Original: "Trafalgar & Boone, The Tale of the Mage," Part 2
By some magic (heh), a second installment! And look! I have Boone icons now! I decided to just cave completely and accept Bridget Regan as my One True Boone. ;D
AO3
Part Two
Three days hence, the car was back in front of Trafalgar’s home. Dorothy emerged from the backseat wearing a flowing black dress with a leather bodice and a blouse that was open at the collar. Her red hair was done up in braids that settled on her shoulders like ropes. Beatrice dressed for the occasion in a nicer suit than she normally wore, her hat gone so as not to mess up the complicated curls of her hair. Dorothy was halfway up the front steps when the door opened to reveal the woman they’d come to collect.
Trafalgar wore a black velvet opera jacket with a cascade of ruffles hugging her neck before collapsing down the front of her chest, the front open to reveal a high-collared white blouse fringed with lace. Her hair was done up save for a single wave that fell over the left side of her face. She reached back with one hand to close the door, showing off elbow-length white gloves, and then descended the stairs to pass Dorothy.
“You clean up very nicely, Miss Trafalgar.”
“As do you, Lady Boone.” She nodded to Beatrice. “And the lovely Miss Sek. Wonderful to see you as well.”
“And you, Miss.”
They boarded the car, and Beatrice smoothly pulled away from the curb. Trafalgar reached up to touch her hair, watching as the shipyards rolled past before Beatrice turned them onto a side street. “How have you fared since our previous encounter?”
Dorothy said, “We do very well. I visited a collector in Wales who claimed to have unearthed an artifact owned by Boudicca. Alas, it was not to be.”
“Pity.”
“Hm. But worth the journey. I could not ignore the summons lest perchance it be real. All authenticated Boudicca esoterica is currently safely housed at the British Museum.”
Trafalgar nodded. “I know you wish to keep me in the dark in regards to what we’ll experience tonight, why you insist on taking me to a magic show of all things, but I must inquire as to what you think will happen. If there is a clear intent for violence, I must prepare myself for that.”
“Are you armed?”
Trafalgar patted the hip of her jacket.
“Then you should be set.”
Trafalgar didn’t look convinced. “I only wish to avoid a repeat of our last adventure.”
“That would make three of us, Miss Trafalgar. Trust me, this is simply a reconnaissance mission. Our aim is to learn what we are up against, not to strike blindly at the first curious sign.”
“The problem with plans,” Trafalgar said, “is spending too much time constructing them. If you are spotted during the information gathering period, you run the risk of being spotted and giving your quarry the knowledge you’re watching them.”
“That is why we will be in a darkened theatre while she is blinded on-stage. The perfect vantage point for observation.”
“As you say,” Trafalgar said.
Dorothy sighed. “We plan. We determine the safest course of action before we take it. If we run in, swords drawn, we may be caught unawares by safeguards we cannot foresee. If this woman is as dangerous as I suspect, she will not take security lightly. We must tread cautiously when approaching her.” She looked at Trafalgar. “If you do not like my methods, perhaps we should revisit our idea of working together.”
Trafalgar smiled. “Perish the thought, Lady Boone. I look forward to seeing your way of doing things. Just remember that partnerships involve giving as well as taking. While I accept that you will influence my methods, you must prepare yourself for the opposite to be true as well. Perhaps one day you will find yourself adhering to a less strict system.”
“We shall see,” Dorothy said. “However the chips fall, it will no doubt be interesting.”
Beatrice guided the car down the Strand, eventually stopping to let Dorothy and Trafalgar out near the doors of the Adelphi Theatre. Once they were safely deposited she drove off again to find safe parking for the Phaeton.
“She’ll catch up with us,” Dorothy assured Trafalgar when she caught her watching. “Come along. Have you ever attended a magic performance before?”
“I can’t say as I have. First they were outside of my budget, and once I could afford it I was told it would be unseemly for a woman of my character to attend unaccompanied.”
“Your character?”
“The color of my skin.”
