Bee-bee-bee-beep! Bee-bee-bee-beep! Bee-bee-bee-beep!
‘No. No, it’s too early for this…’ I tried my best to ignore the old alarm clock resting on the dirty nightstand next to me. I didn’t get to sleep until 2 A.M. last night, and I’d be damned if I was going to let this hunk of concentrated plastic and hate take what little sleep I was going to get. I tossed and turned in my sheets, hoping that just another layer of pillow would shut out th-
Bee-bee-bee-beep! Bee-bee-bee-beep! Bee-bee-bee-beep! Bee-bee-bee-beep!
Right. Clocks don’t work that way. Real life sucks sometimes.
“Maaar…” I slurred, hoping against hope that if the shrill little bastard couldn’t wake my friend in the next bed over, I could. Somehow. I was tired, okay?
“Maaaaark!” No response. I don’t know why I thought that would work. He always was a heavy sleeper. ‘Time to scoot!’
BEE-BEE-BEE-BEE-BEE-BEE-BEE-BEE-BEE-SLAM!!
‘Must…. resist… urge to…. throw...’ I restrained myself and settled back down in the sheets, mumbling just loud enough to let Mark know he’s a lazy prick. It took some tossing, turning, and other weird geometries, but somehow I managed to find the perfect position! I sank into the warm, soft sheets with a contented sigh. ’I’ll get up in an hour or two...’
The obnoxiously loud hotel telephone decided it had something to say about that. Swearing under my breath at my quite frankly typical luck, I struggled my way out of my cocoon and blindly groped for the bane of my existence for a few moments. Finally:
“What?!” A little rude perhaps, but what do you want from me? Normal people slept at that hour!
“Heeeey, buddy! Where the fuck are you?” I blinked in confusion and wiped some of the eye crust away. Sure enough, Mark’s bed was ruffled and empty, leaving only his irritatingly cheerful voice in my ear.
“Where the fuck am I? Where the fuck are you?”
“Saving your place in line, asshole! Are you still sleeping?” I grit my teeth and bit down the first five things to jump to my mind. I may not like mornings, but I wasn’t about to start off the morning by ripping his head off. At least not immediately, anyways.
“Yup! I’m still sleeping! Way to go, Mark! You’ve solved the case! Now we just have to wake me up, somehow!” So, I’m not perfect! Sue me!
“Yeah yeah, look, we don’t exactly have time for snarking right now. Are you coming or what?”
“Dude, it’s so early. Can’t I just come later?”
“No way! It’s not a real con experience if you’re not here for the whole thing! Get dressed and get your ass down here!”
“Mark… man, are the morning parts really that important?”
“.... Yes.” I could practically hear his practiced deadpan oozing through the phone. Resigning myself to the fact that my sleep for the day is done, I dragged myself out of bed with a sigh.
“Fine. Gimme ten minutes, and I’ll come down.” I fought the urge to yawn loudly, and started my mental routine for the morning.
“‘Ten minutes’ as in ten minutes? Or ‘ten minutes’ as in you’re going to take an hour to get ready like usual, princess?”
“Fuck you…”
“If you didn’t hole up in the bathroom like a god damned hermit twice a day, I wouldn’t be making fun of you. Now are you going get down here or what? ‘Cause if I’m stuck holding your ticket when the doors open I’m going in without you.”
“I’ll be there! Jesus!”
“What are you doing talking then?! Gogogogogogo--” SLAM! Maybe I was a little rough on the poor phone, but what could I say? I don’t like being rushed.
It didn’t take me long to finish brushing my teeth and my shower. Having a particularly disgusting bathroom probably helped. You know, the kind where you had to wear your sandals in the shower? I know it was a cheap place, but seriously? What sort of hotel couldn’t properly clean their restrooms?! Would it kill them to splurge on some cleaning supplies? Was some lemon-scented Pledge just too rich for their blood? Maybe some bleach? Honestly! So after desperately tip-toeing through the Bathroom of Horrors (™), I made my way to the closet of our dingy, brown room. The carpet wasn’t much cleaner, but I was just tired enough the previous night not to care. Now that I had a moment, I couldn’t help but grimace.
‘Better check the bags for bed bugs later.’
With an eager smile, I tore open the door of the closet! Inside, lovingly hung from the rack was the costume I’d spent four months preparing. It took $400 of trial and error, and countless hours of blood, sweat, and tears to craft this masterpiece! Admittedly, I never was very good at designing things on my own. If you gave me a blue, a green, and a yellow crayon and told me to draw a grassy meadow, I’d give you back a brown mess. If you squinted hard enough, it could be a sailboat. Or a mountain. The point is, I had no artistic flair to speak of. Now, give me a set of instructions, and I could build you whatever you wanted. Growing up with a ‘Do-it-yourself-handyman’ for a father had its perks, even if he did occasionally cause more damage than he fixed. His healthy interest in general craftsmanship guaranteed that a large assortment of tools was available in the house most of the time. It was that enthusiasm that shined in every careful stitch. The added bonus of having spent plenty of time with Dad working on this costume was certainly appreciated, too.
