Baxter Peters
Considering Writing Again
Staff member
Moderator
Dungeon Master
Inner Sanctum Nobility
♔ Champion ♔
- Local time
- Today 6:18 PM
- Messages
- 2,843
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Daphne stirred. It was dark outside. Ches snored softly beside her as the bedside clock displayed o3:04. She started to roll back over when she smelled it. Coffee. Was Larry making coffee this time of night? She'd kill that boy.
Slipping out of bed, she pulled on a robe, tying it as she headed for the stairs, bare feet soft on the hardwoods. No lights were on in the kid's rooms. A cool chill caused gooseflesh to coat her arms as she slipped down the stairs. She began to smell something other than coffee. Something a little spicy, aromatic. Incense? No... was that a clove cigarette.
Peaking into the kitchen, she saw him, sitting on a barstool on her kitchen island, cup of coffee before him using the coaster as an ashtray. She drew in a breath to scream when he said simply, "Easy. Calm down. Just here to talk."
Now, normally that wouldn't work. Daphne wasn't the sort of person to have a casual conversation with someone, but all her fear just... evaporated. She felt it just pop, like a soap bubble from one of her daughter's wands. Still, she frowned, "Who the hell are you, and why are you here?"
The dark haired man nodded and gestured to the coffee pot, "Might as well pour a cup, this'll take a bit." He placed a hand over his heart, "Baxter Peters, at your service. And I'm here to explain what happened to you Thursday night."
The color drained from Daphne's face as she stood stunned, a deer in this man's headlights. "Wh... what do you mean? I know what happened."
"Come on, love. We both know that's not true. Get some coffee and have a seat." Mr. Peters was a pale middle aged man with short dark hair, bright, blue eyes, and a line of piercings along both ears. His all black attire included a suit with jacket and vest, leather steel toed boots, and a narrow tie. He sort of looked like he belonged at a Sisters of Mercy or Morrisey concert. "So, you're driving behind a logging truck, the logs come loose, obliterate your mom-mobile, and you and your sprouts come out without a scratch. Such a miracle." He slurped a bit of coffee, watching as she poured some of her own. "Of course, there isn't such a thing. Miracles aren't a thing. Hell, I don't thin..."
"Don't blaspheme in my house." Daphne cut in sharply.
Bax held up a placating hand, "Easy. Didn't mean to offend. Tell me what happened. Be honest, it's important."
She took a sip of her own coffee, walking over to have a seat. "It was raining. Lightning struck the truck and all the logs began spilling out. They were coming right for us."
"And then?"
"I don't know what happened."
"And then."
"I can't explain it."
"And then?"
"It's crazy."
"Lady, I broke into your house, look like an escaped vampire, and am having a chat with you in the middle of the night. Crazy is what I do. And. Then."
The mother sighed and looked over to him. "I... could see... everything. I knew how each log was going to go. I knew which ones were going to kill me, my kids. I could see how their lives were going to be cut so short and I... I just said no. This isn't going to happen. And... it didn't."
"Ahh, gotcha. Fate. Cool, I can work with that." He nodded and light a new cigarette off his dying one. He offered her one, taking it back as she shook her head. "And ever since then, nothing's felt right. You haven't been able to get that idea out of your head. Haven't been able to explain it. When people say how lucky you are, that just didn't feel true."
She just watched him, hands cupped around the hot coffee.
"It's called an 'Awakening'. Pretentious as fuck, and that's coming from me. Basically almost always happens during periods of high stress. When people have the knack, they'll come to a realization that reality isn't what it seems and they'll shape it. Happened to me during a suicide attempt. Don't ask, won't tell, doesn't matter. What does matter is you're awake now. You know things are wrong, you don't know how or why you know, but you know. You aren't crazy, you're just aware. Now, you've got a choice to make. You can ignore this feeling. Eventually, it'll go away. Or, you can try to understand it. There are pros and cons of both approaches. Frankly, I suspect you'll be happier trying to forget it. Ignorance is bliss and all that."
"And if I try to understand?" Daphne asked.
"You'll blow your mind. Personally, I want to know the answers, even if they hurt. What about you?"
"I... I don't know that I can let this go."
"Hey, that's great. Sort of. Stubbornness to the point of belligerence is a key trait for a Mage."
"Mage? Okay, you need to go." She started to stand up, then got dizzy and sank back to her seat. "Wha…?"
