William
Before they went and did all of this, the investigation started somewhere reasonable: a library.
They sat opposite each other with piles upon piles of books about the Mohawk people and the Aztecs and the occasional book about colonialism and the effects of European exploration on the native peoples. This was, by far, probably the most peaceful and arguably normal thing these two have ever done.
Will and Margot sat, for hours, reading.
And not talking.
Thank god they found something that William wouldn't talk through.
It would have probably gone better than it had, all truth told, but one of them had already been reeling from another right of research and being up to her very petite elbows in dead bodies and murder. Margot lived a life full of adventure (whether she wanted it or not) and that that adventurous life happened to be full of things that played to her sharp intelligence and diligence. Unfortunately for Margot, it meant that her brain power was not exactly devoted to breaking and entering.
margot @ 6:29PM
[intelligence (keen-edged mind) + research]
Roll: 5 d10 TN6 (1, 2, 2, 4, 7) ( success x 1 )
the devil @ 6:30PM
Int+research: William totally knows about the Mohawk and Aztecs!
Roll: 5 d10 TN6 (1, 2, 6, 7, 9) ( success x 3 )
---
So, they finally got to the location that they were supposed to go to. William rented a car, seeing as how he thought it would be best to drive a vehicle that wasn't registered to either of them. Plus, he had a motorcycle. They needed to look decent, and it was hot. It's always hot, but he didn't want to deal with being sweaty and disgusting when they had to be presentable for an old guy who may or may not be some kind of terrifyingly powerful archmage or whatever.
William stood at the edge of the property, staring off to the pretty-yet-bland landscaping holding a cigarette that he didn't so much smoke as he did inhale to keep it burning. Seemed more interested in the smoke than anything. Maybe he was thinking, maybe there was a lot of stuff going on but there was the kind of intense focus that came only when working magick.
the devil @ 6:33PM
[Spirit 1: Because looking at the umbra is fun? Diff 4]
Roll: 2 d10 TN4 (2, 3) ( fail )
"... I got nothin'."
Apparently, all that focus meant that he was going to have to go in to the situation blind. Puts the cigarette butt out and tucked away into a soda can in the front cupholder. He lookced back at Margot who, for her part, raised a brow and gestured out in the sort of may I? gesture.
She went ahead, got on to working her own magick.
margot @ 6:35PM
[Spirit 1: Move over, let me give this a shot]
Roll: 4 d10 TN6 (1, 6, 8, 8) ( success x 3 )
margot @ 6:35PM
[MAYBE WITH THE RIGHT DICE]
Roll: 2 d10 TN4 (7, 10) ( success x 2 )
Arturo Nihm
The pair would have to travel by car to reach the estate and even then, it would not be something comfortably 'stealthy' in effort:
A winding road at the base of a hill, fortified with evergreens, one had the thought that traveling the road would take them well out of Denver's reasonable comfort zones. True to form, as the rental car makes it's way up the road, the trees obscure Denver with ever thicker layers of greenery and heat, until all sight of the beyond city in the distance is lost in favour of the path ahead. Round and round they go, passing several city signs indicating utilities and/or forest watch stations before reaching a posted sign half-way up indicating
You are now entering private property. Consider this your only warning..
The road continues to turn several times before flattening out at the top of the hill, the view promising a rather spectacular sunset, should they find themselves still in the area, come nightfall.
The estate itself is not so much sweeping, as it is, modest: A simple gate, left open and locked to a post, sweeps into a curving path that leads up to the front of a house. One level only, with no upstairs, it looks like the architectural equivalent of a puzzle box: thick walls, with a flat roof, much of which is covered in green grass (ecological leanings) while the windows are a frosted, thickly paneled display that punctuate each wall neatly every few feet. A large central building, with at least two wings separated to either side of the squat structure, by a pair of thin hallways, each boasting clear windows that reveal a low lit interior of wood panels and overhead chandeliers of contemporary design.
Outside, the grounds seem surrounded by a prolific amount of gardening, from patches of wonderfully colourful tulips and daffodils, to the lush spread of a meadow of perfectly trimmed and caretaken grass, sweeping out to the left of the estate to encompass a small park, with a gazebo on the hill for a landmark.
There is a round-about loop, for cars to travel, in front of the arched entrance, which overhands part of the loop to keep rain off any visitors that might come calling which...judging by the remoteness and the somewhat Spartan outlook of the place, are few and far between.
At the front gate, a simple metal post painted in yellow, operating on a swing hinge, left open, another sign is posted:
Nihm Residence. Visitors will be fed to the Pigs, without one of the following: Rationale, Reason, Clearance or Entertainment.
William
Let it be said that he is one who does stupid things in the name of thrill. He does them less often now, and even less often when he has someone who is with him that might potentially lose a limb in the process. William believes in informed consent: if you are hanging out with him, you have been warned that the time spent together may very well end in losing a finger or going into Quiet. It's happened before.
But there they are on the grounds, he has his hands comfortable and he's wearing a messenger bag filled with heaven-knew-what (books, mostly. And string and water and gold and pens and poetry written through his head- you have to be prepared, you see). He's dressed nicely- slacks, shirt, vest, pocket watch. The watch, you see, was non-negotiable.
He stares at the sign for a moment- just moment enough that the blond man's stomach turns and his sense of reason (small though it may be) is saying nope nope nope nope.
"... how do you think he gets girl scout cookies?"
Said like this was an absolutely serious, absolutely heart-wrenching question. With that, though, he goes ahead and knocks on the door.
Margot
If this could be called a date, then Margot would call it one of the best she's ever gone on. There was no talking, barely any looking at each other, and the entire day was filled with books. She probably would have appreciated it more if she hadn't been struggling to keep her eyes open and the words from blurring together. Her mind was still cluttered with fresh discoveries of a more recent murder in a trend that she and other local Mages had been looking into, and she'd stayed awake well into the night reading and pondering and worrying. She had to read several sentences over again to retain them, and at the end of the day when they were packing up their bags and leaving the library she felt as though she was about to fail a test that she only attended half the class for.
The next day when they met up it was for Margot to climb into the passenger seat of a rental car that William was behind the wheel of. She didn't want her car and its license plates on the property, and they couldn't take his motorcycle because reasons.
When they arrived to stand on the edge of the property both appeared nicely dressed, Margot in a nice blouse and mid-knee gray skirt with a light cardigan overtop to tie things together, to help her appear more studious (even how she'd pinned her hair back was studious looking, she was practiced in appearing bookwormish). She had a small purse held at her hip with a thin strap across her chest, and was standing quietly with her eyes cast ahead toward the property without really surveying it. Will was trying that, through the smoke of his cigarette. She was just left to worry, as per usual.
When he stated that he had nothing Margot glanced up at him, then murmured "Hold on," along with a vague gesture of one hand, and dipped a hand into the purse. After some rummaging it emerged again, now with fingers wrapped about a small vial of bright blue glass. The cork stopper was removed with her teeth, and she closed her eyes and focused in. Searched and more easily now than before found the well of ability she needed and exhaled. Standing outside the gate, Margot tipped her head backward with her eyes closed and, thumb over the mouth of the vial, sprinkled what appeared to be little more than water across her forehead and eyes. A baptism. A blessing.
When she opened her eyes again they were sharper, somehow brighter even though the color and shape of them hadn't actually changed in any describable way. She blinked once and looked over the land and building in front of them. Tracked a few things that William couldn't see along with her, and settled her gaze warily in one spot for a few stagnant moments in particular. After a good two minutes she blinked to clear her gaze, reached into her purse once again and came back with a tissue to dry her face and dab her eyes to clean make up as well as she could.
"Rationale. Entrepreneurship in young women is very important. Plus cookies." She cleared her throat and explained what she'd seen as they made their way from gate to front door. "It was beautiful on the other side. Very spiritually enriched. But the place is fortified and protected by some big scary something that I couldn't get a good look of. Either he himself or some friend of his has done a lot of work here."
At the door she fussed to make sure her clothes were straight and her hair was smooth and when William knocked she held her hands together on the purse strap and smiled like a nervous but eager freshman. Understandably, the expression was an easy one for her.
Arturo Nihm
The pair of youths are treated to the sound of William's knocking, driving a soft echo through to the other side. Soft, because when William knocks on the double doors, with their ornate bronze handles of no particular significance or symbolic description, he is received with a solidity that suggests bomb-proofing and a vague ache in those knuckles.
Luckily enough, there is a well concealed buzzer to one side, the soft round button, friendly and inviting for the young man with archaic tendencies of announcement.
The doorbell chimes and with it comes the sudden rolling thrum of a bell toll. Ominous, powerful and all encompassing, it travels through the estate house with a bloom of announcement that might suggest royalty has come calling or...someone destined for the gallows. No doubt, this is just another bit of intimidation meant to scare off any religious acolytes terribly determined enough to have made it this far. You'd think there were some angels in black wings behind that door, waiting to chop down the poor individuals come looking to spread the truth.
Instead, there is a brief period of silence, with the toning echoes of that bell sound, steadily humming under their feet and inside of their heads. Then, the sound of clipping heels on well pressed shoes, steadily approaching on the other side of the door.
Followed smoothly and carefully with a guarded sigh and the deep metallic thunder of several tumblers attached to several thick locks, thudding and thrumming and clambering reluctantly into niches, before the door on the left swings open with slow, ponderous, even agonizing difficulty. It reveals a bit of the interior, swinging wide enough for a foot and a half of space, showing stark white walls decorated in vague and abstract paintings, corners of spartan molding and the slick, clean marble of white flooring, shot through with veins of silver.
