Rake at the ... poker table?
So I finished my SeSa story and have written three final papers in about as many days and I'm a little loopy, so what do I do at 7AM this morning but write a stupid little not-quite-sequel to Rake at the Gates of Hell? And when I re-read it after having woken up, it's not awful, so here. :) The boys from "Rake", ten years or so later.
It had started when they'd all found out what Lance did as a second job. November 1, the festival of Samhain, was one of those times when the divide between the mortal world and the spiritual world was thin, and could easily be breached. This tended to give Lance a lot to do. The first Samhain, he and JC had sat up watching Kevin Smith movies and waiting for the inaudible call. Gradually, over the years, a tradition built up, as the others started to get more and more comfortable with the idea of Lance's magic. By the time that Justin (the last holdout) had finally given up and told Lance that he was tired of being the odd man out, Samhain had turned into quite a party.
As the years had gone by, the spirit world had seemed to realize that it wasn't much in their best interests to start shit. It had actually almost even been a quiet year. Mostly. The spirit world was hardly the only thing that Lance (and his band of erstwhile assistants, which Chris firmly insisted on calling the Scooby Gang despite multiple pleas to be more original) dealt with.
The door to their hotel room burst open at nearly precisely the stroke of midnight. "Magus! I am an initiate of the Order of St. Theresa, and I have come to you on this night where the veil between the worlds is thin, to call challenge upon you for teaching the secrets and rituals of magic to outsiders who were not born to use them! Stand forth and deliver, for it is with your wits that you must show your worth for the title you bear!"
Justin pushed some chips across the table. "Call."
Joey dropped his cards down. "Three of a kind."
"Four of a kind," JC said, and tossed down his own.
"Dammit," Chris said. He threw his cards on the table. "Sweet fuck-all. How come I haven't gotten more than a single pair all night? Lance, your cards are fucking cursed."
"Flush of pentacles," Justin said, and laid his down as well.
"Ominous Prophecy," Lance said, grinning. He spread his cards out on the table, each of them proclaiming awful things in store for the future. "Read 'em and weep."
In the doorway, the kid shifted his weight from foot to foot. "Um, hello? Did anyone hear me? I said, stand forth and deliver, for it is with --"
"We heard you, kid," Chris said, not unkindly. "We're just ignoring you."
That didn't seem to have been in the kid's script. "Um -- Which one of you is the Magus?"
Lance raked in the pot of Skittles in the center of the table and positioned them in front of him, separating them into divides by color and adding to his neat piles. As an afterthought, he dropped his shields for a second, let his aura flare, and then slammed them back up. The kid cringed. Okay, so he had some sort of perception. "St. Theresa, huh? Joey, which one was that again?"
Joey frowned and looked up and to the left, as though the answer could be found in the hotel room curtains. "Tiny, underpowered, claims to be the descendant of a mystical tradition stretching back to the Middle Ages, really founded in 1935 by someone who flunked out of the Golden Dawn and didn't want to face life without magic groupies. Uh, I think they were the ones who tried to stop the tour two years ago, but I don't remember if we ever really knew that for sure."
"Right," Lance said. "Thanks."
"Hey, no problem." Joey grinned. "All that book larnin' has to be good for something."
"Whose deal is it?" Justin asked. "It's mine, right? The cards like me when I'm the one dealing."
"I still say that one of you all put a hex on the cards to make me lose," Chris said. "I don't suck this much at poker."
"Yeah, you do," JC and Joey said in unison. Chris picked up two skittles off of Lance's hoard and threw one at each of them.
"Hey," Lance said. "That's my ante. Don't use my ante for projectile weapons." He collected the cards, rounded off the edges with a neat tap against the table, and handed them over to Justin.
The kid was starting to sound desperate. "I demand that you meet my challenge, Magus! I have travelled to meet you and challenge you under the laws of --"
"Kid," Lance said, sympathetically. "We face down challenges and magical duels and matters of alleged honor and all sorts of nonsense about three times a month. You're not the first. You're not even the first this week. You're not going to win, and really, I'm too damn sick of the whole thing to even try."
"But --" The kid bit his lip. "My High Priest told me that the fact that you were teaching magic to people who weren't covered by the Oaths is sacrilege. That you're risking the whole fabric of the magical universe by not following the rules."
"Aw, damn," Joey grumbled. "Not another case of risking the fabric of the magical universe. What's that, the sixth time this year? Look, do any of you people appreciate how much effort it is to run a rock tour? Any of you? We could really use some time off from this shit."
"I --" The kid looked almost as though he wanted to cry. "But my High Priest told me --"
"Your High Priest is full of shit." Lance shrugged. "Come on, we'll deal you in. Anything with lots of teeth shows up to try to eat us, you'll have to take your chances along with the rest of us, but that hasn't happened for a few years running now, so we're cautiously optimistic. What's your name?"
"D-- Darren."
"Right. I'm Lance. Now, have a seat. Five card draw, major arcana wild, if you get a hand that intimates you'll be dead before the end of the year it beats a flush and loses to a straight. Here. Have some skittles." Lance pushed a handful of skittles over to the spare chair at the table.
"I -- Uh. Okay." The kid sat down gingerly, as though waiting for the table to bite him. Justin shuffled the cards with a brisk motion, tapped the back of the deck, and mumbled a quick dispelling cantrip, which was traditional whenever one dealer passed the deck off to another.
"If you're really lucky," Lance said, collecting his cards as Justin slid them across the table, "when we're done, we'll teach you some stuff that your alleged High Priest would pee himself over." He paused and frowned at his hand. The dispel cantrip had managed to take off his luck charm, despite having created the charm to be cantrip-resistant. Or maybe someone else had managed to come up with a stronger influence. "You gotta win the card game first, though."
