Sunday, August 9, 2015

Designs (an Ex Arcana Fic)

This is my first crack at trying to write for my Ex Arcana character. All information is OOC, this is just a fun experiment.

            Lin saw red.
            It wasn't a violent color. It was steady. The color of fire, live and vibrant. It pulsed like life's blood. Lin followed that pulse, following its rhythm and design. He felt it guide his motions, guide his hand. He didn't move, not intentionally. He let the color move him. He could feel his cheeks flush at the thought of the heat in the color, and the memory of the monsters he'd seen, the boy who became flame and the Phoenix he knelt before.
            Lin let the red flow through him.
            When he opened his eyes, the design was done. It was a simple piece of line work, which is sometimes the hardest. No breaks, a focus on a continuous line. This one began as a pulse beat, and then became the New York Skyline until it became the another pulse again. The lightly tanned skin that bore the work began to glow with life and blood. Nearly an hour of work and activity and energy would emphasize the color and lines there for a few hours, maybe a day or two.
            The girl whose wrist had been Lin's focus for the past hour also glowed. She was coated in a patina of sweat, and her cheeks were flushed. She looked like she'd just come back from a light jog or had some mildly exertive sex. Lin knew some people where getting a tattoo and getting laid were part of the same car pool, but he wasn't sure if this girl was one of them.
            She looked down at the ink and smiled. "That," she said, her voice heavy as molasses. "That is exactly what I wanted."
            Lin returned the smile with a shrug, "You gave me a good design. Glad you liked it." He dressed the tattoo in plastic wrap, to avoid abrasions, a tube of vitamin E and a card with directions for how to treat the tattoo when she got home. It was practiced and professional, Lin had been doing this for a while now. "Follow that for about a week. After that, you'll have an awesome conversation starter for the rest of your life." He smiled at her, which in turn broadened the girl's smile.
            She had eyes that reminded Lin of olives, a subtly ripe green. Her skin was the light bronze that made Lin think that her family was only a few generations away from some Mediterranean country like Greece or the Southern end of Italy.
            There was a heavy moment between them, and Lin knew what was going to happen soon. "You said that this was for your dad?" His words broke the tension, and his client blinked her olive eyes a few times as if in recoil.
            "Yeah," she breathed. "My dad was a first responder on 9/11. He made it out, thank god, but the cancer got him shortly after. He loved this City, and I don't think he ever felt resentment for getting sick for doing his job."
            "It shows," he said. The girl smiled, but the question was clear on her face. Lin sat down  next to her and held out her wrapped up wrist. "You designed the pulse, right? It's been a long while since I'd been hooked to an EKG, but that looks like an average pulse. I'm willing to guess you're in the medical field, right?"
            "EMT," she said.
            "Which also explains the love of the City, you know it intimately. You know the areas that are bad, and the areas that are good. You know when something seems off and to recognize when you're vulnerable. You've seen the bad moments and keep going." I pointed to the pulse beat after the skyline ended, as if it went back to normal. "This is a part of you, as much as it was for your father. You've pledged yourself with this tattoo...am I wrong?"
            The look she gave Lin was intense, "How do you know all of that?"
            He shrugged, "What people design tells you something about them. It's a signature, a ritual, almost." Lin tried to keep the wry sarcasm out of the last part.
            They both kept silent for a moment until she spoke, "Listen, would you be up for a drink some time?"
            Lin pulled out his business card, a simple design with the letters LD in sumi-e. His work number and email were typed on the back neatly. He smiled back, "I'm always up for a drink and a chat."
            "I'm Callie," his client said.
            "I know."
            Before the conversation could go any further, someone knocked on the station door. Morgan was a blocky woman built like Rosie The Riveter's punk granddaughter. She was well built and was covered in tattoos, many of them contributions from the various artists who worked in her shop over the years and probably a few she did on her own.
            She looked worried, "We have a problem. Duck's here."
            Lin looked to Callie and said, "Can you stay here a moment until I come back? I'll knock before I come in." Callie, a little confused, nodded. Lin got up, brushed off his black pants and t-shirt, and turned to Morgan.
            His boss lead the way from the work station to the front counter. Nolan, Morgan's husband, stood arguing with a gentleman Lin had met once or twice. The man was tall and lanky, and looked mal-nourished. His skin was a pale yellow and had the consistency of melted candle wax. Badly drawn tattoos dotted his skin at random places, including a series of black and white diamonds--the kind on a poker card--on his right cheek. His hair was a knotted mess that once could have been blond but was now a colorless mass. He reminded Lin of a scarecrow or some form of ritual moppet, a construct of a human. His eyes were glassy and fever bright, the kind that only fanatics or crazed truly get.