The man who answers the door has a slightly drooping face, though not enough of one to suggest his skin is sagging. More than he is long in it, facial hair a pinched and well groomed goatee below the lower lip and dusting a line around his mouth. His spectacles are gold, with delicate looking lenses and the eyes behind them, a quarter brighter than the deep blue sea. He wears a cravat of yellow, over a dark navy blue blazer that is quite form fitting, over a simple pair of slacks with shortened cuffs, revealing the blues, yellows and browns of argyle socks inside of tan armani shoes.
All this might suggest benevolent old man, except for the double-barreled shotgun settled over one shoulder, with all the comfort of one who is familiar with how to use it.
He eyeballs the pair infront of him, jaw skewed to one side, hair a mop of slicked back salt and pepper, over a furrowed brow.
"Alright. So which one are you two?" There is a faint accent. British isles, perhaps but long since buried under years of North American living. If he looks bored, they're not looking close enough. Irritated, perhaps a little bemused.
William
William Holmes knows absolutely nothing about antique firearms. So, knowing this, it makes sense that his first reaction is to look not with concern for his well being but rather with curiosity. He knows, cognitively, that the appropriate reaction to a guy answering his door looking like he has no qualms with jovially shooting you is not to look like you are thoroughly enthralled by his shiny death toy. Sadly, it takes about two seconds for William to put away his oh, shiny! face and put on his i am totally a professional face.
"Sir, whether you view us as reasonable or entertaining depends on how well you tolerate chatty college students," William responds. Smiles and relaxes with the kind of confidence that comes only from being young and dumb and not yet convinced of your own mortality. He has a voice that does just a little more than hint at the fact that he's more southern than Midwestern. Hasn't been here long enough to ditch Louisiana, but certainly not from the bayou.
"We came because we are doing research on the ritual practices of the Mohawk people and the potential for overlapping ideologies with the native tribes of Mexico and Central America. Given the amount of work you've done with museums, we figured-" he gives a bit of a gesture that seems to indicate that seeing Mr. Nihm was the logical conclusion.
"So! We are betting on reason."
Margot
The man that answered the door had to be Arturo Nihm, Margot decided. She was fairly certain that even wealthy establishments like this didn't have butlers or servants in this day and age; maybe some old blue blood families in the east, but certainly no reclusive old man in Colorado. That shotgun on his shoulder caught her attention almost immediately, and distracted her from taking in many more details to begin with. It was when William piped up with his cheerful, professional enthusiasm that Margot blinked and pulled herself back to present.
A brief glance was cast up at the taller 'student' at her right, and she looked mildly impressed. He certainly retained a lot more than she did in their previous crash course study session.
He was going to bet on reason, and Margot thus far had held her tongue. If Mr. Nihm looked at her in any expectant way she'd just smile, the expression small and a bit nervous as it always was. Playing the part of an anxious freshman was easy when that's what you'd just spent the last year of your life being.
Given a pause at the doorway, though, given any expectation that she was to speak, Margot cleared her throat and spoke up softly.
"Have you needed that shotgun for visitors often?"
Arturo Nihm
"As often as folks come looking around for something that doesn't belong to them."
If it sounded like a warning, it didn't show in the old fellow's face. He seemed thoroughly disinterested in William's explanation, regarding the youth for the duration of his exhuberance before switching to Margot and her question. The shotgun, a long barreled more serviceable to skeet shooting or duck hunting back during the early 1900s, was held by the butt and kept over one shoulder, with evidence of it being loaded difficult to surmise beyond the possibility of shell rims sticking out from behind where the barrels hinged out from the stock. The man's facial hair twitched side to side, eyes lazily traversing the pair even as he began to speak.
"I don't get a lot of visitors, least of all college students, least of all individuals in college looking to study the Mohawk and the Aztecs, two decidedly different cultures with wildly different interactions on modern society, barring the Ritual killing both performed. What classes are you taking? At which school? Who are your teachers, maybe I know them-" Arturo's free hand comes up to stroke and scrape at his facial hair, eyes roving upward slightly to try and recall some names. "-though they may have retired by now."
A pause.
"Regardless, coming to someone's front door in search of information isn't the best of approaches. You're better off finding yourselves some Teacher or Professor, which I most certainly am not. " Another pause, the eyes behind those glasses narrowing a touch further. "This a thesis? A project paper? Did someone put you up to this specifically?"
William
Elijah Poirot is not an anthropology major. Sure, he's taken anthropology classes. Sure, he's schmoozed his way into some of the "anthropology major only" classes, has a few friends, and has even sat in on a few lectures, but the fact of the matter is a simple one: he is not an anthropology major and, as such, does not have a strong working knowledge of the faculty or how he's going to pretend like he actually knows what is going on with the department.
"We're both students at DU right now. Dr. Bonnie Clark has been reviewing most of our research, but she's been so busy with the museum that it's a largely independent project. My friend and I are in the same Ancient North America and Native Religions courses."
The elements of a good lie all come with things that are based largely in some form of fact. Dr. Bonnie Clark is very busy curating the museum and being a professor. William has taken all of two classes with her, one of which he ended up dropping because he saw someone get decapitated that semester and couldn't quite handle the course load. He knew enough anthropology majors to know what were middle of the road courses, to know what he could say, to give the name of someone who existed but probably would be too busy to return phone calls.
"I'm hoping that this research project gives me an edge for graduate admissions in winter."
------
William @ 8:48PM
Manip+subterfuge: I know about anthropology major things
Roll: 7 d10 TN6 (6, 7, 7, 7, 8, 8, 9) ( success x 8 ) [WP]
Penelope @ 8:49PM
Private Message to William
[The Earth is flat, you say?]
Margot
It was good that William spoke up. Margot had expected that he would-- relied upon it, really. William was charming and handsome and quick-tongued quick-witted quick-charming. This was the deal offered up to him. It only made sense that he took the lead.
She'd anticipated them crashing and burning, really. Mr. Nihm began with his slew of questions and Margot's keen mind would begin forming a good believable answer to one and then realize that he'd already asked two more on top of that. Her eyes had begun to widen, she looked a little overwhelmed, and had turned her head to defer to William quick enough that her brown hair flipped about her shoulders when she did.
William, though? He was cool as a cucumber, confident and sounded so right that even she was believing his lie. Hadn't she taken a class from Dr. Clark? The name Bonnie Clark could ring bells that way.
Refusing to tarnish such a good presentation, Margot just looked back to Mr. Nihm and nodded in enthusiastic (read: anxious) agreement. Yeah, what he said.
Arturo Nihm
"You kids, these days..."
Arturo Nihm, guest currator, collector and recluse in the broad city of Denver (or it's outskirts) flicks the door with his fingers. It swings open a slight amount more and they are admitted just like that. No fanfare or suggestive interaction with William's decrees or Margot's fluttering nod of enthusiasm (Arturo was not familiar with her anxiety issues). The shotgun remains on his shoulder, toted like some ancient civil war veteran, while he saunters gingerly back across the marbled floors and into the manor.
The interior of the main hall is as it suggested: stark walls with a painting set at regular intervals as the hallway continues. A solid fifty feet of extended marble floors, seamless if the eye were to search the veins of silver that crackle and creep through the white. How such a thing is possible, is best left to masons and imaginations.
The hall has no adjoining doors and entry points, save for the large black wood double doors on it's opposite side. There are no other furnishings or suggestion of accessories in this large open space. Just the paintings of abstract colour slashes on the walls, a series of the same artist if the themes and motives within are to be believed. Arturo marches past them all without a backward glance, stepping up to the double doors and pulling one open to venture inside.
"I'm not one to disappoint people. Not easily, anyway. It's one of the reasons I moved out here. I'm left alone, they don't get disappointed. Win, win scenario." He has that old, gruff sort of rasp to his voice that bounces and dances about with his words, as if he is used to having conversations with himself and is perfectly content with such efforts.
The doors lead into a rather large and frankly, obtusely opposing room beyond the oddly neutral hallway they had walked through: A study.
A cherrywood desk dominates the room, which stretches for nearly as long as the front hall, only perpendicular. The walls are littered with various articles and pieces and colourful accessories from all walks and cultures, feathers, beads, necklaces, aging parchments and shelves of tomes and books sitting on cupboards and shelves and pressed into crates in the corner. There is an old Victrola sitting on an archaic iron wrought stand that looks like the skeleton of a beetle or scarab, while a rather sturdy record collection (mostly jazz and early blues judging by the top most visible records) sit in neat piles around it.
Several couches of immaculate leather, shaped into the sorts of things you'd find in victorian houses or boudoirs, or at least owned by people who use words like Boudoir, hug the walls, filled up with a number of other accessories: a Globe, made of gleaming black and inlaid with gold embroidery to outline the various countries and continents. A strangely gruesome mask, that hangs off the corner of one of the couches arms, somewhat precarious and haphazard in it's placement. What looks like a ritual dagger, stuffed between the cushions, the handle a gleaming ivory bone, curved into a grip and ending in a small, blunted point.
