2018.09.27 A Meeting of the Minds
| A Meeting of the Minds | |
|---|---|
| A simple game of Chess. | |
| Players | Evaline Oktav |
| Location | The Capet Estate |
| Spheres | Mage |
Transcript
Oktav has been there for about 20 minutes, into his first week or so of employment as personal trainer to Evaline. She's by the circle of couches, half sat on the arm of one, arms folded. Her hair is pulled back with a hairband, making her skin seem all the more pale under the cold ambient lighting.
Her eyes move from a set of documents on the table, to fall on the man. She looks him up and down, but no expression seems to register on her face. "Have a seat," she begins, gesturing openly to the array of comfortable looking couches. "I had Arlando bring these down the other day, so we had a more comfortable place to discuss."
When Oktav rumbled up to the Capet estate in his beater, the guards at the gate weren't certain what to do. Only after calling in and getting a confirmation that yes, this strange man with the sunglasses and the trembling junk heap was the personal trainer, was Oktav allowed through. The guards initially considered sending ahead for a patdown, but by the time Oktav had pulled into the parking lot, they'd forgotten everything about him except his car.
Oktav was shown into the room by a servant, and now stands before Evaline. Everything about him seems carefully poised to exude violence, from the strange symbols sewn into his trenchcoat, to his stained combat boots. He takes his sunglasses off and snaps them shut. "I'm not used to working for the rich. Do you always have others do your own work, Capet?" The Magi slumps heavily into a couch a fair distance from Evaline, watching her response.
She gives away nothing more than a hint of a smile, one corner of her mouth twitching upward in some semblance of amusement - the massive array of screens on the wall behind her, each showing live feed from a wide bank of security cameras (one for the front gate, one for the long drive around to the visitor lot, and another showing a large lot completely empty at this late hour, save for a single car, slowly dripping oil into a large stain that will no doubt infuriate some member of the grounds team,) outline her figure in the dim light. "If you are bringing light to the fact that the estate has a large work force to keep things in order, then yes. We are known for offering wages and perks greater than any other family in Prospect. We actually have a waiting list, if you're looking to start trimming hedges on your day off. But enough about that," her tone is careful and paced, like a well trained executive pitching an idea before a panel of investors.
Though there is a knock on the door. She rises from her half sitting position, as if anticipating such a thing. "I had refreshments brought down, I know the drive is long from... your part of town," she says, straining politeness. She strides to the door and opens it, where a man in his early 60s holds a silver tray. On it, a small cup of pills with a glass of water, and a tall pint glass of amber liquid, fogged with condensation. She takes the pills and water for herself, while the steps into the room. He peers at Oktav, a single eyebrow raised, and looks down his nose at them.
"Will this be all for the young madam?" he asks, though his gaze never leaves Oktav. He sets a napkin down on the oak table, then the pint glass down on top of it, in front of the man.
"Yes, that is perfect, thank you Steven."
Oktav nods at the refreshments, then at Steven, then at Detrevni, as though offering his approval. "This is really excellent work. Thank you very much, Steven. You may go."
This is what Evaline sees, at least. What she doesn't see is an enormous tattoo on Oktav's back, thrumming with a blood red resonance. What -Steven- sees are flames burning deep in Oktav's eyes, the distant rattling of gunfire, the sound of his friend choking on his own blood as he grasps towards Steven for anything, please, just some water, please, help me! Steven stands in shock, his hand reaching out towards Oktav-!
And then it's over. Oktav's tattoo returns to normal, and all that remains of Steven's hallucination is the sweat trickling down the small of his back. "Please, Steven, I urge you to get some water for yourself. You look sickly." Steven maintains composure, as expected of a servant of the Capet, and manages to get out the door and halfway down the hallway before collapsing and holding himself in terror.
"I apologise of course, Capet, but there is a lesson here already that I must teach. He was a nuisance." Oktav clasps his hands together, settling deeper into the couch's embrace. "I believe there is a failure on your part to properly understand who I am, -what- I am, and to show the respect befitting a fellow Magi. You have money? That is good, yes. What is far more -important- than that is your gift, Capet. It exalts you more than your cute little monitors and comfortable couches ever could."
Oktav allows his eyes, cold and informal, to rest on Evaline's. "You hired me because I am better than you with magic, because I am better than you in war, and not so that you could lord over me with your petty baubles. Dispense with the trivialities."
