pleasuretoburn (pleasuretoburn) wrote in birthrightrpg, @ 2020-10-05 16:05:00 |
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Entry tags: | james hutchins, noah restic |
Arms Dealer
Who: James, Noah
What: B&E
Where: Las Vegas, Curiosities
When: Present
Ratings/Warnings: Reference to violence, the usual
The store was dark. Noah stood outside, leaning against a wall, pretending to look through his phone until a small group of people had passed. Once their backs were receding, he turned to the door. It was an older building, which was fortunate. If there was an alarm system, he could fry the wiring. He used his body to block the view of the lock pick gun. His suspicion was correct in that it was a simple pin tumbler mechanism.
Once done, he pulled the door open enough to allow entry and slipped inside and away from the windows. The pyrokinetic didn’t close the drapes, which could draw attention to any locals in the neighborhood that were used to seeing the shop after hours, instead sinking quickly into the shadowy areas. No electronic beeping, so far.
He had studied user review photos of the layout and made a quick beeline for the restricted section.
Past the displays of merchandise, a small office and a stockroom were tucked into dark alcoves on the back side of the building. A lamp filled the office with warm light. James sat at a wooden desk, which was wedged between the door and the bookshelves so tightly, he had to wonder if it was assembled in the cramped space. He couldn’t picture it fitting through the door. File folders of papers were spread on the desk. James was getting familiar with the details of the business that he hadn’t routinely followed when Sam was running things. So far, he knew that Sam was bad at math and taxes.
He turned a page. The clicking end of a ballpoint pen tapped on his legal pad.
The first sound he heard was metallic, not keys in a lock but someone turning the knob out front. In a space that big and quiet, noise traveled. As the door swung open, the little bell above the entrance rang. James’ eyes raised from the page. He held still, not wanting his chair to squeak, and listened for Sam’s voice, but it didn’t come. The footsteps on the wooden floor led towards the staircase.
As quietly as he could manage, James eased the wheels of his chair back and stood up. The advantage to having been in his father’s shop for twenty-three years was that he would know the width of the door frame, the location of every shelf, and which floorboards creaked, even if you spun him around blindfolded. He cut a stealthy path to the foot of the stairs and looked up towards the loft, where they kept the rarest ritual items. Someone was moving around up there, which meant that whatever they wanted wasn’t money.
James debated the path he wanted to take. Heading up behind the intruder would be loud and put him at a positional disadvantage. Throwing magic at something he couldn’t see might turn into a fire fight, and anyone who broke into an occult shop with a restricted section was either stupid or cocky. James laid his hand on the newel, deciding. Pissing contest or not.
“Let me know if you need anything,” he said.
Noah was admittedly at a bit of a loss as to what, specifically, to search for. He opted for a simple plan of action. Take whatever looked the most useful. The pyrokinetic was drawn to the volumes of books, first, eyes sweeping over titles when a voice called out to him. He took a deep breath in and a slow exhale before stepping carefully out of the shadows.
The man at the foot of the stairs was calm, Noah ascertained quickly. Not holding a weapon. No alarm was going off, and he doubted this place had a silent one. A mental tactical adjustment was made, and he offered a half-smile. He rested a palm on the staircase’s handrail.
“Yes, I do need something,” Noah answered, voice clear and precise. “And you might be in the position to give it to me.”
James nodded. “Yeah, I might come in handy, being the owner and the guy you’re stealing from. Give isn’t the word I’d use,” he said, eyes narrowing in study. Neither genetics nor extracurricular interest discriminated when it came to magic, so there wasn’t a ‘type’ for how a witch looked, dressed, or acted, a trait that usually distinguished them from burglars who got caught breaking into shops in the middle of the night. At least it should have. Whatever James mentally prepared for -- witch, burglar, or both -- the man at the top of the steps wasn’t it.
Noah let out a huff of breath that could have been generously interpreted as a sound of amusement. “You’re right,” he admitted casually, leaning against the rail. “I think criminal intent has been pretty well established.” He studied the man right back. Either he was used to intruders, or he was confident in his abilities to handle them. Given the setting, the pyrokinetic didn’t doubt that the truth veered closer to the latter.
James gestured. “Mind if I join you?”
At the proprietor’s question, Noah’s smile broadened subtly. He swept a gallant hand as he took a step back. “Please, feel free.” His dark eyes told a different story.
The arm rankled. It was like he was being welcomed onto someone’s screen porch. James’ right index finger tapped on the banister, a minute cue that an emotion was waking up, stretching towards the surface. He gave it time to settle out. The worn, wooden steps groaned under his shoes. James made it to the top and waited for the thief to clear the landing before going into the loft.
