Chapter Two – Faust, Midas, and Myself

Griffin Friar

"Mister? Sorry, but you can't sleep in that fountain. It's against Father Cornello's rules."

Suddenly, I'm awake. Maybe not wide awake, but awake enough to discern that yes, I am in a fountain. One that's currently filled with…wine. Might explain the fact that my head feels like it wants to curl up in a hole and die, and that I'm soaking wet.

Wait, I don't drink, and I think I'd remember falling asleep inside of a wine fountain. Something is definitely wrong.

I glance up, squinting at the sudden brightness.

A girl's standing in front of me, the sun reflecting off of her extremely bright pink hair. Hold on, it's just her bangs that are pink; the rest of her hair is brown. (Some sort of weird fad, I guess?) "Mister?" She asks again, waving a hand in front of my face. Probably to see if I drank any wine or something stupid like that. "Are you okay?"

Quite simply, that's not what I was expecting her to ask. "Uh. Where exactly am I?"

"You're at the great city of Liore, of course! You're here to see Father Cornello, right?"

Again with this Father Cornello person. I take a moment to think before asking, "What day is it? I can't really remember."

The girl tilts her head to one side as she surveys me. "…Tuesday."

Oh yes, that's very helpful. I don't even bother responding to it.

Staring at me critically, she shakes her head like she's disappointed in me. "You drank some of the wine, didn't you?"

"No!" I say in a rush, "I think I just hit my head or something. It's really not that big of a deal." I'm about to sit up – albeit very, very slowly – when I remember that I'm soaking wet. "Do you have a towel, by any chance?"

A concussion. That's the most likely explanation for all of this, especially since I've already had four. (What? It's not my fault people have a very annoying habit of accidentally falling on my head, both in and out of gym class. Well, at least half of those times were not my fault, and the other two were debatable.)

After a moment, the girl nods and turns around, scanning the area. "Hey, Jason, can you come over here for a minute?"

"You realize I'm right here?" A blonde guy suddenly appears next to her. "Anyways, what is it this time? Let me guess, I have to beat up some unbelievers again. This is getting ridiculous."

So that's what she meant by Father Cornello. They're all religious nutcases.

Alright, so maybe that was a bit harsh, but I haven't ever had good experiences with people like them.

She splutters for a moment, eventually exclaiming, "What? Jason, you're the ridiculous one. I just wanted you to make sure he doesn't accidentally drown while I'm getting him a towel. You can handle that, right?" When he rolls his eyes in response, she simply sighs and walks away.

"I take it you don't go around beating up nonbelievers. That's a relief."

"Keep living in your fantasy world, buddy," he says, shrugging. "The name's Jason Pelion. How old are you? You kinda look like you're a twelve-year-old midget." He pauses and takes a deep breath. "I'm sorry, that could come across as rude."

Did he seriously say that could come across as rude?

"Griffin Friar, and I'm eighteen."

Jason smirks. "Then I'm sure you'll be a big hit with the Father – all of them, really. They love people like you."

"…What the hell are you implying?"

"There are children out here, you son of a bitch!" He pretends to be horrified at himself for half of a second. "Dammit, I did it again!"

I stare up at him in confusion and ask, "What's wrong with you?"

"You're sitting in a wine fountain, and you think something's wrong with me. Wow. You're one messed up dude–" He keeps blabbering about how screwed-up-in-the-head I am, but I tune him out.

Since my eyes have justgotten used to the overwhelming brightness, I have finally noticed that the surrounding area is basically a desert. The people milling about either don't seem to notice the heat or they don't care. Or they've gotten used to it, which is the most likely explanation, I suppose.

But this place doesn't seem like a modern twenty-first century city, that's for sure.

Before I can stop myself, I blurt out, "What year is it?"

Jason snaps his mouth shut and raises his eyebrows. "You're piss-drunk, aren't you? It's 1914."

That's – that's an entire century's difference. (What. The. Hell.)

There's only one explanation for this. I must've ended up in some sort of, I dunno, some sort of acting camp where everyone has to pretend they're in the past or something like that. Nothing else would explain this.

"Okay, can you break character for a second? What's the real year?"

He stares at me and slowly enunciates, "Friar, you're extremely delusional. I'm pretty sure the people here will stone you if they hear you talking like this. So you should just drop it, okay?"

I'm about to reply when I see the girl heading our way, promised towel in hand.

"Rose!" Jason calls. "Oh, thank Leto, you've come to save me from this complete lunatic!" His previously serious demeanor drops in half of a second, and I'm left wondering what all that was about.

Well, maybe it's a good idea to keep my mouth shut. Apparently, all the people in this town are cultists, after all. And you can never trust a cultist. That much I learned from sixth grade math class.

