2019.04.28: A Moment of Ecstacy
| 2019.04.28: A Moment of Ecstacy | |
|---|---|
| Dawson meets Sumter at the N.E.G. | |
| IC Date | April 28, 2019 |
| IC Time | Afternoon |
| Players | Dawson,Sumter, |
| Location | New Era Garage |
| Spheres | Mortal+, Mage, Harbingers |
| “ | "The First Noble Truth is that life is suffering. But we can choose to joyfully experience the sufferin' of the world." |
” |
|
- Sumter |
New Era Garage - Parking Lot
An asphalted parking lot that stretches the width of the garage, the attached patio and a bit farther to encompass nearly the full width of the property. It has plenty of space for cars or bikes to pull in through the gates and park on either side with plenty of room to turn around before exiting.
The entire lot is surrounded by a corrugated iron fence and heavily wooded with many junkers on the gravel lot. Sounds of cutting torches and air wrenches can be heard far into the night.
Afternoon-ish and Dawson meets Sumter at the parking lot of the old garage. He leaves the gate open until the older guy rolls up and then closes it behind him. He'd rather not have anyone or anything wander in while they're walking around.
Josh Sumter comes rolling in astride his Harley-Davidson Road King, pulling up and kicking the kickstand down before killing the engine. He swings his leg over the saddle to dismount, offering Dawson an upnod of greeting. "Howdy, chief," he says. "Thanks fer meetin' with me. I'm lookin' forward t' seein' whut's whut here."
The white-haired guy puts the remote back in his pocket as the gate rolls closed and he walk up to the big guy and offers his hand in friendship. "How's it going?" he asks and gives him a quick tour of things from the outside. "The old garage is thankfully still standing and the shed is great if you need some extra space. Still gotta kill all those weeds and stuff that popped up when this place was abandoned. (+view here/map)
Sumter nods his head, rubbing his beard thoughtfully as he glances around. "Ain't nuthin' a few gallons o' Roundup cain't fix," he says. "I ain't much of a landscaper, but I kin spray weed killer an' dig up roots purty easy. Get 'em all cleared out, an' make sure the concrete's still good. Nothin' worse'n havin' cracked concrete on a garage floor."
Dawson heads into the shop to continue to the tour. "I had some people helping with the clean up but it's seriously gut-busting work. At least at the Styx I had Tommy turning out lunch for folks. This is like at the other side of town." He takes a set of keys out of his pocket to unlock the door into shop and holds it open for the big guy. "Don't worry - I've already had a crew inside. No rats or spider webs."
New Era Garage - Shop
The building itself is a rustic concrete affair from the 1950s complete with a discolored aluminum roof. An an attached carport opens up to a small patio of packed earth and cement paving squares for when the work can be done outside. The patio roof is held up by metal posts set into the ground at each corner and a few points along the rectangular length. A series of shielded, utility lights line the open ceiling at regular points to provide illumination for those late nights.
Inside, the floor is an old concrete slab with a lift on one side and flourescent lamps above to fill the space with lifeless, blue-white light. The walls are covered by shelves and racks of nearly every size and shape to accomodate parts for a wide variety of uses.
It is not a tidy shop, piles of greasy rags stuffed in buckets and tools scattered on workshop benches.
As the two step inside, Dawson reaches over to flick on the big, overhead lights that fill the room with the usual flourescent glow of a typical garage. "See...not -too- bad but it needs a lot of work."
Sumter glances around, nodding his head. "I've surely seen worse," he says. He lumbers slowly, his boots thunking heavily on the concrete as he looks the place over. He squats down by the lift to examine its workings. "Hydraulics look good on this," he says. "So that's good. Hydraulics are a -bitch- t' work on." He rises back to his feet, turning a circle. Something has a dour frown on his gray-bearded features. "Still... there's... somethin' 'bout this place," he mutters, almost to himself. "Somethin' I can't quite put my finger on. Somethin'... dark. Somethin' evil." He grunts. "Place is probably haunted, knowin' my luck," he mutters.
"From what little I can find about this place - it used to work on cars back in the day. That's a little bit much than what we'd be doing but yeah, having a lift could be kinda nice." And then the guy picks up on it too. Dawson just shakes his head and walks over to light another fist-full of incense in a few places around the room. "Yeah, I thought it was just me but I had a witchy friend come by and she left in a panic. Like, she was freaked the fuck out." Groaning, he lights the fist of sticks with a small gas torch and then starts depositing them in places around the room as though he were trying to drive off a bad smell.