The furthest part of the room, the last ten feet before another door, closed and made of, what looks like, modern steel with a simple handle, is dominated by a pair of cushioned chairs, facing one another. A large ornately carved wooden table sits between them, sporting an in-built chessboard of perfectly tiled marvelousness. The figures are setup in a game already underway, though who the opponent is, is anyone's guess. Oddly, each piece looks the exact same as each of the others, with only the slightest of height differences indicating the possibility of some from others. Simple wood, crudely carved and somewhat out of place of the rest of the Archaic Wonder that is Arturo Nihm's study.
You'd think that some movie title Pixar would aim to put out later in the year.
Arturo climbs over several boxes, around a small stack of books he has to steady with one hand when it begins to teeter and sway and finally climbs into one of The. Most. Comfortable. Looking. Chairs. Ev.er. Like someone folded so many different layers of foam and leather together, as to construct a device from which no human ass would ever want to vacate. He eases into it with a sigh of pleasure, a large tome of some sort with aging yellow paper infront of him. Leaning back, the shotgun settled on the desk beside the book, he inspects the pair of them.
"Admittedly? I don't get many guests. Especially young ones and the young ones I do get, tend to be demanding little shits who think they know best, despite all the mistakes I remember them making when they were dick high and growlie. So why don't you tell me what you want exactly and I'll decide for myself what sort of nonsense you want to know about."
Margot
An old man-ism preceded Arturo Nihm's stepping back from the doorway, which technically made it something of an invitation inside. Margot cast a momentary glance up toward Will, wherein eyes met and Margot's own heavy eyebrows were raised up with mild surprise. She was impressed with how well this was working out, certainly, but there was that ever-present gleam of uncertainty and distrust beneath the surface of the look. Many line had been written in many books about things being too easy before going terribly wrong.
All the same, across the threshold they stepped. Margot led ahead of Will, trailing along after Mr. Nihm's back as he led them through an incredibly impressive gallery of a hallway and into a library that was (in her Opened eyes) more impressive by far. Sure, uninterrupted marble spoke of wealth but here with the smell of old pages and the aesthetic of dark wood, Margot felt as though they'd found the true heart of the estate. Where the real wealth was kept shut away.
She didn't quite have her mouth hanging open, but Margot's owlish eyes were wider still like she was trying to soak up every sight possible, her head turning and gaze roaming over walls and shelves and tables. The mask and chess board held her attention longer than other sights, but it was the knife that she was staring at when Arturo began speaking about young guests and how seldom they were. Her attention snapped back to him and she blinked a few times like she'd been a child caught staring much too long at the cookie jar. She smoothed the front of her blouse and looked around for a sensible place to sit for connversation.
"We, ah...," she started, continuing to do a fine job of presenting herself as the student with no public speaking skills. "Well, we were doing our research on the Mohawk peoples and the curiosity of their ritual killings, and the potential of trade or culture or similar roots to the Central American tribes with similar practice. You've....," she glanced briefly at the mask, gruesome in its detail and very essence, somehow. "...curated exhibits? We were hoping to ask some questions, get some insight maybe....,"
She was trailing. Glancing anxiously toward Will. Plain on her face is the plea for him to step in. He was the talker, wasn't he? Handsome and golden-haired and golden-tongued. She wanted to go back to focusing on the library around them.
-------------------
margot @ 3:59PM
[Perception 3 + Awareness 2]
Roll: 5 d10 TN6 (2, 7, 7, 8, 9) ( success x 4 )
tithe-ghost @ 3:59PM
[witnessed!!]
William
Margot raises her eyebrows with surprise, and William shoots her the same surprised expression. Clearly, both of them were expecting to have the doors slammed in their face. He puts his hands at the edges of his vest, gives it a tug to straighten himself out and shoots his companion a look that can only be described as an excited smile. The kind of excited, though, that comes right before you jump out of an airplane. This is exciting, this is an adventure. This is the kind of story that you tell to people provided you don't get a shotgun shell to the chest while you're there.
They just got through the easy part, you see. It was all going to be increasingly more uphill from there.
The problem, though, is that Margot expected William to not be utterly enthralled with the place that they were in. His pingpong ball attention span goes from the people with him to the sheer volume of sensory input that he has to deal with. Leather couches. Globes and masks and ritual daggers with bone ivory handles sticking out of the cushions like this is just where these pieces live to a chess set that looks like someone put a little time into it but didn't have the steadiest of hands.
"I'm watching a friend's house for a period indefinite, and we both have the same interest in ritual craft and cultural practices. When he left, he took some of the more interesting pieces of his collection with him, but I've had carte blanche to peruse and enjoy the library.
"The problem is that I'm running into places where there are holes in the information. I have a theory that there is an underlying principle in ritual practices, but basically going into all of that makes me look like a conspiracy theorist and a crazy person," he says, honest as William is ever capable of being honest, but he gives a shrug and a half-embarrassed smile. Eyes go from the man to the room again, attention falling on the chessboard while he seems to be thinking. It has his attention, or perhaps it's just a place that his eyes tend to fall.
"So I figured, two birds one stone, right? Grab a friend to help with my shot-in-the-dark attempt at getting into grad school, sate my curiosity, parlay my weird rite-based obsessions into something that might actually get me somewhere. So, we talk to you, because every time I look into a place that piques my interest your name comes up and every time I ask about you in the community of people who collect curiosities and antiquities I hear that you're a big deal. I don't-"
He can't help himself at this point. He really can't. He looks back at the chess board and then at the other man. He stops again and exhales. William gestures to the chess board.
"I'm sorry, how do you play this? Its... there's no king, not enough pawns, it's hard to tell who is who- it looks difficult." Said with the sort of delight that comes from enjoying the difficult.
"I would like to learn to play this."
-----------
William @ 9:46PM
Per+Empathy: Are you on to us, Mr. Nihm?
Roll: 7 d10 TN6 (1, 4, 5, 5, 5, 6, 7) ( success x 2 )
Geist @ 9:49PM
Witnessss!
William @ 9:50PM
*fists in air*
Geist @ 9:50PM
Actually gimme ten and I'll drop you a response
William @ 9:52PM
Woo!
Geist @ 9:54PM
Nihm's interactions seem to stem from foremost assurance that this is not what it appears to be. Whether it's some superpower of old age or a discrepancy in William's story isn't exactly clear, but his attention does seem entirely devoted toward finding out what's honestly going on. The good news is, for all intensive purposes, he doesn't seem pissed off or irritated. Not anymore than he probably is at any other given time.
William @ 10:18PM
wits+enigmas: I totally can tell which piece is which!
Roll: 6 d10 TN6 (1, 1, 5, 7, 7, 9) ( success x 3 )
Arturo Nihm
"You don't play it. You let it play."
Arturo's regard of William and Margot remains somewhat taciturn, even boredly irritated when they both go into some depth about the 'studies' they are doing. He fingers the trigger guard to his duck hunt shotgun, laid so carelessly over the script and tome he'd obviously been reading from before their arrival. He is slumped in his chair slightly, breathing through his nose and waiting as the two bounce thoughts and concerns off of him.
That is, until William makes a note of the Chessboard and comments on it. Margot's own eyes had strayed there as well and Arturo's gaze glances off the isolated setup with a quick, animated flutter.
"The Mohawks would catch prisoners during the Colonial times and burn them in sacrifice to appease the varied spirits that they thought suffered under the presence of the European invasion. A means of appeasement matched in similar, if far more expansive relation within the Southern indigenous peoples of what we now know as Mexico. Fairly standard stuff. Rituals are, universally, mere conduits to obtain the attention of otherworldly things. Sacrifice was no less a method and saw wide spread use across all peoples. Vaudan among the Haitian and Caribbean peoples. The Cunning Folk and the provisions of children in service to the Fairies of old. Egypt's proliferating measurement of Sin found in he heart-..."
Nihm's hand rises, pinwheeling through the air as if most of this information were well known. Easily first year uni. sort of hallmarks that he's providing in safe and careful steps.
"Ritual is a form of communication, similar to the handshake prior to a greeting. Contact is made through carefully, layered translations from the self to the unknown, in an effort to garner attentions. What those attentions are for, of course...more often those performing the Rites are either well in the know or...enterprising little upstarts looking to make a name for themselves by interacting with something in the Exact. Wrong. Ways."
Nihm's tone is a rather sharp suggestion, a narrow eyed bit of precision that will immediately summon the pair of youth's attention toward him. He glances between the pair with a careful regard that tells stories of breaking freight trains doing 80 mph with nothing but a glance and a snort. The sort of elderly that knows World Wars, is Familiar with corrupt presidents and is probably three types of terrible to have carved out a chunk of the world up here in the foothills of Denver, all for himself.
"Is that the two of you? Looking to know more about Ritual so you can be stupid about it?"
Margot
Rituals, Mr. Nihm explained, were a way of garnering attention. Attention was precisely what he'd gained from Margot when he'd begun to explain the heart and function of Ritual and how it spread across the world. She was staring raptly at him, hanging on his words while she hovered in place standing somewhere within polite distance of the desk that he sat behind, having abandoned the hunt for somewhere to settle and sit. He could tell that she was marking them, but it was difficult to put a tag on exactly what was being marked in particular.
He spoke of the rituals as though they were very real. As though they would put people in touch with actual Otherworldly things, and demanded to know whether they were enterprising little 'upstarts' (though she was convinced that what he really meant to call them was 'shits') seeking to perform Rituals themselves.
The deep interest and focus had done something to peel back the anxiousness that Margot carried up to that point. Her hands weren't smoothing clothes or folding intentionally out of the way and still, but rested steady at her sides. She sounded more grounded and certain in her answer than she had in her explanation of what they wanted to know.
