Over on Beast's Lair, I have (or, more properly, had been) attempting to develop a storyline set in a strand of the Kaleidoscope following after UBW-Good. This story arc has an OC protagonist, who originally didn't have a name. (The first "story" in the series was intended to be a one-shot, and gradually blossomed into a full-length work - and then into the mid-point of a three-part series I never got around to completing.)
At this point, if I ever get back into writing for this series properly, I am half-tempted to essentially re-boot the original portion of the story, since I'm not entirely sure about how it holds up at this point. (Not that I'd say that any of this series is worth your time, but I guess the evolution of the broader story arc raises questions about the original chain of events which I find myself wondering how to answer.)
So, for now, I want to start slowly on these boards, and only post up what exists for this portion of the storyline. (I may or may not post what I have for the other parts anyway, but I haven't quite decided on that just yet.)
To re-iterate, this work, along with the others in the same timeline, are intended to incorporate the
Good ending of the
Unlimited Blade Works route from
F/SN.
Part 1I don't remember all that much from my time in the classroom. While being there took up the bulk of my time during most days, the actual contents of each class, or rather the way in which the conversations there might have gone back and forth, are beyond my recollection.
While, in one sense, it was a relief to be there (something which might have surprised most of the other students present, who were, I guess, had less of a reason to not mind the time spent there) it was never the highlight... or lowest point... of my daily routine.
There are only a few things I can remember; one of them, during a geography lesson (or was it world history? I'm not too sure). Someone in the class made a comment about always getting 'airurando'
and 'aisurando'
mixed up. At the time, I didn't think much of it; they both seemed to be quite far away.------
November 11, 2003"Look like he's here already."
As Seonac Ó'Conaill stepped out into the
roof garden atop the
Chester Beatty Library building, he looked over to see the man to whom his current travel companion, Bláthnaid Ní hAodha, was referring.
At the end of the garden, the man had been looking out towards Dublin Castle, which stood
to one side of the larger garden at the foot of the building. The viewpoint from the CBL allowed one to see as far as the Castle on one side, and to the old
Coach House on the other; the latter converted into a modest, yet respectable venue. There was not overly much to see beyond this from the rooftop vantage point, and even then one had to go to the edge of the garden to look over the short wall at its edge; still, there was always the sky... when it wasn't overcast, at least.
"Ah, Mr. Ó'Conaill, I presume?" the man smiled and waved, as he walked across the garden to greet Seonac and Bláthnaid in person.
For a second, Seonac wanted to look over his shoulder, to see if the man was somehow referring to an elder member of his family. "Seonac is fine, sir; and you are..."
"Oh, of course, sorry," the man stopped himself, just as he literally came to a stop in front of the two arrivals. "I thought Florence here -"
"Bláthnaid," the woman pointed out; somewhat cross at the prospect of explaining her preference towards using the Irish, rather than English, version of her given name.
The man raised a hand in apology. "Sorry, Bláthnaid; I'm still having a bit of trouble trying to get used to Irish Gaelic names. You'd think growing up in Nova Scotia would have helped with that..."
Well, Seonac thought to himself,
at least he's not calling me Jonathan. "Wouldn't they have more of that other type of Gaelic, anyway?"
"Scots, yeah, a little," the man replied, "but not so much in Halifax compared to..."
After stopping himself again, he simply offered an outstretched hand. "Micheal mac Coinnich, at your service."
Seonac took the offered hand; the first formal introduction between himself and the man known more commonly as Michael Mackenzie. While Seonac was somewhat relieved at not letting things get too side-tracked during this phase of the conversation (an all too common occurrence when meeting new people, he found) his relative lack of eye contact prevented him from noticing a faint glimpse of not-quite-normal activity in the other man's gaze.
"Did you make it over to Dublin Airport in good time, Mr. mac Coinnich?" Bláthnaid asked. She had been the most recent psychologist to take on Seonac's somewhat unorthodox case over the course of the past two months; what few realised was the nature of some of her less-than-public acquaintances.
"Oh, Mike is fine," he offered, as he moved to shake her hand in turn. "I actually flew in via Belfast; the way the travel itinerary worked out, I ended up taking the Enterprise train down to Connolly Station; then after getting myself acquainted with my hotel, here I am!"
"How did you find the trip down?" wondered Seonac, who had been up to Belfast on occasion.
"Very interesting contrast, I found," Mike offered. "Up there, the roads, footpaths, signage and so on all look a lot more like what you'd see in many parts of Britain; plus it was very hilly terrain, I found. Once I crossed the border, everything got a lot flatter, and here the colour of the tarmac and so forth have a different hue. Very interesting, how those kind of things can affect the way you perceive a place."
Seonac nodded in agreement. He had noticed a palpable difference when being on either side of the border; yet he had never quite been able to put a finger on exactly what he was picking up on. At least, before any of the locals on either side started talking.