"Don't worry. It's just the peyote I spiked your coffee with. It'll help you see."
"Son of a bit..."
"Ahh, ahh, ahh... I already put a twenty in your sweat jar. I'm not paying for you too." He placed a thumb on her forehead. "Now... see."
Daphne's eyes turned solid white and she froze, mouth slightly agape, seeing such amazing sights as Baxter spoke. It was as though she were inside an episode of Cosmos, narrated by an aging goth instead of Neil DeGrasse Tyson.
"Science knows that matter and energy are the same things, just in different states. Underneath all of that is Quintessence. It's the energy that all of reality is built upon. It connects everything, binds everything, but it's shaped by us, by our collective belief. Once, the world was a chaotic, changing place, filled with rival beliefs, rival gods. Over time, we came to agree on more and more stuff. Up is up, down is down, light, dark, fire water, weather, seasons, time. We shaped our world, and it took way more than seven days. Then again, for some people it did take seven days. That's the funny thing about belief. Feels like a paradox, and it is, but different things can be true, depending on one's beliefs. Damn, I feel like a press secretary. Fuck."
"Regardless, the key thing to know is we can shape reality with our beliefs, which is horrifying when you think about how many idiots are out there. It's no wonder the world is as screwed up as it is. At some point, some clever guys decided, 'Wow, this place is crazy. What we need to do is win hearts and minds, get everyone to buy into our beliefs, and we can stabilize this madness. And they did. In doing so, most people forgot about magic. By the way, if you're talking to other Mages, that's magick with a 'k'. Like I said, pretentious as fuck."
Throughout his exposition, Daphne's mind was filled with visions of Mages working their craft. Hermetics with their intricate diagrams. Etherites with their mad machines. Adepts with their source code. Skyclad Verbena dancing under the sky. Even a Chorister singing to the heavens. She saw battles between the Traditions and Technocracy. She saw magic, true magick being used.
"You realized, in that moment of stress, that you could shape, bend, even break reality. You used that to save yourself, to save your kids. And now, you've no idea how you did it. You know you did, but you can't make it happen again, because you can't believe it happened, even though you know it did. Reality is a bitch. We're programmed to accept it. Breaking that habit is hard. We use rituals and gadgets and practices to trick ourselves into having faith in our own ability. Like the Peyote I put in your tea. Technically, I don't need it, but it's easier to use it than to not."
"Daphne. Your ability runs in the family. You probably had a weird ancestor or two they tell stories about. Your kids could have an awakening someday too. You can go back to sleep and pretend none of this is real, none of this ever happened. It's a safer choice, honestly. It's less disruptive. Or, I can help you find someone who can help train you, help you learn to harness your abilities in a way that feels right to you, then, if the time comes, you can be the one to teach your kids."
Baxter pulled his thumb off her forehead and Daphne took a sudden breath, the white fading from her eyes. "What was that?" she asked.
Baxter just gave her a sour look, "Guess."
Upon reflection, it had been a silly question. Daphne swallowed. "In... in that vision, I saw someone in robes who was singing. Before the naked ladies."
"Yeah, I figured." He nodded and finished off his coffee with a long pull, setting down the empty cup. "Celestial Chorus. They believe their magic is a gift from God or whatever. Frankly, I don't understand having faith in a higher power, but it works for them, and probably you too." He pulled a notepad from his pocket and scribbled a note, "Go to this church and ask for Father Grimes. He'll know why you're there and more importantly, he'll help."
He tucked the note into her hand. "Now, this next bit is going to be cool."
"What?" Daphne asked, only to get a wink in return.
------------
Daphne stirred. It was dark outside. Ches snored softly beside her as the bedside clock displayed o3:04. She started to roll back over when she suddenly remembered the stranger in her kitchen. She bolted up in the bed, looking around as her husband grumbled and pulled the covers back up over his shoulder.
She couldn't smell coffee. Getting out of bed, she put on her robe and hurried past her sleeping children, down the stairs, and into the empty kitchen. The coffee pot was cold, no cloves were in the air, no cups disturbed. Everything was quiet except for her racing heart. Daphne took a shaky breath, feeling silly. Sheepishly, she put her hands in her robe pockets and started back toward the stairs, but only for a step before stopping. Slowly, she pulled a folded note from her pocket, opened it up, and read it by the refrigerator light.
Daphne sank to the floor as the world spun around her.