"Anybody planning to be stupid isn't doing much planning at all." She blinked big hazel eyes at him, intent, but rest assured that when she continued from there that gaze would break and roam once more, over the walls and the books and the artifacts and the spaces between them. Exploring, noticing, observing something beyond the physical appearance of clutter and knowledge alone.
"It's not practical application that we're after. It's insight and puzzle pieces and missing threads that'd help connect the dots. The Mohawks tried to appease their gods with sacrifice, by paying them back what was taken by the Europeans with European life itself. But why didn't other peoples across this part of the continent?" She nodded her head next to William, in indication. "So his thesis works, so he isn't accused of harboring crazy conspiracies."
She paused, then added almost to clarify, sounding semi-apologetic (probably for her lack of insightful knowledge on the subject, thanks all-nighter for impacting her studies) and simple, matter-of-fact both at once. "I'm the safety second."
William
There was a strange moment of validation, a spark, a reminder and an element of that Truth that he sought. Arturo may not be one of those famed archmages hidden away (he may be, William didn't know) but he knew something very fundamental. He knew some things that were true in ways someone who was existing in an unenlightened world might not necessarily be.
Ritual, the old man says with the sharpness that comes from knowing, is a form of communication.
William's attention doesn't waver. Goes through the basics discussed and his pingpong ball attention doesn't seem to flitter because this had enough layers to occupy him in whatever fashion it required. All the baubles and bits of sensory input could not compete with the reality and facts presented here. Something about the other man's gaze causes William's stomach muscles to tense, to think back and wonder perhaps if he had been caught in his lie from earlier. Instead, he chooses honesty to respond.
He pays attention to Margot, adds for a second with a half smile-half-validated-grin, "thank you." Said as though he's had to have this conversation multiple times and has to explain multiple ways that his view works. But not satisfied (not complacent enough to be satisfied [move, move, go forward, reach for more than what you are, be more])
He addresses, then, the rest of the statement.
"Much of modern Western ritual practice, mundane or spiritual, is based around the idea of dominion and not respect. I believe that this has contributed to the disconnect between ourselves and things larger than ourselves.
"Frankly, sir, it's shit. We've lost too much of ourselves if we can't realize how to communicate and not dictate. So, no sir, neither myself nor my second are here with the intention of being stupid about what we're doing.
"Whether we do something stupid along the way is entirely possible, but this isn't an endeavor born from the desire for glory."
Arturo Nihm
"Correct."
Arturo sounds as if he has a modicum of impressed behind that statement, regarding first William, who the word was offered for, in terms of Western ritual and the disconnect present, then toward Margot with a glimmer of a smile beneath that tumbling goatee. Like a grandfather recognizing the eagerness in a young kid's adventures and the first steps they are taking.
"There is of course, one aspect you're forgetting in that disconnection and that is in 'Who' is meant to be performing Rituals, which is often the main perpetrator of Dominion over respect." Arturo climbs to his feet, hand leaving the shotgun behind, inching around the cluttered desk and moving through the space the two have left between them in their curious natures and on toward the Chessboard sitting isolated from the rest of the cluttered study.
The approach reveals that the room slopes upward and outward from the straight walls of the rest of the Study, bookshelves and artifacts vanishing in a sudden mahogany bowl or oval, that curves as if to contain the chessboard with it's odd figurines and ornately simple furnishing at the centre. The space seems oddly 'full' for having only so small a set of objects within it. Arturo doesn't step into that space. He pauses on the edge, near the couch with the dagger jutting from it and the mask on one arm, hands folded behind his back in scrutiny.
"Much of Western culture fell apart due to the invasion of European mentality and privilege, with it, the advent of possession for the sake of profit and progress. Ritual requires subservience and no profit, except in the superior standing, can be gained. So Ritual turned, as most things did with Colonizing and advanced civilization, toward the inevitable rise of Rites of Power. Designed with the sole intention of bargaining or organizing power for the wielder. You can see this in much of the modern world as well that we live in, from Politics to modern Religion and onward even into social media context. Lynchings, cycles of bigotry and the omni-present and ritualistic fascination with money...which is little more than digital 1s and 0s these days and yet possessing of an adamant sort of- I'm rambling..."
Arturo interrupts himself. A hand rising to cup at his brow for a moment, before turning to glance back at the pair of 'Students'.
"What you're interested in, is frankly, not so much mysterious as lost. The true reasons and definitions for why Rituals first came about, have long since passed into history, no matter how many odd looking masks or sacrificial daggers we drudge up from dig sites." He pauses, eyes traveling to Margot for a moment.
"The Mohawks didn't have a concept of 'gods' by the way. They worshipped Spirits. The 'immortal' presence found in everything. The Anima, Dharma or the 'True Self' of everything. Monotheistic dedication is just another European standard meant to simplify for the sake of control. You can no more appease 'Everything' than you could piss it all off. Comes in portions...."
Arturo turns back to the Chessboard to study the contents for a moment, eyes narrowing a fraction though he doesn't step any close than the ten feet of distance between them and the board. Doesn't violate the space the board seems to hover on.
"Huh. The sisters have been pushing back, it seems." The scrutiny ends abruptly, Arturo shrugging through something like disinterest, before turning to look at the pair of kids.
"It sounds as if you know as much as I could tell you about either cultures. Truth be told, I helped to curate much of it but my interest was purely amateurish. I'm not a professor or an archaeologist, just an enthusiast with a lot of money and time on my hands. If you want to know more, I suggest you try down by the research library or wait for What's her name-" A pause, dismissive a moment later of trying to remember who their teacher was "-to finish being busy."
Margot
The room seemed to be tipping in toward the peculiar chessboard. It was subtle, hard to tell if it was physical decline or spiritual magnetism, but Margot's posture shifted to adjust to it all the same. She barely noticed herself do it, but maybe someone (something) else might've. The man did a fine job of holding attention, and Margot's was apt and sharp and smart and shaded dark like a raven. She'd come here wanting to size up the place, check for security for break ins and the potential of what was hidden, of what worth that dagger might be. To understand why somebody would approach a young Mage and ask them to go out on a limb for a large sum of cash.
Instead, she found herself very curious about rituals and Rites and how they became corrupt. Found herself leaning naturally in along with the pull of the room, like she were to be a part of the clutter as well.
When his eyes fell suddenly upon her, she straightened up again. Her height wasn't considerable by any means at all, but what little she had she drew to. He explained that there were no such things as Gods and something behind her expression soured. She was offended, certainly. The disagreement was clear on her young face. She'd one day learn to keep it better masked, but the youthful heat of pride and disagreement would need to temper itself first. The letter 'N' was on her tongue, but died before her voice could rise from her throat. She'd cut herself off, pressed her lips together, and continue listening on with no further fuss on the matter (no sulking either, promise).
When he summarized by explaining that he wouldn't know more than their professor, that it sounded like they already knew, she glanced briefly toward William. Hesitated for a moment, but turned to Arturo Nihm once more to address him all the same.
"I haven't found a professor yet who really knows the Other Side of the rituals, though. Academia and the skew of statistics makes that particular insight hard to come across."
William
Mouth quirks to the side and the look of genuine disappointment crosses his features, doesn't linger for long but heavens if it doesn't sit about his shoulders and on his brows for longer than he would have liked to have welcomed them. But it is discarded and the thought is shelved for later, it would seem- unpleasant realities that William does not choose to hang up on for terribly long.
Huh. The sisters have been pushing back, it seems
"How long have they been playing?"
The thoughts continue on and Margot speaks about the processors she's encountered- be they professors or not. He looked at her and decided to play the older student card, "there are a few out there. DU's not a bastion of ritual study though- even the trip I made out to Harvard on this particular topic turned up mostly empty. You meet someone, you think you're on the same page and then you're smacked with a face full of Eurocentrism." It doesn't sound like he was lying, either. But, then again, William rarely sounds like he's lyinbg when he's actually lying so it's often hard to tell. The statement comes from a young man who sounds like he's, at the very least, informed on what he's talking about.
His attention turns back to Mr. Nihm, "so talking to you has actually been very validating, at the very least."
Arturo Nihm
"No one's sure."
Arturo answers William as if the boy is in on whatever methods or manners are being supported in this chess game before them all. There's no sly wink or even a suggestion of good humour, simply a shrug and a slight roll of the eyes, as if the Old man had long given up on trying to sort out the specifics that William was only just being exposed to.
"Gods..." Arturo seems to return to the topic that has Margot tripping over her internal monologue, threatening divulge some youthful opinion. "A word more devoted to 'excuses' than it ever was to worship. The very idea is terribly human in nature. We want something to pay homage to that directly represents who we are and in turn, give us the chance to reach for that covet worthy spot. It would never occur to most of us that all powerful and impressive beings as Gods are often painted, might appear as multi-fractal entities, or thousand tentacled monstrosities or a radiant light with no communicative option beyond the slightest of dimmings or brightenings..." A tangent now, truly, as Arturo turns from the Chessboard and begins to venture back into the Study proper which, after regarding the board and the strange oval shape of the room bowing out around it, the Study looks positively benign, even 'decorative'.
"Gods are an invention of who we want to be, simplified to a standard we can adhere and adjust to...Either that, or it's some enterprising thing pretending at the imagery we paint in our heads, to make it easier to convince us of their agendas. Our hubris..." Hands behind his back, murmuring under his breath on his way back to the desk and table and the chairs.
