In my field of paper flowers
And candy clouds of lullaby,
I lie inside myself for hours.
And watch my purple sky fly over me.
Orionâs body was tense as she stared straight ahead, legs crossed tightly. The subway was crowded, as usual, and she wondered why she had decided to take it in the first place. In fact, she wanted nothing more than just get off at the nearest stop and take the next one home. She wasnât in the right mindset to go to work â the sole reason she was on her way to the hospital was because sheâd gotten so numb, she stopped caring about anything.
But here she was, once again hyper aware of the people around her. She felt like everyone was staring at her, judging her, could see through her. The person next to her smelled nice, which was a bit of a relief in this type of crowd, but she didnât dare to say anything, afraid that once she would speak, all her emotions would start pouring out. And the last thing she wanted was to fall apart completely on a subway train.
The stranger then got up, clearly needing to get off at the next stop. The doors opened, Orion nervously reached out to grab her bag, to make sure no one would trip over it andâ found nothing but air. Her eyes widened as she looked around, quickly locating the bag of the person who had been sitting next to her. Though it looked awfully similar to her own, she could tell that it wasnât.
But that meantâ
Orion nearly fell over as she quickly got up and grabbed the bag, pushing herself through the crowd of people and slipping through the closing doors. The ginger was out of breath for a moment, her heart racing. The station was almost as crowded as the train itself, disorienting her and making it hard for her to find the man who had been sitting next to her â who had accidentally taken her bag with him.
Panic surged through her while she found herself nearly trampled by a wave of people trying to make it to their train, her fingers holding on tightly to the bag in her hands. Should she see if she could find some sort of identification on or inside of the bag? Maybe just a phone number? âFudge, fudge, fudgeâŠâ She didnât particularly want to go through someoneâs stuff, but there was no way she was going to find someone in this crowd.
She pressed herself against a wall, clumsily unzipping the bag and browsing through the things inside of it. Colorful fabrics, some magic wands. Was this⊠the luggage of a magician? And then, at last, something resembling business cards. Orion took one of them, quickly closing the bag again and hoisting it up her shoulder while she pulled her phone from her pocket. Thank god, she hadnât put it in her bag. Her hands trembled as she dialed the number. There was no time to send a text message, so she had to get over her intense discomfort with phone calls.
âUm, hello?â
It was almost an eternity since Gordon heard the smooth metal tracks of the subway system. And to think that he practically lived here. Those were the days squandering about aimlessly in life, begging for spare change near the toll booth and eating the street food cheese pizza on the benches just inside the station. That was before heâd been discovered. Now, this place was almost foreign, as if he opened up a novel and made it come to life. Heâd forgotten the hustle of bodies, the grimy bricks, the low scent of hormones and urine. But, most of all - heâd forgotten how many people were here. Their eyes all wide on him, some daring to ask for a picture.
Gordon couldnât bare to reject a soul. It was in his nature to soak in the attention, drink in it.
Somehow, it felt like he was lost in time, nearly losing track of his surroundings. And, during that time, heâd somehow ended up with a bag that wasnât his. It looked similar to his. Gordon swore he was carrying it with him, but he disliked carrying his items on his person when someone had the daring courage to ask for a picture. Naturally, he probably had set it down somewhere.
The problem was that this was the New York Subway system. For all Gordon knew, his bag of shit could already be on the other side of the city.
His boss was going to give him shit. He was going to get it again, for the umpthteenth-bajillionith time, about how he should be more responsible. That reputation doesnât make an exception for being careless and being reckless. Gordon had heard it exactly umpthteenth-bajillionith-minus-one times and was resigned to hear it once more.
Gordon tore through the bag like a rat scavenging for cheese. Lipstick - huh... He twisted the end, the dark red swirling out towards him, and applied some to his lips, tasting it only briefly. There was a scarf bundled in towards the side, and Mason threw it around his neck, warm against his jugular. Perhaps heâd keep this for himself.
Inclined to see if there was anything else worth keeping, Gordon nearly jumped when he heard his phone buzzing in his pocket to the theme song of his show. He quirked at brow at the passing eyes and clinched the phone between his ear and his shoulder. If people wanted a show, heâd give them one. âSamantha, thank Gordon you picked up. I just wanted to confirm that weâre still going through with the multi-million dollar settlement, correct?â He walked over to the corner of the underground station, making sure nobody was overhearing him. âIâm kidding,â he said, pulling out a filer from the bag and grinding it against the white of his nails. âYouâve reached Gordon, what can I do for ya?â
Now what? Connor had âdefeated the magistrate.â Had ascended to magician status. There was nothing left for him to do. He looked out at the rows of occupied seats, observing the faces who stared expectantly into his. Should he tell more jokes? Run offstage and perform smaller tricks for them? Teach yoga, orâ
The audience gasped, their faces contorting slowly into versions of âThe Screamâ painting. Connor heard shouting that there was something behind him. The fuck? Gordon said nothing about any extracurricular activities onstage! Was finding an heir an excuse for Gordon to have someone take his place while he left the country, never to be seen again? Was he making Connor work for his sexy ass?Â
Connor spun around to see the spirit of Ayes-Sage hovering above the coffin, battle-worn, saying something about aâŠcurse? Okay. Connor was actually a part of Gordonâs fan club and heard nothing of the sort. Instead of throwing down the top hat and wand like he wanted to do, screaming a huge âfuck thisâ to everyone in earshot and running out of the room himself (where Tessa was probably still crying in the lobby), he stood his ground and played along. Donât say he never did anything for the community.