I’d never been to a convention before. I’d wanted to go as a Star Wars character, but honestly couldn’t choose between Jedi or Sith. So, I thought ‘Why not both?’. The Robes of Revan, as I’ve taken to calling them, were modeled after one of my favorite Star Wars characters ever.The eponymous force-user was an undeniable badass! Of course the costume was befitting his legacy!
A dark red tunic and black heavy linen pants made up the ‘underwear’ of the ensemble. A set of black robes covered the whole thing, secured by a dark red leather belt with silver-plated brass plating. A sash hung from beneath the belt between the legs. a black leather harness with a brass ring spray-painted silver helped hold the robe and a series of dyed leather satchels and pouches in place. The satchels hung from my hips and back, along the belt, along with a holster for Revan’s weapon. A dyed black leather cuirass adorned my chest, with a spray-painted dark-red brass plate strapped over the leather. Red leather gloves with spray-painted brass plating over the tops, with additional metal caps over the knuckles. Black knee-high leather boots, with segmented, painted brass greaves protected my feet, adding an intimidating ‘clomp’ to my steps. Finally, a hooded cloak as black as we could make it adorned the whole set, with black leather-backed metal pauldrons clasping it firmly to my shoulders.
In short, I looked and felt like I could take on an army. An oily, fingerprint-covered mirror hung from the closet door.
‘Lookin’ good, lookin’ good!’ I inspected every inch of my costume for lint or other imperfections, thankfully finding no flaw. My short, black hair hid perfectly under the hood, and my face had only a small amount of stubble. Enough to be rugged, but not enough to throw off the costume. A small frown marred my reflection. As much as I hated to admit it, my rather plain face and dull brown eyes detracted from the intimidation factor of the costume. At least the fact that my eyes were slightly bloodshot helped convey the darkness of the character.
‘This wouldn’t be a problem if I’d finished the FUCKING MASK!’ Sadly, the mask was the only portion of the costume I couldn’t finish in time. Having to restart the process halfway through certainly hadn’t helped. You simply couldn’t have a Revan costume without his mask. I figured I’d just have to deal with being a regular badass Jedi warlord.
After a minute of inspection, I opened the small pouch I kept in my suitcase. Inside was the polished steel object I was looking for. I pulled it out and marveled at the craftsmanship. A sleek, stainless steel frame encompassed a delicate glass lens. The ‘pommel’ was a slightly thicker cylinder, spray painted black, with thick glass rods running through it. An ergonomic grip gently sloped upwards (frankly much better than the canon designs, which must be hell on the hands!), the inset portion of the grip a glossy black. Finally three thick talons jutted out of the tip and curved inwards, towards where the blade would be.
A tight feeling welled up in my chest when I thought of all the work and love Dad put into the replica. A solid two weeks were sunk into its creation. A whole two weeks in which he refused to tell me what he was doing. I've always believed I had the best father in the world. Now the proof of that was slung snugly in its holster, against my rib cage.
The shrill telephone rang, breaking me out of my reverie. A heavy, gauntlet-ed hand shot directly to my hammering heart, and just like that, the spell was broken. A scowl on my face, I clomped over to the offending device.
“Hello?” I asked, just barely keeping the irritation out of my voice.
“Dude! What the fuck?!” My eyes widened.
“CRAP! SORRY! COMING!”
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Running down 5 flights of stairs and across the sun-baked street taught me two very important facts about my choice of costume. The first fact being that this costume kicks ass! I was turning heads from the moment I stepped out of the room. Obviously it had everything to do with my sweet costume, and nothing to do with the fact that I was sprinting like I had a pack of wolves at my heels. Probably. The second, and frankly more important, fact is that this shit is heavy! Leather and metal do not breathe well! By the time I reached Mark, I had a case of Swampy Back that made me want to skip every panel we planned to go to and scrub myself with every paper towel in the building. Firmly ignoring the cloth clinging to my skin, I found Mark waiting alone by the entrance of the convention’s main floor. Man, did he look pissed! Or, at least I think he did. It was hard to tell under the helmet.
Mark had always been as a big Star Wars fan as I am. So when he heard I was going as a Sith Lord, he dove at the chance to have a theme costume. Unlike me, however, Mark loved the non-Force users a bit more. Specifically, he chose to come as a Mandalorian. I had to admit, it turned out pretty good! Light leather plating with some leftover brass pieces from my costume made up his armor.Shaped plastic and foam made up his helmet and visor, with a large jetpack made from foam, plastic and duct tape. A replica vibroblade slung from his waist, and a homemade blaster rifle replica completed the illusion. As much as he’d like to deny that his costume was any Mandalorian in particular, I could see a bit of Jango Fett bleed into the style, even if it was much bulkier than the typical Fett.
I stopped to catch my breathe, hands on my knees and panting like a dog. Other people were streaming slowly in the doors, getting wristbands and their hands stamped. Several tired staff members took their tickets, occasionally handing out a pamphlet or a goodie bag. I could feel the signature Woosh (™) of the industrial air conditioners from here, and I couldn’t wait to get out of the hot sun. The line was much, much smaller than I’d anticipated, which probably meant that a majority of the people waiting to get in had already entered. I felt a gloved hand pull me up off the ground, and Mark’s bearded face peeked out from under his raised visor, impatience clearly played out across his features.