He went to stand by the table. “We’re pretty open minded when it comes to questions, so I’m asking myself why you went with the after-hours approach. You allergic to daylight or just shy?”
His eyes never left the shop keep’s face, even as hands strayed curiously and familiarly over items displayed. Touching. Handling. To Noah, waters existed to be tested. Boundaries, too. “Dramatic effect?” This was accompanied by a slight raise of his jacketed shoulder. “Or maybe I couldn’t read the ‘closed’ sign.”
The pyrokinetic drifted over to a display of plants. A bored finger lifted the edges of leaves. “But don’t worry,” Noah assured the man. “I intend to pay you, just not in money. I had a much worthier currency in mind.”
Noah paused, cocking his head slightly. “As long as the police aren’t on their way, I’m confident in your ability to get us through this transaction smoothly.”
James rested his hands on the back of a chair, nodding his comprehension of the situation. Condescension, grandiose language, attempts to mark territory, all noted. “Right, let me clear something up in case the wires got crossed. I’ve got a decent tolerance for bullshit, so I’ll entertain this conversation” he began. “But if you keep talking to me like you’re holding up a bank teller, we’re gonna have a problem. None of this,” he gestured around them, “Is in your favor, so cut the shit.”
Cut the shit. Who had said that to him before, though not in so many words? Noah flashed back to a meeting at the Rabbit Hole. He smiled, then, even as images of books and supplies, wood and brick succumbing like dry tinder played out on the backdrop of his mind. His fingers twitched unintentionally.
“Okay,” Noah replied simply, dropping his hands and facing the other man fully. “Cards on the table. What do you know about psychic abilities?”
James eased his grip on the chairback. “A decent amount,” he said, straightening. “There are people who can move objects, start fire, see the future, read auras, change the weather... The world’s a comic book without costumes. I’m guessing you mean when they can do it without a ritual?” He raised his eyebrows in curiosity. In his opinion, there was a blurry line between witches and psychics. After a while, a strong witch didn’t always need a ritual, either.
“I suppose it depends on what you meant by ritual,” Noah mused. “Do I need to light candles, invoke a goddess? No.” His eyes strayed down to the store owner’s hands. Wondered what kind of rituals he performed, especially in a place with a restricted section.
“By the way, that sign?” the pyrokinetic switched gears, gesturing down to the bottom of the stairs, “makes me think there should be a beaded curtain and three X’s over the entryway.”
James tipped his head, a twist of one corner of his mouth making it clear he agreed. “That would be my coworker’s idea. I don’t ask where he got the inspiration.” If what was upstairs was that powerful, there were spells that would work better than a sign that basically said ‘nothing to see here.’ He eyed the other man. “What do you need to do, think about it? Or is it more like a reflex?”
Noah nodded appreciatively. “A little of both,” he replied, his feet tracing a path around the table that took up a portion of the space. “And it isn’t like in the comic books,” he added, a dark stormcloud of a look passing briefly, in the span of a split second, over his face before a mask of neutrality returned. He lifted a hand into the air, turning it over slowly, studying it.
“Sometimes it’s easier than others. Sometimes it’s a chore, and others, it’s...beautiful. When the door cracks open and you see everything. Knowing you could walk through it if you just had a boost.” The pyrokinetic fell silent, thinking of Lady Elfleda, the teasing way she showed him the infinity of what was inside him.
“That’s what I’m looking for,” Noah concluded.
A boost. “Is that the polite way of saying you want power?” James dragged a chair away from the table, far enough to clear it if he needed to move fast. He sat in it and crossed his arms, long legs stretching as he made himself comfortable in his space. “No matter how much you gain up front, there’s always going to be a loss on the other end, sometimes equal, sometimes worse,” he offered, eyes on the timeworn surface of the table. “That’s how it is with serious magic, anyway. It’s a loan with interest.”
James opened a palm. “If you don’t do it with that kind of magic, if you’re trying to…” James shrugged his shoulders. “Learn to harness or focus what you’ve already got, then... that kind of magic charges less.”
Noah chuckled, and it would be plainly obvious to anyone who might be listening in that it wasn’t a noise he made often. “I think we both know there’s nothing polite about power,” he countered. “And there shouldn’t be.”
He picked up a weighty book from the table. It didn’t look like the kind of thing that was written for those who asked. The pyrokinetic opened it, leafing through the pages, immediately bird dogging the graphic illustrations contained within.
“I was born with this,” Noah continued. “It chose me. Some people are just...better. Stronger. But…” And here he looked at James shrewdly. “There is something I like about people who get tired of being weak and steal power for themselves.”