âAyes-Sage! Monstrous marionette of magic, what is this curse of which you speak?â Connor stood boldly before the puppet, âI, Captivating Connor, channeled your energy into this wandâŠearning my place as rightful heir! It is you who is blindly followingâŠyour way into a permanent grave!â
Smoke shot up from the stage. Some of the audience began to scream. Connor was lost in blankets of the vapor, his visibility low and tension high. Did he do something wrong for all of this to happen? The stage transformed into a more darker, haunted house-version of itself. Ayes-Sage vanished, and in his place was a dragon. On strings.Â
Dammit! Dammit! Dammit! Was this ever going to end?!
Audience members panicked, despite the friendly-looking exterior of the beast. Come on, it wasnât that bad. But calming down the audience was a priority; if they werenât watching this shit, then Connor was doing this for nothing. And Connor hated wasting his time. âEveryone! We canât let the darkness win! We have to be braveâŠno matter how long this is dragon on!âÂ
Connor grimaced inwardly at his jokeâthe screaming around him turning into laughter. Gordon was going to pay for this!
He studied the dragon. Clearly it was an animatronic mess. A cheaply-made piece of crap that was bound to fall apart at any second. Other than that, itâŠwaitâŠdid it have a butt for a mouth? Gah, this was too embarrassing! Connor facepalmed, playing it off as a straightening of his hat. Really? Really? That ass was better than his!
With the smoke billowing around the stage, hopefully no one would notice the dragonâs anatomy issue. As if on cue, the smoke was gone. The shadow of Gordon appeared, and Ayes-Sage spouted lines only found in Saturday morning cartoons. Someone was trying too hard to keep this dying show alive.Â
âIt is my destiny to carry on the majestic lineage! You wonât have much to take, demon, seeing as I do not bury myself in material possessions!â Which was a nicer way of saying: That dragon is more put together than me right now, and thatâs saying a lot. Iâve lost everything! What the hell are you taking?
The coffin was then crushed to bits, startling the audience, leaving a book in its wake. Before Connor could move to retrieve it, it had levitated up to him, flipping through its own pages. The book stopped to a spell only for a masterful magician. As if Connor didnât don Gordonâs hat twenty minutes ago.Â
âLetâs get this over with.â Connor mumbled, showing off the book to the crowd, âAlas! A piece of the Great Griffin still lives! He has given us this grimoire from beyond the grave to aid us with our troubles! Iâll need the help of everyone in the audience for this one! Please, close your eyes and find your inner magic to defeat this dragon!â Anything to hide that hideous assâŠ
Once the audience had closed their eyes, Connor pointed the wand at the dragonâs mouth, watching as the same bolt of energy from before attacked the beast, clouds of smoke drifting from it. The dragon was lifted by its strings, up into the stage somewhere.Â
âLook! The dragon has been defeated! I may be the Great Griffinâs heir, but even I need help sometimes! Thank you! Give yourselves a hand!â Connor bowed again as the audience, eyes open and ecstatic, kept clapping and clappingâŠ
There was a fine line between garnering attention and being smothered with it. Connor wanted to get the hell off of that stage, pronto.
Gordon never understood ice packs. Always thought of them as much auxiliary - just buy a sack of frozen peas or get over it. But as he lounged back against the sofa, feeling every spring out of place underneath him, he took solace in the cool touch of neoprene against his forehead. One of the interns fanned him with one of their thin textbooks and airplaned his favorite Firecrackers Popsicle into his mouth. So much scrambled on in the wing, on the stage. And, yet, Gordon groaned, still in all of this entropy. Never again would he pull something off of that magnitude. Never. Again.
As Connor wrapped up the show - someone give him a credit - the producers had dragged Gordon off to the corner of the wing, scolding him. Going off on him. Taking turns passing the bottle spiked with truth. Whatever. Gordon took it all, cooly unfazed through it all - their words hardly mattered. At the end of the day, he was the Great Griffin and he ran the show.
His fellow cast-mates rushed on stage to do their bows, the audience roaring with applause, growing by the half-second.
âNow, get out there and do a bow, and donât fuck it up.â
âYeah, yeah, whatever,â Gordon said, rolling his eyes as he sauntered towards the stage.
The moment his polished dress shoes struck the stage, Gordon smirked, his gait absolutely confident and smug as he bowed center-stage. The room was affective, absolutely enthralled with him, but Gordon could hardly care. There was no spotlight - of course. The producers had royally fâd up. But, to their dismay, this show was an absolute success. Gordon could already taste the headlines fresh on the paper the next morning, his title in bold Courier. He wrapped an arm around Captivating Connorâs shoulder, cocking a brow at him. âShow this kid some love. Lemme hear it.â
The crowd went wild, chanting their names like a stereo system.
As the curtains met the stage, Gordon snapped his fingers, the intern wheeling the sofa onstage. He sat, patting the purple fabric beside him. âWell, wasnât that hot,â Gordon said. His head arched back to meet his internâs eyes, puppy-dogging him with a faux expression of gratitude. âBe a dear and get this kid and I some Coca Cola from the dressing room freezer. Not the canned one, the bottle with real cane sugar.â
The stage was like a cell, the cast and crew moving in and out between the outer membrane. Gordon had read that in the internâs book, thought it was interesting. But what was more interesting was the kid before him. His heir. His prodigy. Crossing his arms, his eyes ran up and down Connorâs body, tracing over his eyes. âWell, that was fun. Iâll have to cast you in my Magic Mike sequel. Whenever that gets written,â he said, his voice fading as he licked his lips in anticipation. âDrinks on me. Unless you hate soda. What was it you wanted to see again? The sword collection? You sure thatâs not too dangerous for you? Or do you do your fair share of sword-fighting in your free time?â
This was exactly what he didnât want. Gordon fucking Griffin. He was like some petulant child always hovering about, trying to one-up everyone else around him. Maybe if the man wasnât so arrogant they would get along, or at least not hate each other.