Dorothy scoffed. “Old white men do so love to exclude, don’t they? No women, no person of color, no one who looks different from me. The vast majority of troubles in our age can be traced back to xenophobic claptrap. No civilized nation should have any truck with it.” She approached the window and gathered their tickets, handing one to Trafalgar before offering her elbow. Trafalgar looked at it and then raised an eyebrow. “Come along now. You’re my guest for this evening.”
“You’re not worried people will presume ‘date’ rather than guest?”
“Let them speak.”
Trafalgar hooked Dorothy’s arm and let herself be led into the venue. Heads did turn as they passed, and there were murmurs, but Dorothy pointedly ignored their attempts to scandalize her presence and her choice of companion. They had a private box, and it was near enough to show time that they went upstairs without delay. The usher examined their tickets - Trafalgar’s closer than Dorothy’s - and directed them to the proper door. Dorothy looked back at him before her line of sight was broken by the curving corridor, memorizing his face so she could exact revenge once she figured out a proper censure for his behavior. Performances like this were civilized; bigotry was not.
They took their seats in a private box that would be stage right to the performers. Moments before the lights dimmed, Beatrice joined them and took a position next to the door. Trafalgar looked back at her and then said, “Why don’t you take a seat, Miss Sek? You can barely see the stage from that vantage point.”
“You’ll be looking at the stage,” Beatrice said. “I’ll be watching the door.”
“Save your breath,” Dorothy said. “I’ve tried to get her to loosen up at these things before and it’s a waste of time. She insists on keeping me safe.”
“It’s a habit I hope to one day break, ma’am.”
Dorothy smiled as she faced forward again, folding her hands in her lap and lifting her chin as she looked to the stage. “Had you heard the name Cadence Westbrook before I mentioned her to you?”
Trafalgar nodded. “She’s supposed to be a rising star in the industry. Quite talented by all accounts. Regardless of any suspect behavior, I’m honored to have this chance to see her for myself.”
“Prepare yourself. You may have to find honor in doing battle with her before this matter is put to rest.” She took off her gloves as the curtain rose and the conversations in the amphitheater below quieted to excited murmurs. The stage was bare save for a few set pieces that served to break up the negative space. A row of lights along the edge of the stage came to flickering life and illuminated a person standing in the center of the stage. The man wore a white coat and tails, his hands behind his back and his head bowed as if awaiting a cue. When the lights came up he lifted his head and gazed out at the audience, smiling so broadly that his eyes became mere pinpricks of light in their hollowed sockets. His black hair was slicked back with grease and his skin had the pallid tint of illness.
“All that we see or seem... is but a dream within a dream.” He strolled forward and held his hands out to either side, palms flat as if he held a serving plate on each one. “Images. Manipulation of reality. Tearing at the very fabric of what exists and turning it into something more. You do not come to these shows to be thrilled by mastery of a craft. You do not sit in those seats and gawp at the stage because I am able to do these things better than most. You come here to be reminded that this is not the illusion.” A flame appeared over his right hand, and he looked at it with mild interest. “This is not the magic.” He turned his other hand over and cupped the palm, and rain poured from within it. He brought his hands together and doused the flame, leaving only a puff of smoke. “This is not the theatre. The world behind those closed doors, the world you call home, that is the theatre. That is the magic. That is the illusion you must force your way through in order to see the world as it is. Magic is thick in the air, my friends. Magic blinds us every day and the mundane is just a myth we tell ourselves to get to sleep at night.
“Remember that no matter what you witness tonight, all is an illusion. Seek the real. And remember... all you see and all we seem is nothing more but a dream within a dream.”
With that he clapped his hands and erupted into steam. There were a few startled gasps from the audience as the man they’d been watching combusted into white nothingness, and in his place stood a raven-haired woman with her hands extended. The smoke wrapped around her arms like serpents, almost dancing as she parted her lips and inhaled deeply. The snakes twined together to form a single column before entering her mouth to be swallowed down.
She exhaled a small puff of smoke and patted her stomach with a slight smile. “Well!” she said with a posh accent. Dorothy recognized it as a feminine version of the avatar’s voice. “Bit of a blowhard, wasn’t he? Well no matter. He’s gone now. Hello. My name is Cadence. I shall be your hostess this evening.”