The entire time this occurs, perhaps lost to Oktav's perception, monitors scroll with endless new lines of data, new code, new machinations born within from some unseen consciousness. The screens are dotted everywhere, all over the walls, constantly scrolling with text. Evaline feels a certain twinge within the weave, but she is not accustomed to such occurances, so it washes off her without much impact. As he speaks, the small cup of pills it brought to her mouth, and with a sharp tilt, a number of colourful capsules are consumed. A tiny sip of water is taken, and gently placed on the oak tabletop, the surface of the water completely still. She does not seem shaken by this sudden display of power.
"On the contrary, I had hoped you'd felt comfortable enough to make yourself at home. Steven is often not fond of the company I choose to keep, so perhaps it is better for him to be taught now, rather than later, not to interfere with my plans." The entire time she says this, she steps away to some metal tool chest against the eastern wall. From it she pulls out two hardcases, one much bigger than the other, and carries them over to the table. There is just enough space to open both and remove their contents. In one is a laptop, which she removes, and the other is some kind of flanged mace, dotted with so many complex looking components that it becomes a mystery as to how one would hold the thing comfortable as a weapon. "I am also glad that you have so quickly seen through the mundane contract of employment I was forced to present you with. True, you are not here to simply help me punch harder, or kick faster, or shoot a gun more accurately. Truth be told, I also did not bring you here just to teach me how to better channel my power. I brought you here because you are what I need to make everything come together," this last part is said rather ominously, her tone hushed, as if the room may be bugged. She lays both hands on the techno mace, and heaves it out of its home. With a sharp twice at the base of the handle, the entire thing extends, the flanges open up like the blooming of some robotic flower, and a bulbous, domed glass camera is revealed. The aperture inside whirrs and adjusts without prompt, seemingly acting of it's own volition. She props it up against the couch, so that the eye can comfortably view them both, and the table.
Something else glints within the case, underneath where the mace was kept. A chessboard, which she removes, and a case of pieces, which she sets in front of Oktav. "I hope you will humor me, Oktav. Are you a fan of chess?"
Oktav crosses one leg over his knee, his eyes smoothly keeping track of Evaline as she prowls the room. The techno mace gets a wary look, as Oktav surreptitiously brushes a hand across his trenchcoat. The Magi clears his throat, allowing his momentary startlement to pass. "A fan, no. I have played in the past, though I'm no great mind at it. I have a question for you as well, Capet - do you know what I might have shown Steven, to make him react that way?"
Oktav begins setting up the pieces, not just on his side of the board, but Evaline's. "If you've done your homework, you have an idea. Just like every other child raised on the internet, you can blithely describe all the gory details. The blood spilling on the sand, the wails of the dying, etcetera, etcetera." His hands move quickly, confidently, each piece placed on the board with clockwork precision.
"The truth is, Capet, that it's no more interesting than that. There is no greater truth, just greater detail. You don't just hear and see it, you smell it, you can taste it like a lover's tongue. The heat beating down on you just as it has for the last six years, the sweat stinging your eyes, the itch on your left thigh that just won't go away." Oktav places the last piece on the board - Evaline's King. "These are the things that crush soldiers. All the drama is just something they piece together after the fact. One of the things I can do with my command of magic is put them into that -exact- situation. All the context, all the feeling... They've been there for months, if only for that moment. This is my strongest Sphere, but by no means my only one. Tell me, what domains can you claim?"
She doesn't check to see that the board is set up properly. Her cold eyes regard Oktav the entire time he speaks. Once the white king is set in front of her, a hand moves so fast that it nearly brushes against Oktav's before he has a chance to pull it away. A calculated, proven opening that leaves space for a hundred eventualities. Not aggressive, not even defensive, but passive enough that it would turn a grandmaster pale to leave so many open possibilities for the next play. She doesn't look at the board the entire time she does this, a strange quirk. The mace watches with interest. The screens fly faster than ever with code.
As quick as it began, the first couple of moves are over. Evaline edges ahead only barely, a small grouping of black pawns sit at her side of the table. A tiny breach has been made in black's defences, but she seemingly does not take the opportunity to make an aggressive attack. "The mind is a dark and violent place. I've read your dossier. It is thinner than it should be. I tracked down people who know you. They told me violent stories as well, but money doesn't seem to loosen the lips of people who are paid to kill. I do not understand such a strange concept of honour, but I will refrain from judgement." Oktav's question of her domains doesn't go unanswered, but it takes a moment of thought to formulate a response. "Life. A fitting parallel."
