A Trade of Human Life
It wasn't really at Shen's urging, but Zane attempted to find some ways to pay more attention in class. He failed miserably. None of the instructional videos or online guides were of much help. Instead, he ended up staying late and reading about the healing properties of clear quartz crystals, which 'amplify energy' and are a 'master healer.'
Since he was a gang member, Zane knew well that white crystals could indeed 'amplify energy' and masterfully heal some aspects of a person's life, such as their happiness and lack of addiction, but it was definitely not of the sort he was looking for.
"Want a smoke?" There was a shuffling sound as the other boy reached into his back pocket, taking out a packet of cigarettes.
"I don't smoke."
"You smoked when you kicked Flavio Zuchezzi's ass."
Zane smirked cruelly.
"So that was his name, huh?" His smirk disappeared as he shook his head, raised a hand to refuse. "But, no, I really don't smoke. That was a spur-of-the-moment thing."
It was cold outside, as it often was in November. As such, Zane and Spike both wore jackets. Using the money he'd acquired from selling the Zuchezzis' possessions, Zane was planning to buy himself a new, less-shitty phone, and maybe a new winter jacket, since his present one wasn't up to the task of protecting him from harsh winter. Not even the Defense of the Northwind was exceptionally helpful in that department, rarely being more helpful than it was irritating to deal with.
"Suit yourself." The other boy placed a Chesterfield cigarette in between his lips, then raised up a lighter, shielding it with both hands carefully to avoid having the flame being put out by a cold wind. A few clicks later, he was sporting a lit cigarette and a deep frown on his face. "Why the sudden interest in fight clubs?"
There wasn't a realistic answer he could offer. If he said that his plan was to sap away the collective violence of the combat in order to power magical illusions, he'd probably earn a concerned look and a condescending pat on the back.
"Maybe something broke in me, and I'm sick in the head?"
"Sure." Spike coughed a little, nicotine smoke pouring from between his teeth. He kept coughing for a moment, before settling. "Damn."
"Damn," Zane echoed him, using a similar tone. "You're like, eighteen, but lungs are already failing. See, that's why I don't smoke."
"Cut your bullshit. We're here," Spike motioned for an alley with his cigarette like a pointer stick. As they both entered, they briefly paused to observe as a group of men in dark outfits kicked some dude in the ribs and wailed on him. Spike and Zane walked past, minding their business.
"That's a real Bronx at three AM moment," Spike muttered.
Both of them descended into a dark stairway adjacent to a small bar. A muscular guy with folded arms watched them as Spike knocked on the door. A shutter opened and another guy looked at them both from behind, then opened the door a few moments later. As Zane and Spike stepped into the establishment, they made their way over to the betting tables and Spike put down some money on a few of the fighters that he recognized. Zane was completely new, though, so he didn't bet on anyone, claiming he was simply here to watch and get acquainted with the 'sport,' to which the old, grizzled clerk simply raised an eyebrow at him.
As they observed the first initial bouts of combat, with Zane feeling the illusion charge deep within him slowly arising, Zane could feel a tangible presence observing him. It wasn't a feeling that he could describe or rationalize, but it was strong enough - palpable enough - that he stepped outside for a moment, excusing himself.
There weren't any thugs outside the establishment, nor a bouncer.
He breathed in nervously, rubbing his gloved hands together.
He flinched and stepped back when he saw it. Above the stairs, leaning over the railing, there was a man in a shiny steel mask looking down at him. The mask's chin was pronounced, almost pointy, while its eyes were pressed together in a pleasant way as if smiling, and yet no mouth. There was a metal nose, snub, and a shock of carved hair, sprouting a pair of twisted but relatively short horns. The man was dressed in a dark overcoat and leather gloves, with a gray sweater underneath. A thick, practical outfit; warm, but concealing. And the mask doubled as a sort of helmet, covering most of the head.
"Hello," the man said, innocently. "Zane. Right? Zane Li Black?"
For a moment, Zane stood there, contemplating whether or not he should create an illusion. He'd taken both cards with him, and it was now that he sensed the pulsating stupidity of that decision. If this man was also a cardholder, he was probably more experienced.
"Uh."
"Li." The masked individual's voice carried a sharp note of curiosity. He reached into his jacket's pocket and took out a box of orange tic-tacs, tapping it against his open hand in an attempt to spill some out.
He spoke then, in flawless unaccented Chinese, in an affable and friendly voice, warm like an old friend's. "Fire. Also known as the Hollow Middle of the Six Segments. Its direction is south, its organ is the eye, its animal is the snake, its action is love, and its personality is courage. Do you consider yourself an adaptable person? Do you often bite through problems?" The man briefly raised the mask, to reveal his mouth. He ate the tic-tacs, chewing on them as he slid his mask back down.
---
At the moment you have 23.8 Ambrosia. A few points short from a 25-Ambrosia Improvement...
[ ] Engage Conversation
-[ ] Be polite, respond to his questioning. "I think I'm dependable. And who are you?"
-[ ] Request his name first, before answering. "Who are you?"
-[ ] Remain silent and wait for him to talk more.
[ ] Run Away
-[ ] Write-in. (Tactics)
[ ] Write-in.