DISCLAIMER: Mage: the Ascension and the World of Darkness is the property of White Wolf Publishing. All characters in this story are, however, mine.
This story is more than usually ingrained with the Dougal metaplot. I didn't really mean to have a metaplot, but everything I write tend to want to connect to everything else I write, and sometimes that gives you stories like this, which doesn't work as stand-alones at all. To find out who Dennis is, read This business of saving the world, and to learn the whereabouts of Karl Militts, read Reign of Conformity. If you don't feel like reading either one (why not, for heaven's sakes? I'll have you know they're excellent stories! =]), you should probably skip this one, too… ^_^;;
Dennis had been keeping careful watch of the entrance to the café since he had gotten there, but he still hadn't noticed the lanky young man until he sat down next to him. Dennis flinched, startled, and then controlled himself. He was supposed to impress this guy with his great potential; acting jumpy wouldn't do.
The guy didn't look very scary, either, at least not to Dennis. He was tall and thin, with long, black hair in severe need of some washing and combing and at least a week's dark stubble on his chin. He was grinning in the somewhat vague fashion of a man whose mind is filled with so much exciting stuff that he can bear to pay only the slightest attention to the real world.
"Ah," Dennis said, somewhat reserved. "You would be Michael Deerheart, then?"
The man chuckled. He sounded a little like Goofy – ahulk, ahulk.
"You betcha," he said. "And you're the dude who Mom wants me to recruit, right? Dennis something?"
"Lantz. And yes." Dennis noted the choice of words. So Samara Deerheart, head honcho – or would that be honcha, maybe? – of the most established cabal in Dougal wanted to recruit him. That left him in the comfortable position of deciding whether he wanted to be mentored by her. Her power was certainly beyond question…
"Okay, cool." Michael grinned amiably. "Well, so, like, what do you wanna learn?"
Dennis raised an eyebrow.
"Magic?" he suggested.
Michael laughed.
"Well, yeah, man, but what kind? Like, are you into herbs and stuff, or do you want to summon demons, or…"
"Oh, that." Dennis scratched his thick mop of black hair. "I don't know. I just found out last week that I've been using magic for years without even knowing about it. That weird guy, Kevin Harsh, he said I was an Orphan."
"Oh yeah, you can do stuff already, right?" Michael looked pleased. "So how've you been doing it so far?"
"I glare," Dennis said.
"Er?" Michael said.
"I glare." Dennis sighed. "Then the person I glare at get scared, even if he's bigger and stronger than I am. Pity it doesn't work on my boss, or I'd have gotten a raise by now… but that's really all I can do. I've never really been all that interested in magic. Or, well, I've always read everything I could find about the Loch Ness monster and alien abductions and stuff like that, so I guess I'm interested in weird stuff. I just never thought I'd be able to do weird stuff."
"Gotcha." Michael nodded. "Well, okay." He rubbed his shaggy chin. "So what do you like to do? What are you good at?"
"Computers," Dennis said immediately. "I'm a programmer."
"For real?" Michael ahulked some more and slapped his tight. "Hey, man, this is, like, your lucky day! I can teach some really cool shit you can do with computers! It's, like, my thing."
"Really?" Dennis squinted. "I thought the Deerheart Coven were nature-mages or something."
"Well, what does a computer run on?" Michael said. "Silicone and electricity, right? That's just stone and lightning. Can't get more natural than stone and lightning, huh?"
Dennis had to laugh. This guy actually had a sort of weird charm, once you got used to him.
"I guess you can see it like that," he admitted. "So let's say I take you as my mentor and join up with the Deerheart family. What would that mean for me?"
"Well," Michael said, "for starters, you'd be under the protection of, like, the biggest and baddest mage group in town. I mean, sure, there's the Technocracy and shit, but as far as Tradition-guys go, we're it, man."
"Is that so?" Dennis squinted, smiling teasingly. "I heard of a group called the Azure Angels…"
"Oh, them." Michael laughed and made a dismissive gesture. "Nah, they're has-beens. They're leader's gone poof – they don't know where he is, we don't know where he is, no one knows where he is. And the chick who used to be their, like, spokesperson, well, we still see her every now and again, but she's not working with them no more. There's some bad blood there, I think. Don't know what it's all about, though. No, you stick with us, man. We've got the know-how, we've got the numbers, we've got the connections. We'll turn you into a kick-ass mage in no time."