As the first moves of the game conclude, once again the tattoo on Oktav's back flares. His movements betray no grand strategy, no moves are being planned ahead - an absolute novice, but one empowered by experience and magical skill. Nevertheless, even with his magical might added to his formidable wits, his lack of skill is apparent. Both sides seem to be fighting with all the elegance and forethought of a bar brawl, though Evaline is still winning by a thread.
Oktav scowls, his planned lesson needing a swift replacement. "I'm impressed that you were able to find people who knew my face in that hellhole. If you radioed your guards for a description, they'd have me as a white guy, thin, anywhere from his twenties to forties. I'd give them high marks if they were able to remember the sunglasses." Oktav scowls as he loses another pawn, clicking his tongue in frustration. "Life is powerful. Wounds don't mean much to you or the ones you fight for. On the other hand..." Oktav knocks over one of her pawns with one of his own, no pleasure at the minor victory showing from his expression. "A shot to the head is often a shot to the head. Taking enormous wounds as a matter of course, that can numb your instincts. During our training, you won't use Life to heal yourself until after the exercise. Maybe not even then, if I feel the lesson is worthwhile enough."
Oktav sits back, finally taking a sip from his drink. "People in PMCs are those who were too fucked up or irregular for the army. If you have anything in your head, you can put two and two together from that. They need something to cling to to convince themselves they aren't just animals. Tends to be the one pretension they allow themselves, and thank God for that. Patriotic types are tedious, always trying to give everything a story, attribute meaning to their pain. Sometimes people just need to hurt eachother, that's all."
"My dependance on my personnel is a feint. They make appearances, and do their job to the best of their ability for their pay. That is all I expect of them," she says, sliding the queen out of her position, fully into the fray. An excited whir emits from the mace. One of the screens, if Oktav were to notice, flicks with endless chess notation. Out of the corner of his eye, cables seem to sway. Did they just move on their own? No, the lighting in here is probably playing tricks. The king is safely nestled in one corner, castled behind a frontline of pawns, and flanked by the rook. An ivory tower from which to survey the battlefield. "I have my own eyes and ears. I don't need theirs, ever."
A black bishop is taken. The first true casualty of the game. A noble man of the cloth, sworn to nonviolence, but still a great asset as a voice to the people in war time. Without his word, the morale of the troops may fail. "I rely on data. I need it to seek eventualities. I don't always seek the answer right away, in fact, it's often finding the right question that is most difficult. If you hadn't noticed, that's what we're doing now. You're teaching me quite a lot, already. Earning your pay."
"I haven't begun to teach you, Capet." This is the last thing Evaline hears from the outside world as havoc suddenly reigns within her mind. The notations begin flickering too quickly for her mind to comprehend, and everything within her that is related to the game seems to be read by an uncaring observer. Even her thoughts about her thoughts being read are carefully considered and put aside. Every time her mind threatens to return to the game it is assailed with a bevy of meaningless information - an alleyway, a bullet, a car chase, a shambling abomination, image after image after image flooding her consciousness until, finally, Oktav's move is made.
Any middling chess player would find this move both reckless and stupid, easily countered, the kind of thing that only stalls for time. And yet it is made - the Queen, thus far unused, knocks the ivory tower down without an ounce of effort. It threatens the King - toothless, certainly, but a threat that must be answered.
A final message is delivered within Evaline's mind. A message delivered only in concept, a breaking tower, a dark throne, a brooding ruler - a gaze piercing into her heart. The message is clear - "Your eyes and ears are not your own if you cannot defend them, Capet." Evaline's sight is returned, and Oktav takes another sip of his liquor.
Her composed form is broken, she leans forward a little, a hand touching her temple, as if afflicted by a sudden and unexpected aura, the first signs before the throes of blinding pain from a migraine. When she looks up, her face is not that of shock or anger. In fact, it is disturbingly placid. Her shaking hand folds with the other in her lap. There are tears in her eyes, which she does not blink away. "Very good."
There is an endless clicking and whirring of fans as a bank of machines in the encased server annex reboot. Some screens turn off, others flick to feeds of cameras for a moment, the kitchen, a street in the city, the room they are in, then finally reset back to show constantly streaming updates on the game at hand, but now, on another screen, a confusing new stream of text begins, and stops abruptly. Unlike the others, this text does not update at a dizzying pace. Instead it reads, in shocking detail, of what transpired within her mind. Everything Oktav put there is plain as day for all to see. A pale hand removes a handkerchief from the chest pocket of her blazer. It is plain white, silk, and embossed with the seal of the Capet with golden thread. She dabs away her tears gently, and replaces it in her pocket. She stares at Oktav with slightly reddened eyes. "A fine gambit. Unforeseen."
