Reschedule opart
Quickie Cloak ID for 'Stanzie
Link/Sharing?
"Allo?" The voice on the phone is deep - it might've been silky once upon a time, but there's a scratch to it, the combined toll of years and cigarettes, neither definitively counted but both doubtless considerable. Still has something, though.
"Jacques. It's Julia." I wait, and let him bring it up...he probably wasn't expecting this call.
"Ah...ma petite jewel..." He sounds wary. "Zis is about ze club, oui?" Good that he's on the defensive, bad that he knows already...means word is spreading.
"Among other things. This doesn't reflect very well on you, you know."
"You must understand, Julia, I am only a concierge in zese zings, I cannot be responsible for-"
"Stow it," I interrupt. I smile a little, imagining I can hear him sweating, but keep my voice disapproving. "You pick the contractors, don't you?"
"Oui, of course, but ze Suit, he is usually very reliable, no? Besides, if one such as you were...diverted, what could I have done?"
"Spend a bit more on general wards, for starters," I point out. "But you can relax...a little. I've already addressed the...substitute." I glance back into the living room, where Stanzie has been amusing herself by squeezing into various obnoxiously small things around her apartment. One of her pajama legs is sticking out of a handbag, slowly shortening as it's pulled further inside.
"Ah! I am glad to hear zis! Not zat I doubted you would. You are...unharmed?" He sounds surprised. Damn my rep.
"We both are. We...came to an arrangement."
"Ah, bohn, bohn. So...what zen can I do for you?" he asks, more curious now.
"For starters, I do expect you to reschedule me. You've already been well-compensated for a Volumetric Adaptation with a Vanish chaser, and your supposedly wooden-headed boy gave mine away all by himself, but that doesn't let you off the hook."
"Ah. No, I suppose it does not." He sounds glum, but he really doesn't have much choice here. He could go full-on lawyer and try to wiggle out of it, but that is not a rep that will help his future dealings. "I will find out ze next available opening and let you know." I nod, and make a tick-mark on the post-it.
"I need a couple other things. A Cloak ID. Nothing fancy, just quick...today or tomorrow if you can manage it...and cheap, six months tops." We ought to be able to figure out something more permanent for 'Stanzie by then. "It needs a paint-over, though," I add.
"Oh, ah? Of course zis is not difficult, even wiz ze primer added. Not for you, I take it?" Just like that, he's perked up again, ever the opportunist.
"Apprentice." A clink from the living room attracts my attention. My as-yet-clueless apprentice is mostly inside a drinking glass. She appears to be trying to use one hand to 'walk' around, and is apparently discovering the difficulty of balancing without a sensibly functioning inner ear, because mostly the glass is just falling over and banging into things.
"Ah. Zis I did not know! Congratulations are in order zen, you are climbing a beanstalk after all." I hear shuffling papers and other unidentifiable sounds from the phone for a moment. "Latin, I zink, you can manage ze pronunciation?"
"I'm fluent. How much?"
"Mmm...what else did you need?"
"How much, Jaques. Separate needs, separate deals." He sighs.
"You wound me, jewel. Four-fifty."
"For Latin? You can do better than that." Another sigh, longer.
"Oui, oui, but only because we are such good friends...zree seventy-five. Below zis I cannot go, expenses, you understand?" I wince, but it can't be helped.
"Fine, done. Leave the Cloak name blank, no saddling her with 'Zhakleeen Maree Delakwaa' or something," I insist, deliberately mangling the accent. I can speak decent French, but it's important to needle Jock or he gets too comfortable with himself.
"As you wish." He sounds satisfied, ignoring my jibe. This means I probably should've haggled more, but 'Stanzie really does need this 'toot sweet', as Jock would say. "And ze ozer zing? You said 'a couple', did you not?"
"I don't know if this is possible, let alone on short notice..."
"Even ze impossible can be provided, if only the price can be met," Jacques interrupts, jovially.
"I need a...link? So a routine on one person would be imprinted on another as well? One direction only, one shot...maybe two hours max."
"Mmmm. You would not be planning on shorting anyone, would you, jewel?"
"Nothing Bargained...purely for use with a free offer." I carefully do not mention the word 'Invite'. The line goes quiet for a moment.
"I am curious, but of course I would never pry. Oui, I zink zis can be done. When do you need it?"
"No later than next Saturday."
"How is your Koine?"
"Crapsmears, seriously?" I blurt out involuntarily.
"You do not know what you ask, perhaps? To twist ze aura of two individuals like a milkmaid's braid? Not so easily done. Be happy it is not Aramaic, or worse." I chew my lip for a moment. But I'm still pretty desperate to turn this fiasco into a benefit.