"Academia is designed to generalize in the face of What's known, as opposed to 'What's guessed at'. Most will give you the answers that satisfy recognition. That's why any thesis requires backed up evidence and recognition of prior sources. Proof that you're onto something. Slow. Tedious. Pointless, really." Arturo climbs back into his seat, the shotgun still stretched across the desk, that aging visage regarding the kids with careful determination.
"That in mind, who am I to stand in the way of young anarchy?" He offers a quick smirk beneath that goatee. Then-
"What do you want to know?"
Margot
William spoke up again, and Margot looked over toward him. She'd blinked once, then crossed her hands together in front of her and glanced aside at some artifact displayed among books upon a shelf to her right. As he spoke, Arturo Nihm paid mind to the chessboard that the room seemed to have tipped him into (like a marble on a tilting track). Something shifted in the corner of her eye and drew her gaze back to the old man. To the chessboard that he played with, to be more precise. Her eyebrows rose upon her forehead, then flexed down in a subtle furrow. When Mr. Nihm rose and returned to his desk that wary gaze followed after him.
For a second time the man spoke (at length) about Gods and how they were nothing more than a figment of mankind's misconception of The Truth around them.
What did they want to know? Margot looked over to the Hermetic she'd come to this curious place with.
For a second time, Margot held her tongue.
William
What had he wanted to know? Had he actually told Margot what all of this had been about? Surely, they had discussed the knife and the money and the ancient bits of knowledget hat he had been seeking for the sake of finding them but they probably hadn't actually gone into what, specifically, he was looking for. What holes was he looking to fill that had been left by his mentor's library?
There are things William doesn't know. He doesn't know that he's actually trying to press past territories that Henry had yet to actually venture, doesn't realize that these aren't gaps left by his mentor purposefully- they are merely gaps in the learning process, they are things that just flat out don't exist there. Margot is silent and William- after giving the chessboard another look with the transmutation of pieces (something that keeps his attention, brows raised and a look near delight on his features because cool)
He's adjusting the messenger bag on his hip and retrieves a book. And another book which he's opening and shaking out to try and free a piece of folded paper (24x36 folded neatly into a size that was reasonable and creased with the sort of precision that only came with practice and magickal intervention)
"I have a map," he says, has finally started unfolding it and has awkwardly perched one book in the other hand only to try and pawn one of the journals (not textbooks he seems to have brought with him, nope, books full of writings and musings and research), "and based on historical record, mythology, and observation I've put together what could be a basic assumption of various spiritual planes and what may or may not reside there. It is not even remotely close to being complete."
And thus, the young man has unfolded the map that he has drawn and erased and drawn and erased and written on in (mostly) English and (sometimes) French. It's a clean copy, though. Doesn't appear to be his working draft, but rather, the one he drags out for other people. The young man has a hypothetical place with layers, the basic layers that people live in and above that being a realm of spirits and concrete ideas (Reflection) and one beyond that for less concrete concepts (Abstractions- near and Abstractions-far, respectively). A place further out pour Célestins. It extends downward as well, the human realm being in the middle between them all. Going from the lands of the dead (the underworld, existing below the surface) to oblivion, to the abyss with a dotted line drawn between the highest layer and the lowest with a question mark there. Things are labeled with occasional historical names that one would come across in folklore. Notes pointing to stories and ideas and what-have-you, but the general ideas seem clear enough.
Less like the writings of a madman, but it's very clear that what he's done has required a fair bit of cleanup and that, perhaps, some things may have been lost in their translation. Brows raised and, if he was allowed, the young man would lay the map out somewhere to be looked at. If not, he kept it in hand, held awkwardly at arm's length so he could look and talk at the same time.
"My thoughts are that the beings of stories and folklore and old religious practice would reside somewhere along this spectrum," he says as he gestures across the spirit realm parfait he'd drawn out with a journal in hand, "and that greatly differing practice in communicating with some other being would indicate a plane of existence that isn't originally factored into this mark up.
"To go one step sideways, it stands to reason that- if we are operating under the idea that there are spiritual beings that operate with and away from the world we see- the way that we interact with our world impacts theirs and vice versa. You could hypothesize what would have to happen on a spiritual front in order to explain real world events and what real world events could conceivably do and react like across the entire continuum."
A second. Ten seconds. He realizes he's rambled and it seems to dawn on him.
"I'd like to know if my theory holds water."
Arturo Nihm
Arturo moves forward in his chair to pulls several of the items on his desk off, tossing them onto the ground with solid thumps and thunks, the shotgun included which is dismissed with little more than a cursory glance for a location to set it down. Then he's tapping the desktop with a careful regard and waiting for William to layout the information that the Lad seems so excited to explore.
One might think this is good-humoured, if only at the sudden display William puts out for the odd 'map' that has been constructed. William points out several key details and facts and for all anyone can glean, Arturo seems genuinely, if passively interested, regarding each point with the same steady glance that he had provided the kids on first entry. He doesn't point in conjunction or offer any information himself, waiting out William's budding enthusiasm in favour of inspecting the piece of parchment with clear scrutiny.
"Your theory's got holes. Mostly defined by several literal qualities. Lands of the dead implies a territorial boundary belonging to all peoples and things, where the 'Living' go. Once again, a monotheistic sort of description. One place for all souls, spirits-" A hand lifts to wave dismissively at whatever word, either of them wanted to use for them "-seems a bit catchall and easy. What's more likely is multiple locations and areas worthy of particular significance to various peoples. You have to also wonder what sort of terms and themes result in people expiring toward these particular lands you've got marked or even whether they have rules for allowance, invitation or acceptance into them. Does dying during war have a say? How about suicide? What about ill deeds or good ones?"
Arturo leans over the piece of paper, regarding the landscape, rough as it may be, that has been laid out further. He taps at the area above, where the lines culminate in what might be foolishly considered a 'Heaven'.
"Here, you've got little information which is understandable. Reason doesn't live here, because most of our understanding of this region comes from telescopes and satellite imagery. It's all very pretty, but hardly worthy of distinction beyond 'Space' or 'The Ether'." A slight snort, once more dismissive, before his finger traces down toward the apparent 'Abyss'.
"...Here's where you'll run into similar problems with the lands of the dead. A single isolated aberration where darkness lives. Vast and pregnant and whole. The place where nightmares are born? Or fear lives?" Another snort. "Hardly. We invent hells to define our fears of death and in many respects, that's what this 'Spirit World' you're talking about is...A Fear of death. So we invent landscapes beyond to give ourselves comfort in knowing there's more to it all after we finally pass on. What manner of possible interaction this world could have with that one?" Once again he taps the piece of paper. "Well, it would stand to reason they would have to share some connection, though I fear for the lives and existence of any being forced to endure our stupidity for as long as we've been around. The Dark ages. Medieval times. The Wild West. Even the last hundred years of industrialization would have done horrific damage, perhaps even irreversible."
Margot
A map appeared from William's person, or a chart perhaps. What did he want? To fact check the map, apparently. It seemed to be new to Margot as well, for she leaned in nearer the desk and peered down at the careful notes and planes and dimensions graphed out.
She nodded, initially, as eyes explored from the identified 'physical plane' further out. Soon, though, a crease formed between her brows. Disagreement, or misunderstanding perhaps? She was searching for some kind of a connection, finding something that she didn't feel meshed well with the rest. Quiet still, she continued to look down to the map while Mr. Nihm offered his insight. She nodded along with his explanation-- the disconnect between Afterlife and the Dimensions/Spirit World was a shared view.
But onward, to speak of how industrialization was no doubt ravaging the planes connected to their own.
"Yeah," she said in what sounded like confirmation, agreement to support the statement about potentially irreversible damage. As though she'd held witness to the wreckage herself.
Then, realizing her own tone, she blushed lightly and raised a hand to scratch light at her neck while glancing someplace to the side. Cleared her throat and kept her gaze wandering and averted as she tried to cover her own awkward silence with a proposed thought.
"And the Looking Glass goes both ways. Those sacrifices you mentioned go across the planes. It's a path of exchange, and if something like Life and payment can pass through then any number of other things could too." By the sound of it, she didn't hold a lot of faith that things coming to their world would be very welcome guests.
William
Hey, good news! The likelihood of him shooting them seems to be past. It's now likely replaced with the very real possibility of them being laughed at in an academic context, which somehow does more damage than a shotgun to the ego.
"Depends on whose mythology you're looking at with regards to the lands of the dead, doesn't factor in the very real possibility of reincarnation or how the concept of ancestor-worship or reverence comes into play. I can rail about it all I want, but my layout right now is incredibly Eurocentric. And if we want to get right down to it, very Abrahamic.
"Well... maybe not completely Abrahamic, but it definitely seems to have the whole Inferno-Purgatorio-Paradiso feel, but I'm not actually sure if Dante had any religious basis for his novels or if he just wanted to stick a bunch of people he didn't like in varying levels of Hell because he was grumpy. This all seems to hinge on the idea that the lines between are delineated and it's all like a layer cake."
He looks at the Abyss, though, is regarded carefully and he adjusts his book in hand. Peers at where it would fall in the little parfait-style cross section.
"Frankly, I don't know why I even have that there aside from the need for symmetry. Fear is a concept, it would belong more up here-" above the fold, somewhere between the first layer and the second. Closer to near abstractions. "So what purpose does it serve?"
