Health: Optimal ?????: Stable ?????: Good ?????: Stable
In the end, I didn’t go to any of the hostels I was already acquainted with. Drawn by a leaflet I saw at Sotomayor Square, I decided to check out a recently opened hostel. The bank was on the way, but I would rather avoid unnecessary attention from the bank’s security officers, what with the big backpack I’m carrying, so I decided to deal with the lodging issue first.
Dormitory
Source: Hostelworld
While I could rent a single room for myself, that would be an unnecessary indulgence, so a four-bed dorm room it is. Cheap and comfy enough, and if I were the kind of guy who was skittish about sleeping in the same room as three other strangers, I wouldn’t have spent the past few months in a cargo ship. It’s kind of a bother that I won’t have the privacy for some magic practice, but that might have been a bit too much of a risk, even in a single room.
Really, it’s been a long time since I did some serious magic practice. I could be getting rusty; it’s frustrating. But, well, privacy is a privilege I’m all too often not allowed. It’s the price of living a life all my own, I guess.
Looking at the dormitory, or more precisely, at the number of occupied lockers, it seems like there is only one other person in this room. I know I said I’m not skittish but, after all, less people are definitely better. Anyway, let’s leave the luggage here and get going with only the necessary basics. I’m not the kind of guy who wastes too much time in one place.
*** ***
Equipment
Small synthetic backpack
Wallet (with ID, debit card and local cash)
Passport
Thermos with water (room temperature)
Smartphone (currently off)
Occult reference book
Paycheck
Banco de Chile
Source: Wikimedia Commons
The Bank of Chile, formerly Bank of Valparaíso, is an elegant structure. Like the bank’s headquarters at the capital city, it is part of the city and the country’s historic and cultural patrimony. Stepping through its large double doors is like traveling back in time, to an era of tall roofs, golden chandeliers and columns fucking everywhere; a refreshingly pragmatic attempt at neoclassicism mixed with the predilections of the 19th century. Sure, there are lots more electronics involved nowadays, but to the client the banking experience is probably not much different than it was a hundred years ago.
And of course, no matter the age and time, humans will always have to stand in line.
“Dear, really, you didn’t have to—”
“Of course I had to. Would want my woman to be targeted by scum.”
“Geez, that’s an exaggeration...”
“Like hell it is. A beautiful woman walking alone out of a bank is just painting herself a target. No way I’m letting you out of my sight. Not today.”
The woman replied with a voiceless murmur, letting the side of her head fall on the welcoming chest of her man.
Ah, a new couple.
Spoiler:
Source: Art by Ini and Catcu.
They are radiating that unmistakable “just married” aura. The time in their lives when they cannot take their eyes and hands away from each other. Even in the middle of a public space, they can phase out into a world of their own, while all the bitter people around them scowl and project their own “normies should die” auras.
It’s hard to tell who is the older of the man, but the man certainly acts rather protectively. His hold on her waist is not libidinous or intimate, but merely a claim of possession and a wordless warning to his surroundings.
Ah, our eyes met. It’s easier to just look away. We’re both rather tall, and I’ll be the first to admit my face can look threatening at times, but there’s no need for pointless male posturing right now.
Things like “pride” or “manliness” are just worthless attributes. Avoiding trouble is the best. Cheers to a peaceful life. When I want thrills, I go bungee jumping or paragliding.
Ah, now there’s a face I didn’t expect to see so soon.
Looking away from the couple pulled my sight to the nearby stairs, from which an all-too-familiar figure descends. I am not the only one who notices him, or perhaps his presence is merely that attention-grabbing.
Father “Scissors”
Source: Art by Tomono Rui.
Really, just like always, that man looks like he’s about to break somebody’s face. Yet he is the nicest, most selfless person I have had the privilege of meeting. I hate feeling indebted to others, but I cannot deny Father Ricardo Scherer was a man who helped me when I needed help the most.
Now that I think about it, I guess I wouldn’t have found him if I had chosen to ask for lodging at the church. Good to see I didn’t waste my time.
But really, father; you could not wait to leave the bank before stuffing you mouth with a lollipop? I’m fairly sure food is forbidden inside a bank; do you get away with it because you’re a man of the cloth?
If Father Scherer still remembers me, then he has already noticed my presence. Nothing escapes that man. People claim he has eyes on the back of his head. Indeed, upon reaching ground floor he walks in my direction, greeting people here and there with curt inclinations of the head. Of course, he is a local, well-known figure. Before greeting me, however, he first approaches the married couple. It is none of my business, but I catch enough of their conversation to learn that, as suspected, the couple was recently united in matrimony, and it was indeed Father Scherer who officiated that union.
