Mag 7 Ficlet: Illusion
For the last week or so, I've been working my way through the first season of The Magnificent Seven and in that time, I seem to have developed a bit of a thing for Ezra. Which is rather ironic, actually, because for the first few episodes, he was the character I liked the least. Totally a fan now (maybe it's the accent?) and, well, at approximately 12:30 this morning, I decided I wanted to try writing him.
So. Ficlet.
This is what Ezra remembers:
There was a man.
There was a man on a porch on a street corner in some city-Boston, possibly-and Ezra only paid him any mind at all because he had gold buttons on his coat. Fastened, despite the fact that he was sitting; despite the fact that a proper gentleman should have known better.
(Ezra knew better because at age five, he was a proper gentleman, or so his mother always told him.)
His mother had left him on this porch, of no use to her in this day’s work, and after about five minutes of Ezra’s surreptitious glances, the man turned to him and said, "What’s your name, boy?" Then, as soon as Ezra told him: "Now, young Mr. Standish, do you believe in magic?"
Ezra shook his head. He was too old for such fancies, of course; his mother had told him so. The man just smiled, however, and said, "Watch, boy. Watch closely now," and so Ezra did.
He watched as the man pulled a coin out of his pocket-gold, like his buttons. He watched as the man pinched the coin between his fingers, showing it to Ezra. As he pressed it to his palm and curled his fingers closed.
"Watch me now," the man said, waving his empty hand above the closed one, then below, then curling *that* hand into a fist, too, and bouncing them together, just once, just for an instant. When the man turned both fists over and uncurled his fingers again, Ezra saw that the coin had switched hands.
He took a step closer as the man said, "Did you see, Mr. Standish? No? Well, let me show you again."
When he opened his hands a second time, the coin was back in its original spot.
"It’s magic, boy." The man leaned close as he spoke, his voice a rough whisper, and then the door to the establishment opened and Ezra’s mother was stepping outside, her skirts rustling, this step of the scam, for now, apparently at an end.
"Come, Ezra," she said, holding out her hand, and so Ezra stepped back towards her, taking it. As they walked down the steps, Ezra looked over his shoulder at the man, but he had already turned his attention back out to the street.
In the coach, on the way back to their hotel, Ezra told his mother of the disappearing coin, of the man’s claim that it was magic, but his mother just laughed. "It’s a simple trick, darling," she said. "Here, let me show you."
She pulled a coin out of her purse and Ezra watched, eyes riveted, as she broke the trick down for him, step by step by step.
*
He sits on another porch on another street corner, this time in the thriving metropolis of the Four Corners, Vin Tanner in the chair next to him, leaning back, his feet propped up on the railing. They’re staring out at the sunset, at the lengthening shadows that are filling the street. The evening poker game will be starting soon and Ezra has yet to eat his supper, but he still has a few minutes to spend.
"I believed in magic once, Mr. Tanner," he says. "For about five minutes, I believed. Until its mysteries and illusions were explained to me in great and eloquent detail."
Beside him, Vin is quiet, but in lieu of words, he turns to look at Ezra and does not look away until Ezra has turned to meet his gaze.
Vin says, "Not everything’s an illusion, you know." He pulls his legs down off the railing and crosses them so that his bent knee brushes against the back of Ezra’s hand, but still he does not turn away. Not until Ezra blinks once, twice, that is, and says, slowly, "Yes, I know."
Now it is Ezra’s turn to watch as Vin nods his acknowledgement, as he turns back to the horizon, almost smiling, apparently satisfied.
"I know, Mr. Tanner," Ezra says again and then he, too, turns his attention back out to the setting sun.
So. Ficlet.
This is what Ezra remembers:
There was a man.
There was a man on a porch on a street corner in some city-Boston, possibly-and Ezra only paid him any mind at all because he had gold buttons on his coat. Fastened, despite the fact that he was sitting; despite the fact that a proper gentleman should have known better.
(Ezra knew better because at age five, he was a proper gentleman, or so his mother always told him.)
His mother had left him on this porch, of no use to her in this day’s work, and after about five minutes of Ezra’s surreptitious glances, the man turned to him and said, "What’s your name, boy?" Then, as soon as Ezra told him: "Now, young Mr. Standish, do you believe in magic?"
Ezra shook his head. He was too old for such fancies, of course; his mother had told him so. The man just smiled, however, and said, "Watch, boy. Watch closely now," and so Ezra did.
He watched as the man pulled a coin out of his pocket-gold, like his buttons. He watched as the man pinched the coin between his fingers, showing it to Ezra. As he pressed it to his palm and curled his fingers closed.
"Watch me now," the man said, waving his empty hand above the closed one, then below, then curling *that* hand into a fist, too, and bouncing them together, just once, just for an instant. When the man turned both fists over and uncurled his fingers again, Ezra saw that the coin had switched hands.
He took a step closer as the man said, "Did you see, Mr. Standish? No? Well, let me show you again."
When he opened his hands a second time, the coin was back in its original spot.
"It’s magic, boy." The man leaned close as he spoke, his voice a rough whisper, and then the door to the establishment opened and Ezra’s mother was stepping outside, her skirts rustling, this step of the scam, for now, apparently at an end.
"Come, Ezra," she said, holding out her hand, and so Ezra stepped back towards her, taking it. As they walked down the steps, Ezra looked over his shoulder at the man, but he had already turned his attention back out to the street.
In the coach, on the way back to their hotel, Ezra told his mother of the disappearing coin, of the man’s claim that it was magic, but his mother just laughed. "It’s a simple trick, darling," she said. "Here, let me show you."
She pulled a coin out of her purse and Ezra watched, eyes riveted, as she broke the trick down for him, step by step by step.
*
He sits on another porch on another street corner, this time in the thriving metropolis of the Four Corners, Vin Tanner in the chair next to him, leaning back, his feet propped up on the railing. They’re staring out at the sunset, at the lengthening shadows that are filling the street. The evening poker game will be starting soon and Ezra has yet to eat his supper, but he still has a few minutes to spend.
"I believed in magic once, Mr. Tanner," he says. "For about five minutes, I believed. Until its mysteries and illusions were explained to me in great and eloquent detail."
Beside him, Vin is quiet, but in lieu of words, he turns to look at Ezra and does not look away until Ezra has turned to meet his gaze.
Vin says, "Not everything’s an illusion, you know." He pulls his legs down off the railing and crosses them so that his bent knee brushes against the back of Ezra’s hand, but still he does not turn away. Not until Ezra blinks once, twice, that is, and says, slowly, "Yes, I know."
Now it is Ezra’s turn to watch as Vin nods his acknowledgement, as he turns back to the horizon, almost smiling, apparently satisfied.
"I know, Mr. Tanner," Ezra says again and then he, too, turns his attention back out to the setting sun.