Aside from being the absence of all. Aside from being a place which consumes all, a place where-
He seems to pass off the look as one of contemplation. The subtle holding of his breath masked and put away and passed off carefully like a young man who has met his first real challenge to his theories. "Conversely, what if it's a two way street? Or like a bad relationship or an infection that perpetuates itself. We cause damages to our world which reflect into the other parts of this multi-planar model, which hangs and breeds and spreads and then infects more vulnerable areas.... that thought implies that there's more of a permeable trade between the worlds, though... which really kind of would imply that this whole afterlife thing would be more of a parallel plane."
Quirks his mouth to the side.
"Do you think I should move it? Should it stay? I'm thoroughly convinced that the whole lands-of-non-reincarnated-beings should fit into this model, but now I'm not that sure where it would go."
Arturo Nihm
The pair of kids gossip and glean, enthuse and frown, bent over the copy of the mapping with an enthusiasm that is steadily eroding their caution. More and more information begins to pour out into the open, William's sketches a very real and concrete level of commitment devoted to the entire process. Margot's willingness to take it seriously and, perhaps absently, confirm where her own experiences may well demand she do. The room's eccentricities, the study and the books on the shelves and the vast stories to be told throughout the volume of Arturo Nihm's lifespan have all been put aside for this moment. This one. Singular moment:
He leans back in his chair, giving the pair of students a chance to examine. What he's said as well as what they're gleaning. His hands rise, elbows resting on his chair's armrests, fingers steepled before him while his gaze travels not to either of them but between and into the distant presence of the Chessboard with it's enigmatic game being played. He is still. Quite and very. A solid presence that is as much part of the room while they talk and bandy words about, as the books and artifacts.
It isn't until William finishes his flush of information, his depictions of what was, could be and probably isn't, that Arturo's attention sharpens. Just slightly. Enough to give the perceptive the indication he's paying them mind. Or has been and only now feels the need to respond. Those bifocals are adjusted and he leans back into his desk chair with a soft squeak of leather to catch them both with a glance.
"Religious dictation is often used as the foremost description in much of what we know, if only because of Scientific inquiry being as new as it is. Unfortunately, much of Religious dictation has gotten wrong or simply been replaced or re-purposed to suit the needs of those few who want Power rather than respect. So whatever truths may exist are, unconfirmed, easily denied and often times, outright impossible to prove. It's quite a mess actually..."
He sighs, nostrils flaring, hands moving around the desk suddenly in search of something.
"Drawing any relation between the direction any planes may or may not reside is a bit false, given Religious context was invented by Humanity, who haven't been around long enough to warrant anything more than a footnote in the book of Existence. That level of importance for such a minor presence in the scheme of the world, is....a difficult argument to make." He looks amused. Even on the very of laughter but quickly pushes on with a wriggling of his mustache. "Rather than explore the Religious quantities, the focus, which is often ignored, should be on the proven and simplified quantities of where and what. Location is, despite European theft of the concern, of most likely important."
Arturo's finger points skyward and than downward at the floor, indicatively, a frank twist to his features given, before his free hand finds a drawer and he is pulling it open to retrieve what looks to be a well carved, mahogany pipe, complete with a silver buttress ring and curved black bowl.
"But then-" And he's producing some matches and a small tinderbox from his vest pocket "-we're quite aways off the Ritual Sacrifice of some ancient civilizations at this point. Beyond even theory, really." A match is produced, the same hand leaning out to tap William's map. "This would get you laughed out of every institution across the board followed by a police pat down for the good drugs, Kids."
The tinderbox is opened, away from them, a pinch of something pulled out and stuffed into the pipe, the smell of mint and something else beneath it, taking to the air. The match is lit and the box closed, before the pipe is lifted to his mouth and he takes several quick puffs, a vaguely blue smoke tinting the air around his face.
"So what's a couple of bright younglings like yourself doing pissing away their tuition following silly myths and superstition that isn't going to get them anywhere?"
Margot
Suspense. The concluding question that Arturo Nihm posed brought the two young mages to pause. Eyes that had been following an outline of dimensions on a map-chart jumped up quick and sharp to the older man's face, expressions a matching set of surprised eyebrows and the quick thinking that came with trying to spin on the spot tales. William and Margot glanced briefly at one another, still with the same matching looks on their faces (what do we do what do we say we didn't plan ahead quite this far shit--).
They took a breath each, looked forward, and in unison began to speak.
The only trouble with that was they weren't synced up in their speech at all. William was speaking over Margot, weaving some likely believable tale that could be lost in a network of people who knew people who were networked to getting to good positions for great opportunities, and Margot's was indistinguishably lost in any number of start-and-stop-again sentences amount to nothing. In the end, though, the cadence synced up and the words came together almost exactly:
"--and we're witches."
"--and we're wizards."
A pause, where they finally heard one another, and a glance together again. This time when they looked forward again Margot was the one who cleared her throat and pressed on in her small voice.
"Sorry. I mean, there's just a pull here, to this place--" she gestured around at the walls and shelves around them. "A gravity." As she said that, her eyes landed on the chess board that seemed to tip people in, that she'd seen physically shift and change in subtle ways with her own two eyes. An untrustworthy thing, she remembered reading somewhere to be cautious about things with their own consciousness if you couldn't see where they kept their brains. "It's a weird conversation to start no matter who it's with-- not exactly something you're open about at first. A thesis is a good excuse to research, so we use it."
William
"You acknowledged that you cohabitate with a chess set that plays itself."
A beat.
"Herself."
A second beat.
"Themselves?"
He waves a hand.
"I figured we could drop the pretense and quit lying to you, sir."
Arturo Nihm
Arturo's face manages to maintain a modicum of solid, unimpeachable severity. Just a moment, which is a testament to the Will f the individual sitting before them. Then-
He laughs. Outright mustache rippling laughs, head thrown back and hands over his stomach cackles as the pair come to the same conclusion about what is and what isn't the most honest of circumstances. He laughs. And laughs. And nearly falls out of his chair laughs. Then, crumples over the side arm of his chair laughs. Which turns into leaning over the table, hands spread to either side, trouble catching his breath, laughing. Which eventually subsides into a leaning back into his chair again sort of giggling that ruins all pretense of elderly appearance Arturo seems to possess. He wipes at tears. Has to remove his bifocals to actually do it properly and set them on the table while he scrubs his sockets with a thumb and an index finger.
"Hoo, you kids. Oh man..."
More giggling. More leaning back in his chair which collects beneath him with the careful sort of plushness suggestive of the outrageously expensive. His hands fold over his stomach and his face finally settles down into a pleasant, old man sort of regard that bounces between them two of them for what inevitably begins falling out of his mouth.
"You walk up to a reclusive house on the hill with some half-baked plan at assuaging your curiosity and investigating some old man who greets you with a shotgun at the door. Promptly get invited in for investigative purposes, abandon your story that got you in here in the first place, pull out a Map of something to do with otherworldly matters, openly concoct theories about said matters all while interacting with said shotgun wielding old man who you've accused of some pretense toward what exactly? Do think I'm Dumbledore? Snape? Merlin as well? Are you flying by the seat of your pants where caution is concerned or does your kind just..."
And he makes a face, trying to decipher some element or aspect of clarity about just what a pair of young 'Wizards and Witches' might do
"...Wander into stranger's houses declaring themselves excitedly as something out of a J.K Rowling fantasy on a regular basis?" A pause, the humour seems to have ebb a bit, as if the gravity of this moment were sinking in with Arturo as much as it probably is with the kids. Though he has yet to lose his smile. "Do you understand the future you've put us in? The severity of this? I don't mean the now, I mean the eventual that says Government experiments and lab tables for dissection for the both of you and anyone you know, love, hate or have had some passing fancy for. Do you have rules? Regulations? Dictations? Are those above you going to be upset when they find out an old man's gotten in touch with the police or the authorities or some other Black suited agency out there with identities and camera feeds identifying you? Maybe the old man gets dismissed for public's sake while you two are secretly hunted and all those you are acquainted with, hunted as well."
Another pause. The smile is gone, lips pursed beneath that goatee, eyes still bouncing between the two of them.
"This is the part where I ask what you're thinking. Or if you are, at all...flattered as I am that you've decided to put yourselves in my mercies..." Arturo doesn't sound at all like an angry, or vengeful or despicably cruel creature. He more sounds like a Father scolding a pair of pups on a mistake.
Margot
The tension left after Will and Margot explained in so many words (fewer understood than spoken, but the gist got across) that they knew magic could be cut with a knife. Margot was actually holding her breath while Will was parsing through gender pronouns to assign to a mostly inanimate object.
When the man began to laugh she exhaled, and only in that moment realized how long she'd been refusing to breathe for. Relief only had just enough time to start to seep into her scalp when the lecture began.
What were you two thinking?
Margot's body language spoke rightfully of shame. Her mouth twisted to the side and she looked down, suddenly interested in the cleanliness of her fingernails and rather focused on getting a particularly stubborn smudge of dirt loose. He warned about lab tables and government agencies and the safety of their loved ones. Said that for all they knew he could go about reporting them to any number of agencies that they ought to be chilled by. He wanted to know more directly, after explaining these possible terrible outcomes, what they were thinking. Margot's eyes only raised enough to flicker toward William, to find his gaze, and to portray some kind of a silent apology before she spoke.