She was wrapped up in black, a form-fitting silk dress that seemed to fold and shimmer around her legs like a piece cut out of the night. The cloth joined behind her neck, leaving her arms scandalously bare as was the habit in the trade. On the porcelain skin of her arms, Dorothy saw a marching line of inked letters running from wrist, following the curve of her bicep to disappear under her clothes. She put her hands behind her back and bowed to humbly accept the applause of her audience.
“How on earth did she manage that?” Trafalgar whispered. “The manifestation was impressive enough, but to make it speak in an altered version of her own voice...”
“Let us not forget the additional skill required to transmit one’s own ability through a manifestation. The fire and rain weren’t simply extensions of the emcee projection, they were real. She created a human being out of whole cloth, and then allowed that invention to perform an illusion it would take a flesh and blood practitioner years to perfect.”
“The stage,” Beatrice said.
Dorothy looked back at her, looked at the stage, and finally gave up. “I’m sorry, Trix. What?”
“The stage. It’s dry.”
Dorothy examined it again and realized her meaning. “Good lord. She created the rain, which had to be real in order to extinguish the fire, but she evaporated it before the water could reach the stage.”
Trafalgar said, “That would require her holding five distinct and taxing manifestations simultaneously. And flawlessly, might I add. The man seemed as real as anything until he dissipated.”
Dorothy nodded. “It would take tremendous power. Power that shouldn’t be possible, and certainly not something she picked up in the few years she spent touring the colonies. Something happened to her there.”
Onstage Cadence suddenly stopped her patter and turned her head slowly to her right. She narrowed her eyes to peer into the private box, and then she smiled brightly as if she recognized the occupants. Trafalgar stiffened in her seat and glanced at Dorothy.
“Can she hear us?”
Dorothy shook her head, eyes locked on the magician below. Cadence brought one hand to her lips, kissed her fingers, and blew a kiss through the air. Dorothy flinched as the ghostly sensation of lips caressed hers, reaching up as if to swat it away but, of course, finding only air. Below, Cadence laughed and resumed her monologue as she turned her back and began to pace.
“Who is this woman?” Trafalgar asked.
Dorothy was still rubbing her bottom lip. “That is precisely what I intend to find out.”
AO3
Part Two
Three days hence, the car was back in front of Trafalgar’s home. Dorothy emerged from the backseat wearing a flowing black dress with a leather bodice and a blouse that was open at the collar. Her red hair was done up in braids that settled on her shoulders like ropes. Beatrice dressed for the occasion in a nicer suit than she normally wore, her hat gone so as not to mess up the complicated curls of her hair. Dorothy was halfway up the front steps when the door opened to reveal the woman they’d come to collect.
Trafalgar wore a black velvet opera jacket with a cascade of ruffles hugging her neck before collapsing down the front of her chest, the front open to reveal a high-collared white blouse fringed with lace. Her hair was done up save for a single wave that fell over the left side of her face. She reached back with one hand to close the door, showing off elbow-length white gloves, and then descended the stairs to pass Dorothy.
“You clean up very nicely, Miss Trafalgar.”
“As do you, Lady Boone.” She nodded to Beatrice. “And the lovely Miss Sek. Wonderful to see you as well.”
“And you, Miss.”
They boarded the car, and Beatrice smoothly pulled away from the curb. Trafalgar reached up to touch her hair, watching as the shipyards rolled past before Beatrice turned them onto a side street. “How have you fared since our previous encounter?”
Dorothy said, “We do very well. I visited a collector in Wales who claimed to have unearthed an artifact owned by Boudicca. Alas, it was not to be.”
“Pity.”
“Hm. But worth the journey. I could not ignore the summons lest perchance it be real. All authenticated Boudicca esoterica is currently safely housed at the British Museum.”
Trafalgar nodded. “I know you wish to keep me in the dark in regards to what we’ll experience tonight, why you insist on taking me to a magic show of all things, but I must inquire as to what you think will happen. If there is a clear intent for violence, I must prepare myself for that.”
“Are you armed?”
Trafalgar patted the hip of her jacket.
“Then you should be set.”
Trafalgar didn’t look convinced. “I only wish to avoid a repeat of our last adventure.”