A couple minutes later, the priest offers a blessing to the smiling couple and turns away from them, to look at me.
“Javier Lucero. It is good to see that neither sea nor man have claimed you.”
“Father.” I incline my head to none but this man. “It’s good to see you again.”
We smile, and our smiles are almost identically crooked.
Manly hug ensues. Okay, perhaps too manly—what the hell are this man’s muscles made of!? Is this some recent church policy I’m not aware of!? No, wait, the priest back at Concepción was affably pudgy.
“It’s been…almost three years?”
I wince inwardly, reminding myself not to confess that I stopped by Valparaíso less than a year ago, and just didn’t stop by the church.
“Ah, yeah. It’s been a while, but I’m back. On a holiday of sorts, for now.”
“Mmhmm,” he murmurs. “Well, make sure to stop by this time. Not like you did last November, you ungrateful child.”
Goddammit.
He smiles, seemingly satisfied after a moment or two of making me feel like I am half my actual age.
I tell him this and that about the places I’ve been, working all sorts of odd jobs and boarding a cargo ship whenever I felt like moving on. The details can wait, as he all but shames me into promising a proper visit in the near future, all but certain to result in me doing all sorts of handyman jobs for the church. Not that I’m complaining; easy money is easy money.
He doesn’t ask me about my current lodging, and I do not mention it either. I relied on his charity years ago, and the solidarity of the church should go to those who need it the most. Yeah, I already owe enough to this man.
Father Scherer leaves a few minutes later. He is a busy man, and I’m stuck in a line. We separate with the promise of a later meeting, and most definitely a beer or two. Our shared Teuton spirit beckons, I guess?
*** ***
The bank…took a lot more time than I expected. The check has been properly dealt with, and there won’t be issues with money for the near future. Now I can readily turn on the holiday switch. But the morning is all but gone. I might as well stop worrying about breakfast and start thinking about lunch.
I have to purchase supplies for the upcoming days at some point, but, well, it is my first time on land after a while. I can allow myself a bit of pampering before I force myself to cook my own meals, right?
Warning! Choice Time!
The matter of sustenance (Redux):
We’ve dealt with the check. Now we can go buy food at the supermarket. Even a frugal style will be heaps better than the food at the ship.
The supermarket can wait. Let’s climb La Concepción Hill and enjoy the view while devouring greasy fast food.
It’s my first day of holidays. Let’s splurge at the nice restaurant atop La Concepción Hill.
Last edited by Daneel Rush; May 22nd, 2018 at 11:43 AM.
I know I said I am looking forward to some time away from the sea, but nevertheless the scent of salt and the sounds of the port mere steps away from this supermarket bring a smile to my face.
The moment I set foot into the supermarket, I became aware of the difference in temperature. The couple walking past me in the opposite direction quickly brought their arms closer to their bodies, commenting about the sudden chill.
It is indeed getting chilly out there. I’ll have to go get my jacket at the hostel if I want to go out in the evening. It’s still comfortable indoors, so I will take my time pushing my little cart across the aisles.
So, stocking.
While there is a communal kitchen in the hostel, it would be ludicrous to assume I will have the whole fridge and cabinets for myself. So, let’s not go overboard, and focus on non-perishable items. Well, I’m the kind of guy who can subsist on canned tuna and crackers, so there’s really nothing to worry about. Heck, that would probably be my lunch today if I didn’t have to go to the hostel to store my purchases anyway. However, no matter that I intend to become an artist of the kitchen table this afternoon, I am also a practical man that keeps an eye on the near future. The first stop must be the canned foods aisle—
*** ***
There are things, intangible things, that cannot be explained with words. Or maybe they can, but it just takes too much effort by people much smarter than me.
It is perhaps my need to create a record in my head that drives to nonetheless attempt to explain what happened in that moment, right when I was making my Supermarket Assault Plan. What happened to me, and perhaps to every other person in that place.
It was an instinct. Perhaps a legacy of our cavern-dwelling ancestors, or perhaps something even more ancient; a remnant from a primitive life form extinct millions of years ago. Something primal yet taken for granted: the all-too familiar “instinct” that there is something behind you.
No.
That wasn’t quite it. It wasn’t something that mundane. If I had to put it in as few words as possible, it was a bursting feeling that shouted in my mind: “there is something incredible behind you, and you might as well die if you don’t turn around right now.”
Not merely the awareness of an unseen observer, or even an unseen threat. It was the feeling of a critical juncture. A life-defining moment. A decisive choice that would inexorably direct a person’s life towards a definite path.
However, given this kind of “choice”, the man named Javier Lucero could only pick one option. Or rather, the “choice” was never a choice to the man named Javier Lucero. Ten out of ten times, a hundred out of a hundred times, a billion out of a billion times, Javier Lucero would definitely pick “turn around”!