"Mmm." Dennis nodded and took a sip of his coffee. "Well, I've already talked to those freaky kids who run that bar over in Whitebrook. They gave me a pretty stuck-up speech about how they can't teach me anything, because magic is like art and no one can teach you to be an artist if you don't already have it in you. They didn't exactly come out and say that I didn't have it in me, but it was close." He shrugged. "They're right, too. I couldn't even learn how to play the guitar when I was in school."
"The Black Moon Brotherhood." Michael nodded. "Hollow Ones. They're hardly more than Orphans themselves, you know? Every one of them doing their own thing." He grinned and made an acknowledging bow of his head. "Not that that's not kind of cool in itself, but…"
"But it's not for me." Dennis looked thoughtful. "Those two religious guys are in the hospital at the moment, and I and the good Lord never got on that well, anyway. The Asian lady is in Hell, from what I gather. Her friends say that she'll find her way out eventually, but I don't feel like waiting. And that Kevin Harsh character says that he's not allowed to teach me anything. What he can do is sponsor me into that Order of his, and they'll select a teacher for me. I might have to move halfway across the country. That's no good. My life's here in Dougal."
"So the Children of Sunset are out, too," Michael said. "Guess that leaves you with us."
"Could be," Dennis agreed. "But I've got one more call to make, don't I?"
Michael blinked.
"The Azure Angels?" he said. "But, hey, I already told you…"
"You told me," Dennis agreed. "Shouldn't they be allowed to tell me themselves? Hey, if you folk are really as good as you say, you can stand up to some competition."
Michael looked dumbstruck for a moment. Then he threw his head back and laughed. Ahulk, ahulk, ahulk!
"Yeah, competition, man!" he chuckled. "Survival of the fittest! Big thing with us Verbena guys! You've, like, done your homework!"
"What can I say?" Dennis grinned knowingly, though he had done no such thing. "Knowledge is power."
"The number you have dialled does not exist," a neutral female voice said at the other end of the line.
Dennis glared at the receiver. This was the third time he had dialled it; there was no way he could have done it wrong. Had Kevin just made a mistake in writing the number down for him? Possible; it had been an intense night. Annoying, though. He'd have to call Kevin up tonight and ask him for the right one. Or had the Azure Angels fallen on so hard times that they couldn't even pay their telephone bill?
"You! Lantz! That had better not be a personal call you're making!"
Jorgen, Dennis' boss, looked into the cubicle where Dennis was sitting. He was a very large man, six foot seven at the very least, and bulky to boot. Dennis sometimes felt like he was the slave of an evil giant.
"No, sir," he said, forcing the second word out through lips that were by nature and unbridled habit very unwilling to use it. "Just checking my voicemail."
"Hmpf." Jorgen didn't look the least bit appeased by that. He would probably have liked to have a valid reason to punish Dennis. Dennis had a bit of an attitude problem, and though he did his best to hide it as to avoid getting fired, Jorgen was the kind of boss that could smell it if you didn't shake in your bones at the thought of him being displeased with you. "Well, don't just sit there, then! That project won't finish itself!"
He stomped off to find someone else to harass.
I can do magic, Dennis thought. Why is it that that doesn't help me the least around here? His skull is too damn thick for the glaring thing to work, I guess.
Maybe Michael can teach me how to improve my technique so it does work. That'd be nice.
He went back to his computer screen to keep writing the code which would become one tiny part in some unspeakably dull project which would probably be discontinued from lack of funding within the year. Dennis sighed. He loved writing programs, but sometimes he felt like this job was custom-made to suck the life out of him. Maybe lifeless programmers were more willing to put in extra hours or something.
The computer screen didn't show his editor window, though. Instead, all it showed was a detailed picture of a dark-haired woman with big swan's wings on her shoulders against a blue sky. It was pretty, like an old-fashioned painting, but it had an edge to it, too. One got the feeling that this angel was more of the avenging kind than the guardian kind.
Well. Dennis wasn't thick. He had a pretty clear idea about who had done this. The question was why.
A text window opened just above the angel's head.
Hello, Dennis.
Dennis hesitated. What was he supposed to do? Talk? Type? These guys had hijacked his computer good and proper; he couldn't even call up a Start menu. As viruses went, this one was along the lines of anthrax.
He frowned. He didn't take well to being bullied, and this boisterous way of making contact frankly pissed him off. What if Jorgen came back and saw this? These morons could get him fired!
He finally settled for typing.
Fuck off, he wrote. It seemed to reach its destination, because the next line in the window was:
There is no need for that attitude.
There's every need for that attitude, Dennis wrote. Look, I DO want to speak with you. But not right NOW. I'm at work.