“That would make three of us, Miss Trafalgar. Trust me, this is simply a reconnaissance mission. Our aim is to learn what we are up against, not to strike blindly at the first curious sign.”
“The problem with plans,” Trafalgar said, “is spending too much time constructing them. If you are spotted during the information gathering period, you run the risk of being spotted and giving your quarry the knowledge you’re watching them.”
“That is why we will be in a darkened theatre while she is blinded on-stage. The perfect vantage point for observation.”
“As you say,” Trafalgar said.
Dorothy sighed. “We plan. We determine the safest course of action before we take it. If we run in, swords drawn, we may be caught unawares by safeguards we cannot foresee. If this woman is as dangerous as I suspect, she will not take security lightly. We must tread cautiously when approaching her.” She looked at Trafalgar. “If you do not like my methods, perhaps we should revisit our idea of working together.”
Trafalgar smiled. “Perish the thought, Lady Boone. I look forward to seeing your way of doing things. Just remember that partnerships involve giving as well as taking. While I accept that you will influence my methods, you must prepare yourself for the opposite to be true as well. Perhaps one day you will find yourself adhering to a less strict system.”
“We shall see,” Dorothy said. “However the chips fall, it will no doubt be interesting.”
Beatrice guided the car down the Strand, eventually stopping to let Dorothy and Trafalgar out near the doors of the Adelphi Theatre. Once they were safely deposited she drove off again to find safe parking for the Phaeton.
“She’ll catch up with us,” Dorothy assured Trafalgar when she caught her watching. “Come along. Have you ever attended a magic performance before?”
“I can’t say as I have. First they were outside of my budget, and once I could afford it I was told it would be unseemly for a woman of my character to attend unaccompanied.”
“Your character?”
“The color of my skin.”
Dorothy scoffed. “Old white men do so love to exclude, don’t they? No women, no person of color, no one who looks different from me. The vast majority of troubles in our age can be traced back to xenophobic claptrap. No civilized nation should have any truck with it.” She approached the window and gathered their tickets, handing one to Trafalgar before offering her elbow. Trafalgar looked at it and then raised an eyebrow. “Come along now. You’re my guest for this evening.”
“You’re not worried people will presume ‘date’ rather than guest?”
“Let them speak.”
Trafalgar hooked Dorothy’s arm and let herself be led into the venue. Heads did turn as they passed, and there were murmurs, but Dorothy pointedly ignored their attempts to scandalize her presence and her choice of companion. They had a private box, and it was near enough to show time that they went upstairs without delay. The usher examined their tickets - Trafalgar’s closer than Dorothy’s - and directed them to the proper door. Dorothy looked back at him before her line of sight was broken by the curving corridor, memorizing his face so she could exact revenge once she figured out a proper censure for his behavior. Performances like this were civilized; bigotry was not.
They took their seats in a private box that would be stage right to the performers. Moments before the lights dimmed, Beatrice joined them and took a position next to the door. Trafalgar looked back at her and then said, “Why don’t you take a seat, Miss Sek? You can barely see the stage from that vantage point.”
“You’ll be looking at the stage,” Beatrice said. “I’ll be watching the door.”
“Save your breath,” Dorothy said. “I’ve tried to get her to loosen up at these things before and it’s a waste of time. She insists on keeping me safe.”
“It’s a habit I hope to one day break, ma’am.”
Dorothy smiled as she faced forward again, folding her hands in her lap and lifting her chin as she looked to the stage. “Had you heard the name Cadence Westbrook before I mentioned her to you?”
Trafalgar nodded. “She’s supposed to be a rising star in the industry. Quite talented by all accounts. Regardless of any suspect behavior, I’m honored to have this chance to see her for myself.”
“Prepare yourself. You may have to find honor in doing battle with her before this matter is put to rest.” She took off her gloves as the curtain rose and the conversations in the amphitheater below quieted to excited murmurs. The stage was bare save for a few set pieces that served to break up the negative space. A row of lights along the edge of the stage came to flickering life and illuminated a person standing in the center of the stage. The man wore a white coat and tails, his hands behind his back and his head bowed as if awaiting a cue. When the lights came up he lifted his head and gazed out at the audience, smiling so broadly that his eyes became mere pinpricks of light in their hollowed sockets. His black hair was slicked back with grease and his skin had the pallid tint of illness.
