All 07.2 - Identity Crisis

The chill winter air whistled through the cracks in the abandoned warehouse's walls, sending cold breezes throughout the building. Lucca had half-heartedly tried to patch the holes in his room with scraps of cloth, but it only did so much to keep out the wind. He sat on his bed: an old mattress covered in piles of blankets. His gaze lay firmly on a stack of books positioned awkwardly in the center of the room, tilting lopsidedly from the object they sat upon. The mirror lay face-down, poorly covered by the novels.
Chewing absently on his lip, he brooded in silence, a veritable whirlwind of thought and emotion raging within him. Repeatedly he tried to direct his thoughts elsewhere, but each time they crept back to the mirror, to the strange reflection he found within it, and the perverse, fearful curiosity it brought.
With a growl, he jumped to his feet and began to pace the room once more, occasionally shooting almost reproachful glares toward the mirror. After a time he broke pattern, storming over to the pile of books and knocking them impatiently on the floor before grabbing the mirror and flopping back onto the bed. He turned it in his hands a few times, inspecting the detail of the metalwork for what must have been the hundredth time before flipping it over to glower into its depths.
He wasn't entirely certain what he was expecting to see when he looked into the reflective surface. What he did see, a completely featureless, white surface punctuated only by three black half-moons, reminiscent of a smiling face, was not that. Suddenly, the reflection changed, as the symbolic face moved back, resolving into a mask worn by a creature wearing fancy clothes. The person waved, its white, featureless mask still smiling; though it appeared quite different, its mask flat, its ears and skin white, and its limbs all too long and thin to be human, it was obviously that strange man Lucca had seen before, fooling about in the Etherian version of Victor's house.
The druid immediately slammed the mirror face down in front of himself on the bed, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end. He stared at it with a mixture of horror and indignation for some time, before slowly, surely a cautious curiosity began to well within him. Gritting his teeth and fixing a scowl once more upon his countenance, he flipped the mirror over once more with perhaps excessive bravado, regarding the creature within it suspiciously. It was sitting cross-legged in the air, rocking back and forth idly.
"The fuck do you want anyway, freaky face? Piss off," He doubted that the creature could hear him, but it made him feel better to snip at it anyway.
In response, he flipped his hands behind his back. When he brought them forward, they were inside puppets: two little simple hand-puppets obviously meant to look like Lucca and himself. His mask was still smiling widely, as he had the puppets hold hands and move about happily, a little crayon drawing of a rainbow and a happy sun appeared behind them.
"You're messed up, dude." He shook his head as he spoke, his scowl deepening."I've got shit to do, so if you'd take your dumbass puppets and bugger off, I'd appreciate it."
The fey made a disappointed face, its mask never appearing to change, holding the puppets sadly. He put them away, somewhere behind him and stood up, still floating lightly. He made a questioning sort of look, then produced a mask, again looking uncannily like Lucca; he held it in front of his own mask, then moved it aside and made a questioning gesture.
Grinding his teeth, he snarled "The fuck are you on about?" 
He held up his now-empty hands, spread his fingers, then drummed them down and up in quick succession; finger puppets were now on several of his eerily-long digits. On his right hand, small effigies of Lucca and the fey, appearing as he did before with a more-featured face; on his left, little puppets that were obviously of Victor, Caitlyn and Cheko. He overlapped his hands, showing all five puppets together happily, then mimed the group of three walking away, leaving Lucca and the fey. He abandoned the other three puppets, then moved his left hand in front of the remaining two and lifted it like a curtain, pulling away little outfits, leaving a puppet that looked like the fey as it did now, and a little person with white skin and long, black hair. Both puppets had little stick arms held up happily, and little smiles.
"Look, I'm really not getting what the fuck you're trying to say, but regardless, I'm not diggin' it, okay? I'm not in the mood for your smiley puppet bullshit right now." His tone continued to become increasingly hostile as he spoke, "I dunno why the hell you think I'd wanna be your buddy or whatever it is you're trying to say, but I don't need to be friends with a freaky fucking fey right now; there is more than enough shit on my plate." 