"I can muddle through. How much?" I ask, and close my eyes, as if it will stop me from seeing what's coming for a little longer.
"Ah, zis is somezing beyond ze typical, is it not? I zink perhaps you will need to barter a service. Two hours, unlimited?" I shudder.
"Unlimited? No way, Jacques. Fifteen minutes tops, and all options signed and bound in advance."
"Now zis, is truly impossible. Zirty minutes, and it is ze freedom from which ze true value comes, oui?"
"I can do thirty, but I won't without protection. I don't need it that much." A pause. I glance back to the living room, but don't see Stanzie immediately.
"Turn it around, oui? Say you may exclude acts or categories you find...objeczhonable." He's pressing me, he knows how much I want this. I think about the card Stanzie has. I want to ask Jock if he contracted the Suit separately to look for prospects, but I'd rather he not know for certain what I'm planning, even if it might not be all that hard for him to figure out.
"Fine. Thirty minutes, and only someone who binds to a list of exclusions I provide."
"Agreed. I zink I can find a client, even so. Email me ze list, and if it is not offensively broad, I will begin work on ze linking incantazhon wiz all haste. I will send your Cloak wizin ze hour."
"Good. Thanks, Jock."
"A pleazhur as always, jewel. A tout a l'heure." I hang up, and raise my voice towards the living room, still unsure where Stanzie is.
"Ok, that's covered...if you can rejoin me in the land of the decompressed, we can go over some more of the basics?" I pause, but there's no response. I begin checking inside various things without finding any sign of her, and it occurs to me that she may have tried a Vanish on her own. But she shouldn't be able to stay in the Between for very long without getting spooked, so I wait patiently.
After ten minutes, I begin to worry. There are complications to self-Vanishing, but what are the odds she'd stumble into a Conjuring in so short a time? Then again, what were the odds of what she'd managed at the club entirely on natural talent? Crap, crap, crap...
- - -
While Julia sits at the table and handles some "business that can't wait", I keep practicing. It's a little easier now, I don't need quite as much pressure to reach that 'pop' that feels like I've dislocated my whole body...which I suppose isn't completely untrue.
I manage to get inside my purse by tugging it firmly onto my head, then pushing my arms in one at a time. Once I've pulled the mouth down to my waist, I do a little seated Rockette routine for Julia's benefit, but outside sounds are pretty muffled...if she appreciates it, it's not in any way I can make out. I pull myself the rest of the way in, one leg at a time makes it a little easier.
I wish I had a better handle on what is happening when I did this. It is clear that I'm not just shrinking, or the shape of the purse would still be around me, but there was just the uniform pressure that was becoming familiar. By straining, I can slowly change my...position isn't the right word, pose, I guess? But I don't feel internal strain like I should, even with my back bent so my head's against my feet. Probably not useful for training flexibility, which is a pity, because it'd seem great for that otherwise.
I'm more careful getting out and manage to slowly emerge rather than all at once, presumably flinging my purse across the room. Julie is still on the phone, from her face and tone of voice, she's focused, or irritated, or both.
I look around and see an empty drinking glass on the coffee table. It's less than a third the size of my purse, but I haven't found a lower limit yet. I've already managed to jam one of my legs in past the knee before I wonder what would happen if there is a limit...maybe glass isn't the best material to practice with? But I can see Julia is occasionally looking this way, I'm sure she'd say something if I tried something dangerous.
In short order, I've pushed all the way into the glass. It's the least opaque thing I've been inside so far, but the view is still distorted...I guess the shape of my eyes may be warped somehow? I push a hand out of the top and bend it down, trying to make sense of what I'm seeing. I get a general sense of it after a few seconds, though the glass falls over from the movement of my hand and wrist.
I start feeling around, trying to stand the glass back up, then wonder about the weight issue again. If it mostly goes away, could I walk around with my fingers, like a hermit-crab? But it's pretty hard - I mostly end up just pushing the glass around the carpet.
I pull my hand back inside and feel around the inside of the glass, which basically feels the way I'd expect it to, though sometimes the parts of myself the back of my hands are pressed against don't entirely make sense, given where I'm moving them. I realize I haven't tried completely disappearing, like I did at the club, and I'm not sure where to start. I know Julie could explain it, but I really want to work something out on my own, maybe impress her a bit?
I try to recall the feeling in the club, of complete darkness, and then complete silence, and weightlessness. I close my eyes and try to tune out the muffled sounds of Julia talking outside the glass. After a moment, it seems to work. I open my eyes, and just see the haze of confused retinal flashes, trying to interpret a total lack of light. Like the first time, it's relaxing - all the more so since I've done this myself, and don't have to worry about being on stage and ruining anything.