“All that we see or seem... is but a dream within a dream.” He strolled forward and held his hands out to either side, palms flat as if he held a serving plate on each one. “Images. Manipulation of reality. Tearing at the very fabric of what exists and turning it into something more. You do not come to these shows to be thrilled by mastery of a craft. You do not sit in those seats and gawp at the stage because I am able to do these things better than most. You come here to be reminded that this is not the illusion.” A flame appeared over his right hand, and he looked at it with mild interest. “This is not the magic.” He turned his other hand over and cupped the palm, and rain poured from within it. He brought his hands together and doused the flame, leaving only a puff of smoke. “This is not the theatre. The world behind those closed doors, the world you call home, that is the theatre. That is the magic. That is the illusion you must force your way through in order to see the world as it is. Magic is thick in the air, my friends. Magic blinds us every day and the mundane is just a myth we tell ourselves to get to sleep at night.
“Remember that no matter what you witness tonight, all is an illusion. Seek the real. And remember... all you see and all we seem is nothing more but a dream within a dream.”
With that he clapped his hands and erupted into steam. There were a few startled gasps from the audience as the man they’d been watching combusted into white nothingness, and in his place stood a raven-haired woman with her hands extended. The smoke wrapped around her arms like serpents, almost dancing as she parted her lips and inhaled deeply. The snakes twined together to form a single column before entering her mouth to be swallowed down.
She exhaled a small puff of smoke and patted her stomach with a slight smile. “Well!” she said with a posh accent. Dorothy recognized it as a feminine version of the avatar’s voice. “Bit of a blowhard, wasn’t he? Well no matter. He’s gone now. Hello. My name is Cadence. I shall be your hostess this evening.”
She was wrapped up in black, a form-fitting silk dress that seemed to fold and shimmer around her legs like a piece cut out of the night. The cloth joined behind her neck, leaving her arms scandalously bare as was the habit in the trade. On the porcelain skin of her arms, Dorothy saw a marching line of inked letters running from wrist, following the curve of her bicep to disappear under her clothes. She put her hands behind her back and bowed to humbly accept the applause of her audience.
“How on earth did she manage that?” Trafalgar whispered. “The manifestation was impressive enough, but to make it speak in an altered version of her own voice...”
“Let us not forget the additional skill required to transmit one’s own ability through a manifestation. The fire and rain weren’t simply extensions of the emcee projection, they were real. She created a human being out of whole cloth, and then allowed that invention to perform an illusion it would take a flesh and blood practitioner years to perfect.”
“The stage,” Beatrice said.
Dorothy looked back at her, looked at the stage, and finally gave up. “I’m sorry, Trix. What?”
“The stage. It’s dry.”
Dorothy examined it again and realized her meaning. “Good lord. She created the rain, which had to be real in order to extinguish the fire, but she evaporated it before the water could reach the stage.”
Trafalgar said, “That would require her holding five distinct and taxing manifestations simultaneously. And flawlessly, might I add. The man seemed as real as anything until he dissipated.”
Dorothy nodded. “It would take tremendous power. Power that shouldn’t be possible, and certainly not something she picked up in the few years she spent touring the colonies. Something happened to her there.”
Onstage Cadence suddenly stopped her patter and turned her head slowly to her right. She narrowed her eyes to peer into the private box, and then she smiled brightly as if she recognized the occupants. Trafalgar stiffened in her seat and glanced at Dorothy.
“Can she hear us?”
Dorothy shook her head, eyes locked on the magician below. Cadence brought one hand to her lips, kissed her fingers, and blew a kiss through the air. Dorothy flinched as the ghostly sensation of lips caressed hers, reaching up as if to swat it away but, of course, finding only air. Below, Cadence laughed and resumed her monologue as she turned her back and began to pace.
“Who is this woman?” Trafalgar asked.
Dorothy was still rubbing her bottom lip. “That is precisely what I intend to find out.”