The puppets gone, he made an exaggerated thinking gesture before making a 'wait' sign. He pulled out what appeared to be a large, metal tab. Reaching about, he somehow hung it on thin air, then pulled it down towards the ground. He stepped over the tab, then pulled it up behind him. Standing with his arms open, he looked triumphant about something, but Lucca couldn't figure out what. Slowly, with creeping dread, he turned and looked over his shoulder, and saw the fey standing behind him, no mirror necessary.
With a strangled cry, Lucca hurled himself off the bed and halfway across the room in a single motion, scrambling to his feet and backing up until he hit the wall behind him. "No! No no no no no! Go..." he waved his hands around in front of him, "Go back! Get the fuck outta here, you creepy-ass motherfucker!" His eyes darted about the room as his mind tried to decide whether he should try to fight or flee.
The fey held up his hands calmingly. He flicked his fingers, and small card appeared. He placed it gently on the ground, the mask's empty eyes watching him the whole time, his mouth in a reassuring smile, if any feature it made could be called reassuring. Standing up straight, he repeated the motions with the strange tab, waving as he stepped back over the threshold and disappeared.
Lucca stood frozen with fear as he watched the creature drop its card and go, and remained that way for sometime after, staring at the empty airspace where it had vanished. Suddenly remembering the mirror in his hand he held it up and began looking about the room wildly. Not seeing any sign of the creature, he warily made his way over to the card, picking it up and inspecting it carefully.
The card had a red pattern all along its back; the face was a joker, the picture of the fey's harlequin mask. He turned the card over in his hands a couple times before tossing it to the floor with a exaggeratedly disgusted sigh. Looking about the room with the mirror once more, Lucca could find no trace of the fey. The feeling of being watched, however, never left.
----
No matter where Lucca went over the next two days, the feeling of being watched never left.
----
It was evening, two days after having brought the magic mirror into his house. Lucca stared at it, with the same fervour that the unseen presence had apparently had on him. Being careful not to let his gaze linger too long on his own reflection, he nonetheless studied it closely with carefully snatched glances. Sharp, fragile looking, androgynous, pale; the creature that stared back at him looked nothing like him, and clearly wasnt human. He could almost convince himself that it wasnt his reflection at all, if he tried hard enough, that it was another strange denizen of Etheria attracted to the mirror, much like the creepy harlequin he'd encountered. But there was something about it, something intangible but undeniably present that told him that wasnt the case, something in the flash of its eyes, the set of its jaw. No matter. It's Etheria, everyone looks screwy in feyland. He pulled his gaze away once more, casting it about the background of the mirror. This time, the harlequin was back. He waved cheerily, appearing as he had in the first encounter.
Almost immediately, Lucca's face twisted into a fierce scowl, his eerie reflection looking all the more unsettling with such a hostile expression. "The fuck are you doing back here? Again! Fuck off! Like, actually!"
As Lucca growled, the fey pulled out a doorknob, placed it in thin air and twisted it, walking into Materia as though he was walking through a door. "Geeze dude, I just got here. Chill." For the first time, Lucca heard the fey say something. His voice matched Lucca's almost perfectly.
This effectively silenced the druid, and he jumped to his feet, staring uncertainly at the creature before him, once more watching warily. As he watched, the fey put his thumb under the chin of his mask and pulled it up. The face it revealed...was Lucca's. Almost. As the druid's gaze whipped over the fey, it suddenly looked very similar to him. A bit older, a bit different; the clothes were a similar style, common in Tsmshian. Not close enough to be identical, but certainly close enough to be a relative. The fey stood with a bit of an arrogant slouch, grinning rougishly; he spun the empty mask about lazily in his hand.
"You're not funny, asshole. I'm really getting sick of your stupid games and bullshit mockery."  Although on the surface his tone was its customary reckless hostility, a fearful undertone lurked beneath.
"What's funny about it?" he said, his voice a bit deeper than Lucca's. "I just figured, my poor little kid brother here is all lost and confused in the big city, so what sort of brother would I be to leave him all confused?" He tossed the mask up and down carelessly, "Why don't you take your mask off? There aren't any mortals around."
"What in actual fuck are you talking about!?! I am in no way related to you! I am not wearing a mask! And last I checked, I am a goddamn mortal!! Shit, dude!" The rising tension in his voice mirrored the panic starting to churn in his gut, "What are you even getting out of this? Seriously?" 