I feel a thump on my feet, followed by my behind and back as the pressure around me instantly stops and gravity returns just as abruptly. I land in a crouch, and topple backward, but I'm definitely not in a glass. It's dark, for one, and much roomier. On top of that, I don't think I'm in my living room anymore...I can hear music, and vague applause, though I'm distracted by the increasingly familiar jolt of sensual release that accompanies the return of my normal form.
Before I have much time at all to try to make sense of what's happened, a bit of light comes in through the side, revealing an arm pushing into my little space. It feels around and quickly rests on my forearm, pulling me forward. I'm too surprised to resist much, and feel fabric brush past my face as I'm pulled halfway through a long slit.
I blink rapidly, shielding my eyes with my free hand against what are surely stage lights. The hand and arm attached to my forearm is in turn attached to a shiny red suit being worn by an asian man. He pulls insistently, reaching with his other hand to help me out of the odd box and down from the raised table it's sitting on.
"Yunikohn", he shouts, pointing enthusiastically at my unicorn pajamas as he turns towards a large audience. This doesn't require much linguistic skill to translate, but his accent sounds Japanese. There's laughter and applause. The man leads me around the box, and I stumble along in a daze. On the other side, there's a man dressed as a cowboy, and a couple women as a ballerina and a police officer respectively, each striking a pose appropriate to their costume. They're all quite attractive, and they seem as surprised to see me as I am to see them - the cowboy and the cop crack genuine smiles for a moment.
I begin to mentally grasp that, as inexplicable as it is for the moment, I am once again on stage. Only this time I have not gone to extraordinary lengths with makeup and hairstyle and outfit...but instead am just my dumpy self, wearing nothing but unicorn pajamas and bed-hair. I cover my face with my hands. More laughter from the audience.
As I stand there, feeling like I'm in a horrible public performance dream, the Japanese magician proceeds to produce a French chef (male), a racecar driver (female), and finally, a large tiger on a leash, to ever increasing amounts of appreciative laughter and applause. He moves downstage center with the tiger, and everyone else starts similarly moving up and to either side, the cowboy taking my hand to pull me forward as well.
It isn't hard to figure out, and I manage to bow along with everyone else. The magician says something unintelligible in Japanese, then waves, and everyone walks upstage as the curtain closes behind us.
The applause goes on for a while, but as soon as the curtain is closed, half of the people backstage have pulled out cellphones and begun texting or making calls. I wish I had my phone so I could call Julia, though I realize even if I did, I don't even have her number, as ridiculous as that is.
"This your first time being tapped for an open Conjure?" It's cowboy-guy. He's smiling at me, and looks like the Marlboro Man except with kind eyes that somehow imply he donates to the American Cancer Society all the time.
"Ah...yeah..." I laugh, nervously.
"It can catch you off guard if you've been trying a while," he commiserates. "Great shtick, though," he continues, gesturing to my pajamas, "I wish I'd thought of it...probably a lot more comfortable than chaps. I'm Terry Burton, by the way." He offers me a hand and I shake it.
"Augusta," I say, but stop myself before giving my last name...Julia had mentioned, and earlier demonstrated, that using my real name in these circles could cause problems, though of course it wasn't really a problem in her case. "Comfortable...sure...kind of regretting the hair, though..."
"Naw, it's great, totally sells it!" he says with a laugh.
I realize that the magician is now backstage with us, and has been moving from person to person. He approaches me and Terry, counting out a sheaf of bills for each of us. I accept mine, peering at the unfamiliar currency, as does Terry.
"Arrygatoh gozaeemas," intones the magician, beaming at us, and bows. Terry repeats the phrase and I do as well, stumbling a bit, but bowing deeply. The magician points at my chest and adds, "Yunikohn...bedtime...verly good!" He enunciates the English words slowly, then moves away, laughing and shaking his head.
The other...performers?...have formed a little line and started to get back in the box one at a time, deliberately pausing a few seconds in between. I move to join it, with Terry in tow. The French chef is in front of me, talking on his cell in, I think, Spanish?
"So how long have you been at this?"
"Oh...not long at all..." I say, vaguely. "What about you?"
"Couple of years. Saving up for bigger and better things." I nod, trying to seem like I know what he's talking about.
"Sure, sure...anything in particular?" He gives me a weird look for a second, then smiles and shrugs.
"Ah, that would be telling, wouldn't it? No sense in putting the rep before the horse." I laugh uneasily. The French chef gets into the box, leaving me next in line.
