The Freedom of Self Justification (Closed to Duffy)

[Logan]

In the sweat-driving midday sun, Logan sat staring out across the water. His feet gingerly hung over the edge of the pier as he tossed small pieces of week-old bread out toward the three or four ducks wading in the water. With each toss, the ducks swam closer and closer as they pecked and ate at the stale offerings from the psion.

It had been a long week, as if they all weren't, and he once again found himself contemplating the reasons for it all. Everything from how he became the head of The Family to why he'd allowed Natalya to continue to creep into his mind began to eat at him. Slowly he showed the signs of a nervous breakdown, or perhaps a stressful eruption, and so he took a short leave to recompose himself.

Tossing the last remaining bits of bread into the water he laid back and closed his eyes. Doing so allowed him to free his thoughts to overtake him, and it was a necessary evil in his routine. The thoughts would begin slowly creeping back to the forefront of his vision, reminding him of the past, the present, and of the premonitions he'd had. Eventually, the thoughts would flood him and overtake him leaving his body nothing more than a husk for an hour or more as he dealt with each of them in turn.

As the first thoughts crept in he saw Natalya in the Silver Fox in Moirae and their first meeting. His mental field of vision filled with the thoughts of what transpired and what was said between them. The memory of his failure crept in and caused a slight groan to escape his lips.

Next came the thoughts of the recruitment meeting in Scara Brae's Colosseum. The vivid picture of Ruby and Lilith, and of their initial meeting crept into his mental field of vision. Quickly, he was brought the memory of how he'd tried to hit on Ruby and failed. Again, a quiet groan quietly escaped his lips.

Then, and unexpectedly, prancing into his field of vision was Anita, the precious daughter of the great Silence Sei. While Logan would never have admitted it to Sei, his daughter was extraordinarily cute. She had taken to calling Logan her uncle, and he had felt a true connection with her as if he really were her uncle. Unfortunately, it had been years since he'd last seen Anita and Sei, and the psion was reminded of how much he missed them both.

Were it not for Sei, Logan would've never overcome the demon that had ruled his thoughts and mind for so long. It took Sei's power to finally best the demon, and drive the damned back to a place he belonged. The process also gave the psion access to his manipulative abilities, and thus were it not for Sei none of what Logan enjoyed would've been reality.

As the picture of Anita became more and more vivid, he sighed and inwardly began to cry. She was just like a niece to him, and he loved her. Had there been a need of any kind, he would've ensured it met, but she never had or at least never asked. In his mind she crept closer and closer and then hugged him. At that, he cried outwardly and shuddered quietly.

Anita crept from his mind as quickly and silently as she appeared, and then all went blank. His memories were held in check, and his pains were controlled. Everything was clear again, and as he quietly opened his eyes he felt a true peace surround him.

Silently, Logan stepped to the edge of the pier and looked out into the water. Without another word or thought he removed his clothes, tossing them aside, and hopped into the water. For one hour the psion swam around the lake, allowing his mind to enjoy the calm, cool nature around him. And it did.

As the hour drew to a close, the psion hopped from the water and pulled himself up onto the pier. He dried himself off and slipped his clothes back on. Looking out over the water once more he sighed with relief.

He was renewed.

[Duffy]

And, as imagination bodies forth

The forms of things unknown, the poet’s pen

Turns them to shapes, and gives to airy nothing

A local habitation and a name.


A Midsummer Night’s Dream


Words possess a power enkindled in the hearts of men, one that scintillates, titillates and conjures promises of greatness alike. It is through the professing of one’s linguistic ability that they reveal their nature, through their words and phrases and dishonest revelations that they conjure up some modicum of talent or influence on others. Words, in their simplest form, break barriers, slay gods, and forge alliances to flaunt in defiance at the stars.

So when Duffy professed his own rebellion to the heavens, it came as quite a surprise that they rejected him. Quite the shock that they repealed his good nature and sent him plummeting back to the sandy floor of the Prima Vista, his favoured haunt in all of Scara Brae. With a mighty ruckus he’d been driven back to the simple thoughts of a simple mind, stricken idiotic to settle him into the correct station for his mediocre talents. Most men, most intelligent and outstanding men would have simply given up trying to find something else to do, they’d have moved on to a greener pasture. But Duffy had another path in mind, the path of ignorance and sheer determination, the one that made him never give up no matter how much the world got him down, and how much he reminded himself that he was desperately seeking stardom.

Still, he told himself, “a poor man who tried hard enough was morally better than a lazy rich man.” Whilst wandering around the lake he told himself this motto many, many times. It might not have been the most lucrative way to gain a fortune large enough to feed the very hungry bellies of the Tantalum Theatre Troupe, but it sure beat sitting indoors and being moaned at from all quarters any day of the week, especially a Tuesday, when the neighbours insisted on entertaining their deaf relatives to the tune of a very loud trombone and a full orchestra in their sun chamber.

As Duffy pulled around the long bend that curved about the northern shore he saw the pier form a black line across the idyllic scenery, and made out movement up and down its length. The sun was out, and so too were the parasol vignettes to beauty and the sombre looking gentlemen sweltering in their inappropriate but highly fashionable jackets and doublets. With a wry smile and twitchy fingers the nimble thief made his way over to the crowd, reciting the lines of his favourite inspirational piece.

