Out of Darkness into Nothing
Author's note: This story is about the Awakening of a Hollow One mage named Ian Frost. All my information about the Hollow Ones comes from the e-book of thatname on Nocturnis d o t n e t. It also represents my attempt to flesh out a very interesting and overlooked faction in Mage. It won'te be long, maybe two three chapters.
Ian had always had a pretty life. Father dead at eight of what the police called "self-inflicted gunshot wound" and what the other kids at school called "blowing his brains out". Mother an abusive alcoholic. Working his way through Community College as a gravedigger. Now stuck in a dead end job as cashier at an antique book store. All of which drove him to embrace the occult. He wasn't stupid; he knew that deep down this was his subconscious looking for some way out. He didn't much care; his life was bascially meaningless, so why not let his subconcious try? It might even find an escape. Wouldn't THAT be great…
In the course of his 'hobbies' he made friends. This was a rarity for him, since his high intelligence and profoundly bleak worldview didn't exactly make him mister popularity. On the whole, he was pretty sure he liked it. Sure, it meant that people might call on you at awkward times, but at the same time, it meant that there were people who actually gave a damn about him. Together, they perused old, 19th century books of the occult. They held seances every other night, and went clubbing the rest of the week.
There was Monique DuMars, the artist. She was deep into neo-nihilistic abstract-representationalism-or something like that, Ian didn't really pay that much attention to her lectures on art, since it all looked pretty much the sane to him. She was tall, black, and from a rich family, really old New Orleans types. But she wasn't stuck up or anything, and she tended to bankroll their fun. Which was cool. They had actually been the start of the group. They'd met in the store he worked at, when she had come looking for a book on Victorian Hellfire societies. A lengthy discussian had ensued, and two nights later they were holding a séance for her long-ago vanished great aunt Veronique.
Peter had been the next to join their group. He was the sort of person Ian felt was best taken in small doses. VERY small doses. He was a total downer, going on about the 'total meaninglessness of life' all the damn time. Ian agreed life was pretty pointless, but even he could let it go once in a while. Plus, he was a Goth Poseur. Ian divided Goths into 2 groups; Real Ones and Posers. Real Goths viewed it as just a part of their lives. They were Goths in the same way that other people were Masons, or Republicans, or Alcoholics. Their interest in the lifestyle tended to be pretty permanent, so Ian had to give them respect for their convictions. The Posers on the other hand, wanted you to believe they were Goths period. That it was the be-all and end-all of their lives. Then, in a few years, they moved on to a different trend. The Posers sickened Ian, just another bunch of dimwits who were trying to find meaning in a new fashion line.
That being said, Peter could occassionally forget his angst long enough to be a cool gguy. He knew tons about music and hadd a terrific sense of dry humor. Watching bad movies with Peter was great at times like those, he'd rip the bad scripts to pieces with gags that put Mystery Science Theater to shame. He was tall and good-looking which meant that at any social gathering he tended to be the center of attention; thus relieving Ian of the burden of interacting with strangers. Ian looked forward to the day that Peter dropped the Goth stuff and could be like that more often.
At the opposite end, there was Crystal Evans. Crystal's parents had apparently not noticed that the sixties weere over. They'd filled the girls head with all kinds of hippy-dippy sunshine crap, and provided her with a loving, functional family. In short, they'd ruined her. When they'd met at a New Age Covnvention (She was looking for healing crystals and spirit stones, he was looking to use the bathroom), she'd been convinced that the world was a wonderful place filled with wonderfully unique people all of whom were basically good. About five minutes into the conversation Ian had asked her how she survived in the world. She'd laughed.
She came to the group because she wanted to know about Ian's "world-view"; his deep rooted cynicism and black humor were alien to her. But she DID know a lot about contacting spirits, she didn't cause a lot of problems, plus she could usually score some good weed, so the red-headed blue eyed girl became part of their circle.
When it was just the two of them, Ian and Crystal spent their time talking, mainly about what the world was. Unsurprisingly, Ian viewed the world as a cold, heartless, chaotic place where you basically just served out you life until death claimed you. Crystal saw it as a place of unlimited oppurtunity and freedom, if you opened yourself to Her (she always described the world as a woman- Ian agreed to the extent that he thought the world was a bitch). They also talked music, movies, politics and even history, all without agreeing on a damned thing.
Last but not least ws Robert. Robert was…odd. For one thing no one knew how old he was. HE looked about twenty seven, twenty eight, but you always got the sense that he was much much older than that. He knew a lot of stuff too, and was able to point out their mistakes in the rituals without even glancing at the book. More than that though, he had no contact with anyone but Ian when they weren't doing some spell. He was a large man, six foot two and over two hundred pounds (most of it fat). He never spoke much, and didn't seem to ge talong with Crystal.
A strange bunch of people, yes. But not bizzarre.
Hardly the sort of group you expect to be around when your entire view of the universe changes.
End ch.1
Yes faithful reader Veronique DuMars, of the Magnificent Seven. This is not the start of a metaplot, just a shining example that it is, in fact, a small world after all.