"Well, guess this is goodbye, Sleepy Augusta...maybe I'll see you around?" My heart flutters a bit. What is it about illusions and cute guys talking to me, something which has been generally unprecedented in any other situation? I give my best flirty smile in return, which collapses in confusion when I look down afterward and am reminded, again, what I currently look like.
"Maybe," I squeak, and dive headlong into the box. Nothing immediately happens, so I brace myself as best I can, concentrating on the pressure, close my eyes and click my bare heels together, feeling like an idiot, but nevertheless muttering the associated phrase.
There's a flicker of pressure and dark silence, and then I find myself tumbling painfully off of my coffee table, clutching my side where my ribs hit the edge. Julie is standing above me, and from her changing expression she seems both relieved and irritated.
"Er. Hi," I say, sheepishly, and give a little groan as my ribs continue to complain. I realize the stack of bills is still in my free hand and hold it out towards her, adding, "I should probably be more careful. But I think I somehow just made 3000 Yen?"
While Julia sits at the table and handles some "business that can't wait", I keep practicing. It's a little easier now, I don't need quite as much pressure to reach that 'pop' that feels like I've dislocated my whole body...which I suppose isn't completely untrue.
I manage to get inside my purse by tugging it firmly onto my head, then pushing my arms in one at a time. Once I've pulled the mouth down to my waist, I do a little seated Rockette routine for Julia's benefit, but outside sounds are pretty muffled...if she appreciates it, it's not in any way I can make out. I pull myself the rest of the way in, one leg at a time makes it a little easier.
I wish I had a better handle on what is happening when I did this. It is clear that I'm not just shrinking, or the shape of the purse would still be around me, but there was just the uniform pressure that was becoming familiar. By straining, I can slowly change my...position isn't the right word, pose, I guess? But I don't feel internal strain like I should, even with my back bent so my head's against my feet. Probably not useful for training flexibility, which is a pity, because it'd seem great for that otherwise.
I'm more careful getting out and manage to slowly emerge rather than all at once, presumably flinging my purse across the room. Julie is still on the phone, from her face and tone of voice, she's focused, or irritated, or both.
I look around and see an empty drinking glass on the coffee table. It's less than a third the size of my purse, but I haven't found a lower limit yet. I've already managed to jam one of my legs in past the knee before I wonder what would happen if there is a limit...maybe glass isn't the best material to practice with? But I can see Julia is occasionally looking this way, I'm sure she'd say something if I tried something dangerous.
In short order, I've pushed all the way into the glass. It's the least opaque thing I've been inside so far, but the view is still distorted...I guess the shape of my eyes may be warped somehow? I push a hand out of the top and bend it down, trying to make sense of what I'm seeing. I get a general sense of it after a few seconds, though the glass falls over from the movement of my hand and wrist.
I start feeling around, trying to stand the glass back up, then wonder about the weight issue again. If it mostly goes away, could I walk around with my fingers, like a hermit-crab? But it's pretty hard - I mostly end up just pushing the glass around the carpet.
I pull my hand back inside and feel around the inside of the glass, which basically feels the way I'd expect it to, though sometimes the parts of myself the back of my hands are pressed against don't entirely make sense, given where I'm moving them. I realize I haven't tried completely disappearing, like I did at the club, and I'm not sure where to start. I know Julie could explain it, but I really want to work something out on my own, maybe impress her a bit?
I try to recall the feeling in the club, of complete darkness, and then complete silence, and weightlessness. I close my eyes and try to tune out the muffled sounds of Julia talking outside the glass. After a moment, it seems to work. I open my eyes, and just see the haze of confused retinal flashes, trying to interpret a total lack of light. Like the first time, it's relaxing - all the more so since I've done this myself, and don't have to worry about being on stage and ruining anything.
I feel a thump on my feet, followed by my behind and back as the pressure around me instantly stops and gravity returns just as abruptly. I land in a crouch, and topple backward, but I'm definitely not in a glass. It's dark, for one, and much roomier. On top of that, I don't think I'm in my living room anymore...I can hear music, and vague applause, though I'm distracted by the increasingly familiar jolt of sensual release that accompanies the return of my normal form.
Before I have much time at all to try to make sense of what's happened, a bit of light comes in through the side, revealing an arm pushing into my little space. It feels around and quickly rests on my forearm, pulling me forward. I'm too surprised to resist much, and feel fabric brush past my face as I'm pulled halfway through a long slit.
I blink rapidly, shielding my eyes with my free hand against what are surely stage lights. The hand and arm attached to my forearm is in turn attached to a shiny red suit being worn by an asian man. He pulls insistently, reaching with his other hand to help me out of the odd box and down from the raised table it's sitting on.