Carlos cringed as Gordon touched him. If he wasnât exhausted he wouldâve been able to fight back, but instead the overuse of power had left him practically useless. âFuck off.â The words left his lips with a growl, his eyes dark with anger. The accusation left him fuming. âA pawn? Hah. At least Iâm doing something and making pathetic people suffer. Youâre what? Stuck doing a silly little show and scaring people into giving you tips?â
He could feel his own power hanging in the air, making him feel vulnerable. The only things he could even try to use to hurt the man in front of him were his words, and even then Gordon was crazy enough that he was sure that words wouldnât hurt him. âDonât you have some slobbering fans to win over?â He pushed himself away from the wall, glaring at Gordon as he attempted to move away.
Gordon didnât know if it was Carlosâs power lingering in the air or his own sick, twisted fantasy of seeing him completely vulnerable, but he groaned out in pleasure at the low droning in his pants, leaning against the brick wall. His sharp curse only made Gordon smirk harder, biting his tongue playfully as he studied the otherâs face intensely. Very little wounded Gordonâs pride; he could accept anything like it were a gold trophy, especially when it came from Carlos. âDuh. Iâm talking to my biggest fan right now.â
As the other walked away from him, Gordon walked alongside him, slinging his right arm across Carlosâs shoulder. âWhere you going, Grindr? Leaving your bud so soon?â His arm dropped, grazing against Carlosâs left, before he conjured up a metal handcuff to bind their wrists together. âCome on, letâs talk.â
Standing before Carlos, Gordon leaning into his face, licking his lips in anticipation as he cracked his neck. Every ounce of him just wanted to crash his lips against Carlos, chew on the pink of his lower lip, smirk. But Gordon just hovered there. He could enjoy just existing in Carlosâs space, keeping the other bound to him.
Gordon pulled out a twenty-dollar bill with his free hand, sliding it into Carlosâs pants. âHereâs a head start. Eat some breadsticks with her and go bowling, whatever Carlos likes to do in his free time when he isnât thinking about me. And then when you go over budget, youâll realize I can do everything you can do without money.â
Dakota jumped back, her hands flying up to her mouth to muffle the terrible, strangled noise escaping her throat as Gordonâs body flopped down on the stage.Â
No. God, no. She killed him. What was he thinking?Â
The familiar boisterous laughter, made her freeze in place. She instinctively turned to stage left, breath catching in her throat at what she saw. Gordon.Â
She didnât even have a moment to be relieved by this revelation. If anything, the erratic beat of her heart only quickened. Gordon was alive butâŠ
Unpredictable as he could be off stage, Gordon had always stuck to a script during his shows, for as long as sheâd known him. She knew this particular show forward and backward. He wouldnât just toss in something like this, even for shock factor, not without telling her. This wasnât him.
Then what..?
She let him pull her into a hug, hands still hanging by her sides. She couldnât take her eyes off the body laying limply on the stage. By some miracle, she managed to do as she was asked, reaching a hand up to remove the mic tape from his face. The roar of applause felt misplaced in the context of what she was witnessing. Really, it made her feel a little sick.
She didnât remember bowing or even stepping off the stage. The next thing she knew she was backstage, curled in on herself on the floor and trying, with little success, not to cry.  âWhy did that happen?â she asked, eyes burning. âDid Iâ?â
Gordon pressed a finger to her lips, softly shhhing her. âDonât worry, donât think about it. Iâll figure out what happened, Iâll fix this,â he whispered, the words recursive on his lips.
There was only one thing on Gordonâs mind: Dakota. He curled alongside her, wrapping his arms around her, lightly kissing her temple. Anything to distract himself from... fear. All his life he had control within the flick of his wrist, but now it all seemed bleak. Heâd never found Alice, anyways, and now this - there was a dead body before him.
Had he ever been in control?
"I need to look at the body,â he whispered, his voice rattling. Itâd always been so smooth, but as his skin shook Gordon couldnât help but shiver into Dakota. He nudged her. âLetâs change, okay?â
Gordon nudged her towards the dressing room below, immediately dashing towards the coffin placed on the stage-lift. To the crew wandering around, they saw nothing but a wooden container, the edges worn. But as Gordon waved his hand across it, an invisible veil covering his body, his hands flew straight to his mouth.
The last thing heâd do was let Dakota take the fall for this. It couldnât be her; it was impossible. He hadnât even seen a body as he peeked into the coffin, much less smelled blood on stage or any time before.
Walking solemnly to Dakota, he sighed. âHeâs... dead.â
For once, Gordon didnât know what to do. Panic settled into the cavity of his chest. He didnât know what the hell to do, and he couldnât tell Dakota this. This was the past all over again. There was only two options clear in his mind. It was either call the police, take the fall - heâd put it on himself - or... âWe need to destroy the body,â he whispered, his limbs shaking.Â
Believe it or not, Connor had never been on a stage beforeâŠnot like this. Sure, he had been in a plethora of clubs during his school years, but they were mostly group activities. Everyone was recognized as a whole. Here, he was practically running the show as Gordonâs heir. He would be recognized as alone as Captivating Connorâwhich wasnât so badâconsidering he came up with the name on the spot.Â
He was honestly taken aback by Gordonâs response to his flirting. It wasnât difficult to assume that Gordon had a line of lovers he could pick and choose from whenever he was in the mood. Backstage? Connor rolled his eyes. He wasnât another groupie. There was no way in hell heâd join the many who possibly had the pleasure of being backstage with Gordon alone. âYou. Me. Onstage. After the show. Be ready for a little swordfight.â He chuckled, mentally adding that last part to a list of things he never expected to say, âHope you live up to your name, Great Griffin.â The tap on the ass was met with a low growl; if Gordon wasnât careful, Connor would be jumping his bones soonâaudience and performance be damned.Â
Connor allowed Gordon to steer him to the edge of the stage where he stood like a joyous king, all fluttery from his lusty interaction. How long was it until this show was over? He could already taste Gordonâs magic on his tongue.