Don't ask about sixth grade math class. It was a traumatic experience for everyone involved.

As soon as she reaches the fountain, the girl – Rose, according to Jason – hands me the towel. "Here you go!" She chirps. "I also brought you some spare clothes, because yours are a little wet at the moment."

Oh. I hadn't thought of that. I would've been walking around the city, looking like a very drunk Loch Ness Monster. Some friendly advice? Never fall asleep inside a wine fountain. "Thanks, I guess, but where am I supposed to change? I'm not changing in the middle of the street."

"That," Jason sighs, shaking his head dramatically, "is the difference between you and me, Grif."

She blinks, and then smiles slightly. "There's a nearby bathroom you can change in. And I can't believe you got him to tell you his name, Jason. You're not exactly the nicest person."

"He told me I looked like a twelve-year-old midget."

"…How old are you?"

"Eighteen," I growl, grinding my teeth together.

What, does everyone think I look twelve? That might explain why I keep getting pulled over by the cops whenever I'm driving.

Laughing hysterically at the look on Rose's face, Jason nods and gasps, "That was my reaction! He does not look like an eighteen-year-old, does he?"

"He is standing right here, you know."

"Actually, you're sitting inside of a fountain filled with wine. There's a difference."

I shoot a pointed look at him and stand up, wrapping the towel around myself like I'm a preteen girl on the beach. "Now he is standing right here," I repeat after I walk out onto the street. "I'll take the clothes, before I die of humiliation?"

She inclines her head and passes the bag to me. "Sorry if they're a little big. I was in a rush, so these were the only ones I could find."

Inside is a cultist outfit, identical to Jason's except that it's black and his is white. (He is nearly a foot taller than me. This might prove to be a problem.) "Uh. Thanks. As for the location of this aforementioned bathroom?"

Rose simply points to it, giggling.

Of course it had to have the gigantic "BATHROOM" sign – nineteen of them, in fact. As for how I managed to overlook all nineteen, I don't know. "Oh."

Five minutes later, I come back outside in a way-too-fricking-big outfit. It makes me feel even shorter than I actually am – trust me, that's an accomplishment.

But, with the exception of Jason, everybody is now gathered around a random old dude, asking him questions with extreme enthusiasm. Going by his weird getup, I assume he's some sort of priest. He certainly looks like one.

"Who's this guy?" I hiss once I walk over to Jason.

He glances at me out of the corner of his eye; when he realizes my question is actually genuine, he grins. "That's our dear Father Cornello. He and I don't get along very well, mainly because he's under the impression that I'm not a 'real Letoist.' He's right, you know. This religion of his is utter bull."

"Why… Why would you stay in a religion that you don't even believe in?"

Shrugging, Jason says, "I got a tip that, if I came here, this whole thing would eventually pay off. You see, I've been waiting for something for a very long time now, and I think–"

"Hello, I don't believe we've met."

When I look up, Cornello's standing in front of us, beaming down at me like a benevolent saint and glaring at Jason. All at the same time. This dude is unreal.

And I thought two-faced was just an expression.

"Are you new to Letoism? The traditional outfit for new converts is–"

How the hell do I respond to this? He thinks I'm a fricking cultist.

Jason plasters a smile on his face and cheerfully interrupts, "Grif here's my cousin who's visiting from Central. I was showing him around Liore, but he fell in the fountain, so that's why he's in a black outfit at the moment. I'm sorry, Father, but I was in a rush."

Clamping his mouth shut, Cornello forces a grin and reluctantly nods. "Of course, Son, God Leto is pleased. Are you having a good time in Liore so far?"

Since the question is obviously directed towards me, I decide to take Jason's lead. "Umm, yeah, it's been a lot of, uh, fun. And, from what I've heard about it so far, Letoism sounds like a very, erm, enlightening religion."

(Wait, does everybody refer to this Leto dude as God Leto? That must get exhausting.)

If Cornello recognizes that I'm totally faking it, he doesn't show it. "That's great to hear." The weird thing is: he manages to say it in a semi-authentic voice. Quite surprising.

"Isn't it?" Jason says, injecting as much happiness as possible into those two words. "As you always say, everyone starts believing in Leto at one time or another. It's better now than later, right?"

I just nod weakly, still unsure of how I got myself into this mess.

Cornello's about to say something, but then he glances out of the corner of his eye, presumably realizing that hundreds of cultists – um, believers – are watching him intently. Instead, he gives them what I'm sure he thinks is an award-winning smile. "You hear that, my fellow believers? I have converted this nonbeliever to Letoism!"

Wait. What?