‘The door cracks open and you see everything.’ ‘Tired of being weak and stealing power.’ Later, James would swear he heard the audible click of recognition in his brain. He looked up and locked eyes with Noah. The moment lasted a few long, slow seconds, and then he inhaled a deep breath. “What are you getting at?”
His face was inscrutable, but he remembered that it hadn’t been a week since Fern turned up at the auto shop asking him to teach her something. This guy appeared to be taking an indirect route, but the destination was the same. James leaned forward and tipped up the book in Noah’s hands to inspect the cover. “I wouldn’t fuck with that if I were you.”
He looked at the book in his hands, then at the other man. Noah considered for a moment and set the volume back down on the table. “I can control fire,” he told him. “I can create it. I can make it move the way I want it to. No spells. No gods.” The pyrokinetic leaned against the table, palms down flat against the wood.
“The issue,” the pyrokinetic admitted begrudgingly, “is that the energy can be...finite. Temporarily, at least. If you helped me, I could offer you something. I was going to take it by force, obviously, but I’m sensing that you’re a fan of open doors, too.” He glanced back at the book.
“Force is a bad idea when you’ve got one trick,” James said quietly. He drew his boots up close to the chair and sat forward, the points of his elbows coming to rest on his knees. “You’re being straight with me, so I will, too. I do like having access to things. A lot. So I get why you want it. But I only do it long enough to accomplish one thing at a time and I move on. You’ve got a look about you, like you think you’re owed, and I’m not crazy about that, because people who think they’re owed never ease off the throttle. Why should I help you?”
“Who says I have one trick?” Noah countered quickly, his temper flaring before he could bring it back into check. “I’ve been the last thing people have ever seen and didn’t have to use fire once.”
He took a breath, pulling away from the table as his jaw twitched subtly. “Everyone has that one loose end. That,” Noah snapped his fingers, trying to think of the words. “Sword hanging over the head, or dead weight, or...barrier.” The pyrokinetic was completely calm again, now.
“I’ll get rid of whatever that is for you,” he offered. “Magic is a loan with interest, you said. What I heard was you are not immune to loss. What I can do won’t leave a trail, magical or otherwise. No loss, no interest. Free and clear.”
James put his hands together, the calluses on his palms touching. They created a light friction as they stirred against each other. He assessed Noah’s movements. “What I heard is that you're more than a pyro who steals, you're also a murderer with an anger problem. One who's been dropping hints since he broke into my shop that he thinks he could kill me.”
James got up. The table stood between the two men. His voice was low. “Look, I don’t have a problem selling knowledge. But I don’t have to hold your hand and walk you through it without a good reason. So when I asked why I should help you, I wasn't asking what’s in it for me. I was asking what you need it for. Selling strong magic, it’s not so different than being an arms dealer. But an arms dealer doesn’t turn around and give a machine gun to the guy who held him up with a pistol.”
“That’s a lot of metaphor,” Noah replied, amused. He looked around the room, at all the knowledge packed away, the gatekeeping sign at the bottom of the stairs. Then back at this man, who the obvious, usual tricks were not working on. Not even a hint of interest at his offer. And then it hit him. Honesty. Pure and blistering.
“Like I said, I was born this way. With a power that I couldn’t control, that terrified everyone around me, but no one more than myself. I was a child. I didn’t know then that if someone fell to the ground and stopped moving, that it meant they wouldn’t get back up.” Noah rubbed the slight stubble on his jaw as he began pacing slightly.
“So I had a choice. I could be afraid of this power, let it sit untouched and undeveloped. Or I could let people exploit it, use me as a tool. Or...I could control it. Completely.” The pyrokinetic stopped in his tracks, turned again to face the magic practitioner. The arms dealer. “I met someone recently who showed me the depth of what I can do, if only I had the strength to reach out and take it. And I haven’t been able to think about anything else since.”
James looked past Noah at the shelves full of jars and wooden boxes with hidden contents. His face blanked while his mind took him back to a corridor with glass doors, a shifting pyramid, a room where the walls were made of conductive liquid. He had gone into it and let it flood him, so he knew what Noah was describing. The memory of that jolt of connection was so vivid that James’ muscles jumped, like he’d caught himself falling asleep.
“Black lips, black dress, about this tall?” James held a hand up near his shoulders.
He wiped a palm over his face and paced along his side of the table. “She’s winding us up one at a time,” he muttered. “I want what you want. I want it for all of us, but I’m not doing it for her, and I don’t think she makes house calls unless she thinks there’s something in it for her.” James’ feet came to a stop nearer to Noah. “So let me ask you this. Are you trying to chase this path she showed on her terms or yours?”