The woman couldnât be more flustered. Whether she witnessed the secret exchange between the two men or was still reeling from Connorâs appearance, her face said it all. She was sour with disappointment, her confidence withering away by the second. By her body language, she was ashamed and ready to return to her seat. Connor gave her a sarcastic wink. My, myâŠhow the tables have turned!
Gordon had summoned a deck of cards into his hand, and Connor had to wonder: was he being summoned to the magician as well? Was the magnetic, searing attraction between them fake? An illusion? The details wouldnât matter once he was breathing into Gordonâs neck, but the only person he felt this close to had been Connor ArgusâŠ
Was Connor anticipating this hook-up too much, or did everything Gordon say sound remotely sexual? He took the wand, running his hands up and down its shaft, staring back at Gordon with bedroom eyes. The spell he was under consumed him. âOh? Just one thrust? Not even in your direction? Doesnât sound like fun. Or enough to satisfy you.â Connor bit his lip as demurely as he could, fluttering his lashes. âTell meâŠwhat does it feel likeâŠonce I become the Great Griffin? Hard? Pleasurable?â
Gordon pulled away from Connor, leaving him panting and hot. Connor couldnât help but to check him out as he bowed, praising himself on such a good catch. This was the best moment of his life! The look Gordon gave him before laying back in the coffin was hypnotizing. Connor heard a buzzing in his ears and felt pangs of bliss in his chestâŠwhich all fell silent once the coffin lid snapped shut.
Connor came to life as a performer. He spun around from the coffin, joining the woman on the other side of the stage. âAs the Great Griffin becomes a martyr to protect you all from the evil you have witnessed, it is up to me, Captivating Connor, and my assistantâŠâ He trailed off, offering the woman a chance to introduce herself.
âTessa.â The womanâs teeth were gritted as she played second fiddle to Connor, all while trying to remain friendly and open. Ha!
ââŠTessa, to fulfill his last wish!â Connor bowed dramatically as he saw Gordon do plenty of times on his show, the applause deafening. He motioned for them to quiet down, âThereâs a lot of pressure in being an heir to someone we all know and love. My magic is rusty, and these new-age wands are so complicated! Which model are we up to, now? The W7 with brighter magic display?â He held the wand awkwardly to prove a point, grinning at the laughter he received. âIâm just like you when it all comes down to it. Anyone can do magic. Only I have the hat to prove it.â
The audience rolled with laughter, providing Connor with warmth. They loved him! Tessa cleared her throatâa signal to stop kissing ass and get on with the showâand Connor gave her a dismissive jerk of his chin. Yet, he continued.Â
âLetâs not forget about our friend here!â Connor gestured to the coffin. âWithout him, none of us would be here to enjoy the mystical in our everyday lives! Tessa will take this sword and sacrifice our Great Griffin, releasing the magic of Ayes-Sage into the air. I will point this wand out over you all to channel it.â This sounded like bullshit but Connor had already won the approval of everyone in the venue. No time to turn back now. âIâll officially become Captivating Connorâas there will never be another Great Griffin. Look out for my merchandise soon! Iâm joking. Iâm totally broke. AnywayâŠyouâre here to see a show! Tessa, the stage is yours!â He stepped aside as the audience whistled and hollered.
Tessa lifted the sword and unceremoniously stabbed it into the coffin with more force than she ought to. No flair. No smiles. An underwhelming task. She stomped off the stage and out the back doors of the room. That only made Connor laugh.
âI guess being a magicianâs assistant has a high turnover rate! Anyone know where I can find another? I heard the internetâs a great place for that! I saw a site the other dayâŠMagician Match.com?â The audience, who was stunned by Tessaâs rage, responded positively to the joke. Connor had this crowd wrapped around his finger.
âAyes-Sage has been slain! The magic is in the air!â He pointed the wand forward as instructed, almost half-heartedly, and almost dropped it when a bolt of magic shot out of it. Was this a trick of the lights? A placebo effect?
The audience was amazedâthough not as much as Connor wasâand there were a few bars of silence in the area to follow.Â
Holy shit.
âCaptivating Connor has joined the lineage of magicians!â Connor recovered, bowing again to yet another round of applause. Something in him wished he were in his own body for this. If somehow, he were to become Mason Clad again, heâd lose the recognition he so solidly formed.
That danky coffin sitting centerfold was the last place Gordon ever wanted to stash himself away in for a good minute or two. Sure, it made for an interesting place to hook up, to say the least, but one could hardly breath its air, much less stand the mildew clustered on the inside. The crew babied the exterior, so much that the VIP tours - hah, what suckers - often had the patrons dumb and gooey, the gothic moldings searing in Snapchat technicolor. But with all the carefully placed suspensions strung along the inside, it was impossible to be comfortable in there.
Coffin his ass. Gordon slipped into the wings undetected, shrouding himself invisible with his magic, his illusion settling into the cavity of the box.
It was only a matter of time before his producers would seize him away to the dressing room, so Gordon got comfortable. Lounged around the sofa used in act one, kicked his feet against the parakeet cage - squawk down, Pollyanna - and kept his eyes focused on Connor like he were a camera.