That is of no consequence, the Azure Angel said.
Maybe not for you, but it is for me.
It is of no consequence for you either, the Azure Angel insisted. We guarantee it.
Dennis relaxed a little. Okay, fine. Maybe these guys knew what they were talking about. They had hacked into the company's supposedly firewall-protected server easily enough, after all.
Okay, then, he wrote. I'm looking for someone to teach me magic.
We can teach you, the Azure Angel answered without a moment's hesitation.
That's great, Dennis wrote. So can the Deerhearts, I understand.
The Deerhearts are a remnant from prehistoric times, the Azure Angel wrote. What can they possibly teach you that is worth knowing?
Dennis smirked. It seemed that this one was quite keen on having him on his side, too. It was nice to be wanted. Still, he kind of preferred Michael Deerheart to this guy. At least he had a sense of humour, even if it was weird. The Azure Angel seemed about as stuffy as they came.
As I hear it, he typed, they're the big boys in town right now. As for you, I think the word "has-beens" was used.
Again the reply was instantaneous, like the Azure Angel had anticipated every possible route the conversation could take and prepared for them.
The Deerhearts are fools. It is true that we are suffering certain difficulties right now. They will be dealt with. After that, we will once more be the dominant cabal in Dougal. That day you will wish to stand with us, and it is not far away.
Dennis had to smile. The fellow was certainly sure of himself.
I don't know, he wrote. Talk is cheap, isn't it? I'm going to need something more than just your word that you WILL become worth allying with at some undetermined point in the future.
There is something else you need to consider, the Azure Angel said.
Dennis wrinkled his brow. Now what? He put his fingers to the keyboard to type a response, but the Azure Angel had already continued.
Samara Deerheart is currently at the top of the ladder. She has no need for further allies; she just wants them anyway. Why would she reward you for siding with her when she is strong? We, on the other hand, will reward you mightily for siding with us when we are weak. And we are not so weak that there is not much we can already offer you.
Dennis hesitated.
Keep talking, he typed.
Look behind you, the Azure Angel answered.
Dennis looked behind him, and almost had a stroke. Jorgen was standing there, staring at the screen over Dennis' shoulder. There was no telling how long he had been there; Dennis hadn't heard him coming. Oh, he was in for it now, he was going to be out on his ass in two seconds flat…
"Lantz," Jorgen said in a strange, empty voice. Dennis blinked. Where was the violent rage? He had been expecting violent rage.
"Yeah?" he said suspiciously.
"I was just thinking," Jorgen said in the same, hollow voice. "You're one of the best programmers here. You're due a raise. I'll go take care of it immediately."
Then he walked away. Dennis turned back to the screen, wild-eyed and far from his usual obnoxious self.
And within a few hours, the Azure Angel said, he will have decided that it was his own idea. The picture hadn't really changed, but Dennis could have sworn that the angel looked smug now.
So, he typed, trying to get over the shock and surprise. I guess there ARE things you can offer me.
You have seen but the slightest touch of our power, as yet, the Azure Angel wrote. We may not be all we have been, but we are mighty.
Dennis believed him. Anyone who could, what, hack into someone's brain or something, was "mighty" indeed.
I want to be able to do that, he thought. The thought surprised him, but it was true. He did want to learn how to do that. With power like that, there was no end to what he could do. And it had only been "the slightest touch of our power". What could they teach him that was even better than that?
So I see, he wrote. Okay, let's say I go with you. What happens next?
You will be given files, the Azure angel wrote, links, instructions. Enough to teach you how to begin to use your powers in an efficient way. You will also be given a direct address to one of us, so that you can ask our help with anything in the material that is unclear.
Dennis considered that. He had been expecting more of a formal tutelage than that, but then again, he was a grown man. He didn't need someone to hold his hand every step of the way. It seemed fair enough.
And in return? he wrote.
Our former mouthpiece has betrayed us, the Azure Angel responded. None of us are willing to take her place. A Sleeper would not be taken seriously. For now, you act as our representative among the other cabals. There is research that can be done no other way than through talking to people face to face.
What sort of research? Dennis wrote.
Our leader, Whirlwind, has gone missing. Before Dennis' eyes, the picture on the screen darkened, the blue sky turning a deep crimson. The angel's pure-white wings became black, and her face assumed a grim, warlike expression. You will assist in finding his whereabouts. If he is alive, he must be brought back to us. If he is dead, he must be avenged.
Dennis laughed. Detective work, eh? This might even be fun.