The crowd starts cheering in complete unison, and I'm left wondering if everyone in this town is under mind control or something.

"Sucks to be you, mate," Jason comments, slowly edging away from the bunch of rabid cultists.

I stare at him blankly. "You think?"

Shaking his head, he says, "Nah, it is way worse than whatever it is you're imagining. They have a full-out festival in honor of you recognizing 'God Leto' as the divine being of this universe. All I've ever seen them eat is that gluten-free vegan crap. I'd love to stay, but I reallycan't, so see ya!"

He's long gone by the time I see that the mob is way too close for comfort.

"…Oh, you have got to be kidding me!"


Eventually, I manage to drag myself out of the so-called 'festivities', swearing at the top of my lungs.

Yeah, my cousin was right when he told me that the cultists only eat organic crap. But what he neglected to tell me was that their favorite food is spicy organic crap.

"My tongue…" I pant, frantically running out of the building in search of something – anything, honestly – to drink. "It's on fire!"

"Heh. You're an interesting one, aren't you?"

I look up – not just metaphorically, I actually have to look up – to see a guy standing a couple of feet away from me, smirking.

"I can honestly say not many of them are like you." Guess he sees the stare I send him, because he continues, "They don't tend to scream rather…unique curses, due to thinking that Leto hates profanity."

"Alright, who exactly are you?"

He shrugs and holds his hands up in a defensive posture. "Let's just say I'm a casual observer of sorts. The name's Cain Sherman, and I really hate Letoism. Actually, I pretty much hate Liore in general."

Fair enough. So far, I'm beginning to hate it too.

"Griffin Friar. Did they try to force you to join their cult?"

Sherman doesn't bother to hide his surprise at my random question. "Huh? Oh, it's something like that, I guess. They try to recruit anything that moves. Including, memorably, an honest-to-god tumbleweed. You should've seen what the baptism was like. It wasn't pretty."

They baptized a tumbleweed. And I thought being a cultist made them mental enough already.

I was wrong.

"Hey, Grif? Did you survive the taste test of doom, or–"

Jason walks out of a dark alleyway somewhere, but he completely stops in his tracks once he sees Sherman. "Oh, I see. You're busy."

"You know this guy?" Sherman asks narrowing his purple eyes. Wait, what kind of person has purple eyes? That's not a normal color, right?

I don't really want to talk myself into a minefield, like I have a habit of doing. "Umm. Yes, I kind of do."

"Kind of?" Jason looks offended. "How can you kind of know your cousin, Grif?"

Umm. How do you politely tell somebody to cut it out with the cousin crap? I'm running kinda short on ideas. I can't really snap at him in front of this stranger – wait, what am I saying? He's a stranger too. This whole town is freaking insane.

Probably seeing my confused look and mistaking it for something else, Sherman nods and starts to briskly walk away, calling over his shoulder, "See you around, Friar."

Once the other guy's out of sight, I turn to Jason and glare at him. "Would you stop pretending to be my cousin already? We don't even look alike."

"Tell me, Grif," he sighs, "do you think the people of this town approve very much of outsiders who aren't interested in Letoism?" When he sees me shake my head, he smirks. "Exactly. And what about strangers who appear out of nowhere? How about them?"

"…I'm beginning to see your point."

Jason raises an eyebrow – because raising two is so much harder. "Exactly. It took me months for the priests to stop considering me a threat, and I'm playing my role perfectly. You, on the other hand… Your acting skills need some work, dude."

Wait, what? Playing his role perfectly, what's that supposed to mean?

I guess my question must show on my face, because he continues, "I was assigned here by my higher-ups to work undercover until I discover all the information I need."

"So you're a cop?"

Grinning, he raises both eyebrows. "Ya finally struck the truth. Huh, I didn't think it would take you this long. It's quite obvious, in my mind."

I mutter something under my breath that surely would not be allowed to air on any television show, daytime or not.

"Cacti? I'll have to put that on the bucket list," he mutters. "Anyways, I'll show you to where you'll be staying, Grif. It's not that bad. You'll just have to room with an insane cultist!"

What.

He can't be serious.


He was serious.

Five hours later, I've given up any hope of ever getting any sleep in this godforsaken town. One thing Jason neglected to tell me about my insane cultist roommate was that he snores worse than any sailor in the history of mankind.

I'm walking down the hallway, minding my own business, when I start to hear voices.

This is just great. I have no idea where I am, and now I'm going crazy.

"–Aren't you not supposed to be in this building if you're not a believer, Homunculus?" Oh, just a false alarm; it's only Jason, probably getting into a hissing match with some nonbeliever. "I've found what I'm looking for, so let me take it back and then I'll be out of your palm-tree-like hair for a very long time."