When my sight caught her incandescent red eyes, the very fact she was wearing the kind of cosplay that really should only belong in fetish shops and the privacy of people’s bedrooms all but faded out of my mind. Her clothes were truly irrelevant—whether she wore a nurse outfit, a Nazi uniform or the papal robes, it would not have mattered.
“Who is this woman!?” Could it be possible for anybody to think anything else?
Standing perfectly upright, moving with the grace expected of one given the appellative of “maid”, the blonde bombshell walked past me and into the supermarket, her presence like a black hole that pulled all attention towards herself.
Our eyes only met by sheer coincidence. Even if all eyes were on her, she cared not. Her presence attracted all eyes, but nothing else. Her lack of concern for her attention-grabbing beauty and dress could only be described as “aristocratic”. She might as well be the only person in the world. Never has a human being given less fucks about anything. Uncaring of being the center of attention; a cold queen to whom all lesser mortals were unworthy of even being registered by her perception.
I didn’t even realize I was holding my breath until she put some distance between us. Heck, I hadn’t even noticed she was pushing a wheelchair in front of her.
It’s…an old man, wrapped in thick, rough sheets of linen. I can’t even joke about dirty old men paying women to dress in fetish clothes. There’s no way that decrepit person can enjoy his enviable company. Were it not for the lack of a smell, I would even question whether the man is even alive. It wasn’t just that the maid’s overwhelming presence smothered his.
The woman’s inescapable pull diminished by distance, I could only shake my head hoping to clear my thoughts. Shopping is gonna be awkward with that woman around. I’m not the kind of guy to go gaga over every good-looking person, but that maid is something else. It’s not even lust that’s been roused in me by the sight of that woman. It’s hard to explain, but now that she’s gone, it feels more bothersome than anything else.
I considered her following her for a moment, but then I looked at the idiotic faces of one who was doing exactly that, and quickly realized I did not want to be that guy.
Cooking…is something done to produce sustenance. Some call it an art; some devote their lives to it. I could never be one of those people. I cook because I need to; because I have to eat and, at one point, because I got paid for it. If I didn’t need to, I’d never cook. I could spend my time doing much more interesting things.
Nonetheless, cooking must be done. And if I must cook, I’m not going to half-ass it.
“Behold!” I exclaim to nobody upon the sight of the finished meal served on the table.
“Indeed it is.” I admit it: it was completely on purpose.
“Looks pretty good!”
“It is pretty good.” Not to brag, but I don’t cook things I won’t enjoy eating.
“Gimme some.”
“Aren’t you a shameless little girl?”
“Hey! There’s nothing little about me, you prick! Is that how you hit on girls!?”
“You’re one rude little girl. Is that how you beg for food?”
“Ahaha~”
Turns out I met my dorm roommate. She’s currently seated across the table, resting her chin on her fists held together while assaulting me with puppy dog eyes.
It’s almost disgusting to watch. Call me gullible, but sometimes it’s easier to just give in.
My roommate is a self-proclaimed “100% nineteen-years-old American beauty” called Maria Westinghouse. In a word, she’s…well, hyper. The only reason she’s not prattling right now is because she’s assaulting her chili con carne like a soldier having his first meal out of the trenches. Holy shit, a woman—no, a human being shouldn’t eat like that.
“You’re eating too fast; you’ll end up full of gas.”
“You really have no idea how to talk to a woman,” she says between mouthfuls of food.
“We’re sharing a room; I don’t want it to stink.”
“We’re eating the same thing. We’ll be fart siblings.”
“I don’t want that to be a thing!”
She just laughs. Well, rather a bright roommate than a boring one if you ask me, even if she seems a little flimsy. I don’t even want to know about the bracelet made of hair around her right wrist.
“Alrigh—” Her words are interrupted by a brief belch. She doesn’t look a bit embarrassed even after I raise an eyebrow. “Pardon my French. Anyway, now that you’re my sugar daddy, we should get to know each other.”
“For a plate of chili con carne? Damn, you’re cheap.”
“I prefer the term ‘easily satisfied’. The only things a woman needs from a man are food on her plate and a roof over her head!” She pauses for a bit after that pointlessly proud sentence. “And being taken out to nice places from time to time.”
“You’re not a woman, you’re a goddamn golden retriever.”
Her reply only comes after a bout of laughter.
“Nah, not nearly that soft and fluffy. Now seriously, where ya travelin’?”
I take a few seconds to assemble the usual story in my head. That I chose not to go to a university, instead living on my own taking whatever job I could. That in the past eight years I’ve been a construction worker, a fisherman, a car mechanic and a tech support employee, among other things. That I am a trained seafarer, and I work in cargo ships to travel the world.