"And, of course, I saw a lot more people wearing something like this, too," he added, pointing to the red-and-black poppy he was wearing.
"For Remembrance Day?" Bláthnaid asked. She wasn't too accustomed to seeing many locals in Dublin wear one; though the ones she did see on occasion looked somewhat different.
"Yep," Mike nodded, "though this one is from the Royal Canadian Legion, not the British one. I can get then at the High Commission while I'm in London; I guess the embassy here would have something similar, too. In fact:"
At this, he opened his wallet and produced something neither Bláthnaid nor Seonac had seen before; a 10-dollar Canadian note. "They started printing these a few years back. They have the poppy
on the back there, along with a quote in English and French from old Sir John McCrae himself. Oh, and a blue beret taking a peek at the Peace Tower in Ottawa; to show the peacekeeping aspect of the day for those Canadians with a mind not to forget."
Seonac held the note in his hand, almost getting himself used to the idea of money with a person's face
on the front (in this case, Sir John A. Macdonald, the first Prime Minister of Canada); the euro notes in his own wallet had more abstract buildings and bridges on them.
"Anyway," Mike said, before he got too far down this side track. "I don't suppose we're here to talk about roads and stop signs. Maybe we could take a seat out here and get things going?"
After handing back the note, Seonac walked over with Mike and Bláthnaid to a pair of adjacent benches to one side of the garden; Bláthnaid sitting to one side of Seonac on the first bench, while Mike took a seat on the next one over, turning to face the other two.
After they sat down, Seonac paused to try and collect his thoughts for a moment; he noticed that for some reason, they felt more at ease than they had been in a while. "So, I'm told that you are a specialist, and that you may be able to help me?"
Mike couldn't help but smile at that.
So, she really hasn't told you, he thought to himself.
Well, I can't leave that un-addressed much longer. "I might, depending on what it is you want to do going forward; but before we deal with anything else, there is one question I need to ask you."
To emphasise the point, he looked straight over to the younger Irishman, before he asked simply:
"Can you hear voices in your head?"Seonac gasped in response, shocked both at the manner of question, and the way in which he had 'heard' it. Mike had not opened his mouth to speak, yet Seonac heard it as clear as day.
"I thought as much," Mike said, not needing to hear an answer to know the message had gotten across.
Bláthnaid, for the first time, revealed a card from her own proverbial deck, in terms of knowledge of the supernatural. "I wish it hadn't taken this long to nail it down, but I'm glad my guess was accurate."
"Guess?" Seonac replied, still coming to terms with the turn of events. "You... I... I mean, I hadn't said anything... I thought I..."
"Was going mad?" Mike stepped in, offering a more conciliatory tone. "I'm sorry it wasn't something you were prepared for, but yes, it's true; you have a gift, and a pretty rare one at that."
Seonac found himself wondering just how grateful he was supposed to be for this 'gift' Mike spoke of. "In other words..."
"In other words, Seonac," Bláthnaid responded: "You're a magus, and a telepathic one at that."
A magus... He was no more prepared to hear that his less-fearful thoughts in the wake of that terrible day in September were justified than he had been when his mind's eye had been pried open on his sixteenth birthday. And yet, a part of him found a degree of currency when taking the term 'magus' on board.
Magus... Magus... Magus...
"I am a magus." He said the words aloud; and strangely enough, the words seemed to fit.
"For the sake of disclosure, I am also a magus," Bláthnaid spoke to reassure him. "Although, my specialty is more to do with alchemy than the stuff you have going on in your mind."
Mike took his offered cue. "I, on the other hand, am another teep, like you. We aren't that common, so those of us who are more established try to help out those magi who do manifest the talent."
Seonac paused to consider this; though perhaps more out of a wish to channel the dozens of questions bombarding the inner walls of his mind at the revelation than the need to process what had already been said. "There are more of us; more magi, and more telepaths, I mean?"
"Yes and yes, though many more of the one than the other," Mike replied. "We are each part of a group known as the Mage's Association; I'm typically based in a branch of the Clock Tower, near the site of the British Museum over in London, while Bláthnaid is affiliated with Atlas, based down in Egypt."
Neither Mike nor Bláthnaid rushed to mention the often troubled set of relations between these two nominally-associated Great Branches of the Association; neither felt the need to go too deeply into the politics of thaumaturgy too quickly.
"Ordinarily, we might have tried to look after you ourselves," Bláthnaid tried to explain, "but given your manifestations, I felt it best to call in someone with a specialty closer to yours; especially since you're a first-gen."
"First-gen?" Seonac wondered, surprised to hear his condidition described in such terms.
"Yeah, a lot of magus families go back several generations," Mike added. "That makes it easier for a parent to pass on their knowledge, experience and training from one generation to the next. For example, both my brother David and I are magi, and teeps to boot; though I was the one to get this."
