of another tequila shot will keep Ned from using another childhood reference to attempt to verbalize his understanding of a concept the Etherite has just laid out for him then by god the system works.
Well, think about it
Sepúlveda takes another swallow of beer and settles back in his seat arms crossed over his chest to watch the kids as one answers the other. A tilt of his head to one side as she rewords what he just said in a clearer fashion.
Her question has him considering the fact that he still has that third shot of tequila oxidizing in the grimy strip club air. He picks it up and knocks it down only after she refers to him as a Wikipedia.
"Different traditions do things differently," he says, "and disparates do things a different way entirely, and you don't even want to know how one goes about joining the Technocracy. Being as the odds of you joining the Society of Ether are... not so good, I propose we meet again another time and discuss the essence of the Avatar and how it is the two of you feel, instinctively, that it is you go about your Work. With the... laying on of hands, or the blood, or whatever it is the two of you feel is natural."
He holds up a hand like to stop Ned before he gets going.
"Not tonight. As I said when first we met, as far as I'm concerned, until such time as you two feel comfortable introducing yourselves to the rest of the community as... Verbena, or Cult of Ecstasy, or... Orphan, or whichever tradition it is that takes you on as an initiate, you are my students. Reach out to me if you have questions, practice on your own if you feel so inclined, and just... go on about your lives, yeah?"
They're free to go. He isn't going anywhere.
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