Walking Back Up
by Doxy
Have you ever woken up with the sensation that some bastard slipped into your house in the middle of the night and replaced your eyes with napalm? Its times like this I regret retaining my mortal shell. At least spirit-folk are immune to nuisances such as hangovers. Mind you they also can’t imbibe liquor, but we’re currently focusing on my pain so ignore that part. A percentage of humanity theorizes that alcohol is proof that there is a Creator and that He (or She, take your pick) wishes for us to be happy. To them I say that alcohol is proof that He’s a right-out bastard and should be shot repeatedly for inventing the concept of a hangover. You would think that between the mystical might of having spirit-derived powers and the wonders of human science, I could defeat the indignity of being struck low by overindulging in liquor. Just my luck I suppose.
A few moments are spent cursing what I assume are the kids next door. The temptation to smite them down with a good bolt of lightning eventually passes. After twenty minutes of feigned struggle, I free myself from the silken confines of the bed, stumbling towards the hallway. “Well, ev’n money says I’m still drunk,” I mutter to myself. “Note t’ self: complain to host abou’ pink motiff. Speak’n of which, who is my host?” And before you ask, yes I talk to myself. A lot. Just smile and nod your head. Very good.
Running through the fuzzy recollections of last night . . . Lets see here. To begin with, I’m fairly certain I broke the mind of a magus after being struck with several lightning bolts. Following that was a trip to the Blue Moon in search of vast quantities of alcohol and Rux. Through the fugue are hazy images of Rux, recollections of a woozy dare, and flashes of purple light. Maybe this is Rux’s place? I guess the pink wouldn’t be that surprising then –elves are like that. “Must find Rux . . . Need . . . . liver restoration.” Truth be told I can probably banish a hangover, but the efforts are much more draining on me. Long story. I’ll explain it when I’m nice and sober.
Eyes barely open, I sort of pause for a second. Apparently my stumbling about woke someone, judging from the vague figure I can hardly make out. I just chuckle some which apparently gets a quiet giggle from a scrawny, young girl, maybe five or six I’m guessing, dressed in a pink nightgown. Kinda cute I guess. Not too many kids with short, white hair. “Hi kid. Sorry if I woke you. Huh? What did you say? You talked while I was. . .” The words die on my tounge as my goes slack. What are the chances of Rux having an human girl with white hair and silver eyes? You’d think I’d know a mirror image when I see one. . .except one simple thing: Last I checked I was a scrawny twenty-two year old woman clad in jeans, boots, t-shirt, and trenchcoat. “What the bloody hell is this?!” Some day. . . .some day I’ll have a day where Life doesn’t give me the shaft.
“Having some problems Miss Tyler?” I froze almost on instinct. That voice. That silken voice that oozed arrogance behind a veil of etiquette. Muttering a few words under my breath, the hangover faded away, letting me gaze at the speaker with open malice and shock. As always he was dressed immaculately, favoring those white suits found in old movies. His ragged face hidden under a trimmed salt-and-pepper beard. The only hint of his true nature was a radiant emerald resting in the palm of right hand, literally. His eyes though –that’s what I never forget. Those souless obsidian orbs that sucked in everything, leaving only an aura of confidence.
Malcolm. Just *&^%’n lovely. Malcolm J. Roth is what most “normal” people would call a wizard or a mage. To be honest, mages are probably the worst things around. In all of my time as a protector of humanity, I’ve only met one mage who struck me as a half-way decent person. Imagine if you will, giving the power to transform the world to someone who already considers himself smarter and better than the rest of the human race. I rest my case. Anyhow, Malcolm is supposed to be elsewhere! We had a big, nasty magical duel in New York which ended up with his banishment from Earth. Like all melodramatics, he swore revenge while he was dragged off by tentacles (try not to snicker. . . .its okay, I can’t help it either). I’m guessing that’s about to be served up with interest.
“I was uncertain of whether I should wake you. I do know you don’t like being surprised in the morning.” Great. This is the part where we have banter, which happens before the bastard (read: Malcolm) beats up the cunning heroine (me). Still, it gives me time to think of a cunning plan to avoid being stomped into the ground. Coming off a hangover to face an archmagus isn’t something I’m capable of doing. Think think. What to do? Okay, he’s got no spell components out. He thinks he’s got the drop on me. Bull$%!^. He –has- the drop on me. Stop deluding myself. I’m so *&#%’d! Wait a moment. . .Either I’m still drunk (entirely possible) or the prespective for the room is all off.