"Yunikohn", he shouts, pointing enthusiastically at my unicorn pajamas as he turns towards a large audience. This doesn't require much linguistic skill to translate, but his accent sounds Japanese. There's laughter and applause. The man leads me around the box, and I stumble along in a daze. On the other side, there's a man dressed as a cowboy, and a couple women as a ballerina and a police officer respectively, each striking a pose appropriate to their costume. They're all quite attractive, and they seem as surprised to see me as I am to see them - the cowboy and the cop crack genuine smiles for a moment.
I begin to mentally grasp that, as inexplicable as it is for the moment, I am once again on stage. Only this time I have not gone to extraordinary lengths with makeup and hairstyle and outfit...but instead am just my dumpy self, wearing nothing but unicorn pajamas and bed-hair. I cover my face with my hands. More laughter from the audience.
As I stand there, feeling like I'm in a horrible public performance dream, the Japanese magician proceeds to produce a French chef (male), a racecar driver (female), and finally, a large tiger on a leash, to ever increasing amounts of appreciative laughter and applause. He moves downstage center with the tiger, and everyone else starts similarly moving up and to either side, the cowboy taking my hand to pull me forward as well.
It isn't hard to figure out, and I manage to bow along with everyone else. The magician says something unintelligible in Japanese, then waves, and everyone walks upstage as the curtain closes behind us.
The applause goes on for a while, but as soon as the curtain is closed, half of the people backstage have pulled out cellphones and begun texting or making calls. I wish I had my phone so I could call Julia, though I realize even if I did, I don't even have her number, as ridiculous as that is.
"This your first time being tapped for an open Conjure?" It's cowboy-guy. He's smiling at me, and looks like the Marlboro Man except with kind eyes that somehow imply he donates to the American Cancer Society all the time.
"Ah...yeah..." I laugh, nervously.
"It can catch you off guard if you've been trying a while," he commiserates. "Great shtick, though," he continues, gesturing to my pajamas, "I wish I'd thought of it...probably a lot more comfortable than chaps. I'm Terry Burton, by the way." He offers me a hand and I shake it.
"Augusta," I say, but stop myself before giving my last name...Julia had mentioned, and earlier demonstrated, that using my real name in these circles could cause problems, though of course it wasn't really a problem in her case. "Comfortable...sure...kind of regretting the hair, though..."
"Naw, it's great, totally sells it!" he says with a laugh.
I realize that the magician is now backstage with us, and has been moving from person to person. He approaches me and Terry, counting out a sheaf of bills for each of us. I accept mine, peering at the unfamiliar currency, as does Terry.
"Arrygatoh gozaeemas," intones the magician, beaming at us, and bows. Terry repeats the phrase and I do as well, stumbling a bit, but bowing deeply. The magician points at my chest and adds, "Yunikohn...bedtime...verly good!" He enunciates the English words slowly, then moves away, laughing and shaking his head.
The other...performers?...have formed a little line and started to get back in the box one at a time, deliberately pausing a few seconds in between. I move to join it, with Terry in tow. The French chef is in front of me, talking on his cell in, I think, Spanish?
"So how long have you been at this?"
"Oh...not long at all..." I say, vaguely. "What about you?"
"Couple of years. Saving up for bigger and better things." I nod, trying to seem like I know what he's talking about.
"Sure, sure...anything in particular?" He gives me a weird look for a second, then smiles and shrugs.
"Ah, that would be telling, wouldn't it? No sense in putting the rep before the horse." I laugh uneasily. The French chef gets into the box, leaving me next in line.
"Well, guess this is goodbye, Sleepy Augusta...maybe I'll see you around?" My heart flutters a bit. What is it about illusions and cute guys talking to me, something which has been generally unprecedented in any other situation? I give my best flirty smile in return, which collapses in confusion when I look down afterward and am reminded, again, what I currently look like.
"Maybe," I squeak, and dive headlong into the box. Nothing immediately happens, so I brace myself as best I can, concentrating on the pressure, close my eyes and click my bare heels together, feeling like an idiot, but nevertheless muttering the associated phrase.
There's a flicker of pressure and dark silence, and then I find myself tumbling painfully off of my coffee table, clutching my side where my ribs hit the edge. Julie is standing above me, and from her changing expression she seems both relieved and irritated.
"Er. Hi," I say, sheepishly, and give a little groan as my ribs continue to complain. I realize the stack of bills is still in my free hand and hold it out towards her, adding, "I should probably be more careful. But I think I somehow just made 3000 Yen?"