'This' was deomonstrated as Mike lifted up his left forearm, calling forth the embedded runes of his Magic Crest. Seonac was astonished by their aethyric glow, but immediately found himself wondering about the wisdom of such a spectacle in this place. "Um... is it a good idea to be doing that here?"
Mike smiled again. "Oh, we're fine; there are a few tricks of the trade I can teach you... depending on..."
"Depending on?" Seonac asked.
Mike looked over to Bláthnaid for a moment, then back to Seonac himself. "Depending on what choice you make."
Bláthnaid understood what Mike was referring to; though she had not dealt with first-gens enough to feel overly comfortable with offering the choice herself. Still, she felt bound by her sense of responsibility towards the youth to play her role, if she needed to.
"If you were in an established family, the choice would probably have already been made for you," Mike went on, "but since you are a newly-emergent magus, and a late bloomer at that, you have a choice."
"Most magi manifest their talents at a much younger age," Bláthnaid added, "or at least are trained in the family business long before they even hit pubescence."
"Oh, so no pressure, then," Seonac sighed. It was bad enough for him to feel behind the curve socially compared to most of his peers; perhaps a consequence of his having
Asperger Syndrome (which Bláthanid herself had recently diagnosed), though not something he liked hiding behind a condition to explain. The thought of being adrift in this new world couldn't help but leave a sinking feeling in its wake.
"Don't worry about it lad," Mike offered. "One way or another, you'll have to take things at your own pace, anyway."
"Okay..." Seonac replied, unsure what to make of that reassurance.
"If you want, Bláthnaid and I can try to seal your powers in," Mike moved on to the nub of the present matter. "You'll forget what happened here today, and assuming we can get a handle on things without too much trouble, you can try to go on and live your life as a normal human being."
"Or as close to one as I'd ever be, I guess," Seonac half-countered. "You don't sound too confident you'll be able to stop it, though."
"Not a hundred percent safely," Bláthnaid pointed out. "Plus, even if you don't know you have sorcerous potential, there are other who might be able to find out; not all of them are as accommodating as we would be towards your well-being."
"Yeah, there is that," Mike sighed, the remark hitting close to home. "There are some in the more estranged part of my own family who wouldn't lift a finger to help if... Well, it's not like there aren't risks of a purely mundane nature in life, too."
"And if I don't take the blue pill?" Seonac asked, not quite picturing the fair-skinned Mike in the role of a real-life Morpheus.
"Then you have a chance to do something more with your life." Mike tried to sound as even-handed with the offer as he was technically supposed to, but it was palpably clear which option he preferred Seonac take.
"Look, I'm not sticking to the script on this one," he went on, "but, seriously, lad; take this on. I know it might sound daunting to step into the brave new world right now, but you won't be going in alone. You have a power that few in the world ever even imagine having; and are part of a pretty cool subset, at that."
"So you say," Bláthnaid quipped, not able to hold back on a little dig at the Nova Scotian's expense.
"So I say!" Mike countered defiantly. "And so should you, Seonac."
It was a lot to ask. Only moments after discovering the first pieces of the puzzle regarding his inner nature, with only a light sprinkling of information about the kind of life which might await him were he to accept this challenge; it would have been all too easy to hesitate, or hold back. However, in Seonac's mind, he couldn't help but feel that even if his mind had never opened itself the way it had, he would never find the kind of opportunity to make something of his life in the 'mundane' world.
Well, maybe I'm being too hard on myself with that, he thought,
but then self-confidence hasn't quite been my strong point.Still, before he could make a decision, he had to ask one more thing. "If I say yes, what can I tell my family? I mean, I'm guessing the Association you speak of doesn't take too kindly to publicity."
"No, it really doesn't," Mike admitted, "but there are members of magus families who have no sorcerous ability. Some of them marry into the family, while others are from a generation which, for whatever reason, has seen their potential dry up."
Bláthnaid had thought of this already, since she already knew Seonac's parents. "Since you are technically founding your own magus lineage with this, you would, in principle, be in a position to entrust the truth with those among your blood lineage that you see fit. If you want to keep it from them, you are entitled to do so; but I won't tell on you if you want to disclose in private."
"Neither will I," Mike promised, with his hand up in the air to emphasise the point.
Taking in their clarification, Seonac took a deep breath. When he exhaled, he looked around at the rock garden surrounding him. For some unspecified reason, he seemed to feel more aware of it than he had been hitherto; as if looking at the setting for the first time.
It was this kind of clarity, of inner calm, which he had craved during his recent ordeal.
Throwing it away was out of the question.
He stood up, taking a couple of steps into the rock garden before turning back to both Mike and Bláthnaid.
His relaxed smile, his look of fresh confidence, the faint glimmer of hope in his emerald-green eyes; they showed only one conclusion.
"I'm in."