“You know, part of me wonders why I’m surprised at all. What took you so long?” I let a healthy amount of shame show on my face. Mark was sweating worse than I was, and it looked like he’d been standing in the sun for quite some time. Most importantly, he was standing away from the line. ‘Wasn’t he waiting for a couple hours?’
“Sorry, dude. I lost track of time.”
“Shocking… I had to get out of line for you, you know?
“What happened to going in without me?”
“I was fucking around. It’s your first time, brother, I’m not leaving you behind. It’s fucking pointless.”
“Yeah, but you like this shit waaaay more than I do. I’m new, man. I’m not missing anything!” He sighed and shook his head.
“No, no… You’re new. You’ve been missing everything! C’mon, cons are the best! You need to experience this at least once. I wasn’t going to go in there without you.”
“What if I just said ‘Fuck it” and didn’t show up?” He gave me a look that oozed skepticism.
“Okay, no. I knew for a fucking fact that you weren’t going to ditch me. One, you’d never do that to me. Two, You spent waaaay too much making the damn costume and driving our asses up here. There’s no way you’d let that go to waste. Finally, Three. You’re really going to tell me you’d rather spend the day in that grimy fucking room rather than out here?” Had to hand it to him, he had a point.
“YYyyyyeaaaah, good point. Still, dude, I feel bad that you waited for me.”
“Pfft, what’s the point of my even being here if you’re not here? I’d rather pack up and go home that go in without you, buddy.” I had to focus to keep from sighing. I wasn’t about to let Mark pass up on something he’d been dying over for months, even if he seemed hellbent on living a life of self-sacrifice. Apparently, I didn’t keep a straight enough face, because Mark smiled and said:
“Don’t beat yourself up over it, man. You’re here now, and that’s what’s important. C’mon! Let’s start your FIRST! CON! EVER!” ‘Oh dear God, he actually posed.’ Even the people waiting in line tried their hardest to avoid eye contact with that moment. Finally, I decided to leave him in that position, and started walking towards the back of the line.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. What are you doing?” I turned back to him, confused.
“I’m… gettting in line? We have to get in right?”
“No no no! Fuck that! I was already here, at the front!”
“Y-... Yeah? But you had to get out. So…?”
“Yeah, no. I’m not starting over just because you couldn’t get your ass out of bed.”
“I… umm… Okay, Mark? Let me explain to you how lines work. You se--”
“Just shut up and follow my lead…” Mark started walking back towards the entrance, making a show of holding a conversation with me. After a few seconds of small talk, he darts his head to the right, slightly behind the line.
“Holy shit, dude, look at that Valentine cosplay!” Yeah, I knew this song and dance, it had Mark written all over it. If he thought it was going to work, though, he was sadly mistaken. Still:
“Oh shit, really? Where?” I asked. Mark pointed in a random direction.”Daaaaamn!”
'Un-fucking-believable.' To my utter bafflement, the people closest to the entrance actually looked back! Before I could voice my confusion, Mark grabbed my arm and started pulling me back, loudly commenting, “Dat ass tho!”. Several of the people in line noticed us, but we were inside before they could voice their displeasure. The lady who took our tickets gave us a rather dirty look before she handed us our wristbands, but otherwise made no attempt to punish us. ‘Guess they’re too tired to handle it.’
Inside was… How could I describe it? This place was nerd heaven! A large cutout of the headliner for today’s high profile panel loomed over the entrance, suspended by nylon ropes with a banner underneath. Some big shot comic writer that I didn’t recognize, but evidently was important enough to rate a giant cardboard face to creep out anyone who entered the area. Banners and posters of every color and shape were slapped on to the walls. Were it not for the care that each article was hung, I’d almost believe it was done randomly. The heavy-duty industrial air conditioning was a welcome relief from the sweltering heat outside. Skylights illuminated most of the room, with lights in the ceiling picking up the slack. Each booth seemed to have its own system of blinky, cheerful lights. Perhaps to attract attention, though the effect was likely ruined with every other booth reciprocating. The room itself was massive, an auditorium filled to the brim with booths and tables showcasing merchandise of all kinds. Some sold large, ornate items. Others were staffed with various minor celebrities, who offered autographs or simply wanted to meet their fans. A veritable horde of people swamped the floor, the largest groups taking up whole tables, shifting and migrating like herds. Each group had a smattering of colorful costumes from dozens of franchises. Some I could recognize, while the nature of other costumes eluded me. Some were as elaborate and expensive as my own, while others were as simple as body paint and cardboard. However, nearly everyone bore an expression of excitement and joy for attending this rare event.
Mark lead me around the main hall and into one of the many hallways that lead further into the complex. We attended several panels before stopping to find some food. Con food is expensive!! Jesus, did they really need to charge $8 for a lousy hamburger? Granted it was pretty filling, but $8?! They had better stuffed the buns with concentrated awesome for that price. ‘I better shit gold bars for a week for that price’. Actually…. No. No that sounded painful. After an admittedly tasty lunch ('Eight fucking dollars... Highway robbery!) we proceeded to one of the higher profile events. Being in the same room as George Takei was pretty sweet. Granted I was never much of a Trekkie, but I knew enough about the original series to appreciate what he accomplished. Frankly, that guy was classy, with a capital C. He certainly knew how to put on a decent show, so we had fun. I’d be lying if I said the man didn’t walk away with another fan for his effort.
