2013.07.13 - Age, With His Stealing Steps

So a cheshire cat walks into a bar...

That's how a joke would usually begin. Except that this one is for real- the Cheshire Cat is an unfortunate young man by the name of Keith O'Neil, an ordinary young man whom fate singled out for a very unusual life. The Bar? It's that "Cheers" of the supernatural and magical, that corner where everybody knows your name but you'd better make a good job of hiding your True Name. Oblivion.

Keith looks a little worse for wear, his face bears the marks of a recent scuffle-- the loving marks that the Joker left behind during his escape from Arkham. Marks of shame for the cat. He walks up to the bar trying not to look at anyone. "Root beer, please."

Was Kent Nelson sitting there a moment ago? Perhaps, perhaps not--but either way, he's sitting beside Keith at the bar, now, and raising his hand to order. "I will take a pint of your finest ale, please," he says to the silent barkeep, whose gothly pale-with-dark-hair looks somehow fit right in.

Glancing over to Keith, Kent gives a nod in greeting. "And how are you faring, Mister O'Neil? I hope your new life is treating you well."

Keith actually jumps a little. He's been in the bar a few times, but people appearing out of thin air at him is still a new thing. Once he recognizes who it is, though, his surprise abates. "Mister Nelson... hello, it is so nice to see you." the cat says. His right eye is slightly closed and that whole side of his face is swollen. It is hard to see the bruising under the fur--- purple on purple, after all. His demeanor is on the subdued side, unnaturally so for him. "My new life? oh.. heh... I'm not sure it approves of me, I'm afraid."

Kent frowns, noting the state of Keith's face, and he clucks his tongue abruptly. "What's this? You've been in some sort of scrap, haven't you? Shall I have a look at it?" He leans slightly closer, casting his eyes and senses over the injury.

The cat doesn't move away- it's never polite to shy away from a sorcerer-- and lets him look over his injury "It's.. it's just regular love-taps. From the Joker." His voice falters for a moment before he continues "I put him away a bit ago and last night he got out of Arkham with Harley Quinn... I was stuck in there while the inmates rioted.. and he was able to see through my illusions. And he paid me with love for having put him away." The cat sighs. "The only reason he didn't kill me was probably because he was more interested in escaping... it's been... one hell of a week, that was just the bow that tied it."

"I hardly see the humor in calling these 'love taps,'" Kent says disapprovingly. "The Joker is a dangerous psychotic. You should not regard your encounter so lightly." He glances to meet Keith's gaze. "Shall I heal this? It looks painful, and if it's impairing your vision it could be dangerous."

"It's how I stay sane, Mr. Nelson... if I even think about what I see in those eyes..." He shudders visibly, and then says "...if you wish, I do not wish to impose upon you..."

There is something about the man. Maybe it is his demeanor, or the serious concern he shows, but it has a way of tearing some walls down. "I don't know, Mister Nelson... it all started with this dark elf creature that I crossed paths with. Apparently sent to kill Thor's son. Eddie? I fought it off but it poisoned me with some god-killing poison. I would have died right then and there if Thor hadn't happened by and taken me to Asgard to get healed... and it still took a whole day of me being unconcious. When I came back from Asgard, I find out that my friend Booster Gold is... is... apparently dead, killed by some six-armed monster-woman nobody seems to know the name of. And then Arkham explodes and I fail at keeping that blasted psycho from escaping and now he's -out there."

Keith exhales "I'm sorry... I'm ranting... some hero I turned out to be."

Frowning at this torrent of feeling, Kent raises one hand to the side of Keith's face. "Now, hold still and breathe slowly," he instructs. Then his voice shifts to a deeper, softer tone, as he murmurs ancient words of an arcane spell. As he speaks, Keith will feel a warm tingling in his cheek and face, a liquid heat that builds, and right before it becomes pain it instead becomes a splash of numbness like cold water. As Kent withdraws his hand, the numbness slowly begins to dissipate, and with it, the pain and injuries fade as well.

Settling back into his stool as the ale is delivered, Kent offers a slow sigh and stares thoughtfully into the drink for several long moments. "I cannot be certain without greater searching," he remarks slowly, as if contemplating every word, "but I do not sense his death clinging to you. I suspect there is yet cause to hope, my friend." He smiles mildly before lifting his drink to take a long, slow sip.