For once, Gordon felt like an audience member as he sipped his Diet Coke and snacked on Cheez-Its. The showâs reins had spiraled from him, a bull free from its cage, a complete spectacle. He only wondered where it could spin, what pure destruction could arise from it, how the Captivating Connor could heed his words and continue the legacy.
Kid had presence; Gordon was living through him.
Perhaps this was too easy, too predictable. He hated when he could guess the ending. His show was growing stale after all. Captivating Connor would cast his wand, the coffin bursting with iridescent lights in streaks of light, and the ghost of Ayes-Sage would fly upwards. And some time after, the Great Griffin would appear in a billow of smoke, still alive.
Heâd abandoned that script a long time ago. It was time to test how well Captivating Connor would do well under pressure. And, for that... Gordon had to become - âAh-Ahaha,â his voice, eerie and maniacal, rang through the auditorium as Connor bowed to his final round of applause.
Gasps flew over the audience. One last edge-of-the-seat surprise.
With a lazy flick of the hand, Gordon made the silhouette of Ayes-Sage rise from the coffin, merely a phantom. The puppet looked down at Connor, its head busted, snapping to the side as its fingers prickled over the air. âYou... would blindly... follow someone... who bears a legacy... no... a curse!â The puppet spat the words at Connor, cackling through the auditorium, holding the audience in its psychological grip. âYou inherit his legacy... and the Griffin curse!â
Gordon could barely believe his own words - heâd practically destroyed the bible behind his character and violated some copyright law for intellectual property. But hell was he going to be some skeletal script: Gordon was mad with power as he realized what crazy shit he could pull off just imagining. Itâd been too long. Much too long.
Now... how could Gordon make this one fucked up, unforgettable experience for his heir...
The puppet cackled, its voice echoing. Gordon took the opportunity of having everyone distracted to have pillars of smoke shoot up from the stage, coating it entirely. With a careful flick of the hand, he casted an array of illusions over the stage. Dark mist seeped from the coffin. The background stands warped into a twisted graveyard, the stage beneath them darker. The shadow of Ayes-Sage flew upward before a large purple dragon descended from the catwalk, glaring at Connor.
Strings, of course, attached to its spine. Couldnât scare the children. The temptation to hide them was growing, but Gordon needed this to be his new marketable show - no scaring the children.
Even worse, Gordon hated the dragonâs mouth. Sure, the thing looked scary - robotically scary, like it could snap free at any moment and crush the stage below - but Gordon hardly had the energy to fix it. He was already straining himself with these large-scale illusions, as if he were moving multiple chess pieces in some claustrophobic space. His mind focused on one of the producerâs early concept art of a dragon that could be kid-friendly, and he snapped onto it. Creating anything would be too taxing, far too much.
Still... the dragon had a mouth shaped like a butt. Its mouth was below, but... it seemed all too incorrect. It was just like a misplaced ass.
There wasnât much he could do. Gordon was nearly sweating, keeping himself composed, concentrating hard. He hoped to dear fucking God that Connor could at least play off this, impress him.
Oh, he was having too much fun with his heir. The kid deserved a long reward for at least humoring his twisted mind. Gordon desperately needed one too after this - he longed not to think, just to feel.
With one last trick up his sleeve, Gordon made the smoke around Connor dissipate into thin air the dark haze... in his place was the silhouette of the Great Griffin.
He had to be in the spotlight, whatever he could take.
âYou still blindly follow your magician? I will see that you live with this curse so long as I live. I will take everything away from you.â God, this dialogue was pathetic. But itâd have to do. Ayes-Sage roared, crushing the coffin with its claw. Or so it appeared. The crew would be mad; they did spend a lot of time. It merely descended into the stage below.
God, this was tiring. Gordon wanted this to be effortless and free, hoping Connor could do something quick. He had an idea...
From where the coffin stood was a lone tome of spells. It levitated upwards towards Connor, flipping its pages to a spell: the one spell that truly banished the dragon spirit of Ayes-Sage thousands of years ago. Only for a masterful magician.
Fuck, he couldnât hold any longer. Though he remained invisible, Gordon released the passive illusions he wore on his body, intensely focused just to keep the moving parts on stage cohesive. Heâd slip any time soon...
Gordonâs powers had him in the mindset of Mason as he saw his body materialize before him. Sure they were different mechanics but the same general principle. Ryderâs eyes kept glancing up the otherâs form⊠well, his form. Damn. This world was starting to get freaky. Ryderâs stomach pitched as he watched their surroundings pixelate and rearrange. The bar felt⊠so real. He could smell the sweat and the tang of alcohol. He could hear peopleâs conversations behind him and the giggle of a waitress across the room. This room was so detailed. This power was dangerous. Gordon could convince people that they were trapped in water, dying. He could also convince them to breathe. This job in conjunction with Carlosâ. This could be devastating to the ASH.
As the bedroom surrounded them, Ryderâs lips tilted into a smirk. Of course, both of the men were aiming towards the same ultimate goal. He wouldnât deny his interest in the other male and considering heâd brought them to a bedroom, he would assume the other man agreed. âWhere are we, back in reality?â He questioned. This was obviously an illusion, therefore, were they just standing around on that back patio? It was an interesting question to ask.