Anyways, after a few hours of fun, Mark and I split up for a little while. He wanted to attend a Magic: The Gathering mini-tourney to be held on the third floor. As much as I loved Mark, watching him geek out to other geeks about cards wasn’t really my definition of fun. So instead I wandered around the ‘marketplace’, going from stall to stall looking for something to buy. Yeah, it was the first day of the Con, but Mark told me that it was a good idea to scout out the stalls and look for anything that might sell out early, or go on sale later. Actually, it was an interesting experience. Several times I was stopped and asked for a picture, which I happily obliged. Dad and I worked hard on making this costume, even Mark pitched in for the design itself. I felt proud showing off our labor of love. I made an effort to tilt my hood down, to only show the lower half of my face. It was bad enough I didn’t have the mask, the pictures didn’t need some boring guy mucking up the effect of the suit.
Eventually I made my way through a throng of vendors, sorely tempted to purchase a few items here or there, like that Full Metal Alchemist pocket watch. That thing was awesome! As I was making my way back to the front of the convention floor, I spied a small booth in the corner, shaded by cloth and all sorts of paraphernalia. It drew my eye because unlike the other booths, this one didn’t seem to specialize in any particular item. In the same 6 foot space, I saw bad-ass swords, a book bigger than my God-Damned torso, and a small pile of stuffed animals. The whole thing was covered in flaps and cloth, like an old fashioned tent or pagoda. The only place to look directly inside was right in front of it; Frankly, it almost seemed like it didn’t want to attract attention, which is back-ass-wards for a merchant.
I made my way to the front of the booth and was greeted by a peculiar older man. He was maybe 40, with a thick, brown beard, and a large, bulbous nose. His bald pate was obscured by a thick, green visor that seemed almost… outlandishly out of place, until you consider the rest of his wardrobe. Dress slacks with suspenders arced up over his wifebeater, a grey affair way too small for his belly, and the face of Totoro imprinted on it. The face was grotesquely stretched out to fit his rather large frame. Around his neck hung an assortment of lanyards, keychains, and a purple tie with black spots on it. A brown bomber jacket with way too many patches sewn into it completed the ‘Hi! I’m an alien! Please notice me, sempai!” vibe that was practically rolling off the guy in waves. Seriously, this was the kind of guy the Men in Black would be interrogating for leaving his assigned neighborhood. ‘How in the Nine Hells has no one noticed this guy?’ Rather than actually listening to the internal warning bell ringing a fucking cadence in my head, I approached.
“Hello, young man! Care to peruse my wares?” Okay… Tha-That voice did not fit his face! I actually flinched when he spoke. It sounded sort of like the voice actor for General Iroh in Avatar. What was his name? Mako Iwamatsu. That guy. If he gargled hot sand and live frogs every morning. The accent was rather jarring as well. Almost as if he was unused to the English language. It started and stopped with an almost random tempo. However the moment I got close his eyes locked on to me like a heat-seeking missile, and Jesus. Those eyes. They were brown, but unlike mine, they were sharp and focused and clear. They were much darker than my own, almost giving them an endless quality. I felt like if I wasn’t separated by the booth, I might have gotten sucked into them. He looked at me like a hawk might look at a field mouse. Those were the eyes of a predator, implacable and unerring.
“I… Umm, nah. I’m just browsin’.” I replied, honestly unsure whether or not I wanted to stay. He gave me an appraising glare, and I say glare because those eyes didn’t seem to be capable of anything else, before moving aside to let me see inside the booth. I looked around for a bit. I had to hand it to the old guy, he ran a pretty tight ship. Every piece was well cared for, and despite my earlier misgivings to his appearance, this place smelled clean and fresh. Which was a huge difference from the rest of the Con, which was slowly getting a bit of a manky smell from the thousands of people packed in here. I picked up several items, and seeing as how the owner made no attempt to stop me, he wasn’t worried about me breaking anything. Still, I was careful. Didn’t want to spend all of my money on an accident.
I’d love to have owned even Half of what was in the booth. I saw a well-polished Stinger rocket launcher, reminiscent of the Resident Evil franchise (‘Nemesis… *shudder*’) with all the bells and whistles attached. I actually held a perfect replica of Frostmourne, complete with glowing blue runes. Hell, it was even cold. ‘I wonder where the batteries go?’ A deck of heavy, well-painted playing cards rested in what I could only dub the ‘League of Legends’ corner, alongside Tryndamere’s falchion, Annie’s teddy-bear and a few other objects of interest (‘What should we do today, Fishbones?’). A set of small, wooden wands lay side by side in a case, reflecting the dull light around them. An Ultramarine chainsword laid in a corner, with a bolter pistol hung from its handle. A pair of what could only be described as ‘Jesus Christ, they make a caliber that big?!’-sized pistols hung from a holster, one black, one silver, with eyes etched into their sides. There was writing on them, but I didn’t move close enough to investigate. A silver Fob Watch rested in a small case, its face glowed with green witch-light. An Eye-Scouter rested on a small pillow, its green glass coloring its surroundings. My inner-child shivered at the sight of Majora’s Mask, hung from the wall, glaring maliciously at me.