He got a look of concern, "Seriously, calm down, you're going to give yourself a stroke." He kept playing with the mask as he continued, "Do you...honestly believe what you're saying? You can't really think you're a mortal. I get that you were probably raised by mortals, but come on. You shapeshift. You're shifted now. What mortal shapeshifts? None. You know what does? Fey. Bam. You're a fey. We're all related somehow, everyone agrees. And we're good to our own. Mortals are pricks, but we've got each other's backs. So, seriously," he stressed the word that Lucca had used, "I want to help my little lost bro out. Fuck, you can't even look at your own face without flipping your shit."
The druid clenched his hands into shaking fists, staring at the fey with an expression that seemed to flicker between indignant rage, and something that looked a lot like hurt. He clenched his jaw and took a few steps backward, shaking his head slowly, his voice thin and shaky, "Just...just stop...back the fuck off. I...that's not fair...no. No. You're full of shit. I...I'm not interested in your retarded games." He took another few steps backwards, stumbling over a stray book on the floor.
"Deep breaths, bro. Deep breaths," he said calmly. "What's got you so fucking spooked?" He was still emulating Lucca's speech, "I'm not going to fucking bite or something. Aren't you curious? Where you came from, what you are? You can't really have spent your whole fucking life with your head jammed in the sand."
Still backing up slowly, his path taking him towards the door, Lucca continued to slowly shake his head, keeping his gaze locked on the creature. He didn't say a word, but the almost pleading look in his eyes and his silence itself spoke volumes.
"I'm just here to help you, that's all," he said, looking comfortingly at the terrified druid. "There's so much I could show you, teach you." He held out his hand, "You can come be part of your real family." 
Suddenly, like fire tearing through dry brush, a dark scowl tore across Lucca's face and he stopped and stood his ground, practically spitting, "The fuck do you know about real family? If there's one thing I don't need from a freak like you, it's that; I have a perfectly fantastic one already, thanks."
He got a thoughtful look, "How many of them actually know you're not human?"
"Fuck you," He levelled a defiant stare at the fey. "As if it matters."
"It matters to you. Why wouldn't it matter to them? From what I've seen, mortals care a whole fucking lot about not being human. If you really thought your friends wouldn't care, why hide? If you really thought your family didn't care, why hide? But you're still fucking hiding from yourself." He made a shrugging gesture, "Fey don't give a flying fuck about what someone looks like, or what someone is. We just are. Mortals hate what they don't get. I know that. You know that. Is that why you can't stop hiding? Worried that the mortals will kick you out of their club? Or are you more worried that you don't belong yourself?" He twirled the mask about artfully.
His expression remained unchanged until the the last line of the creature's monologue, when for a split second the sting of the words registered bright and clear on the druid's face, before being buried under a dark glower.
"I'm just saying, why keep hiding from yourself?" 
"It's none of your goddamn business! Shit like this is for ME to decide! I will deal with who and what I am when I'm good and fucking ready, not when people like you tell me to!" His eyes widened as the words left his mouth, his expression caught somewhere between shock and horror. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, wordlessly, before turning on his heel and making for the door.
"Be sure to tell the mortals that when they all know before you!" he called out behind him as he left. Lucca took a few slow steps out into the hall, then tore off like Hell itself was on his heels. The fey stepped back into Etheria, replacing his mask as his form returned to his own. The mask's grin was positively frightening.
Lucca fled down the hall and onto the evening streets, dark and swept with light snow that swirled about in the wind. He could still feel eyes on the back of his neck as he ran. 
----
The druid ran up the couple of steps that led to the house's landing. Without pause he opened the door, knowing that it would be unlocked; he darted inside and shut it firmly behind him, doing his best not to slam it. He called out into the house as he kicked his boots off, knowing that he would get sent back to the doorway otherwise. 
Just inside the doorway, he scrubbed a hand through his hair, glancing around rather wildly, breathing hard from a mixture of fear and exertion. Now that he'd arrived, he wasn't exactly sure what to do with himself, or even why he'd come.