When the other questioned him, he exhaled with a laugh. âI have had many, many powers in my lifetime. I had one almost like yours a few years ago. An illusion trick but it manipulated light particles to reflect different situations. It took much more concentration than I could muster in this situation.â Ryder had no shame in the moment. He brought himself closer to Gordon, rolling up the sleeve on his right arm, tucking the cuff of the dress shirt into his elbow. He lifted his hand to the otherâs neck, giving him a sultry look and pressing their lips together. The kiss was heated and strong, but short-lived. He pulled away and took a step back. Remembering the look Gordon gave him earlier, he breathed in gently and set his own cells to changing. It wasnât as quick as Gordonâs transformation but within a minute, Gordon was looking back at himself. âHow was that?â
There was a lot he could say. Gordon was almost tempted to reply to Ryderâs question, but he stood mute and still, his eyes sharply acute of the other. Almost instantly, his eyes snagged on the skin of his arm, the veins running along his muscles. Gordon licked his lips into a half-grin before their lips crashed towards. Moaning softly into the other, he pushed against him and lingered in his lips for as long as he could, protesting when the other pulled back. Too early; Gordon wanted more; needed more.
Watching Ryder slowly morph into him, from the shape of his torso down to the cut of his face, his voice different - it was erotic.
Gordon was lost in his own eyes. He stood before mirrors all day, obsessed with himself, completely in love, but this... His expression beamed. âHot,â he replied, purring. Leaning closer, Gordonâs fingers brushed against his chest, moving to unbutton him as he stepped into his face. âBut youâve got too many clothes,â he said, undoing his shirt, unsheathing the fabric around him, letting it pile onto the ground. âMuch better.â
Stepping back, Gordon drank in Ryderâs sight. âWhat do you say we relax a little, first, hot-stuff.â The colors around the room began to simmer down before they orchestrated the vibrant colors of the city skyline, the carpet beneath them now wooden paneling, a jacuzzi fizzling beside them. Gordon pressed his lips against Ryderâs - how great it felt to kiss himself - before he backed into the water, seating himself against the jets. His muscles unwounded. âItâs been a while since Iâve done Infamous work. What, with a show and everything. I forget what itâs like. To have fun.â
His undergarments floated to the surface, pushed aside by the bubbles. Gordon kicked it aside, gently nudging it to the edge of the jacuzzi. He moaned once more, gazing at Ryder with a slack grin. âIâm impressed,â he said. His arms surfaced from underwater, resting along the perimeter.
Jeremy tilted his head as the other put away the deck of cards. He looked at the card before looking back at him, and decided to just hold it until the other was ready to show what he was planning.
Jeremy shook his head at the otherâs guess. ââNo, Iâm currently in the process of choosing a new leaseholder for the newly opened location on Rockefeller Centre.ââ The deadline was still pretty far away, so he hasnât decided yet. ââAlso I get to choose the design of this new mall weâre opening in Los Angeles.ââ Actually it was his brother who got trusted with that decision, but just this morning as an apology he decided that Jeremy could pick. He already saw some designs and they were all lovely, but one of them stood out and he hoped that he could pick that one.
ââI, I donât know how to explain this, sir, but I guess you can say I work for my parents?ââ Jeremy half asked. Seeing as he didnât actually have a job, they just gave him small tasks.
Gordon hadnât listened, only heard his words. Something about a new center, Los Angeles, design. Okay, right - he fought back a yawn, but indulged himself when his ears were caught with the tangle of words. Jeremy worked for his parents. Pedigree; if only...
Of course. Some kids got to inherit their McMansions and the golden arches on the corner of the street, have happy meals and be happy. Gordon wasnât one of those people. The memories of his mother, his sister... they lingered within him, simmering beneath his exterior. Why couldnât he have that; was it too much to ask.
He kept still, huffing when it felt right.
âYeah, whatever, I bet your king of diamonds feeds you well,â he growled, his mood thrown off balance. He flashed his hand passed his face, an illusion masking him. His expression was cheery, upbeat; perhaps too much. Because below that, below his illusions, the façade... Gordon missed his family.
Rory was hideously bored. She had wandered into the show on a whim, without a ticket, of course. She had waited until the door was left unmanned and simply walked through it, finding a chair to sit down and watch the spectacle of whatever was going on. Everyone was dressed a lot nicer than she was. She probably stood out like a sore thumb in her ripped jeans and weathered black leather jacket.
The show that was unfolding in front of her eyes seemed pretty cheesy. It wasnât like she was expecting much when she walked in, but she was expecting to be entertained at the very least. This whole thing was just too much. It didnât help that the entire time she was trying to analyze the tricks. Her fingers started playing with a stray thread, obviously unimpressed with the âmagicâ.
The Great Griffin, with his stupid ass stage name, moved with a grace and elegance that wouldâve put nearly anyone in awe, but Rory simply yawned. The sudden roar of the audience made her jump a little, and she shuffled, looking around to see if she could sneak back out and get drunk instead. She hadnât been paying attention to the magician, and as she readied herself to leave a bright light hit her eyes, making her wince. Fuck⊠he was calling her up. She couldnât exactly say no, that would be making a scene which would probably lead to people finding out she didnât have a ticket. There was no choice, she had to get up. With a harsh glare she stood, an assistant coming to lead her to the stage.
With the lights suddenly on her she felt self-conscious, folding her arms over her chest. âYou mean you want me to play pretend and murder a puppet, right?â She quipped, knowing that she was getting more and more defensive by the second.
This wasnât Las Vegas and the Jabbawockeez, the audience more than willing to be swept off their feet and proposed to on stage or some shit; New York undoubtedly had its tough critics. Gordon had dealt with his share of unwilling participants, some firmly enthusiastic once their fingers wrapped around the hilt, others with the roll-of-the-eyes, pouting at him. As the woman gingerly stood before him, Gordon bowed, kissing the back of her hand. If it wasnât to completely win her over - best case scenario - then Gordon could settle for her complete vexation of him - the other best case scenario.Â
Emotion was delicious. Gordon quirked a brow at her caustic remarks, smirking even harder at them. âYeah, thatâs exactly what I want you to do, sweetie,â he said, chuckling to himself, raising his hands to get the audience to laugh with him. Oh, was he horrible, absolutely horrible - whether or not one of the producers would give him an earful hardly mattered now. Gordon was right in her face, his breath ghosting over hers, inhaling her scent.