            The man known only as Duck was angrily banging against the counter. "I know Carlo's here, man! I know he's here." He raised himself over Nolon, and yelled out to the store behind him. "Come on out you coward, I need the Stuff!"
            "Listen mate," Nolon said. "Carlo's gone, we fired his ass months ago for selling that crap. Last I heard he's in Riker's for a very long ti--"
            "Don't you fuckin' lie to me!" Duck slurred. He called out again, "Carloooooooooo! Get your ass out here."
            As Lin approached, he could see Morgan and Nolon's muscles tense. Nolon was built just as well as Morgan was. They had met in the army and stayed together when they were discharged. They knew violence, and restraint, and they were both somewhere on the line between the two. Duck's life was very much at risk.
            Not good.
            "Ducky," Morgan said, joining the conversation. She kept her arms out and open to show she wasn't a threat to him. That could change quickly, and Lin knew it. "Let's get you some food, okay?"
            "Stay back bitch!" Duck said. He punctuated the sentence with the snap of a knife opening. The blade gave off a dirty, greasy gleam. "Give me Carlo right now, give me the Stuff!"
            Nolon and Morgan both stopped dead. Their bodies tensed with fear and apprehension, and also preparedness. Ducky, Lin knew, had just gone from being a problem to a threat. Ducky would end up in the hospital and then jail for reasons he'd never fully understand.  
            Not everything has to end in violence, Lin believed. Not unless it has to. Lin found himself less paralyzed by the sight of the blade. Not because he didn't realize the danger, but because things like this lose their edge when a man wishing to vent his spleen puts the tip of an honest-to-god sword to your carotid. You begin to appreciate what it is and not sweat the details as much.
            Lin could talk him down, but he didn't want to take it to chance. He needed an edge. He looked inside him for the right Color. Even after a year he still called them Colors, even though he had long since learned their true name: Aethers. He knew of Black Empyrean and it's control of Intelligence, of Green Geodyne and its focus on Strength and Endurance. He knew of Red Vulcan's enhancement of Dexterity. He knew of them, and that he could tap into them. He'd been able to tap into them for years now without ever knowing what they really were. A year had taught him what they meant, of the others who could use them as well and of the hidden war that had been raging for centuries because of these Aethers. He knew now what they were, and he knew how to use them right.
            And he knew of the fourth Aether, the Blue Ondine. He knew it the best, and standing in the tattoo parlor, he found within himself a strong well of Blue. There were many sources, but he one in particular was strong. He felt it, tapped into it, and let it flow through him. Calm coolness and professional grace flowed through him. He felt wave after wave of coolness take over him and let it stay there.
            "Ducky," he heard himself say. "Put the knife down. Look around you. What is a knife going to do to get you what you need?"
            Lin was perfectly, casually, still. With Ducky a jittery mess and Nolon and Morgan so tense with restraint and fear, it made Lin something of a fixed point in the room. Lin felt Duck's full attention fall on him. For that moment, Lin was the junkie's whole universe.
            So if this fucks up, Lin thought. Morgan and Nolon can hit him while he shanks me. We all win.
            "Come on, Duck. Drop the knife and let's get you some place where you can eat."
            The coolness flowed out of Lin with every word, until he felt it ebb out of him. The Color, the Aether, had run out.
            Ducky, his body jerking as if pulled muscle by muscle in various different directions, dropped the knife. It clattered on the floor with a dull thud. A split second later, Ducky dropped just as suddenly. The smell of offal filled the room.
            "Jesus," Nolon said. He immediately moved towards the Duck's limp body. "Someone call an ambulance!"
            Footsteps thudded quickly from behind Lin Callie, Lin's client, was running down towards them. She moved to Duck's limp body and began checking his pulse. She didn't have her gear, but she was moving with the professionalism of a trained Emergency Responder. She began giving Nolon orders. Callie couldn't have weighed more than a hundred pounds with weights on and had a swimmer's build, but the way Nolon responded would have made you think she was an army Colonel on the field.
            Lin sighed, the energy flowing out of him. He would need to visit Lovecraft after this to refuel. He felt Morgan's quiet presence next to him.
            "You know," Morgan said. "I've always known you were good with words, but seriously, Lin...." she looked back to Duck's limp form. Callie and Nolon were propping him up and EMS had been called in. "Damn, son."
            "You can do a lot with a kind word and an unblinking gaze than you can get with just a kind word," he said weakly.