"Good evening," Victor's voice came down from upstairs. He walked down the steps, "I just put Virgil to bed, so if we could be quiet..." he paused as he looked at Lucca's face and found an expression he'd never seen before. If he didn't know better, he would have been inclined to say the boy looked to be close to tears. His tone of voice became serious as he asked, "What's wrong?"
"I...uh...I...sorry. I'm sorry. Shit, I didn't mean to...the noise...sorry." He rubbed at his face, his hand shaking slightly, continuing in a rush after a moment, "I can't deal with that fucking thing out there, it won't leave me the fuck alone and I don't even know what the fuck to do and I just...just...can't!" He winced at the rising tone of his own voice, adding quietly, "Sorry!"
Victor looked at him with concern, "It's fine, it's alright. Don't worry about that. Come inside," he moved his hands about uncertainly, as though he wanted to comfort the younger man but didn't want to risk touching him against his will and upset him further. "Tell me what's going on. What's out there?" He led Lucca into the sitting room. 
"That thing with the mask and the stupid...." he growled, and waved his hands around, pantomiming the harlequin's distinctive guestures, "First the fucking thing was in the mirror and wouldn't piss off, and then he was out of the mirror and he just..." once more he fell to guesturing vaguely, at a loss for words. He dropped into a chair and curled tightly around himself, "The fucker just wont leave and he wont stop and he wont fucking shut the fuck up!" He finished with a harried groan, pressing his hands to his temples and squeezing his eyes shut.
His look of concern became harder as he listened. When Lucca finished, he just stood silently for a moment before asking, his voice quiet, stern, "Is he here now?" He held out his hand, "Give me the mirror."
"Fuck if I know! I hope not!" his eyes snapped open wide and darted wildly around the room "Maybe? Probably?" His eyes fell on the other man and he jumped up again, pacing the room frantically, "Aw shit! I...shit! Fuck, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have...shit!" It wasn't until Victor reiterated his request that it seemed to register. Still cursing and apologizing, he pulled the mirror from his belt and handed it to the other man.
Victor twisted the mirror about, looking about the room. "Stop apologizing. There's nothing to apologize for," he said, his voice still calm. His tone wasn't angered, per say, but it wasn't kind either; there was a coldness in it. "He won't harm you. He can't harm you." He stopped and held the mirror up, angling it into the house's entryway. "Because I will not let you harm him," he said to the mirror, voice firm. "This game is over." Victor looked coldly, sternly into the glass; Lucca couldn't see what the reflection showed. "I will not entertain your foolishness. I didn't in Etheria, and I certainly will not here. Now, are you going to come out, or are you going to listen there?" Victor just continued to glare into the mirror's surface. "I am aware that you think I am of no concern. You would do well to re-evaluate your opinion." He watched the mirror, the fey's response visible only to him. "Because I am not a mere human. You know that. I don't know my ties to Hell...but neither do you. That man is my charge. I will protect him. If you continue to aggravate him, I will persecute you. I will find you. I can survive in Etheria to hunt you. Will I defeat you now? Unlikely. But what will happen to me? I will eventually return to Hell. I will return to Hell with my last thought having been that you deserve my wrath. Do you think I will lose my memories again? Or do you think rather that I will remember everything? That I will remember you, and your face, and your haunts; every slight and dishonour against me and mine fresh in my mind. And with that, I will bring the purest, most immutable desire for your destruction that Hell can offer. You will not escape, because I do not forgive. So," he concluded, "you will not meddle in my affairs. You will not hover about my house, whether in this plane or any other. And you will certainly, certainly, never attempt anything against my son, or my charge. You will not haunt them, or tempt them, or do anything against their will. Unless you want to take that risk. I assure you your odds are poor." 
Lucca stopped his pacing, and stood watching silently with a look of grave uncertainty as Victor spoke, his arms wrapped tightly around himself. A strange jumble of feelings churned within him as he listened, and it was all he could do to resist the urge to begin pacing again.
There was a heavy silence; Victor continued to glare levelly into the mirror. "...If he wants to speak to you, then he can call upon you. You will keep your distance until he obviously makes that decision. Those terms are clear. They will not be ignored or warped."