“Malcolm, would you mind just dropping the illusion. .” I freeze up, blinking for a few moments and then looking back at the mirror. Given the fact Mal’s started grinning, I’m going to have to guess my eyes are as wide as saucers.
“I see you’ve finally realized that all’s not quite right with you.” His hand waves towards a book-filled study and he then walks into it. “Perhaps you’d like to sit down with me? I’m sure you have so many questions.” Note to self: Kill Malcolm. A lot. With knives. And lemon juice. And rabid weasels. Starving rabid weasels in heat. But enough about the future. Nodding some, I followed him, mind racing to calculate how the hell he could do this. I had my countermagicks set up perfectly! Even if I was unconscious no less. Note to self: Kill self for not foreseeing this. For now, just talk.
Malcolm sat himself down, pouring himself a brandy and then one for me. Right. Being pissy aint going to solve this. “You have a point to this Mr. Roth? I know you want to brag.” Magi always do. “So tell me, how did you do it?” Damn. No cigarettes on nightgown.
“Of course I have a point to this Valerie. You dared to interfere with my affairs. I am merely doin what a true magus does when your kind are foolish enough to step over the boundaries.” Swirling the brandy for a moment, he looked at me with amusement. I hate these damn pauses. *&^%’n drama queen magi arealways make everything larger than life, like out of an old Bond film. Its hilarious when they’re ordering food at Chili’s, but I digress.
I couldn’t help but snicker before sipping at the brandy. “Interfere with your affairs? You turned a boardroom of humans into children because they were able to outmaneuver you in a corporate takeover. I’m not the most stringent of people, but even I have my limits. You have any idea how much work I had to do to fix that? By all rights, I should have just killed you for your hubris, but nooooooo I decided you could just be cast into another dimension.” Okay, truth be told it was Hell but that’s not important right now, is it? “If the *&^@ing supernatural community would learn some self-restraint instead of getting pissy any time a mortal gets the best of it, I wouldn’t be needed. Instead I could be getting drunk in Tokyo, teaching an audience the true meaning of fear by belting out Everclear tunes in a karaoke bar.”
This time it was his turn to chuckle. “In truth I have to thank you. That time spent away from this world was. . .enlightening to the mind and soul.” Oh great. He’s going to talk about how he’s a Born-Again Demonologist. I just know it. Never mind the hollow sensation filling my stomach “When we last spoke you too were arrogant. You spoke of your magicks that defend you from my. . . alterations. Eventually it came to me though. As powerful as you were, even you could be harmed. Which meant you would have to a means of magical healing.” About the time he said that, I felt the brandy sifter drop to the floor. My eyes shut as I winced, slowly seeing where this speech would be going. I’m an idiot! A *&^%’n amateur idiot! What the bloody hell is wrong with me?! It took both hands, but I managed to push over one of the chairs. The smirk on Malcolm’s craggy face only widened in amusement.
“If you’re quite done with your tantrum dear, I’ll continue. In order to bypass your own measures you had to give permission for the magicks to work. So all I had to do was wait for you to need magical healing. Thankfully you’re such a drunkard that I didn’t have to wait long. And the only way to remove the curse is to have it removed against your will. However, your own defenses will ensure that such a dispel fails.” Malcolm stood up, walking over to a sunlit window and looking out at the world. “I figured you would appreciate the dramatic irony.”
This is what I meant by drama queens. Think think think. Okay, stop screaming about the fact your screwed up. Keep him talking girl so you can check your magical reserves. $%!^. Extremely low. “You said you got some enlightment out of this ordeal. So how about in thanks, you just remove your little curse, I maybe give you a nice artifact and we all just stay out of each other’s way?”
The arrogant little magus simply waved a hand. Cold shivers raced down my spine for a moment. Casting an eye down, my nightgown was gone; replaced with sandals and a loose, yellow sundress. “By all rights, I should kill you. However, I am a kind man and remember your past actions of leaving me to the carress of Hell instead of Oblivion. In honor of that, I condemn you to the same.” A slight sneer began to cross his pallid features, eyes burning with hatred. “By the way, you might wish to leave. Social Services should be here soon.”