A hand moves to make the next play, though it is easy to see this is not made with the same calculating nature of the previous. Made off the cuff, a quick move that would baffle any player of even a middling level. The white castle stands, a breach in the wall, while the front lines stamp onward. A knight doubles back, taking a black of it's own kind, sacrificing itself at the feet of the black queen in the process.
Oktav shakes his head, clicking his tongue. "That was no -gambit-, girl. Just because you were beaten doesn't mean it was some grand play, some beautiful design. That happened because you were inexperienced and brash. If you hadn't taken such pains to point out your advantage, I might not have noticed for a few turns yet - a few turns that you could have used to secure your victory."
The Queen takes the Knight, and Oktav continues speaking, angling his words to throw Evaline even further off balance. "You know that there is a greater game at play, and you think that makes you a player. Chess. One of the most famous games, even children know how the little horse moves, yes? But do they know the pawn can attack diagonally, do they know anything of castling, do they have any idea of openers?"
Pieces move, and Oktav's pressure doesn't relent in the least as Evaline's side of the field takes several firm losses, while Oktav's Queen stands tall amongst the chaos. "In this great game of ours, you are a child. Children do not play, they learn. If they don't learn..." Finally, Oktav takes one of Evaline's Bishops, levelling the playing field and then some. "They die, Evaline Capet. They die in -agony-."
There is a sudden, momentary dim as Evaline lays her hand on the mace. It whirrs and clicks under her touch. Her eyelids flutter for a moment, her mind taken to some other space entirely. Even Oktav may feel this reverberation of energy, as the entire room and everything electrical within seem to pulse for just a second. Whole blocks of code and data are dumped onto the screens, and then they change. They show a chessboard, and the current layout of the pieces. The black starts to move, over and over, reaching new outcomes, making plays as if from the mind of Oktav himself. They are countered time and time by calculated reversals by white, thousands of games being played out in rapid succession. As this happened, her hand seems to move on its own, feeling across the board, brushing against the pieces, as it finds its way to one that it seemingly wants. A rook, unnoticed, moved only once at the very beginning of the game, slides down the board to take a seemingly irrelevant piece. She doesn't take it away, but lets it roll on its side off the board and clatter to the floor. The next turn is also like this, as Oktav makes his play, another unforeseen play is made: the space made by the taken piece opens up a line for the other white knight, in an act of vengeance, to topple the black queen.
When she moves her hand from the mace, all of this seems to stop. The screens flick off and then back on, displaying what they did before, as if it never happened. They begin to stream with data once more, and Evaline again reaches to her temple. She seems pained by the experience, and says nothing.
As Evaline's prediction algorithms finally click to their natural conclusion and she returns from her reverie, she is treated to the first smile Oktav has shown all day. "Excellent. You've begun focusing on victory rather than on witticisms. That is precisely the attitude that I wished to instill, Evaline.
The lights flicker, and so too do the monitors. "But it is not nearly enough to be a player." Distant screams, unpleasant sweat, the rattling of chains. The growls of an unseen predator, its gaze trained on them both, not favoring one over the other. The room grows hot and stifling, and yet Oktav is content to sit there and sweat along with her as the tattoo on his back glows red hot. "Open your eyes, Detrevni." Oktav's mouth doesn't move - it's his voice in her head again, as though it had never left. And sure enough, when she opens her eyes...
"Checkmate." Somehow, it's true. The board Evaline sees now is entirely different than the one she's been seeing and controlling - Oktav has absolute mastery of the board, only Evaline's King left standing in a sea of black. "The hint was thus - 'Your eyes and ears are not your own if you cannot defend them'. It was a cruel trick, an unfair one, demeaning and absurd. Something you could not have expected yourself to face or need to prepare against. Thus is every battle between Magi."
Oktav takes one last sip of his drink, licking his lips and placing it back on the table. He doesn't use the helpfully provided coaster. "You said earlier that I am here to put everything together for you, that you knew every piece you needed. This is not true. You called me here for a child's games, but I am here to teach you war. And war is much crueller than this."