Without warning or indication, the harlequin appeared in the living room. His face was surly, and his hair was a dark colour, crudely spiking out from under his hat. He turned to Lucca, his mask suddenly a placid sort of formality; he bowed at the waist and held out another card, similar to the one he had dropped days before. 
He took a half-step back when the fey turned to him, his gaze flickering between it and Victor in askance, misgiving written plainly on his face.
Victor spoke to Lucca, but still aimed his eyes towards the harlequin, "Accept his offer. I don't know his intentions, but he apparently wants something with you. He will not disturb you or follow you. If, for whatever reason, you want to confer with him, you can call him on your own terms. He is powerful, but he is not unreasonable." Victor stressed these words, directing them at the fey more than the druid; the fey looked over his shoulder and glared at the man, his face surly again. "He will respect your wishes. Or he will contend with me." The fey's mask was a picture of loathing, and he turned back, bowing towards Lucca, offering the card.
After a few beats of hesitation, the druid reached out and apprehensively took the card from the creature keeping it locked in a solemn, silent stare. The mask was a pleasant smile. Slowly, warily, he dropped his gaze for a moment to inspect the card. It looked identical to the first, a mask with a red backing. How this was meant to call the fey, Lucca didn't know, but it was certainly for that purpose. The fey straightened itself neatly, mocking to dust itself off, then gave a quick bow of farewell to Lucca. He walked past Victor, glowering venomously; the man didn't move, his gaze following the fey without hesitation until he passed by. Victor did not turn, but rather watched him through the mirror; the harlequin entered the foyer, made a huffing sort of gesture, flipping his now-longer hair back, and strode around the corner to leave with a mask of unaffected dignity.
"...He shouldn't bother you further," Victor said after a moment, lowering the mirror. "Are you alright?"
After some consideration, Lucca tucked the card into one of his pockets. His eyes downcast, he offered a shrug in response. "I'll deal." His tone held a hint of bitterness, and although he was no longer actively freaking out, his tension remained almost palpable. After a few moments, he mumbled his thanks, looking decidedly self-concious.
Taking a few steps over, Victor held out the mirror, offering Lucca the handle with the surface turned towards the floor. His demeanor had lost its coldness, and he looked concerned again. "...Do you want some tea?" he offered.
With a blink, the younger man glanced up, nodding slightly as he took the mirror back and tucked it into his belt once more.
"Come on, then," he led Lucca by the shoulder into the kitchen and sat him down at the table. He started water to boil and set up to make tea, popping out quickly to check on Virgil. When it was ready, he poured a cup for Lucca and passed it to him, then sat down with his own. "It's rather late, so feel free to stay here tonight. There's already a bed, so there's no trouble," he said passingly. He then sat quietly, regarding Lucca.
Engrossed in his own thoughts, the younger man nodded absently at this and murmered his thanks once more, staring blankly into the depths of his tea. His mind flittered between things that the harlequin had said, Victor's words to the creature, and always returned to the disquieting morass that was his feelings about everything that had transpired that evening. After a time, he became aware of Victor's gaze and glanced up to meet it, his own questioning, "...What's up?"
Victor made a small, wry grin, "I would suppose that you have a much better idea than I do. The question is more, do you want to talk about 'what's up'?" He took a sip of tea and added, "Again, I won't press you, but...burying things...is difficult, I suppose. Don't...feel like you have to." His words came slowly, as though he was having a hard time finding them.
His eyes scanned the older man's face searchingly, something almost vulnerable flickering behind them. He made to speak a couple times before looking away, and taking a gulp of his tea. "...Thank you. I..." he closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, "I might have to take you up on that...but...not tonight...I probably couldn't find words if my life depended on it..." Letting out a heavy sigh, he slumped back in his chair and rubbed at his face.
"As I said before," he paused to sip his tea, "anytime." The sharp cry of a baby rang out from above. "Excuse me," he said, standing up. "Come and get me if you need anything." Victor left the room, leaving Lucca alone at the table. He could hear Victor's footsteps as he walked upstairs; Virgil's cries lessened, but still continued. They were joined by another sound: a violin began playing a slow, comforting sort of lullaby song. The cries quieted, and the house was gently filled with music. 
Category:Advent of the All