There were so many cool items in that shop that to describe them all would take days. It was that thought that pushed me into a depression. Honestly, as cool as most of these items were, they felt dull, lifeless in my hands. None of them screamed ‘BUY ME!’ to me, even though I was certain that I would leap at any of these items at any other time. With a sigh and heavy heart, I turned to--’GAH!’
Creepy bastard was right behind me, waiting with a bulging bag in his hands. His deep eyes were shaded a mild green from his visor, hung low over his brow.
“I noticed that you seemed a bit… disappointed with my selection.” He droned. Honestly, how had no one else in the Con come into the shop by now?
“Y-yeah. I, uh… I’m looking for something different, I guess.” Honestly, every bone in my body was screaming ‘Get the hell out of Dodge, man! Not worth! Not worth!’. I perked as I noticed him place the bag on the table in front of me and open the drawstring.
“I figured, with a costume like yours, that perhaps you’d be interested in a… different sort of piece.” He began to pull out what was inside. I’m not ashamed to say that I panicked.
“Uhh, that’s not really necessary! I’m late to meet my friend anyways, an-” Whatever was on my mind died when I saw it for the first time.
Thick, grey metal made up its shell, with red ridges that bisected the mask vertically. A thin line of black glass two fingers thick served as the eyepiece, surrounded in the dark red of the raised pieces of mask. Dull eggshell white paint served as accents, giving the maked a sunken, gaunt look.
I couldn’t help myself. I just had to… to touch it. I needed to touch it. Could anyone blame me? This thing was awesome! The moment my fingers touched the mask, I felt… elation. As if I’d just remembered something I’d forgotten long ago. Like figuring out the song that’s been at the tip of your tongue for hours. I didn’t know why I felt like that, but I needed more. I picked up the mask, gently, and turned it around. I almost scowled. The inside of the mask was covered in what looked like a small screen that would cover the eye-slit, with some metal prongs where screen meets the edge of the mask. While not quite opaque, it was still a very thick, dark material. ‘How the Hell do you see out of this thing?’ Around the mouth was what looked like a cup, with little bits of circuitry embedded deep into it. ‘A voice changer? Or maybe an amplifier?’ There was some padding around the edge of the mask, but I couldn’t tell how the damn thing was supposed to stay on.
“What is all this?” I asked, unable to keep the confusion from my voice.
“Features, my friend, features!” His voice had taken an almost oily quality, jarring me out of my stupor. I briefly glanced up at the the man an-- I stared. The man’s thin, hooked nose hung over the mask as he stood merely inches way.He seemed to be watching my reaction to the piece very carefully, as though trying to discern some hidden message in my features. I couldn’t help but stare at his nose. ‘Wasn’t…?’ I shook my head as my growing feeling of paranoia subsided. I was probably too busy watching his merchandise to properly process what the owner looked like. I turned my eyes back to the mask.
“Features? This isn’t a car, man. What is all this stuff?” I asked. He grinned creepily, it was thin and full of teeth.
“A screen for displaying data across the eyes, and an amplifier, so you can actually be heard while wearing it.” He replied. I couldn't help but wonder:
“What’s the point of that? You can’t even see out of it. And I’ve never heard of an eye-screen monitor.”
“Oh, it’s new! Very new! The latest technology, of course! Haven’t you been keeping up with the latest news? It’s all the rage, little dude!” Oh… my god. That was the most cringe-inducingly 90’s thing I’d ever heard. That sounded like dialogue ripped right out of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. Frankly, though? I couldn’t have cared less. If he was willing to part with the mask in my hands, not even definitive proof that he was an alien (or a mental patient) was going to drive me away.
“Oh yeah, I think I heard about that. Didn’t Apple come out with computer-glasses or something?”
“This is… kind of like that. Only better, in my opinion.” ‘Better than Apple?’ To say that I should have been suspicious would be like saying Neil deGrasse Tyson was kind of a smart guy. However, I couldn’t tear my eyes from the mask in my hands.
“How does it work? How do you charge it? What does it connect to?” Try as I might, I couldn’t find a USB port, or an AC port anywhere on the damn thing. The owner simply pulled a box out of the bag. It was slightly larger than my hands, with a frame made of burnished bronze. Underneath the frame laid several layers of circuitry. No matter what angle I looked at it, the circuitry would never let me see what was at the core, which glowed with a dim golden light. It gave the box an ever-shifting appearance.
“This is both its power source and its hard-drive. It’s wireless, before you ask.” A wireless hard-drive made to look like a holocron?
“FUCKING SOLD! I’ll take them both!” I didn’t need to wait until the last day. This had to be mine! The Merchant smiled and scooped the holocron back into the bag, which from what I could tell, bulged with other items.
“Eeexcellent! “He exclaimed. “And to sweeten the deal, young man, I’ll throw in the contents of this bag.” ‘Free swag? HELL YEAH!’ I eagerly reached into one of the satchels around my waist for my wallet.
“Can’t complain about that! How much?!” ‘I can’t wait to show Mark! And Dad!’
“That would be $250, my friend.” And just like that, my mood dove. Reluctantly, I checked the contents of my wallet, despite the fact that I knew damn well I didn’t have enough money. ‘Set a $200 limit, he said. You’ll be grateful you did later, he said. FUCK YOU, MARK!’