It had started when they'd all found out what Lance did as a second job. November 1, the festival of Samhain, was one of those times when the divide between the mortal world and the spiritual world was thin, and could easily be breached. This tended to give Lance a lot to do. The first Samhain, he and JC had sat up watching Kevin Smith movies and waiting for the inaudible call. Gradually, over the years, a tradition built up, as the others started to get more and more comfortable with the idea of Lance's magic. By the time that Justin (the last holdout) had finally given up and told Lance that he was tired of being the odd man out, Samhain had turned into quite a party.
As the years had gone by, the spirit world had seemed to realize that it wasn't much in their best interests to start shit. It had actually almost even been a quiet year. Mostly. The spirit world was hardly the only thing that Lance (and his band of erstwhile assistants, which Chris firmly insisted on calling the Scooby Gang despite multiple pleas to be more original) dealt with.
The door to their hotel room burst open at nearly precisely the stroke of midnight. "Magus! I am an initiate of the Order of St. Theresa, and I have come to you on this night where the veil between the worlds is thin, to call challenge upon you for teaching the secrets and rituals of magic to outsiders who were not born to use them! Stand forth and deliver, for it is with your wits that you must show your worth for the title you bear!"
Justin pushed some chips across the table. "Call."
Joey dropped his cards down. "Three of a kind."
"Four of a kind," JC said, and tossed down his own.
"Dammit," Chris said. He threw his cards on the table. "Sweet fuck-all. How come I haven't gotten more than a single pair all night? Lance, your cards are fucking cursed."
"Flush of pentacles," Justin said, and laid his down as well.
"Ominous Prophecy," Lance said, grinning. He spread his cards out on the table, each of them proclaiming awful things in store for the future. "Read 'em and weep."
In the doorway, the kid shifted his weight from foot to foot. "Um, hello? Did anyone hear me? I said, stand forth and deliver, for it is with --"
"We heard you, kid," Chris said, not unkindly. "We're just ignoring you."
That didn't seem to have been in the kid's script. "Um -- Which one of you is the Magus?"
Lance raked in the pot of Skittles in the center of the table and positioned them in front of him, separating them into divides by color and adding to his neat piles. As an afterthought, he dropped his shields for a second, let his aura flare, and then slammed them back up. The kid cringed. Okay, so he had some sort of perception. "St. Theresa, huh? Joey, which one was that again?"
Joey frowned and looked up and to the left, as though the answer could be found in the hotel room curtains. "Tiny, underpowered, claims to be the descendant of a mystical tradition stretching back to the Middle Ages, really founded in 1935 by someone who flunked out of the Golden Dawn and didn't want to face life without magic groupies. Uh, I think they were the ones who tried to stop the tour two years ago, but I don't remember if we ever really knew that for sure."
"Right," Lance said. "Thanks."
"Hey, no problem." Joey grinned. "All that book larnin' has to be good for something."
"Whose deal is it?" Justin asked. "It's mine, right? The cards like me when I'm the one dealing."
"I still say that one of you all put a hex on the cards to make me lose," Chris said. "I don't suck this much at poker."
"Yeah, you do," JC and Joey said in unison. Chris picked up two skittles off of Lance's hoard and threw one at each of them.
"Hey," Lance said. "That's my ante. Don't use my ante for projectile weapons." He collected the cards, rounded off the edges with a neat tap against the table, and handed them over to Justin.
The kid was starting to sound desperate. "I demand that you meet my challenge, Magus! I have travelled to meet you and challenge you under the laws of --"
"Kid," Lance said, sympathetically. "We face down challenges and magical duels and matters of alleged honor and all sorts of nonsense about three times a month. You're not the first. You're not even the first this week. You're not going to win, and really, I'm too damn sick of the whole thing to even try."
"But --" The kid bit his lip. "My High Priest told me that the fact that you were teaching magic to people who weren't covered by the Oaths is sacrilege. That you're risking the whole fabric of the magical universe by not following the rules."
"Aw, damn," Joey grumbled. "Not another case of risking the fabric of the magical universe. What's that, the sixth time this year? Look, do any of you people appreciate how much effort it is to run a rock tour? Any of you? We could really use some time off from this shit."
"I --" The kid looked almost as though he wanted to cry. "But my High Priest told me --"
"Your High Priest is full of shit." Lance shrugged. "Come on, we'll deal you in. Anything with lots of teeth shows up to try to eat us, you'll have to take your chances along with the rest of us, but that hasn't happened for a few years running now, so we're cautiously optimistic. What's your name?"
"D-- Darren."
"Right. I'm Lance. Now, have a seat. Five card draw, major arcana wild, if you get a hand that intimates you'll be dead before the end of the year it beats a flush and loses to a straight. Here. Have some skittles." Lance pushed a handful of skittles over to the spare chair at the table.
"I -- Uh. Okay." The kid sat down gingerly, as though waiting for the table to bite him. Justin shuffled the cards with a brisk motion, tapped the back of the deck, and mumbled a quick dispelling cantrip, which was traditional whenever one dealer passed the deck off to another.
"If you're really lucky," Lance said, collecting his cards as Justin slid them across the table, "when we're done, we'll teach you some stuff that your alleged High Priest would pee himself over." He paused and frowned at his hand. The dispel cantrip had managed to take off his luck charm, despite having created the charm to be cantrip-resistant. Or maybe someone else had managed to come up with a stronger influence. "You gotta win the card game first, though."