Keith does as he is told, and he bliks in amazement at how suddenly everythig feels. "T-thak y-" When Fate says what he says, he has to resist the urge of hugging him. "Thak you... I .. I hope you're right. I've gotten in debt trying to find out what happened... I struck a deal with John Constantine, and he couldn't come up with a conclusive answer. He scoured the afterlife but Michael wasn't there... but they also told him that they had no record of him existing. I keep thinking that maybe if I had been there maybe it would have been different... and I would have been there if I hadn't been laid up in Asgard, and that wouldn't have happened if I could have actually taken care of the elf."

Kent sets his drink down heavily, turning on the stool, and reaches out to lightly rest a hand on Keith's shoulder. "My boy, stop. Stop and breathe. Taking on a debt from Constantine was--perhaps not the wisest choice, yet I do not believe his price will be in excess. Even still, you must exercise more caution. Such deals must never be made lightly." Then, shaking his head and sighing, he says, "What's more, you cannot blame yourself! The path of regret is deep, crushingly so. Please trust me when I say that I know it all too well."

Keith O'Neil looks at Kent, and nods slowly at that "... it probably wasn't very wise, I agree. I just was so shocked by what happened... Booster was... -is- my friend. He gave me advice and even had me train with him a little... I know some people see him as a ham... and maybe he is. But I saw him save people in New Orleans when it was infested with zombies, at his own risk. Heck, when I was trapped inside the body of the Loa of the Dead, I knew that I could count of him if I needed it. I just wish I could have been there for him." He rests his chin on his hand. "It's hard not to blame yourself. I let my guilt overstep my caution. I don't know, maybe my doubts were responsible for what happened in Arkham..." he looks at Kent.

"Second-guessing yourself can be of use only if you keep it in perspective," Kent suggests. "It might be that you can learn from a mistake, but focus on the learning, not the guilt." He turns back to his drink, resting his hands on the bartop. "And yes, guilt is powerful, but it is no friend to you. It will do nothing but drag you down, tearing at your spirit. You will do your friends no favors by weakening yourself."

"You sound a lot like Patrick in that... you are right." Keith sips on his root beer, pensive. "I guess I just feel the need to ... justify my existence. Failure feels like coming up short of that."

Kent shakes his head again. "We all must justify our existence to whatever degree our conscience requires of us," he agrees, "but missteps are not failures to be worthy. They simply are. Learning from your mistakes is one of life's most fundamental lessons--I'm sure you know this."

"Mind/heart sort of dichotomy... mind knows, but the heart feels otherwise. Mister Nelson..." Keith leans on the bar and looks at him. "...why do I exist? What could possibly explain the fact that I became... something like this?"

Laughing softly, Kent shakes his head. "Fate is not so simple as 'why,' my boy. It is a complex web of cause, effect, and unknowable happenstance. Why do you exist? Because you do. 'Why' is not a useful question, for all it might be compelling. The better question is, what will you do? It seems to me that you have already answered: you will help others." Raising an eyebrow and his glass, Kent asks, "Odd--might that not also get around to answering your question of 'why,' too?"

"I don't know... this sort of thing always gives me a headache," the young man admits with a chuckle. "I mean... one day I'm a kid from the Bronx fighting gangs, and I think I'm never going to get out of there, never really admit who I really am... then suddenly I'm a Cheshire cat fighting costumed psychos, and against all odds the sweetest guy loves me- and he's a clone from an alternate timeline. I do not think there are enough drugs in the universe under which that kind of narrative twist is easy to follow. Yet... here I am."

Kent sips his ale again, setting it down before chuckling once more at Keith. "I have heard an expression: 'don't question it, but just be faithful.' Perhaps there is a time to appreciate good fortune, and perhaps there is a time to contemplate it, but in the end, all things come to Balance. So, were I you, I would enjoy what gifts I have while I have them One day, they will likely all be gone." There is a distant, wistful look in the old man's eyes now.

"... I don't want Patrick to be gone." There's a certain wistfulness in Keith's voice "... yet I know he longs for his home, his family, the world he knows. If the opportunity comes to return... I cann't compete with a whole planet." He siffs for a moment, and then sips his drink. "Costatine said something... now that you speak about balance. He said that he sensed magic in me... but that it was all chaos... what does that mean?"