“And, as imagination bodies forth,” he started to half pounce-half skip-half slide along the gravel path, bowing courteously to every courting couple he passed and whistled to those who felt the need to parade in the near wilderness unaccompanied. Such worthy targets devoid of a suitor or at the very least, a cousin of note to be their last resort.

“The forms of things unknown, the poet’s pen,” with each word he grew more and more excited, as if they were forming a naughty little idea at the back of his mind, spurning him on to delve into pockets and swipe most gracefully wallets from mantles and dignity from loins. The Aria groaned to contain it’s excitement at having to hear that blasted verse again.

With a grunt, he skimmed the shoulder of a gruff looking man and apologetically brushed his jacket down with a shy and cumbersome and very clichéd routine. His dues paid to the man, he skipped onwards to the edge of the pier with coins jingling in his pockets and perfume scouring his noise with the jasmine scent of potential, stopping just before the earth gave way to the delicately constructed edifice to romance.

“-Turns them to shapes, and gives to airy nothing, a local habitation and a name.” It felt as if there were something magical in the air. Perhaps it was the spring fading into summer’s bitter promise, or the sharp twang of the breeze against lilac cushioned warmth; but it made everything seem a little hazy, a little bewildering, a little halcyon. Drawing his eyes along the walkway, past the fishing rods wavering in the water’s flow and down to the end of the pier Duffy returned full circle in Fate’s little mystery called life and dropped his jaw in bemusement. “Of all the places in the world and of all th’charm and graces of m’life, why’d I ‘av to run into ’im ‘ere!” The colloquialism laden accent of the Scara Brae slums returned quicker than a Saturday afternoon matinee crowd could fall asleep, and the imagery of sublime theft amongst gorgeous company was shattered, along with the hopes of a productive afternoon.

Logan…

Little faeries and fauns scampered off and abandoned their leader’s trickster arrival, only to hide behind cottontail reeds and apple trees to watch the majestic flow of Duffy’s romantic and literary heart come undone. He rubbed his eyes as if to fix his vision, but saw him standing there regardless, saw chance flaunting an opportunity and sighed.

Whilst Duffy didn’t feel the need to justify himself to Ruby or to the troupe or to his own morals or to the fundamental codes of the world…the imposing presence of Logan McCloud commanded a certain respect in the young man that came across as awkward, lacklustre unconfidence. His hopes for a midsummer night’s dream vanished for there would be no celebration of a day well spent a picking of pocketing today. Duffy felt a long haul conversation and discussion coming, and as he stepped forwards onto the planks and heard his feet ring out a hollow foot fall that matched a quiver in his heart; he walked on to learn of the freedom of self justification.

[Logan]

The swim had cleared the mind of the psion, and he was pleased. While swimming, he hadn't noticed, but a few of the noble women had taken to watching his nude, muscular form stroking through the water. But when he got out of the water and onto the pier, he did take notice. Especially the one off to his right with the cute pink summer dress on and the matching parisol.

Were it not for the approaching man he didn't fully recognized coming straight toward him, he probably would've approached her with a not so subtle offer. After all, behind his all together exterior he was still just a man. A man with needs and desires. And still the young man approached. He'd have to pay him back for the horrible timing.

Nodding his direction, he proceeded to try and side step the younger man, but in his motions all he'd managed to do was walk directly into him and knocking himself back into the water. He looked around unsure if he'd done the same to the other gentleman. Treading water only long enough to gather his wits about him, he used his Mind Push and popped out from the water and onto the pier.

No worse for the wear I suppose, the psion inwardly chuckled. Of all the things he'd found humorous, this one may have topped them all. He was by no means a clumsy man, nor was he a bumbler. Usually, Logan was fluid and graceful, well-balanced and acrobatic.

Not that time, however.

[Duffy]

Duffy tumbled down into the lake, and left his confident stride far, far behind. His cautionless advance towards the man he presumed to be Logan had left him defenceless against the feint, and now his amble bloomers were sodden; he hadn’t washed his own in a long while – when did a thief about town have the time? He splashed as he trod water and mimicked the fish that pocked and nibbled at his sandals, before realising he was on the slope that was once a shore, one that would soon become water too deep for most humans. “Glob glob,” he sputtered, disappearing underwater before re-emerging as his feet found a foothold in the insidious sediment.

He took a moment to compose himself as best he could, and slowly made his way up to the sand bank which was pebble dashed with long ground down shells and driftwood, and just a hint of rotting fish. With an odd combination of the samba and the shaggy dog getting out of the bath he tried to shake off most of the water, which came off in waves, floods, torrents and shoals, one after another. Content that he was presentable once more he heaved himself up off the soggy ground and walked back onto the pier to attempt a second introduction; too shy and meek now to be as boisterous, bouncy or confident.

“Well that weren’t a right proper start to a conversation wos it?” He questioned the psion as he approached, trying to smile but only managing to dribble salt water with fibrous ferocity. He snorted, flemmed, and held out his other hand in greeting, “you might not remember me like, tis Duffy – we ‘ad dealin’s a while back, fancy seein ya out ‘ere!” Still haphazardly unaware of Logan’s intentions or that it had been anything other than an accident, the youth grinned and hoped the incident was all water under the pier.