There is no response from Evaline. She sits there, eyes open, but there is nothing behind them. Her gaze falls unfocused on the board. Her head upright, but bowed. The lights remain dim, and as Oktav's magical will begins to release its grip on reality, there is still another alien presence here. A man sits on the couch between them. His face is mostly wrinkles, truly ancient, wisps of almost nonexistant white hair flow from his scalp to the floor. His robes are destitute, but it is obvious that at one point, a long time ago, they were the height of wealth and extravagance. The cables that once connected to the screens, to the equipment, now snake across the floor and under his robes. The screens now show undecipherable runes, streaming faster than the eye can process. They sometimes cut out, and return, showing other strange languages.
"Do not blame the child for her inexperience. But I applaud you. The rod must never be spared. She holds power that she would like to believe is within her mental grasp, but alas, she needs refinement." His voice is soft, old, wise, and without an edge to it. In his hands, he plays with a puzzle box. It has thousands of intricate parts, which his hands feel for in a blur. They twist and turn seemingly without end. Other such puzzles hang from braided silk to his robe, some polished and beautiful, others gnarled and ugly. "I am the Labyrinth." a click from the puzzle box as it snaps into place. "The enigma." click. "The inverted one." click. "Revealed to you so you can understand truly what your part is in this game. Not as a pawn, but as a player." his gaze regards Evaline with fondness, as she sits in a stupor. "It's not within her own mind that this drive to bring some great machination to life, but rather a seed I have planted in her. A fire started in her gut that will never go away."
The moment the Avatar reveals itself, Oktav's eyes turn to ice. "So she's tormented by hers, as well. I'd suggest that you and mine might get along, but it's not so talkative. It just puts thumbtacks on every seat I reach." As if to rebel against this, Oktav leans back into his seat, relaxing entirely. "So, you are incapable of driving her soul on her own. 'It takes a village' then, I suppose? Then tell me, Avatar, what will I gain in exchange for my instruction? It seems as though you have a particular sort of plan, and particular plans have a particular cost."
Click. He listens to him speak, but he responds so quickly that it's almost assuredly planned. "Do you feel anything when you look at her?" he asks, and again regards Evaline with the same fondness a new father dotes upon his newborn child. "A life of war, misery, pain. Driven by some unforseeable force, some great wheel that turns. But why does yours turn, young one? The pain that drives you must surely be for something? While it is entirely possible that you are happy destroying yourself. Forsaking yourself to fire for the rest of your mortal existance, I would extend this hand. Not to help you, but to, perhaps, for a time, give you purpose. I chose you, because of out of all the eventualities, the endless possibilities, you're the closest I can get to having a chance to succeed." His hands spin the box, revealing an entirely unsolved side.
His fingers waste no time blurring to each tiny piece of the puzzle, snapping and sliding the pieces into place. The eventual picture, once everything is where it should be, is a clock. Both hands point to 12. Fitting. "This world needs the fire you have in you. I'm asking you, no tricks, no gambits, no machinations. Help her. Because without you, she'll die. You've seen how pointlessly people can die, young one. Violently, horrifically, without remorse, and worst of all, without purpose. She'll be another tally on your long, long list if you walk away from the bigger game." He slips the completed puzzle box onto another braid, and it dangles freely. His hands fold in his lap, and he stares at Oktav with eyes that go on forever, calculating always. As he does so, he becomes less and less corporeal. He does not wait for a reply from Oktav, but simply continues to regard him as he fades from view. The room seems brighter than it has ever been, even under such dim ambience.
As the Avatar fades away, Oktav's left sitting on the couch, fists clenched tight. With a deep breath through his teeth, Oktav rises to his feet. "So, this is the next test. Using a clock... clever old piece of filth." Oktav's breaths are steady, his pulse is normal, and his mind is a raging battlefield slowly filling with blood. "I have every reason to Ascend, old man. So I can take you, and every son of a bitch -like- you, and have you face the void. Forever. Until you've thought every thought, dreamed every dream, and you fade away into dust. You want to push me? Push her? Good. Push me further, harder, until I go mad and back again, and when all is said and done I'll crush you beneath my fucking heel!"
Oktav's fury is growing, and so is the influence of his Essence - but the ticking of the clock on the wall stirs him from his anger. With a faint tug of something unseen, Oktav returns to calm as though a switch has been flipped.
Finally, Oktav turns his attention back to Evaline. "Two days. Think on what happened today until your brain boils. This was the kindest lesson you'll get."