"When a man and his collection make enough of an impact that a stranger offers you more money than you've seen to help lift something, you know whatever that man knows must be mighty valuable." She looked around, found the knife with the bone hilt that she'd spied when she'd first come into the office, and with a somewhat more determined set to her mouth pressed on. "We wanted to scope things out. Honestly, I wanted to see if this apparently valuable weapon-- something that someone would come to one of us for help with, specifically-- was in the right hands. If you could keep something of that kind of worth out of the right hands... maybe out of any hands at all."
She looked back to Arturo now, at the lack of a smile he wore now as well as how his fingers liked to steeple, and concluded, "Frankly, I wasn't sure what to expect, or what plans we'd have by the time we left today. I don't think there's much chance of getting in and out of this library with anything you weren't supposed to take, and I don't think that you've got nothing to do with that, sir. At this point? I was just thinking to offer you word of warning and that we could then be on our way."
William
Arturo is laughing.
And laughing.
And laughing.
William leans in to Margot, uneasy "I'm pretty sure this is the part where we die horribly."
But there was lecturing to be had, and it's been awhile since he's gotten a good lecture. Pays attention and watches the man's face and listens to tone and takes things in. Doesn't fidget, doesn't adjust, doesn't do anything except stand with a kind of stillness that doesn't suit him and-
"She doesn't normally do things like this, I talked her into it," he says, defends even, "she might not know better but I do, and should, but apparently don't. Most people like us- the vast majority of people like us, in fact- don't take these kinds of risks."
Margot is talking, saying something about his sources and William literally sputters. Looks at her with wide eyes like he isn't sure how to handle it and doesn't know how to really recover from that. He could be smooth, certainly, but this is definitely not one of those times.
"We weren't going to steal anything- we were just going to go in, look at your books, transcribe some things, and leave- it was going to be hard but we heard it wasn't impossible. That was my intention. Now, I got the tip from someone who was telling us about some silver dagger and how she'd wanted it, but I figured hey, just make a copy of it and let her deal with the fall out but I hadn't... intended..."
There's this moment where it seems to dawn on him that-
"Crap."
Arturo Nihm
Arturo performs a quick back and forth between the pair of them, face remaining a mask of impartial interaction while the two kids blurt, blunder and tumble their way through explanations that sound like the crumbling defenses of Constantinople at this point. For his part, he keeps the humour to a minimum, head shaking rather apologetically as Margot offers up information about why they are there and then, really shaking in a threat of hilarity when William explains what they were actually trying to do and ending that note with a well placed
Crap
"Crap is right."
He says with a helpless chuckle, inhaling and exhaling forcefully to keep his mirth in check, a hand rising to scrub at his brow and face for a moment as if to consider just what the hell to do with this entire mess of a moment. Thoughts race across his gaze and his chin just rests in his upturned hand for a few precious moments, trying to decipher exactly what the implications and meanings of this moment could be. Whether he believes their dedication to 'Wizardry and Witchcraft' is one thing, but theft and the admittance to theft? And fencing? And Contacts-
"The name of your source, is first and foremost. That is not negotiable. As much as I am a recluse, you've it right in saying my name is on a few choice areas of a particular industry that could promote more of these-" A muffled laugh coupled with a flailing point at the pair of them "-incursions. I need to ensure that those are minimized as often and as much as possible. Beyond that matter..."
He sighs, easing back into his chair, hands folding over his stomach to tap out some odd little rhythm, lips pursed.
"You two are either the worst burglars in existence, introducing yourself to your mark, or attempting to be clever by spinning the most outrageous of lies and circumstances to try and seem broadly and horribly inept. Enough that I'll take those previously mentioned mercies and lay them on you like any old man would to a pair of dumbass rapscallions-" He puts a bit of old vinegar and swagger into that last word, coupled with a fist rapping gently on the desk and a good laugh.
A laugh that ends with a quick degradation into scrutiny.
"I'm not sure what lies your Contact has been talking to you or whether they just have it in for you, but I don't hold 'Silver Daggers'. Silver doens't hold the shape of a weapon, to brittle and the forging process would be outrageous for something like that, money, time and trial and error-wise. As much as I can appreciate a good joke or sense of humour, being the object of either is not in my comfort zone. So the name, is first..."
"Secondly..."
He breathes loudly out through his nose, eyes trailing toward William.
"You need to learn some manners. You don't bring young ladies into your affairs, illicit or otherwise for any reason, especially where the threat of harm may well be concerned. Let alone talking her into it. Shame." His head bobs at Margot, without leaving William. "Now apologize."
"Thirdly..."
Arturo's glance toward the Chess board in the back levels a sigh, followed by a murmur.
"Whatever you think of my fancy for ancient strategy is entirely your word and perceptions against...well a Recluse, living his life and existence on his own estate by his own measure and in no way shape or form does your account, during a break-in no less, whilst lying, posing as something other than you are and using the good names of several other people not involved in this to further your agenda, provide you any leeway or recognition of what I believe, know or consider. For all intents and purposes, that Chessboard is a carefully constructed illusion I put on to entertain guests and company, rare as they might be." He holds up a hand to forestall any argument. "I'm also an old man with excessive levels of eccentricity so even if it was something, i can plead senility and everyone will believe it to be true."
"Fourth...ly." He seems to question whether that's a word for a moment.
"You seem to have an avid interest in all things 'Spiritual'-" Arturo makes spooky hand gestures at that "-and are under the impression I have access to some such things alongside this dagger you're speaking of. I can't attest to the value or strength of that information but I can assure you that anything you find in here, isn't worth exploring or examining for the threat it represents you in finding out." His gaze levels on them both, a seriousness creeping through that seems to punch past the vaneer of 'Elderly Recluse' and to the deeper presence below.
"There are things even those with power, were never meant to explore or fathom before their time and even then, they are a responsibility. Not a curio. Not a fascination. Not a desire. A Responsibility. You take anything from this, let it be that..."
And the seriousness vanishes, leaving behind the old man once more.
"Lastly. The pair of you are officially on retainer. I will provide you access to what information I've gathered in my long years, via personal conversation and in return you will do me favours, like bring me groceries, take my Yorkshire terrier for a walk and shout Latin phrases at one another for my amusement occasionally..."
Margot
It was there in the way that William had looked at her. When Margot had finished she'd found his eyes again and discovered them wide and stunned. She made a face in return that was apologetic (still, continuing) and stuck. Too late, what's done is done.
She'd put her faith in Arturo Nihm not breaking away from the character he'd presented himself as being when she revealed her hand and knocked William's down along with it. He rewarded her by not attacking them with words, bullets, or magic. Instead he agreed with William's synopsis, crap was right, surveyed them. Margot didn't quite squirm as the silence pressed down on them. The potential for terrible outcome was worrying as ever, but that faith was kept thus far. The odds of the immediate outcome being fire and brimstone were very low, and statistics called to her from her AP classes in high school.
When Nihm broke the silence to begin his list, Margot's recently found semblence of calm started to erode.
The name of your source...
"She's not our--...," but her voice died away when the man continued.
You need to learn some manners. Apologize.
"No, no it's not like--...," but again, the quiet protest submitted to Nihm's continued speech.
Responsibility!
A small sigh, the start of "N--,", but again....
Finally, he concluded with a declaration that they were on retainer. They could pilfer his information and library stores if they walked his dog and gave him a chuckle every here or there. By now Margot's brow was furrowed and her face was flushed pink (mostly from embarassment, shame, look at the situation that you just created kid). She shook her head so her pinned hair fell forward, and lifted a hand to sweep it back in place.
"We weren't ever going to steal anything," she protested with a strained tone. "He--," she nodded toward Will-- "was really more interested in the books this whole time. He did not drag me into anything. I wanted to come see why someone would send us here. To see what... defenses there were, so I could use that to talk him out of any more trouble."
"I'm not worried about your library, Mister Nihm. It's impressive, but...," she glanced at the shelves appreciatively, and landed with her gaze on that chessboard that wasn't really a chessboard after all. "It feels like it could suck someone in and keep them. I've got no plans to be kept." Finally, her gaze landed back on the self-proclaimed elderly recluse. "By this point I just want you to know about this person who brought us to you, and then go about my way."
William
It's the equivalent of being caught trying to steal anything from old people, really. There is a sort of sacredness in space that seems to be unobserved, and a sort of patience from Mr. Nihm that comes with the fact that this probably isn't the first time that someone has tried to foist off with his stuff, but it was probably one of the few times that someone came and introduced themselves.
Without ever giving their names, come to think of it. Yep. That's not suspicious at all, kids. Not even in the slightest.
"Okay." he starts, inhales deep because he needs to address all things at once. Was paying attention and seeming to count along and trying ever-so-hard to keep his ping pong ball attention there and not on the chessboard or the books or the smell of the pipe smoke or the color of the floor or Margot's almost protesting (sorry, Margot.)
Now, there are things that William Holmes has learned over time during his brief stint within the Hermetic Order- the first of which is that you do not mess with men who are old enough to be your grandfather. You just don't. There is a good chance that they are bigger, scarier, more knowledgable, and crazier than you. They've had to put up with people for longer, and it's why they have things like the Red Hat society for little old women who like to go sky diving and say fuck your social conventions, I do what I want- I'm old. That applies to mundane society, and applies doubly so for anyone and anything that is even remotely supernatural.
As such, William kept his mouth shut and paid attention. hands in front of him (the book has since been put away into his messenger bag for safe keeping) and waiting for his turn. He still needed to learn some manners, though. Thus spake Arturo Nihm.
"She told me her name was Inez. We run in circles where legal names might not necessarily be names given, so that's honestly the best that I can do in that regard," he replied.