“I, um… I only have $200.” The Merchant frowned at me before snatching the mask from my grip. ‘Jesus, he’s fast!’ I felt my breath quicken, and a hitch form in my chest.
“Then I’m afraid we simply don’t have a deal.” The Merchant turned to place the the mask back into the bag.
“No, wait! Please!” I couldn’t help myself. I just needed to hold it again. I had to have it! It wasn’t fair!
“No money, no sale!” He ran a hand through his long, greasy hair, scowling at me. I blinked and stared at his head. ‘W-what the fu-?’ He picked up the bag and opened the drawstring. I broke out in a sweat as he shoved the mask into the bag, and began putting the bag back under his counter.
“Wait, I-- Hold on! I can get the money! Just… just hold it! I’ll be right back!” He warned me as I left that a sale was a sale, and that if someone else came and wanted to purchase it, he wouldn’t hold the mask for me. I tore out of that booth like the Kool-Aid Man, and sprinted to the room where the tourney was being held.
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‘Fuck! Fuck! FUCK!’ It took me nearly 30 minutes to worm my way through the crowd to the tourney. There were so many people in the way that at several points I actually had to push and shove my way through. Didn’t they understand that I was in a hurry?! I dodged a rather hefty shirtless man in body- makeup, a cat’s tail and ears (‘Nope! Nope! NOPE! NOPE!’) and turned the corner. Right into a small crowd. A group 3-people deep separated me from the room. ‘I don’t have time for this!’ I hugged the wall and squeezed my way through. The room was about the size of the average classroom, and crammed to absolute bursting with sweaty, enthusiastic card players. Every table told a story: ‘Who was winning? Who was losing? And most importantly, WHERE THE FUCK IS MA- Oh! There we go!’
“Mark! DUDE!” I ran up to him. He was sweating in his heavy costume, but a smile was plastered across his face. A smile that for some reason fell when he saw me.
“Whoa. Dude, what happened to you?” I blinked, but remained focused.
“Not now. Listen, I need a favor.”
“Okkkaaaay?”
“I need to borrow $50!” Mark looked at me like I’d grown two extra heads. And those heads were yodeling. In Spanish. He put down his deck and got up off his seat, staring intently at my face. His brow was furrowed, and he kept looking from my face to behind me, as though looking for a reason that I might be here besides what I’ve said.
“I- Umm, are you… okay, man?”
“Yeah! Why?” He scoffed at my answer.
“You’ve never, EVER asked me for money before. What’s going on? You look pale.” He put his hand on my shoulder, which I shrugged
off almost immediately.
“I’m fine! I feel fine, I just need to borrow some cash.” He motioned to the seat next to him.
“Maybe you need to sit down?” I pushed the seat back under the table.
“I don’t need to sit down!” I snapped, “I need your help! Just trust me, okay? I know what I’m doing! This is important!” Mark studied my face for what seemed like forever, worry painted across his face. Slowly, he reached into the thigh-pouch on his right leg and pulled out his wallet. He pulled out a Fifty.
“I don’t know what this is about, bu--” I swiped the bill from his hand and gave him the manliest Bro hug I could muster.
“Thanks, Dude! You’re the best!” I ran out of the room, with the sounds panic and Mark’s heavy stomping at my back.
“Wait! Dude!” He called from behind me, but I had no time to spare. I ran down the hall and into the marketplace, ignoring his cries the whole way. Colors smeared together. Announcements boomed from the speakers overhead, oddly fragmented and twisted. I couldn’t bring myself to care. Twice, I had to detour because of some large group or event blocking the way. I wanted to just plow through said obstacles, but I didn’t want to risk being delayed, or worse: thrown out. I’d never get back to the booth in time, then!
Finally, I saw my destination. My relief was almost tangible. I slowed my marathon-pace and heaved a deep sigh, the feeling of weight lifted from my shoulders. The Merchant stood at the counter, his thin, gaunt form leaned heavily on it for support. His cleanshaven face was split in a facsimile of a smile. His eyes were obscured by the visor, which bobbed as he spoke with a guy in thick, brown robes. A plastic lightsaber hung from his belt. They laughed, as if sharing some hidden joke, and gestured to the bag on the counter.
‘No...’ That bag. The mask. My mask! I rushed over to the booth just as Mark caught up to me. He’d fallen to his knees, and panted heavily. I paid him no mind as I stomped up to the counter and slammed my hand on the bag. I fixed the new guy with a glare and stepped between him and the Merchant.
“Sorry, that item’s been reserved already.” I snarled. The kid gave me an inquisitive look before responding.
“He never told me it was reserved.”
“Well, it is, so you have to go get your shit somewhere else.” The kid frowned and took a step closer.
“That’s now how it works around here. I was here, and you weren’t, so it’s mine.” The Merchant cleared his throat behind us. We turned to him and he pulled a small, old-timey register from under the counter. ‘I…Huh.’ After a moment of mild interest, I shook my head and pulled my money out of my pouch. Mark walked up from behind me and attempted to get our attention, to no avail. The kid pulled out a small card and offered it to the Merchant, and simultaneously pushed my hand away from the counter. A spark of anger welled in my chest. My anger turned to confusion as the Merchant sighed almost theatrically. He offered a look of regret to the guy next to me and pointed to his credit card.