Outside, a dark figure lit a cigarette and took a deep pull, the glowing cherry illuminating his pale, narrow features and bright blue eyes. "Godspeed, Daphne." Turning, Baxter walked down the sidewalk, humming to himself and smoking.
Slipping out of bed, she pulled on a robe, tying it as she headed for the stairs, bare feet soft on the hardwoods. No lights were on in the kid's rooms. A cool chill caused gooseflesh to coat her arms as she slipped down the stairs. She began to smell something other than coffee. Something a little spicy, aromatic. Incense? No... was that a clove cigarette.
Peaking into the kitchen, she saw him, sitting on a barstool on her kitchen island, cup of coffee before him using the coaster as an ashtray. She drew in a breath to scream when he said simply, "Easy. Calm down. Just here to talk."
Now, normally that wouldn't work. Daphne wasn't the sort of person to have a casual conversation with someone, but all her fear just... evaporated. She felt it just pop, like a soap bubble from one of her daughter's wands. Still, she frowned, "Who the hell are you, and why are you here?"
The dark haired man nodded and gestured to the coffee pot, "Might as well pour a cup, this'll take a bit." He placed a hand over his heart, "Baxter Peters, at your service. And I'm here to explain what happened to you Thursday night."
The color drained from Daphne's face as she stood stunned, a deer in this man's headlights. "Wh... what do you mean? I know what happened."
"Come on, love. We both know that's not true. Get some coffee and have a seat." Mr. Peters was a pale middle aged man with short dark hair, bright, blue eyes, and a line of piercings along both ears. His all black attire included a suit with jacket and vest, leather steel toed boots, and a narrow tie. He sort of looked like he belonged at a Sisters of Mercy or Morrisey concert. "So, you're driving behind a logging truck, the logs come loose, obliterate your mom-mobile, and you and your sprouts come out without a scratch. Such a miracle." He slurped a bit of coffee, watching as she poured some of her own. "Of course, there isn't such a thing. Miracles aren't a thing. Hell, I don't thin..."
"Don't blaspheme in my house." Daphne cut in sharply.
Bax held up a placating hand, "Easy. Didn't mean to offend. Tell me what happened. Be honest, it's important."
She took a sip of her own coffee, walking over to have a seat. "It was raining. Lightning struck the truck and all the logs began spilling out. They were coming right for us."
"And then?"
"I don't know what happened."
"And then."
"I can't explain it."
"And then?"
"It's crazy."
"Lady, I broke into your house, look like an escaped vampire, and am having a chat with you in the middle of the night. Crazy is what I do. And. Then."
The mother sighed and looked over to him. "I... could see... everything. I knew how each log was going to go. I knew which ones were going to kill me, my kids. I could see how their lives were going to be cut so short and I... I just said no. This isn't going to happen. And... it didn't."
"Ahh, gotcha. Fate. Cool, I can work with that." He nodded and light a new cigarette off his dying one. He offered her one, taking it back as she shook her head. "And ever since then, nothing's felt right. You haven't been able to get that idea out of your head. Haven't been able to explain it. When people say how lucky you are, that just didn't feel true."
She just watched him, hands cupped around the hot coffee.
"It's called an 'Awakening'. Pretentious as fuck, and that's coming from me. Basically almost always happens during periods of high stress. When people have the knack, they'll come to a realization that reality isn't what it seems and they'll shape it. Happened to me during a suicide attempt. Don't ask, won't tell, doesn't matter. What does matter is you're awake now. You know things are wrong, you don't know how or why you know, but you know. You aren't crazy, you're just aware. Now, you've got a choice to make. You can ignore this feeling. Eventually, it'll go away. Or, you can try to understand it. There are pros and cons of both approaches. Frankly, I suspect you'll be happier trying to forget it. Ignorance is bliss and all that."
"And if I try to understand?" Daphne asked.
"You'll blow your mind. Personally, I want to know the answers, even if they hurt. What about you?"
"I... I don't know that I can let this go."
"Hey, that's great. Sort of. Stubbornness to the point of belligerence is a key trait for a Mage."
"Mage? Okay, you need to go." She started to stand up, then got dizzy and sank back to her seat. "Wha…?"
"Don't worry. It's just the peyote I spiked your coffee with. It'll help you see."
"Son of a bit..."
"Ahh, ahh, ahh... I already put a twenty in your sweat jar. I'm not paying for you too." He placed a thumb on her forehead. "Now... see."