I don’t ask, but it seems Maria thinks she must repay my answer at least twofold, so she rants about herself. That she couldn’t decide what to do with her life after high school, so she’s taking a year to travel and “figure out how to be an adult”. That it’s the first time she’s completely on her own, and she’s having a blast. That she had a list of places she’s wanted to visit, and she’s gone through it one by one: London, Germany, Croatia, Rome, Argentina and now Chile.
I wonder about that strangely specific list, but I’m not curious enough to ask.
Then she asks the usual question I hate the most, in part because it reeks of can’t-think-of-anything-better-to-ask-ness. But mostly because it’s the question that forces me to lie the most.
The favorite place I’ve visited in my travels.
Of course, I’ve admired the aurora borealis off the coast of Norway, and I have been humbled by the stormy seas of the Drake Passage. I’ve marveled at the Pyramids and enjoyed a gelato on the beaches of Capri. All those things are cool and all, but the moment that really defined my travels was not something I can talk about with anybody.
It was the moment I found that text. The moment I found a direction for my magical powers.
Warning! Critical Choice!
Quest Master’s Note
This choice completes Javier Lucero’s character creation process, as it establishes the foundation of his magecraft. Needless to say, it cannot be changed afterwards, and the consequences of this choice will determine critical elements of Javier’s performance throughout the entire quest. Choose carefully.
What magical text does Javier possess, and where did he acquire it?
The Lemegeton (Copenhagen) (The most balanced option. Moderate potency and proficiency, with a natural, steady path to further growth. However, it focuses entirely on spells affecting oneself.)
The Key to Theosophy (Istambul) (Strongest start, but further growth within the Singularity will be very difficult, if not impossible. The combination of Theosophic syncretism and the Seven Rays ideology would normally open the path to unparalleled versatility. However, Javier's personal mindset pushes him towards a focus on Alchemy.)
The Greek Magical Papyri (Alexandria) (Worst start, but greatest intrinsic potential. It can connect to truly ancient mysteries, but no amount of growth is possible without instruction. Javier's current prowess is limited to simple, practical alchemies.)
I answer with travel guide accolades about the city that changed my life, but I quickly divert the conversation away from me and back to the young woman. Fortunately, Maria Westinghouse certainly has no problem talking about herself. I mostly nod through some nonsense rant about how she’d love to see the polar bears at Antarctica (no, I’m not gonna correct her) when she suddenly catches herself and her mouth comes to a halt.
That look on her face, it’s not quite “shit, I’m rambling like a loon”, and more like “hey, I just thought of something”.
“Hey, hey, daddy—”
“Don’t call me that. I’ll seriously spank you.”
“Ahaha, no way, no way~” She waves her hand dismissingly. “We can’t fuck, they’ll kick us out.”
This person is amazing in a terrible way.
“Anyway, you from here right?” Reaching for her side bag, she takes out a map of the city and unfolds it on the table.
“Not quite, but I know my way around, yes.”
“Cool. This morning I tried walking around, see the sights, trying to get used to the city. But now that I’ve got a map I might as well ask ya. How do I get…here?” She points to a name in Spanish scribbled on the side. “My Spanish’s kinda crap, and I’m not confident in these narrow streets. But it should be close to here, right?”
Now that I think about it, her name’s Maria, but she’s obviously not Latina. But, rather, the place she’s asking about…
That’s Father Scherer’s church. Does she have some business with Me-fist-you-pheles?
Well, it’s none of my business, so I’ll just show her the way in the map. I don’t think she’s gonna give him trouble, unless the imaginary backstory I came up for Father Scissors turns out to be true, and his former life as a trained assassin has finally caught up to him.
Or she’s his illegitimate daughter.
Or maybe I should just stop it with the stupid ideas.
“Awesomeballs,” she, uh, celebrates when I’m done marking the way. “Thanks! Owe you one.”
“Two,” I correct, pointing at the empty plate in front of her.
“Eh? I thought this was your first attempt at scoring points with the cute me.”
“…”
My silence is eloquent.
“…compassion towards your poor, hungry roommate?”
“…”
“A bonding ritual for fart siblings!”
“Stop trying to make that a thing!”
Last edited by Daneel Rush; May 22nd, 2018 at 11:48 AM.
Oh hey, Maria's from the banner pic. Also she has an emergency battery, cool.
3 relies on finding and teaming up with whatever Association bigwig happens to be in the area. It has the most long-term progress, but as a man who's seen countless quests come and go I'll pick 2.
Originally Posted by Arashi_Leonhart
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