“I’m afraid that I can’t take credit. Only physical tender is accepted at my shop.” A smile lit my face and I thrusted the crumpled bills into his hands. The guy took a step back, a disappointed look on his face. The Merchant handed the bag to me, and I tore open the drawstring gleefully. Mark waved his hand in front of me. His voice sounded tinny, as if he was yelling at me through a pipe in another room. I couldn’t feel his hands on my shoulders, nor see his look of distress. The sounds of the Con sort of fell away, muffled. As though someone slowly turned down the volume dial. I pulled the Mask out. It was beautiful. It was strong. It was perfect.
It was mine.
I lifted it to my face. Strong, gloved hands pulled at my arms, tried to knock it away. They tried to take It from me. I lashed out. I seethed, and roared my fury in their faces. So many faces. Staring. Some angry. Some fearful. One worried. Two grinning, ever shifting, their features morphing like the gel in a lava lamp, always identical to each other. Their eyes were shaded by the green visor that sat on their heads, both in brown. They just kept staring. I backed away. The wall stopped me. The bag was heavy in my arms. The Mask was heavier.
One face inched closer. The worried one. It spoke. It’s words tumbled and crashed over each other, a jumbled, garbled mess of nonsense. It cocked its head, and repeated the same noises again.
“Du-....just…..ca-....-nd we ca-... -is.” I shook my head. Confusing. Messy.
“Just go away! Leave me alone!” I wanted to run. Couldn’t run. Needed to hide.
“....-ease, ju-- ….-ith me!” It shrieked. Its very voice tore at my ears. I had to escape. I looked around. Nothing but faces. Staring. Leering. Mocking. Shrieking their garbage language. I looked down at It. At the Mask. I thought that if I was someone else, they’d leave me be. I stood straight. Slowly lifted It to my face. The moment it touched me, all sound shut out. Silence reigned, and the heavy fog feeling that clouded my my mind evaporated. I thought clearly for the first time in an hour.
The light around me faded away. A heavy coppery taste invaded my senses.
All was silent. All was still. That silence was broken by one voice.
By my best friend. My brother in all but blood.
“CARLOS!!”
The ground beneath me vanished.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
~==========Meanwhile, Elsewhere…==========~
KRA-BOOOOOM! The tower shook with the force of the explosion, knocking many years’ worth of dust from the heavy wooden rafters. The walls lightly hummed, visibly distorting from the sheer amount of magical backlash the device was emitting. Bright, violet light swirled at its interior, cold and violent like the very creatures that once stalked the land. Nearby, a small, grey shield pulsed wildly, deflecting the feral energies as they besieged it. It radiated heat, a sharp contrast of the freezing winds emanating from the center of the anomaly. Behind the shield stood three small creatures, who stared at the anomaly with mixed expressions. They huddled close, two behind the first, as they waited for the danger to subside. The center of the disturbance flared wildly, expanding and retracting almost at random. Its untamable energies pushed the air around it into a frenzy, transforming the small laboratory into a maelstrom of power without reason. Without direction. Without form. Small devices around the laboratory overloaded, many either fried from the inside or simply ceased to function. A small ficus in the corner froze slowly from the roots up; The leaves fragmented and froze in place, leaving long crystallized tendrils from the branches that reached to the floor. Pages from books strewn across the room haphazardly ripped from from their spines, adding to the destructive vortex. Several long minutes passed. Fatalistic thoughts passed through each of the creatures’ minds. Finally:
Silence.
Slowly, the shield was lowered with a hiss, releasing the air that was trapped within. Three beings, small ponies, strode forward, careful to avoid the shards of ice liberally spread across the floor. The largest, a burly, mauve earth pony mare, used her iron-shod hooves to scrape a path towards the destroyed apparatus. The smallest, a white unicorn mare, pushed her green mane out of her face as she closely inspected the remains. Despite the unbelievably frigid temperature of the anomaly, the apparatus itself, once an intricately carved bronze, melted into an almost unidentifiable slag. A thick, heady steam rose from the remains. The crystals that had once suspended themselves between the prongs of the apparatus laid scattered around the floor in fragments, indiscernible from the ice crystals that clung to everything in all but color. She lit her horn and passed it close to the remains. Her eyes widened in astonishment. ‘T-that signature!’ She thought. What once was a carefully ordered set of manufactured magical matrices now more closely resembled the the results of an all-night drinking binge with Discord!
The mare turned as her mentor walked next to her. Without his signature belled hat and cape, he looked nothing like the icon of the public eye. Gone was the paragon of higher learning whose wisdom helped save the ponies from extinction. Instead, a much older, more worn unicorn stood in his place. His grey fur was rough from the neglect of his personal hygiene. His messy white mane fell in greasy clumps around his head, nearly obscuring the long, well cared for horn that jutted from his skull. Deep, black bruises hung from his eyes. The eyes themselves, however, sparkled with the exuberance of youth, with just a touch of insanity.
“Fascinating! Simply fascinating! Clover, please tell me you were recording that!” He exclaimed, voice filled with excitement. The young unicorn mare trotted over to one of the myriad of destroyed instruments. She prodded it with her horn for a few moments and grimaced at the charred interior. A few moments later, she removed a sheet of parchment the device’s tray, the barest of smiles on her face.