People these days are insane. Who names their kid Homunculus?

"Now, now, Pelion, you remember the deal we made. In exchange for you being allowed to live here in Liore, you have to stay here until the town is fully under our control."

Wait, that's Sherman's voice. But why would he be in here, of all places, if he hates this town?

I have no idea, but it's probably best to get away from both of them as soon as possible. Since my only other option would be to hide in the nearest closet, and there are no closets in this vicinity, I'll have to go with the speed-walk-for-my-life route.

At least I'm more athletic than that one girl in my grade who managed to never participate in a single gym class for an entire year. The methods she took still scar me to this day, but was her name? Clementine? Yeah, that's it.

The first door I passed is locked, which is why I try to pick it open using a paperclip I found near my bed.

Now that I think about it, my semi-compulsive habit of opening locked doors just to see what's behind them is not the most healthy choice of habits. I should have chosen something else, like gardening.

"My dear boy, what are you doing?"

"Picking open this locked door to see what's inside it," I blurt out before I can hold my tongue.

Oh, crap. I just said that to Father Cornello.

He laughs before he realizes I wasn't joking at all, and then he snaps his mouth shut with a click, narrowing his eyes until they're barely slits. "So you're a thief, then? Come here to rob us?"

"Nah, he's not the thief."

"Then – you," Cornello hisses once he sees Jason. "You're a thief?"

Tilting his head to one side until it looks like he has a broken neck, Jason grins. "Not exactly, my Father. See, I'm more of a bounty hunter than anything else. I had been hired to infiltrate this scam of yours, and infiltrate it I did. All that to retrieve a very precious item." He twists a ring around his finger, one I swear wasn't there before. Then again, neither were the gloves.

Very subtle, Jason. Now everyone and their grandma knows what the item is.

Except… The only other person around us is Cornello, and all bets are off when it comes to him.

"And what'll you do now, boy? You're surrounded."

Of course, in the time it took for me to think that, the Father probably signaled his cultist army to, well, surround us. Did they materialize out of the fricking wall or something? There's not really any other explanation.

"Oh yes," Jason deadpans, "I'm surrounded on all three sides. Whatever shall I do?"

"Surrender?" A group of dumb-as-all-hell cultists suggest in complete unison. Like that would actually be an option with him.

Jason laughs. Not a normal, sane laugh, but a full-on, hysterical, borderline-supervillain laugh.

And then his hand shoots out and clasps over the nearest cultist's face. His glove starts to glow a yellowish-white color, and the man crumples to the floor, obviously dead. "Thanks for all the memories," Pelion says in a sing-song voice, moving his hand to the wall behind him. "Consider this a warning. I'll be back for it, you know."

I start to run.

Everything explodes.


The ringing in my ears drowns everything out, even Cornello's obnoxiously loud voice. And you should trust me, that's quite a feat.

I don't move at all, because I notice one thing: a ring on my finger. I never wear rings.

Jason Pelion, you overdramatic idiot. You landed me in cultist jail. Cultist jail, dude. If they try to convert me to Letoism, I swear I'm going to burst out of here and kill you.

"So, my dear boy, I guess you're not a Letoist after all."

Combined with his extreme tendency to shout all of his words, no matter what the context, the Father's voice is giving me a horrific headache.

"You caught me. I don't believe in an all-powerful god who chooses someone like you to be his divine representative."

Apparently, Cornello doesn't comprehend the thinly-veiled jab in my words, because he asks, "Do you want to start now?"

I'm so going to kill you, Jason Pelion.


Hello again! I'm finally back. Ish. You know what I mean. Due to school, updates most likely will continue to be at this pace. Also because I have the mind of a goldfish and at times I just am not capable of remembering my first name, let alone replying to people or writing at all. {Sadly, I'm being perfectly serious.}

Let's see… Jason's an alchemist, and his particular brand of alchemy will be addressed later. That's really all there is to the technicalities of this chapter.

Review and I'll give you a handy-dandy Father Cornello plushie. Perfect for you to practice any kind of voodoo on. Say whose alchemy Jason's is based off of (hint: it's someone in The Art of Breaking) and I'll give you two Father Cornello plushies.

And as for the replying to the reviews, because I am a total moron who is incapable of basic thought:

The Elf Alchemist: Thanks! And does my writing really sound like Rick Riordan's? He's probably my favorite author, so I guess I'm doing a few things right.

Kilari G: Thanks!

Winrykatbell: Thanks!

An Arm and a Leg: Quite a few things are going to be changed from the last one to this. So that means no backtracking scenes, unfortunately. And thanks!

Lilaclily00: Thanks! Oh, Llamas with Hats. What would I do without you?