Coffee cans of sand, old pop cans with dirt, any kind of container he could find has been used to hold the sticks while the smoke wafts up and tries to either drive the bad juju away or at least keep it quiet. "That's...my -bigger- problem."
Sumter looks back over to Dawson, arching a shaggy gray brow. "Witchy friend, huh?" he says. "Yeah, I heard that 'bout you. That you practice." He watches as the man goes to start lighting incense. "I reckon I could have a looksee my own self. See whut exactly it is we're dealin' with. If yer okay with that."
Dawson holds his hands up to gesture around the place as though he's got nothing else to lose. "Have at it bud. Not sure what you know could pull off. I mean...I only get like...vibes of a place. And this place is perfect but has the most -fucked- up vibes I've ever felt before."
The place, spiritually, and even not-so-spiritually, has a weird, almost oily feeling about it. Like the toxic, greasy residue on the hood of a deep fat frier, the place has a weird film on it. The windows look just slightly dim, almost smokey, the walls have a weird, almost yellowish tinge and the floor has an invisible slickness to them; like the oil from all that auto work soaked into the bones of the place.
This place was/is a toxic dump and the spirits that plague the garage have been twisted, corrupted and mutated because of it.
Sumter lumbers back outside to his bike and rummages in the saddlebags. He returns with, of all things, an incense burner, made in the shape of a reclining Ganesha. The elephant-headed Hindu god of limitless compassion, the remover of obstacles. He goes to the center of the garage and seats himself, placing the burner before him. A cone of sandalwood incense is placed upon it and lit, before he presses his palms together and bows his head. "Auuuuuummmmm..." The meditative sound rumbles forth, low and clear. Any supernatural Awareness Dawson has might pick up on the subtle magick being worked, granting Sumter vision of things beyond the wall between worlds. When he lifts his head and opens his eyes, they're no longer focused upon the here and now. He's looking beyond. His face pales as he swallows. "Jesus fuckin' -Christ-," he mutters softly. "Whut... whut -happened- here? This..." He swallows hard. "This place is -sick-. It's -filthy-."
With a shiver that crawled up his spine like cold water, Dawson feels the ripple of real magic flood the room and takes a step back from the guy in dizzy confusion. "Whoa...what the fuck..." he exclaims and tries to keep watching if only just so that he can watch - always the curious one. His attempts at ritually cleaning the place was roughly the quivalent at trying to use a wet wipe on a toxic spill but, it was at least something. There's even a clean spot right over there in the corner - quarter-sized. It's small, it's bare but it is, however clean of the taint.
"Yeah...and I don't know what happened. I mean...I've been to 'Black' places before. Satanic temples, temples to dark gods...but this is just...yeah...that's the word...filthy. And I have no idea how to fix it."
Sumter bows before the Ganesha idol once again, bringing the magick to its end. He rises to his feet, setting his hands on his hips. "I could probably find out. Lookin' through Time is purty simple work fer me. But as fer actually cleanin' this place..." He looks up and around with a hefty sigh. "I don't know how neither. Best I can do is put up a ward to keep the nastier entities from causin' too much havoc. I'd need t' learn a more potent miracle to actually chase 'em out an' keep 'em gone." He considers for a long space, rubbing his beard. "But... -maybe-... hrm... maybe I could ask the devas fer help. See if -they- could git the bad critters out here for us." He looks back to Dawson. "We'll git 'er figgered out. Don't you worry. We cain't be havin' this kinda ugly shit hangin' 'round if we's gonna do any work here."
Dawson blinks, "Say that part again - where you can look through Time." Because curious bikers be curious and stuff. During Sumter's examination of the spiritual fabric of the garage might have revealed that someone had constructed some rudamentary wards around the building. Nothing too elaborate and far less in potency than true magic but enough that it would have kept the worse of the spirits inside rather than letting them wander around and infect the neighborhood and other places on the grounds. The wards, ritual work of a sorcerer it would seem, are little more than an electric fence of sort - just enough of a sting to drive back the spirits unless they -really- want to move past them. They're weak, created in layers, but seem to be fading. Whatever's in here is wanting out. You can only lock up some much toxic evil in one place before they start to feed on themselves; leaving only the biggest, meanest things around.