“Well, the recorder’s thaumic dampeners are shot, although the processing crystal matrix is untouched, so we might be able to salvage it.” Clover replied. She held up the parchment in her mint-colored magic. Her mentor’s pink aura overtook it quickly, and dragged the page to his face. His eyes scanned back and forth, and bit by bit devoured the raw data on the page. His small grin slowly widened; Pure glee shined in his eyes. Clover watched her mentor for a moment, and turned back to the machine. ‘It was cold… but it fried every unshielded piece of technology in the room.’ She’d never encountered a magical signature that was capable of upsetting an entire room full of equipment before. The closest comparison she could think of was Discord himself, and yet that conclusion in itself was flawed and reaching. She turned to her companions.
“W-was… was that supposed to happen, Teacher?” She asked. Their Earth Pony assistant began sorting through their devices. She separated those that were still intact from those that required replacing.
“Not at all! This reaction…” Her mentor trailed off. He began gathering up the remains of the crystals used in the Thaumic Resonation Recorder. She sighed. Without the experimental device, measuring the baseline background thaumic signatures of this particular region of the continent would be impossible. Sadly, it would take quite a while to repair. High clarity gems of the appropriate size and type measured to the milli-feather were not exactly cheap, nor plentiful.
“What was that? That anomaly?” She asked. Her mentor turned to Clover for the first time since it began.
“The most peculiar thing, Clover! I never thought I’d live to see something like this!” He nearly bounced on his hooves from his excitement. Clover’s eyes widened.
“What?”
“This… this could very well be the discovery of a lifetime! Bigger than the Fires of Friendship!”
“What is it?!” She demanded. She really did hate it when her mentor played the ‘Pronoun game’!
“I have no idea!” Clover visibly restrained herself.
“Then why are you smiling?!” She shouted. The exasperation was plain on her face. While she loved and respected her mentor, he could be a hoofful sometimes.
Okay, most of the time.
…. So she needed a vacation. Who didn’t these days? With the chaos left over from Discord’s recent defeat, and the recent reorganization of the various pony governments under the new rulers, tensions were on the rise.
“I’m smiling because this wasn’t supposed to happen. This wasn’t supposed to happen!” He giggled as he spoke. He dropped the remains in a magically sealed bag. Its thaumic dampening and stasis fields would preserve the erratic signature that saturated the fragments. He slowly carved bits of the melted bronze. The runes that were once painstakingly carved into the prongs were unrecognizable. ‘Weeks of work, wasted!’ She fumed, and shot a scowl at the elder unicorn.
“Look at these chunks of bronze,” He tilted his head towards the pieces floating in his magic. “These pieces look like they’ve been put through an incinerator. Yet we had to pour most of our magic into the shield just to keep from freezing! To be honest, we’re lucky that it didn’t suddenly cook us alive.” He chuckled as he turned to his student.
“Surely you’ve scanned the magical signature by now?” Clover’s brow furrowed as she contemplated the question.
“Of course. Massive variations in temperature and severity, despite the lack of degrees between extremes. Thaumic potential ballooned and diminished with no discernable pattern, and the resulting signature matches no known sources. In fact, it’s almost as if the signature doesn’t exist. What is there feels like a hodge-podge of other signals cobbled together, with no attempts made to blend into a single, cohesive signature. Ordinarily this would be indicative of heavy corruption of Chaos magic, except…”
“Except?” Her mentor asked with a grin.
“Except, there’s no-” Clover stopped cold. She scanned the remains again, certain that she had simply missed something. Frowning, she scanned once more. ‘H-how… how have I not noticed this?’
“There’s been no interference from Chaos magic at all. That… that makes no sense. By its very nature, Harmonious magic isn’t capable of such a disjointed, fragmented signature.” She turned back to her companions. “How could this happen?”
“It couldn’t. Everything we know about magic tells us that this couldn’t happen. This device was made to display magic currents, not produce them. Even if we were in an area of extreme magical turbulence, and you know we are not, being overloaded would not have caused the TRR to shatter as it did. The runes carved into the prongs were meant to avert such an event. And yet…” He motioned to the now full bag of evidence at his hooves. “Moreover, one could expect this to be the work of Discord, or another powerful Chaos user. Yet the remains don’t exude the vague unease that would ordinarily permeate that which is corrupted by Chao’s influence. Nor are we experiencing the call of temptation that would accompany a nexus of chaotic energy. Nothing has changed here. This place is the same…” The old unicorn turned to their silent companion.
“Pomegranate, take a letter. The Princesses must be informed at once! And don’t complain! You need to practice your mouth-writing.” The large earth pony sighed, resigned to her task. She struggled to copy everything her employer said, and to do so legibly. Twice, she had to start again, to cover the spelling errors she’d made that he’d gently corrected.
“....Furthermore, we feel the need to present the specifics of said Event face-to-face. We will be there in three days’ time to present our findings. We hope you can find the time to meet with us, as I can assure you that you would be most interested in what we have to show you. As always, I hope this letter finds you in good health. Your loyal servant, Starswirl the Bearded. Dictated, but not read. Did you get all of that, Pomegranate?”
She nodded and slowly wrapped up the scroll. Starswirl’s horn flashed, and the scroll vanished with a quiet pop.