Daphne's eyes turned solid white and she froze, mouth slightly agape, seeing such amazing sights as Baxter spoke. It was as though she were inside an episode of Cosmos, narrated by an aging goth instead of Neil DeGrasse Tyson.
"Science knows that matter and energy are the same things, just in different states. Underneath all of that is Quintessence. It's the energy that all of reality is built upon. It connects everything, binds everything, but it's shaped by us, by our collective belief. Once, the world was a chaotic, changing place, filled with rival beliefs, rival gods. Over time, we came to agree on more and more stuff. Up is up, down is down, light, dark, fire water, weather, seasons, time. We shaped our world, and it took way more than seven days. Then again, for some people it did take seven days. That's the funny thing about belief. Feels like a paradox, and it is, but different things can be true, depending on one's beliefs. Damn, I feel like a press secretary. Fuck."
"Regardless, the key thing to know is we can shape reality with our beliefs, which is horrifying when you think about how many idiots are out there. It's no wonder the world is as screwed up as it is. At some point, some clever guys decided, 'Wow, this place is crazy. What we need to do is win hearts and minds, get everyone to buy into our beliefs, and we can stabilize this madness. And they did. In doing so, most people forgot about magic. By the way, if you're talking to other Mages, that's magick with a 'k'. Like I said, pretentious as fuck."
Throughout his exposition, Daphne's mind was filled with visions of Mages working their craft. Hermetics with their intricate diagrams. Etherites with their mad machines. Adepts with their source code. Skyclad Verbena dancing under the sky. Even a Chorister singing to the heavens. She saw battles between the Traditions and Technocracy. She saw magic, true magick being used.
"You realized, in that moment of stress, that you could shape, bend, even break reality. You used that to save yourself, to save your kids. And now, you've no idea how you did it. You know you did, but you can't make it happen again, because you can't believe it happened, even though you know it did. Reality is a bitch. We're programmed to accept it. Breaking that habit is hard. We use rituals and gadgets and practices to trick ourselves into having faith in our own ability. Like the Peyote I put in your tea. Technically, I don't need it, but it's easier to use it than to not."
"Daphne. Your ability runs in the family. You probably had a weird ancestor or two they tell stories about. Your kids could have an awakening someday too. You can go back to sleep and pretend none of this is real, none of this ever happened. It's a safer choice, honestly. It's less disruptive. Or, I can help you find someone who can help train you, help you learn to harness your abilities in a way that feels right to you, then, if the time comes, you can be the one to teach your kids."
Baxter pulled his thumb off her forehead and Daphne took a sudden breath, the white fading from her eyes. "What was that?" she asked.
Baxter just gave her a sour look, "Guess."
Upon reflection, it had been a silly question. Daphne swallowed. "In... in that vision, I saw someone in robes who was singing. Before the naked ladies."
"Yeah, I figured." He nodded and finished off his coffee with a long pull, setting down the empty cup. "Celestial Chorus. They believe their magic is a gift from God or whatever. Frankly, I don't understand having faith in a higher power, but it works for them, and probably you too." He pulled a notepad from his pocket and scribbled a note, "Go to this church and ask for Father Grimes. He'll know why you're there and more importantly, he'll help."
He tucked the note into her hand. "Now, this next bit is going to be cool."
"What?" Daphne asked, only to get a wink in return.
------------
Daphne stirred. It was dark outside. Ches snored softly beside her as the bedside clock displayed o3:04. She started to roll back over when she suddenly remembered the stranger in her kitchen. She bolted up in the bed, looking around as her husband grumbled and pulled the covers back up over his shoulder.
She couldn't smell coffee. Getting out of bed, she put on her robe and hurried past her sleeping children, down the stairs, and into the empty kitchen. The coffee pot was cold, no cloves were in the air, no cups disturbed. Everything was quiet except for her racing heart. Daphne took a shaky breath, feeling silly. Sheepishly, she put her hands in her robe pockets and started back toward the stairs, but only for a step before stopping. Slowly, she pulled a folded note from her pocket, opened it up, and read it by the refrigerator light.
Rose of Saint Peter Catholic Church
Ask for Father Grimes
-Bax
Ask for Father Grimes
-Bax
Daphne sank to the floor as the world spun around her.
Outside, a dark figure lit a cigarette and took a deep pull, the glowing cherry illuminating his pale, narrow features and bright blue eyes. "Godspeed, Daphne." Turning, Baxter walked down the sidewalk, humming to himself and smoking.