"All things go in time. That is what makes the now so precious," Kent sighs, and then he shakes off the mood to answer Keith's question. "It means that your magic comes from Chaos, much as mine comes from Order," the old man says, still gazing into his ale. "These are two of the many fundamental forces that define our reality. Both seek Balance, though in vastly different ways."

The cheshire cat looks obviously uncomfortable with this. "Does this mean that... in some way, I am inherently... bad?" He brushes his hair away from his face, "I thought chaos was supposed to represent everything that's bad in the universe..."

"Absolute drivel," Kent snorts. "Chaos is not 'evil' at all. Some once thought it so, but it's merely an extremity. Order is no different. The Balance is required for life to exist and to flourish. Chaos fuels life, while Order guides it and gives it meaningful form. Without Chaos, Order leads to stagnation. Without Order, life loses meaning or form, becoming little more than a cancer."

"That's... comforting to know. Especially since my I'm apparently made of that. I wish I could control it a bit, you know? make myself better in some ways. I don't begrudge my powers but... they're not the most useful ones in the world." he chuckles. "I could have worked with invulnerability. Or eye lasers."

Laughing softly, Kent says, "We may often lament our Fates, my boy, but particularly as one who embodies Chaos, you may be best served to embrace whatever you have been given and see where it takes you."

"Changing is scary. Maybe that's why I have a hard time embracing my nature that way." The cat looks over at Kent. "How did you... become who you are? Was it as unsettling?"

Smiling in a thin, bittersweet way, Kent idly traces a finger along the rim of his mostly drained glass. "The spirit of Fate came to me long ago, when I was just a boy. My father was an archaeologist, you see, and I would accompany him on some of his projects. We were on a dig in the Valley of Ur, which is in Mesopotamia, when we uncovered an ancient tomb. I, in childish eagerness, touched a lever that I should not have. Two things came about as a result: first, the spirit of Fate was released, and that spirit descended upon me, claiming me as a mortal host for his power."

Lifting the glass, he continues, "Also, the lever released a poison gas that killed my father, while I was protected by Fate." His smile turns rather more bitter as he adds, "It was only later that I learned the trap had been specifically engineered by the spirit to snare me. It was some time before he and I came to terms on that score."

Keith looks into his glass, "I'm sorry about your father. I lost my mother when I was ten... I never really knew my father."

"I always liked to think that he was a good man... but he was probably a deadbeat." He looks up. "Did... did things at least get better?"

Kent drains his glass, setting down the empty, and leans on his elbows against the bar, sighing--the sound somewhere between wistful and weary. "Yes, of course. Even for a Lord of Order, change is an inevitability. I became Doctor Fate, and I grew comfortable in my role. In time, I met a woman--a wonderful woman, beautiful of form and even more so of spirit--and we were eventually married. We shared long years together."

Raising his hand for the bartender to refill his glass, Kent says plainly, "And then she died."

The cat's ears flatten. At first he doesn't know what to say. This -is- Dr. Fate, after all. It was unsettling, because the unspoken assumption he's always held is that heroes deserve at least some semblance of happiness. Legends even more so. "I am... so sorry..." he begins, but doesn't know how to end.

As the barkeep sets about getting Kent another ale, the old man turns that thin, wistful smile on Keith. "I should clarify. In point of fact, we BOTH died, and we were meant to go to our eternal reward--whatever that might be. Yet, the spirit of Fate was not through with me. It called me back, forcing me back into a living state so that I could remain its host. Thus, while I am still in most ways Kent Nelson, I am now more than ever merely the hand of Fate."

Keith O'Neil frowns at this. Suddenly, he feels spiteful towards the spirit. "... can it not find another host? It's beastly, keeping you apart!" suddenly visibly angry. Perhaps it is because, as a being of chaos, he detests the thought of someone toying with his life, violating his free will. Or perhaps it is because he is in love, and he can only have a brief inkling of what that separation might be like.

Kent lifts his shoulders in a shrug that is at once helpless and resigned, nodding his thank to the bartender when the second ale is delivered. "A host of equal or greater compatibility has not yet been found," Kent says, now without bitterness. "And it has been many years now since my Inza passed on. I have accepted what Fate has given me, my boy, and I know that one day, whenever I am free to move on, my wife and I will be together again for whatever dreams may come."