He danced away, his wand tracing the lines of a figure-skater, a coffin materializing center-stage. Gordon sauntered over, swiping a long sword from beside the wood and kneeled down to offer it to Rory. âWhen you hear the drum roll, hold no mercy. Skewer me, the Great Griffin. For I will be the vessel of Ayes-Sage, and you must kill him.â He took to his feet, bowing towards the audience, wringing them like they were a sponge full of water, thirsty in their delight.
Gordon laughed maniacally.
Just for her, he dramatized his movements, holding his stricken poses, stretching farther than he usually did, glinting at her with utmost pride in this crappy show. In he went into the coffin, leaving Rory alone on the stage.
@carloscross: I am not tagging the person who is acting like a child because they quite obviously don't deserve my attention.
@notgriffin: @carloscross i know i constantly exist in the fabric of your mind dont deny it
@notgriffin: @carloscross i don't need to make ppl have sex with me to get them to like me. i can just be myself cause i'm AWESOME đ đ đ MIC DROP BAM
@notgriffin: @carloscross also i'm not a child, i pay taxes and i have premium healthcare insurance lmao đ what do you got?
Ryderâs lips immediately turned upward when he heard the manâs beckon of âhot stuff.â Ryder knew he was attractive but the constant adoration of a few of his followers was always welcomed. In his youth, he might have regarded it awkwardly and told them to refrain from such speech, but now it only served to make him slightly more arrogant than before.
âHello, Gordon.â Ryder nearly purred out the greeting as he moved towards him. The younger man was unbelievably handsome and both of their emotionless and âno strings attachedâ mentalities could leave them into dangerous areas; areas that Ryder was more than willing to venture into. The lei was a nice addition and it made him smile.
âI suppose we could go outside and you could show me. Thereâs an outdoor patio out back. I can make sure weâre alone and you can⊠continue to impress me.â He dropped his eyes down Gordonâs frame and snapped his orbs back up his face before motioning him to follow. âFollow me.âÂ
Ryder wove through the crowds and out the back door onto the patio. Stopping eventually, he unbuttoned his blazer and moved it aside. âShow me something else, Mad Hatter.â He spoke, grinning.
Gordon hardly caught a breath of fresh air for more than an hour; heâd always been moved from building to building, the smell of wood almost too familiar, people his oxygen. But as he stepped out onto the patio, he was reminded of how great it felt to be in open spaces with potted plants and the cityâs company. He inhaled deeply, taking in his surroundings, taking in... Ryder.
His expression professional, Gordon took in the manâs form, watching closely as he unbuttoned his shirt, his lips forming the motions. Mad-Hat-ter. A smirk widened over his face. âSo you know,â he said, quirking a brow upwards. Shrugging, Gordon circled around Ryder, observing his posture before he met his eyes.
His face glowed, his beard thinning as his features began to morph smoothly. Within seconds, heâd masked an illusion over his body, taking Ryderâs form. Gordon tilted his head at the other. âWant more?â He lifted his hand mid-air, the patio beneath them pixelating as the ground began to transform.
They were standing back in the Atlas Club near the bar. The patrons chatting, the lights low and hung, the scene crisp as ever. Gordon leaned onto the bar as he grinned at Ryder. âToo mundane?â He snapped his fingers once more, the bar warping into a bedroom, the floor tidy, the sheets sleek.Â
Gordon stood before Ryder shirtless, cocking his head. âSo, you want me to show you how itâs done? Or are you going to show me how your powers work?â
Jeremy looked at the older man in confusion as he started laughing. And in concern when he didnât stop laughing. ââIâm sorry, sir.ââ Jeremy said with a soft sad voice. Feeling like he did something wrong, even though he didnât. The look of concern stayed on his face until the other made a deck of cards appear out of nowhere. Instead a look of surprise and amazement shining in his eyes took over.
ââThat was amazing.ââ He said excited with a matching smile. For a while one of his brothers was into magic and would perform silly little tricks like making bunnies appear out of hats. Jeremy loved it, even if the bunnies were plushies, in fact he still has them.
When the other asked him to pick a card he took a second before he took one out. He looked at the card, the king of diamonds. Of course he didnât show the other that.
Gordon slid the deck of cards up his sleeve, raising one eyebrow as he looked at Jeremy intently, tilting his head as he grinned, his smile slant. If he were completely honest, he had no idea what he was doing. Not in the slightest. He was merely stalling for time as he thought of what he could possibly pull off - nothing.
Jeremy didnât have to know; nobody had to; Gordon himself didnât.
His hands combed through his hair, quaffing it into place as he half-gazed between the other and the buildingâs glass panes. âSo, Rockefeller, tell me about yourself. You handle business affairs or paralegal. Oh, donât tell me. With your young face, youâre drafting contracts, arenât you?â He looked at his nails, smoothening the edges like they were diamonds. âWho do you work for?â
Connor was livid. Five seconds away from demanding a refund, he steamed in his seat, narrowing his eyes at the woman who bounced her way up to the stage. Maybe he shouldâve tripped her as she pushed past him. That way he couldâve felt something other than the intense jealousy he never seemed to get rid of. He knew he couldnât have it allâbut that didnât stop him from wanting it. It was Connorâs upbringing, being pushed aside by his familyâhaving to scratch and claw his way to recognitionâthat made him feel entitled to everything he desired. And this was no different.