"And while we didn't technically break in or technically steal anything, we did have the intention to do so later- or the possibility of the intention. Part of coming here was figuring out if that's something we even wanted to try doing-" you're rambling, Will- "-not the point. Point being: we did walk in here lying our asses off with the intention of personal gain. We just talked about communication and respect and that's not coming from a place of respect. I'm pretty sure that Mr. Nihm doesn't burn down orphanages or eat puppies or make sizable donations to places that dump nuclear waste in Latvia."
A second. Attentions back to the young woman who is nearly a foot shorter than he is.
"Anyway, I feel like I do owe you an apology. Even if you did come with me to talk me out of things later, it could have gone completely bottom up and now you're dealing with the consequences of me making a questionable judgment call. I didn't tell you everything going in, and I took for granted that you were helping me. I sincerely apologize and I while I would like the opportunity to make it up to you, I am completely understanding if you do not want to give me that opportunity."
But then, there was the issue of being on retainer.
"How long were you thinking of keeping our services? Or maybe even my services, Margot was really the voice of reason here, I don't know if it would really be fair to saddle her with something she didn't even want to do in the first place- maybe we could work something out? I could work whatever time you were thinking for both of us, consecutive sentencing instead of concurrent."
Arturo Nihm
Arturo listens as both take their turns, Margot's in favour of rebuttle and William in favour of respectful acquiescence. Both have merit and value, if only in how the responses are probably put away for perusal and consideration by the old man in time. It isn't really his best intention or even his worst, or even intentions at all, on display right now. It's just a simple matter of listening. Which he does. With apparent patience and studying. The kids have put on quite the show thus far and there are elements about them that present themselves, both in the lies they told as well as the honesty they seem capable of.
The certainty that clings to Nihm is one born of age. As William knows, such individuals don't amass this level of wealth, isolation (he's on the side of the god damned mountain with his own personal road FFS) and artifact without some semblance of experience and the knowhow to put it to use. That all there's been so far is the demand for an apology and a list of chores that need doing, sort of...says something about where these three are right now.
First though, they need to extract themselves.
"You have to keep in mind what you claim to be, Dear." Spoken at Margot and it is here that they will hear a different Arturo Nihm. A softness, minimally chiding with a sense of comfort that is as much a fatherly pat on the back as it is a frown of digression. "And what that entails. What you hope, want or need isn't as important as the future of what could be expanded on in this moment and, dare I say, other moments such as this."
He chuckles, leaning across the desk to stare up into her youthful face.
"You're going to find yourself making mistakes and potentially paying for them. The need to minimize those mistakes is important, but also in paying the smallest amount necessary to ensure they don't come back to haunt you. For your part, trust is something you should buy and sell as high as you possibly can, because it is a rare thing that you young folk give away far too often, seemingly for nothing short of a gaff or a bit of adventure-" His hand flaps about nebulously, as if to indicate the situation they are in.
"Each of us has means of treading the paths and the worlds and these moments that are difficult in various ways. Sometimes those ways come into conflict with others and repercussions are inevitable. What we do to minimize those repercussions is maintain a sense of distance from all those who can complicate them. That includes any orders, collectives, families, friends, religions, sects, industries and institutions that have hard and fast rules about why you don't do what you two have done today. That's dangerous..." A pause, eyes rolling upward. "For all of us, really, regardless of Identity."
He leans back again.
"Right now, payment for the lie and the situation we have here is measured in some chores and you still get yourselves some of what you were hoping for. You won't get access to my library, there's information in there you're not ready for and certainly won't understand but I can translate and parse down any number of avenues. Think of it as..." He scrubs at his goatee, looking for words. "A series of lectures you'll eventually come to appreciate in your enthusiasm to know more about the worlds."
Worlds. Plural. He's said it several times now. Whether this is an admission to something or an active, voluntary presentation of fact, is...like many things about Nihm...a vague certainty.
"You don't tell anyone. You don't speak my name to anyone. You keep it secret as long as you can and in the meantime, I make preparations to combat whoever may well be attached to you, voluntary or not in a purely defensive manner, as befits any isolationist, who has caught wind of intrusion. Thus ensuring my safety while ensuring your education as well which...I dare say, I have some vested interest in." A smile. Kindly, rubbing out much of the edge these words could have contained.
"Your services, Mr...?" Arturo will pause for William to provide a name. "Will be rendered for as long as it takes for me to shore up my defenses. That requires getting to know you two and what you're capable of-" A bit of scepticism there, healthy and clean and obviously a bit of a dig at their claims of Wizardry and Witchdom "-so I have a broader sense of what to expect should others of your kind present themselves as an issue." A hand held up toward the pair of them, forestalling possible woe or concern.
"I do not want or need to know about your organizations or the degrees to which you adhere to them. Merely a limited understanding of what harm could befall me or my estate should your mistake here today, bring about a threat in the now, near or distant future." A pause, eyes dancing between the two, before a brief moment of gravity, delivered with a sigh through his nostrils arrives.
"Other than this, very fair offer, we will have to go our separate ways and I will be forced to take a more active level of threat to ensure my safety and means. Which...really, will just get involved all those organizations that neither you, nor I, nor they would appreciate."
Margot
William began with an okay, and the ramble that followed drew Margot's attention. She looked at him with mild suspicion at the particular phrasing of what types of circles through which he knew this Inez. That changed to furrowed (but silent) protest when he said 'they' when it came to real plans to jack the knife. This all shifted to one of uncertain scrutiny overall when William then turned to offer her a formal apology. She cast an uncomfortable glance toward the 'elderly recluse' and back again to Will, who concluded only by pressing on to offer up his place as solo retainer.
"Will..--," was all she managed before she was cut off not by someone continuing their thought this time, but rather by her own sense of good judgment. She chose quiet instead, and turned to regard Arturo Nihm once more when he addressed her directly.
Right off the bat her nose creased, subtle but distinct, with discomfort, a direct response to being addressed as 'Dear'. What followed was listened to raptly all the same. He'd leaned forward to look into her face and her posture wavered-- backward to begin, with the initial urge to retreat along with the discomfort, but ultimately straightening and staying put instead, with a particular Pride born of a shared link and growing familiarity with an Old Goddess who was not accustomed to losing anything.
His attention would shift to include William once more, and the little blood witch's stance eased. She'd glanced anxiously away from the old mage (she presumed, because certainly he was, what else could he be?), toward William, past the other Initiate and to the study doors they'd entered through. Wrang her fingers together enough that the twisting of her wrists felt apparent so she squeezed them tight and still instead.
The conclusion had her biting the inside of her lip and looking highly suspicious. This man had started out with her faith in his character, but the undertones of his bargaining weren't dissimilar from the world he'd cut into the mountain from himself. They put her on edge and made her worried for her freedom. Being boxed into a deal was a worrisome thing, especially now that she knew what weight True Deals could carry.
So, with caution in her voice that she couldn't bleach out no matter how she might try, Margot spoke at last.
"Okay."
Just like how William had begun before.
"Alright. Until this Inez situation is resolved, at least."
And it was next to William that she turned her eyes, frowning in some conflicted manner. "We'll get to redemption another time, okay?"
William
Until the Inez situation is resolved. At least.
He seems to nod along, doesn't think the man unreasonable in his requests, considers it a win in its own right, it would seem, if only because he doesn't seem completely bristled and doesn't seem to completely melt on the floor and pretend like this is the worst possible thing that could ever happen to him. There was confirmation and denial enough to be interesting.
Plus, William has the good sense to not seem like he's completely enthused about this outcome. Afterall, they didn't get what they'd come for (completely) and he has to drive home with Margot- who he may or may not have screwed over and who may-or-may-not want to talk to him. He casts a glance her way, tries to get a read for how she feels before the fact that he is a twenty-one year old male who is developmentally appropriate sets in and his brain insists that he does not understand things like complicated woman feelings without having to actively focus on them.
"Holmes," he offers, "William Holmes."
He gives the name that matters most to him. That's something, right?
"And I ... uh... look forward to walking your dog and practicing Latin?"
Arturo Nihm
"Those were jokes, Kid."
Spoken like an southerner, just a faint hint of put on, though the accent isn't great. Arturo cocks a pretend gun and 'fires' a bullet of jest at William before a yawn overtakes him in grandiose fashion; that is to say, he stretches and widens his mouth with obvious and outright abandon, the chair squeaking gently under him in the process.
"Leave your numbers here on my desk. Do not talk to anyone about me, or your meeting here and try to do your best to stay out of trouble, yes?" He glances between the two of them several times, a half smile on his face that looks oddly hopeful, if a bit in denial on this last fact.
"I'm sure you two have some things to discuss amongst yourselves. In the meantime, I'll make the due preparations to fortify as well as begin to put together a list of things you can deal with. We'll start relatively small and work up to the eaves troughs. Those buggers need a good mucking out about now but it'll be a haul."
He pauses, hands on his belly, looking for all the world like that was everything he had to say and they were dismissed. Then-
"As for your education, when next I see you, I want three things from each of you. Not combined. Each." A finger goes up for each item he suddenly lists off:
"Verbal Proof of this 'Other side' you're so invested in."
"Your best answer as to where 'Up' leads to, within said Other side."
"A recipe for how to make a 'Summerland Special'."
Then he nods toward the door leading into the empty hallway that lead to the front door, climbing steadily to his feet to show them the way out.
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