Greg’s Apartment, Atlanta, GA | A Tuesday Afternoon in 2032
Greg sat opposite her at the small kitchen table, stirring his coffee. His spoon made small precise circles, never touching the side of his cup, and he was looking at her with sadness in his dark brown eyes. “Please Kate, suspend your dislike of me for a moment.”
“I don’t dislike you,” she argued. “That’s an oversimplification.”
He nodded wearing that patient expression that drove women mad. “Of course, I didn’t mean to slight or simplify your feelings. I merely wish us to concentrate on the substance of what I have to say. Could you please listen?”
Kate leaned back and crossed her arms sullenly, “I’m listening.”
He reached inside his leather jacket and produced a rolled up scroll. He placed the scroll on the table and unfolded it slowly with the tips of his fingers. “This is the re-admittance document for The Order.”
She threw her arms into the air and made to get up. “Okay, I’m done.”
“Allow me to finish.”
He didn’t look angry, which irritated Kate all the more, and she hesitated, remaining in her seat. “Fine. Go on.”
“Admission gets harder the older you get. Not impossible, just harder. You turn another year in a couple of months, and--”
“I do know my own birthday.” The Order liked its squires young and easily molded. Kate was one of those, but definitely not the other. “They mentioned it all right before I walked out the door,” she said. “I’ve seen the letters, and brochures-- The answer is still no.”
Greg let go of the scroll and leaned back, lacing his long fingers. The scroll remained open though every law of physics dictated it should snap back into a roll. Greg forgot about physics sometimes.
“So you understand the age penalties.”
It wasn’t a question, but Kate answered anyway, “Yes.”
He sighed. It was a small movement, only noticeable to those that knew him well. She could tell by the way he sat, very still, craning his neck slightly, that he had guessed this was her final decision. “I wish you would reconsider.”
Kate shook her head, arms still firmly folded. “I don’t think so.”
“Can I ask why?”
“It’s claustrophobic, excessively self-righteous, and I hate the hierarchy?” For him, the Order was a place of refuge and security, a place of power. It’s members committed themselves to the values of the Order completely, serving with such dedication that the organization itself no longer seemed a gathering of people but an entity on itself, thinking, rationalizing and incredibly powerful. Greg embraced it and it had nurtured him. Kate fought it and almost lost.
“I won’t go back,” she told him stubbornly.
Greg nodded resignedly, disappointment in his eyes. “Then you’ve accepted my second option?”
Did she really have any choice in the matter? Still a minor, Kate needed Greg to support her in something until she turned eighteen, and this seemed to her to be the lesser of the two evils.
That was, unfortunately, that.
Kate’s silence probably illustrated all that it needed to. “You’ll take the ley-line up to Washington DC on Friday, then. I imagine you’ll be needing to pack.” With that, Greg took his mug from the table, and got up to take it into the next room. The scroll still remaining on the table finally snapped shut. This discussion was evidently over.
[[Largely adapted and lovingly translated to third person from Magic Bites. NFB, NFI etc.]]