Keith nods slowly at this. This is why, perhaps, Kent was chosen. Keith would have been clawing at the walls, resisting every inch of the way.

How did the song go? He's a rebel, and he'll never ever be any good.

"What... do you do, when you're not here?" the magical feline asks, indicating Oblivion with a look.

Glancing around the bar, Kent says, "When I am not here and not called to appear as Fate? There are one or two other social venues that I occasionally visit, but for the most part I meditate in Fate's tower until I am called to be elsewhere."

"I... would like to learn more about magic. I can't control it consciously, but it doesn't hurt to know more about what makes you ... right?"

It could be seen as a young man taking pity on an old man. But it really isn't that. Doctor Fate changed his life from nothing but vast expanses of solitude into something... different. "I'd also love to listen to any stories. Unless... you'd rather nnot tell them, that is."

Kent looks a bit surprised at this, and he picks up his glass, gazing thoughtfully at Keith. "Really, now? What is it that you'd like to hear?" He takes another slow sip of ale, carefully observing Keith's manner for--something, though exactly what is unclear.

"Well, you have seen so much and done so much. And your understanding seems almost encyclopedic- I'd be thankful for whatever you wanted to share with me. Magic, anecdotes, other heroes... I know so little." He finishes his root beer "I also know a great coffeehouse in Metropolis... it's very quiet and has a second storey with a balcony. Not that this place isn't great... but some sunlight is always nice every now and again."

"Hm," Kent says, glancing around the place. "Perhaps. As to stories, I know many, but--I'd have no idea where to start. I was always more inclined to dig up stories than to tell them." He strokes his beard thoughtfully, then reaches to take another sip of ale.

"It doesn't matter where one starts, the important thing is that we start somewhere. Wouldn't you say that's correct?" Keith gives him a smile.

Smiling at this, Kent says, "Well, it's kind of you. Perhaps sometime I'll have a story for you, then." He takes a longer sip of his ale.

"No, it is kind of you. You're legendary, and you're giving me the time of day." The cat chuckles, "And I'll love to learn a little more about the magic that is out there. I have an inkling that, sooner or later, the supernatural is bound to catch up to me." Keith stands up "That is, if I don't bore you?"

Laughing quietly again, Kent says, "My boy, you're hardly boring. The energy of the young is one of the few amusements of the old. Besides that, you have a whimsy about you that I find cheering. So, let us simply say that we shall be kind to one another, as befits us, and proceed from there."

"I like that, Mister Nelson." He grins and slips a card over the counter, "This is my new contact now... why don't you call me this weekend and we'll talk a little at that cafe. They've got mango and chrysanthemum tea during the summer... I've never had anything like that before."

"Hm," Kent says, taking the card and slipping it into his pocket. "I've not had tea in some time. It sounds like an interesting thing to try." The corner of his mouth twitches slightly into an oddly sly little smile that belies his advanced years. "Do they have... pie?"

Keith O'Neil grins "Apple, peach, blueberry.... and..." he savors the word, as if it alone could confer the taste "Strudel."

Kent laughs, this time heartily, and takes a swig of his ale. "Well, then! We'll have to try out your cafe with its tea and pies. It's been too long since I had either."

Keith smiles "Then a meeting it is. I'll try not to get mauled before then," he says, doffing an illustory hat, which disappears after he doffs it. "Thank you for your time, Mr. Nelson. I can't wait."

Nodding, and his smile lingering, Kent says, "And thank you. It's an oddity, though a welcome one, for me to have anyone take interest in me for mainly social reasons. Usually, they come to see the wizard, not the man."

"People are blind, they often see without looking." Keith says. "They see the wizard and not the man, just like they see the cat but not the man." He puts down his payment for his ginger ale and waves at him, "See you this weekend!" and, grabbing his denim jacket, he steps out of the bar and back into the world of stupid risks and flamboyant costumes.

Kent waves his farewell before turning back to his ale. Glancing at the bartender, Nelson says, "I like the boy, but I also have the feeling I will need to watch him closely, given his tendency to take risks."

The bartender looks back at Kent, dark eyes unreadable, shrugs, and then collects the money from the bartop.