He had known that a powerful entity never offered without taking. Noah had been drawn in by Elfleda’s assertion that his greatness had been sensed. He wasn’t stupid. Everyone had their buttons. Still, he couldn’t help but bristle internally, which caused a surge of annoyance at himself. Of course there were others.
“I know she wants me to believe that it’s on my own terms,” Noah smiled. “She even gave me a name to seek out, I assume it’s one of her acolytes. But I’ve been waiting to make that introduction. I want to know more, first.”
He tilted his head infinitesimally, curious. “Do you think you can take what you want?”
“Yes,” James admitted. “The kinds of things I want, I’m usually capable of taking. And what I can’t yet, I can see how I’d get there. Unless you’re asking if I give myself permission.” He lifted a shoulder. “Then it depends on how important it is.”
The magic user frowned. “She sent one of her acolytes to find me. You willing to compare names?”
Noah had allegiances to very few people, least of all ones that he had never even met. Still, he briefly wondered if this information could be used as leverage. He eyed the other man carefully, and decided that wasn’t the way to proceed.
“Fern. I was told she could…bolster my power. That’s the term that was used.”
The pyrokinetic raised an eyebrow. “You think you can use her? The Lady Elfleda. There must be a bigger, badder boss behind her. There always is.”
James nodded at the name Fern, the gesture and his facial expression making it clear that it was familiar to him.
The follow-up question gave him pause. The shop was warded better than his house, but nothing was perfect. James considered lighting the candles set at four corners of the loft, activating a spell that would grant them a measure of privacy, but there was no reason to think Noah wouldn’t share whatever was said, the minute it became advantageous.
“Use Elfleda?” He put his foot on the bottom rung of a wooden chair. “I doubt it. Disable her, maybe. It would take the strongest magic I can think of. Assuming that’s what somebody wanted to do.” He pushed off the chair. “One thing to know about Fern. She’s a fanatic. Picture the most devout religious person you can, then multiply it a few times. If she helps you, it’s because she thinks it serves her Lady.”
Noah nodded, shoulder raising in a half-shrug. “That’s fine,” he said truthfully. “She can think that’s what’s happening.” He leaned so his back was against the table, hands resting on the edges.
“I just want to feel awake,” the pyrokinetic admitted. “Everyone is walking around asleep, and I can see both the dream and the reality. It’s like those old double-exposed photographs.” His gaze settled on a line of books, thick spines bursting with words no doubt written before Noah had existed, before his parents.
“It’s so boring. All people do is try to pull you back asleep. I want to feel something real. I think that’s where Elfleda comes from.”
James leaned against the opposite wall, arms crossing. “People are obsessed with preserving the status quo,” he said. “It’s insane what they’ll pretend they didn’t see, what they’ll excuse, if it means they can stay in that state of inertia.” He tried to remember when he’d taken that path himself. The only moment he could pinpoint clearly was when he was bleeding on the roof of the Wynn and he let Phanuel convince him that he was a danger to himself and everyone around him.
James pictured himself asleep in his bed, a few years later, not knowing he was being watched, and what he must have looked like having his face plunged into that black void of Elfleda’s realm for the first time. Being stunned by it. A sleepwalker.
“What I want is to never be caught off guard,” James said.
“Then you’re smarter than the rest of them,” Noah countered. “Which might or might not be a compliment, by the way. The bulk of humanity hasn’t exactly set a terribly high bar,” he muttered. Then something occurred to him. Something this man might actually want.
“You don’t want to be caught off guard,” the pyrokinetic repeated thoughtfully. “What if...you didn’t have to be? If you’ve made your obvious misgivings of our special lady in black known to this Fern --” Noah trailed off, thinking rapidly.
“I could get her to trust me. Keep an eye on what Elfleda asks her to do next.”
James crossed one boot over the other. “I don’t have a problem with Fern,” he said. “We’ve worked together. I just don’t share her motivations.” He paused and thought about it, watching the inward turn of his shoe. “But she keeps things close to the vest. She works with me because she was assigned to it, and I get the feeling there are a lot of things she leaves out.” He had a feeling Fern and this guy would have that in common.
Magic was open source, if a person knew where to look and had the resources. It wasn’t the supplies in his shop that made James unique; it was his ability, through experience and genes, to render something powerful from them quickly. That was his value to someone like Noah. It would be better to keep that kind of mind close. James came to a decision.
“I’d like to know what they are. I’m James.” He held out his hand. He waited to see what the firestarter would do with it.
He took James’s hand, shook it. That was simple enough. “Noah,” he answered before taking his own hand back and letting it fall to his side. The pyrokinetic looked around them again, letting a slow smile grow over his face.
“I’ll let you direct me to the best place to start,” Noah proclaimed.