If Connor rolled his eyes any harder at the joy spread across Gordonâs face, they wouldâve rolled down the slight incline that separated him from the magician. How dare he? Of course it was a show, and Gordon had to keep up appearances; still, seeing him welcome the woman made Connorâs upper lip curl. Ugh.Â
A coffin appeared in sheets of smoke, distracting Connor for a moment. Gordon revealed a sword from beside it, and Connor hid a smirk at the influx of dirty thoughts pouring in. Then Gordon kneeled in front of the woman to present the sword. Kneeled. Placing himself in a vulnerable position. Making her seem greater in size. A twisted marriage proposal, almost.Â
The anger in Connor took over his hearing; he was so focused on that emotion that he heard pieces of Gordonâs spiel: Ayers-Sage. Sword. Coffin. Stab. Â First off, who the hell came up with the name Ayers-Sage? It sounded like an air freshener scent! And Connor had the inclination to run out of his seat, storm onto the stage, lock the woman in the coffin, and stab away at it.Â
The idea of killing the woman made Connor laugh lightly, earning him dirty looks from those around him. After all, Gordon just announced his self-sacrifice for the sake of magic. There was a tense mood among the audience.
Suddenly Gordon lookedâŠforlorn. The change in expression made Connor lean forward in his seat. What was going on? Something about being Griffinâs heir? Becoming him? Nah, Connor wasnât interested in being an heir. Or becoming Gordon. Because who would Gordon be? Magic wasnât Connorâs style. It wouldnât be the same without Gordon performing it.
And those words didnât seem to faze the woman at all. Some fan she was.
Griffin kissed the hat in his hands after his explanation. Connor had never been so jealous of a hat before. When the hat was tossed out in the audience, everyoneâs eyes followed it. Connorâs included. It was probably going to find another lucky person out there. Someone average, someone who didnât have tons of baggage and lashed out at people out of spiteâŠthe hat had landed on Connorâs head. The hat chose him. Gordon chose him. In shock, Connor immediately took the hat off, brushing his fingers along its surface, grinning from ear to ear. It was real, real real! He braced himself for the spotlight, hoping he didnât have an invisible, nude run through the venue in search of darkness to materialize in. But it never came. Today was Connorâs lucky day.
Connor jumped up from his seatâthe hat possessively tucked under his armâstanding there for a moment to bask in the audienceâs cheers. The validation nearly had him in tears of joy. He had been waiting for this feeling for his entire life. Taking a deep breath, he moved down the aisle in a slow, graceful pace, his head held high and his shoulders square. It took forever before he was up onstageâa walk which Connor milked for everything it hadâand he looked out at the span of seats with a grin. He could get used to this.
Now he was breathing the same air as the Great Griffin. My, the other man had the appearance of a god. Connor wanted to squeal, absolutely starstruck, but didnât want to be like the woman onstage. He was sure tons of people squealed in the magicianâs presence. Instead, he held the hat up so that Gordon could see it. âTime to find another hat, gorgeous. Youâre not getting this one back.â Connor placed the hat back on his head dramatically, running his hand along the front of its brim.Â
His eyes fell upon the woman next; he tsk-tsked at her strong grip on the sword and whispered to Gordon, âI say this with the utmost respect, Mr. Griffin, but you should really ask a girl out before you let her hold your sword.â He smiled suggestively at this, âI, on the other handâŠâÂ
Connor then turned to the audience with a flourish, bowing as they continued to cheer. âThank you, thank you. It is I, Captivating Connor!âÂ
Well, well, wasnât this a delectable surprise. Most of the people in C-36 gingerly walked on stage, some only after encouragement from their prune of a boyfriend or a group of friends that included their mother, but none owned it as valiantly as Connor. Theyâd always been so coyish, quick to wrinkle under simple commands. But Connor stood before him on the stage, bold and sure, the top hat made for him.
Gordon cocked a brow at Connor, licking his lips as he sloped past him with the words, biting a smirk back. âSee me backstage after the show and you can play with it all youâd like, handsome,â he whispered back, quietly tapping the otherâs ass before slinging his arm lazy across the otherâs shoulder, walking him closer towards the edge of the stage.
He was more than comfortable sharing the attention with him; comfortable handing him the attention.
The woman was left wracked with nerves back near the coffin, her stance all wrong, her energy like water, looking for trust in Gordonâs eyes. He sauntered towards her, leaning against her with his arm. âA magician always has a trick up his sleeve, my dear. Youâre in for a surprise,â he said casually to her, watching the Captivating Connor soak in the audienceâs roaring adulation. This was what fresh talent was, emerging before him like it were spring, the design falling into place. Oh, heâd chat with him after - a long talk.Â
Twisting his wrist, Gordon flicked his oaken wand, pointing it towards the sky. For a mere second, the stage trembled lightly before the cards scattered across the flooring flew straight into Gordonâs free hand to form a deck. He bowed once, letting the audience enjoy fist-pumping and sounding their vocal chords like they were an ensemble.
Gordon met Connorâs eyes, handed his wand. Smirking, quirking a brow at him, licking his lips. Holding a lock of eyes, his face ghosting over the otherâs. âAs she inserts the sword, killing the fiendish Ayes-Sage, you are to point and thrust this wand forward in one motion, with everything you have in you. Donât hold back as it spurts out magic. Just feel. That thatâs when you will know when youâve become the Great Griffin.â
Pulling himself back, teasingly, Gordon bowed once more - why not - before he spun himself into the coffin. âThe Great Griffin will live on.â His head peeped out to look at the audience, at the woman, at Connor... all before the iron lock snapped shut.