"I'm only about eight-percent sure what it was that you just said but it sounded like there might be a way to talk to someone for help?" Dawson brushes a hand through his hair and looks around the place a bit nervously. As he looks back, a silvery light, like the reflections one sees in a predator's eyes at night, flashes in his eyes; a sign of his otherworldly qualities.
Sumter slowly paces around the garage, examining the wards in place. He rubs his beard as he studies their position and orientation. "You do these?" he asks, looking back at Dawson. "This ain't bad work. But... way they're placed..." He looks back towards the center of the garage. "They ain't tryin' to keep things out. They're meant to keep somethin' -in-. This here building... it's a prison." He looks back to Dawson, nodding his head. "An' yeah. I can look through Time. Hold it back, speed it up. Hell, even stop it in its tracks if I have to. But... that one takes a lot outta me." He looks back to the center of the garage. "I cain't guarantee nothin'. I don't deal much with the devas. But... at least they's benevolent entities. I -reckon- they'd be more inclined to help. 'course, I also reckon they'll be wantin' a price to be paid." He shakes his head. "There's -always- a price."
Like a moth to a flame, Dawson is drawn to the bearded biker like he just started offering benjamins at the strip club. "S-say that -once- more...slower..." he still doesn't comprehend that a witch or a wizard or whatever word that the guy would use would let him stop time. "Uh...yeah, that was me. I didn't want whatever was here to get out. I mean...there's people around here. Not a lot but the 'whatevers' were hungry. No...that's not exactly right but that's what it felt like at least." He looks at the Indian statue and then back to the guy with eyes bright and full of curiosity as though he were hoping to somehow pull back the layers of mystery with just his eyes. "The stuff I put down was supposed to be good for ghosts; I figured that it'd work for the /Things/ too, ya know?"
He takes a breath, tries to relax himself a bit and hopes that he's not looking like he's ready to pounce on the guy for answers - that'd be bad. Like cartoon-level of violence bad. Dawson is no MMA fighter. "How...did you learn to do that? I've never heard of any spell that can do...ooh," he shifts gears when the guy mentions that there could be a price. "...Yeah, I know about those. I've uh...paid a few. Not a pretty picture."
Sumter can't help but chuckle softly at Dawson's eager curiosity. That need, that -hunger-. The need to -know-. Like he himself once was, before his eyes were opened and all the illusions were seared from his gaze in a single sublime moment of Awakening. "My order o' mysticks... we've gone by a lotta names through the ages. We've been called Bacchantes. Lotus Eaters. Sahajiya. Seers o' Chronos. Nowadays, we're known as the Cult of Ecstasy. But I prefer Seers o' Chronos my own self. An' whut we -do-... we dance in the Flow o' Time. We reach fer moments of Ecstasy, so we kin tear away the worlds illusions an' behold the Truth." One can hear that capital T in 'Truth'. He looks to the wards, then back to Dawson. "An' you figgered right," he says. "Most spirit entities obey the same cosmic law. Might have t' jigger things one way or t' other, dependin' on whut yer dealin' with. But -most- spiritual rituals should be useful at least at the basic level. But... as fer -how- I learned..."
Here, the burly Texan's gaze goes distant. "I nearly died," he says softly. "I was just south o' Leadvill, up in Colorader. There ain't hardly no light pollution out there. I was ridin' on the Highway, an'... I could see -stars-. Real stars, like nothin' you'd ever believe. An' it was jest... so... -beautiful-. I couldn't hold it all in. I wanted to -see- it all. I -needed- to see it. An' then... I did. I -did- see it. Fer a split second... or maybe it was forever, I couldn't rightly tell... I could see -everything-. An' I was so caught up in it, I missed the curve in the road." He shakes his head with a soft chuckle. "Hit the guardrail doin' 'bout fifty mile an hour. Threw me off my bike an' down a hundred foot ravine. Busted both legs, six ribs, my left collarbone... I was fucked up -real- good. But I also landed 'bout a hunnerd foot from a hippie commune. They took me in, nailed me back together, an' their leader Janice taught me ever'thing I know 'bout miracle workin'."