-----

            An hour or so later, and the world quieted down. Ducky had gone into an ambulance, the prognosis being withdrawal and malnourishment. Callie went into the Ambulance with him, she seemed to know the EMTs. Morgan and Nolon let Lin go while they took care of the shop.
            St. Mark's carried on as it always did, completely unaware that a knife-wielding junkie was just put down with a word. They saw the ambulance, but many didn't pay it head and just moved on as they did.
            It was times like this that Lin wondered if the Shaitan Oath was upheld just as much by people's willing ignorance as their unceasing vigilance against revealing Magic to the 'Silent'.
            Lin made his way down through the streets and past the people as he made his way further into the East Village to Lovecraft. The bar was one part meeting hall, watering hole and refill station for the community of magic users known primarily as The Eldritch. It was a lot of other things as well, as Lin found out in his research. A small iron key hung around his neck, belonging to something in the lower reaches of the building. Considering the bar's namesake, he wasn't in too much of a hurry to find out. He just wanted to get to the bar, drink some absinthe, and refuel on his Aethers. He was nearly depleted of his Ondines and his Vulcans, and of the four Aether, he relied on them the most.
            As he walked through Tompkins Square, his phone buzzed his in his pocket. He didn't recognize the number.
            "Hello?"
            "Adolin," the voice said. It was familiar, woman's voice. An old rage began to boil in Lin's chest.
            "Go away," he said. It was barely a rasp. He didn't want to draw attention to himself this late at night.
            "But I'm worried about you," the woman said pleadingly.
            Lin's face tightened in a sneer, "I doubt that."
            "I'm your mother," she said.
            "Which is why I said 'Go Away' and not 'Go Fuck Yourself'." He hung up the phone and tried to forget about it. His mother had stopped factoring into his life choices long ago. He was going to Lovecraft, he was going to get buzzed on Absinthe and probably stoned on drawing in Aether from the Threshold buried in there. He wondered if people developed an addiction to drawing in Aethers, or different types of them. People definitely developed a euphoria as they let the power into them, Lin himself one of them. Then there was the situation with Extract and--"
            His phone rang again, breaking him from his tangent. It was the same number. Part of him knew to ignore it, but something in the way it vibrated in his hands made it feel like a challenge.
            "What?" He said in the phone.
            "That," his mother's voice said, heat in her tone. "Was rude. Ad--"
            "You do not get to say that name," he rasped. Everything in his worldview took on a momentary azure hue. He had let himself use the last of his Ondine, out of rage. It was less of a calming tide and more an enraged Tsunami. The energy coursed through him and around him. It was gone as fast as he had said it, "You don't get to say it. Not until you tell me what it means."
            The one or two people around him stopped and looked at him. He looked at them, acknowledging their presence, and they all went back to what they were doing. No one wants trouble, and while he didn't use magic, per se, they probably felt the strangeness coming off of his and his words. They wanted no part of it.
            His mother's voice held firm on the other end, "I have my reasons."
            "Yeah? Then your reasons don't involve me. Leave me alone."
            There was a pause on the other end. Lin could practically hear her shore up her own resolve. He had to have gotten it from somewhere, and his father died too early for him to qualify. "Fine. Dear. We'll have this conversation when you're in a better mood."
            He had made his way out of Tompkin's Square and made a turn South. "I'll be in a better mood when you tell me the truth." He sneered, "It's not like you just conjured it out of the Aether, right?"
            Silence on the other end. Lin hung up the phone, and shut it off.
            Yes, now he needed that drink.
-----
            The Lovecraft's basement smelled faintly of water, that's what happens when you were one of the neighborhoods submerged during Hurricane Sandy. The bar itself was a mixture of browns and brass and stone. He wasn't entirely sure it had been built by the Magisters, or if the Threshold and the magic around it told the designers that that's how it worked. He didn't ask these things, the answers scared him some. But the place was exactly as one expected with a name like Lovecraft: it looked and felt like the Absinthe den of a long dead occultist.
             He had long since refilled his Aethers at the threshold, it was the first thing he had done. He could feel the colors back in him. Blues and Greys, mostly, Ondines and Empyreans. A glass of bright green absinthe--his third--sat half finished on his table. Two note cards laid next to it, and a black brush-pen lay on top of that. There were two words on each sheet. One read:
            Adolin Dain
            And the other:
            Lin Dain
            Lin had never known why his mother, Marjorie Dain, had named him Adolin. The name did not exist before him. Where did it come from, why give it to him? He knew so little of his parents' past. He remembered very little, before running off. He remember rituals, and meetings. He remembered men who felt powerful coming to meet his parents, and him he remembered. They were interested in him. And he remembered a word: Babalon. When he read the word in the Libris Ex Arcanum, it unnerved something in him, tore the hinges off something he'd shut down for years.
            Part of Lin was afraid that all of this was connected. The magic, the monsters, and him. After years of running, hiding, conning and stealing to keep away from his mother's legacy, he may have ended up a part of it all. He didn't believe his mother was an Eldritch herself, that would be impossible considering all of the precautions taken by the Arcanum before the Century of Silence. But things had been known to slip up, and there were other elements out there that were aware and waiting between the two or three generations where the magic left and came back. None of those options particularly thrilled Lin.
            "What people design tells you something about them," He said to no one in particular. He took the notecard that said Adolin Dain on it and placed it over his tables candle. The small flame burned a black and brown hole into the card. It made him think of ritual offerings, of leavings for prayer to some god. Lin wasn't sure if he believed in any god enough to worship them. He'd met at least three beings in the past month that certainly qualified for the distinction, but without naming names he let out a small prayer of whatever plots and plans were in store to come over him.
            He doubted anyone heard them.
            He looked down at the last note card, the one that read Lin Dain. In a fit of pique, he grabbed his ink pen, uncapped it, and wrote out A, D, and O, restoring his name back to full.
            "What was your design with me, mom?" he asked to the trailing plumes of smoke. "How am I your signature, how am I your ritual?"
            No answers came to him that night, as they hadn't for all the nights he asked.
            

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