Whoa. Sumter's history, his experiences seem to resonate with the young warlock. As he was explaining his journey into a different reality, Dawson had to look away a few times. He's freaked. "Dude...that's like spooky." His breath is starting to increase, tension starting to rise in his shoulders as one story starts to parallel his own. "I-I was in Texas too...when I got found, but it sure as hell wasn't by Hippies." He tries to grin to diffuse the apprehension in his voice but it's not working as much as he'd like. "I learned what I had, at least most of it, from the leader of the club. He loved all of the ritual and stuff and it got real fuckin dark before I got out." He takes a moment to adjust some of the sticks in a coffee cup full of incense in an attempt to distract himself from the topic. "I didn't know you knew about this stuff. I mean...I kinda suspected when I saw you hanging out at Anyu's place but thought you were just curious. But -this-..." he turns back and slowly draws his eyes up the older biker's frame until their eyes lock. "I'd be...uh...greatful if you could help get rid of the mess here bud. Can't use it until they're gone."
Sumter nods his head. "Don't git me wrong. Ecstasy... it ain't whut you think. It ain't just pleasure. That's whut we call Bliss. Sure, it feels good. It kin feel -real- good. But it don't let you -see- nuthin'. Ecstasy... it's -powerful-. It kin be scary, sometimes. But it's the only way we can git past whut's false an' see whut's true." He nods his head as he listens to Dawson's tale. "Yeah. I've seen that before. Sounds t' me like the one whut taught you was caught up in his Bliss. Some folk git off on hurtin' others. I don't hold to that my own self. 'Harm not the Passions of another'. That's the one law my order has." He grins a bit himself. "'course, there's a difference 'tween causin' harm an' causin' pain. Fer some folks, pain is -their- way to Ecstasy. Thing is... pain don't always cause harm. But harm -always- causes pain."
He nods his head as Dawson asks for his help. "I'm happy t' help, however I can. Even if I weren't lookin' t' join y'all's club, I'd put my hands t' this. 'cause you're absolutely right." He gestures around the garage. "-This-... cain't never git out. We cain't let somethin' like this spread 'round our patch. Ain't nobody got need for -this- kinda shit."
"Is that like...sex?" Dawson asks the most blatently obvious and totally uninformed question probably repeatedly asked of the Lotus Eaters. He's trying to follow along with the bliss and the pain and the harm and the stuff and the imagery and then it's -almost- like he was able to keep up with the example and realize just how stupid his question was. "I mean...forget it, forget it." He blows out a huge breath, trying to force his shoulders to unbunch. It's not easy and he can only rearrange the incense sticks so many times before he has to start moving around the room again. Nervous tension, anticipation, curiosity...hunger, need, questions. He's like fire in a bottle.
"Can I ask you like a seriously weird question? Like...you don't -actually- have to answer but I'm kinda curious if you or your folks knows something. And I mean...you don't know me...and I don't know you but I feel we're kinda having a moment here, ya know?" He gestures animatedly between the two of them hoping that the guy isn't alarmed by big arm movements. "Uh...have you like..." another deep, cleansing breath..."...I mean..." he stammers again and then mentally decides to just fuckin say it and blerts it all out at once.
"Do you ever talk to fire?"
"Does it ever answer?"
That has ol' Sumter chuckling softly. "Well," he says. "You surely -can- find Ecstasy through sex. But like anything else, it's gotta be somethin'... real mind-blowin'. A quickie in a bathroom stall ain't gonna cut it." He grins a bit. "'course, bein' a red-blooded straight American man, I'm -mighty- fond o' gittin' laid." He looks up and around, then nods his head towards the door. "Hey. Let's step outside. Git outta this spirit filth. I got some bud on me. Reckon smokin' a bowl or two might help calm us both down. Whadda ya say?"
But Dawson's question has him pausing. Slowly, the big man turns, and the smile on his face warm and serene. "Yeah," he says. "Yeah, I do. When you see the world as I see it, you realize... ain't nuthin' is ordinary. Things you seen a million times before can take yer breath away, you look at it jest right." His expression turns wistful as he looks out the door of the garage, towards the horizon. "I can look into the east, an' I hear music in the sunrise. I can walk in the rain, an' feel the earth rejoice. I can watch kids playin' in a park, an' I can see colors joy make." He looks back to Dawson. "Yessir. Fire has a voice. It has a -name-. So does ever'thing else." He spreads his hands wide. "This world is -ours-, Dawson," he says softly. "An' we kin do -anything-."
Dawson follows the big guy outside, he seriously needs to chill with all this hitting him at once.
New Era Garage - Parking Lot
An asphalted parking lot that stretches the width of the garage, the attached patio and a bit farther to encompass nearly the full width of the property. It has plenty of space for cars or bikes to pull in through the gates and park on either side with plenty of room to turn around before exiting.
The entire lot is surrounded by a corrugated iron fence and heavily wooded with many junkers on the gravel lot. Sounds of cutting torches and air wrenches can be heard far into the night.
While they're walking back out, Dawson sort of guides them to an old back seat leaning up against the garage under the side shed. As soon as the two of them clear the threshold of the building the icky, oily vibes start to fall away. His wards keep whatever it is that's inside from getting out and like an electric fence it deters them from following them. "Ok..." the warlock breathes, "...so... you got a better handle on the magic stuff than I do. I've been kinda falling over things and figuring it out as I go along. Ain't no teachers for what I got - unfortunately. At least...none willing to teach that don't want more than I can give."
Sumter reaches into his jacket pocket for a thickly made glass pipe with a broad, well-resined bowl, and a plastic baggie of dark green ganja. He settles himself down on the seat, reaching into the baggie for a bud. Cupping one hand, he uses the other to crumble the herb up with the expert precision of a veteran pothead. He flicks out the seeds and stems, and carefully loads the bowl up. "I wouldn't say I got a -better- handle on it," he says. "Only that I see things in a different way'n you do. I've met ritual sorcerers like yerself afore. It's true, yer rites an' spells may not have the same kinda power as the miracles -we- work. But that don't make 'em any less miraculous, in their way. Yer still changin' the world in ways most folk only git t' dream about."
He offers the pipe over to Dawson. "Here, you take the green hit," he says. "I'm afraid I cain't teach you to work the way I do. Mysticks like me, we've all had that moment where our eyes were opened. When we were Awakened. Our kinda magick ain't somethin' you kin learn from a spellbook." He grunts. "I don't care -whut- those dumbass Hermes guys might say," he mutters. "But even though I cain't teach you the miracles -I- work, maybe I kin help you find yer -own- way. I think that'd be better fer you in the long run anyhow."
Dawson nods and with a practiced ease he takes the pipe. He kicks one leg out and gets comfy against the back of the old back seat and looks the man up and down once more. "Dude...you are seven-levels of chill and if you want to hang with us, that'd be cool. But just so ya know..."he gestures to the garage behind them, "that ain't the only thing we're sitting on." He looks away and speaks in a semi-serious tone. "Harbingers got more skulls in their closet than the pumpkin king, but we help each other through the shit as best we can."
The guy holds a finger near the bowl and whispers a word before putting the pipe to his lips. The smallest flame stretches out from his finger and licks against the crumbled leaves to slowly kindle them into burning embers. His magic is subtle, small but like most fire, it could be deadly with the proper fuel and application. He takes a deep, slow hit at first and then offers the pipe to his new found friend.
Sumter nods his head, reaching out to take the pipe. "That's a neat li'l trick there," he says with a chuckle. "I kin do some work with energy, but it's still purty basic. I can't do any actual firestartin' my own self." He lifts the pipe to take a steady hit, sucking a deep breath and holding the smoke as he passes the pipe back. He snerks through his nose a couple times before letting the hit go in a gust. He nods his head in agreement. "I understand," he says. "The club is family. You do anything fer the brothers. I'm a peaceable man... but I've been a soldier. I don't much care fer fightin'. Makes me sick at my stomach. But sometimes, you gotta draw blood to keep the brothers safe. I git that. I accept it. An' I'm okay with it." He lifts a finger. "The First Noble Truth is that life is suffering. But we can choose to joyfully experience the sufferin' of the world."
Sumter reaches into his pocket for his Zippo and sparks the flame. His gaze settling upon the flickering tongue of fire. He lifts his other hand and passes it over the flame with a flourish. And before Dawson's eyes, that flame lifts off the wick. Warbling and flickering as it changes shape. It becomes a bird of flame in miniature, a tiny phoenix that flutters and dances to the magickal tune Sumter calls. "There's so much terrible shit out there in the world. True -evil-, like folks cain't begin to imagine. But as awful as those things are... the only thing that matches it is the truly beautiful, wonderful, an' -amazin'- things out there." He lifts his hand and looks up to the sky as he sends the little phoenix fluttering up and away, until it vanishes with a small poof. "You see somethin' like that... somethin' that touches you like nuthin' else could... an' all of a sudden, the terrible shit don't seem quite so terrible no more."
--Pause--
