Forced Visitation

Ambrose was wandering the halls again deep into the night. It had become his usual, more his usual since the New Year's Party. Much more his usual . . .

He looked down at the floor, not because he was avoiding the occassional person's gaze or even the ever-possible chance a coin would be lying abandoned on the cold floor. He was looking down upon people. Ambrose didn't even want to, it just . . . happened. Just like so many things in this forsaken academy: Yuuki, Deneli, Luppa, Leon--

His temper flared up again at the mere thought of the winged boy, stopping Ambrose dead in his tracks. He felt the surface of his jeans' pocket before remembering that the gold coin wasn't there anymore. That only made his anger rise even more. It was all her fault; that wonderful woman turned sadistic on him, caught him off-guard, and . . . and. . . ! But, there was no use becoming so infuriated about what happened. He knew that. He knew that, and yet . . .

It was the academy's fault for making things blurred. Things used to be so simple, when he was on his own. Simple. Clean. And, filled with coins. The coins had to be there. Here? Sure, he had his personal horde, but . . . It wasn't the same without the gold diatoma. That was the idea, though. To change things.

He never liked change.

Then, there was what that vampire said at the assembly (first dragons, then deamons, now vampires? Really? Soon, it would be flying fish . . .). Saying that the man's words irked him did not do the feeling justice. It was like he knew-- That was impossible. Surely it was.

Ambrose managed to snap out of his thoughts long enough to realize that he didn't recognize this part of the building. Wondering where the hell his feet brought him, the red-headed boy glanced at the nearest door and it's sign.

"Counselor's Office"

Oh, hell. Like hell was he seeing that-- that infuriating, insulting--

I suggest you go inside, darling, a voice rang inside his head above the usual chatter of Them. Or, do I need to come over like last time?

Last time . . . Luppa. He didn't want to repeat that incident. Grudgingly, Ambrose opened the door and entered the office room.

Richard listened intently to the footsteps outside. They sounded somewhat aimless, as if their source didn't really know where he or she was going.

He was sitting behind his new desk. Well, new to him - nothing in the castle was really new. It was a massive oak masterpiece: a carved scene of jousting knights decorated the front, with stylized leaves and lillies swirling around them. It took some diving in the somewhat dusty unused rooms to find it, but it was worth it. He ran a hand over the smooth wood affectionately.
He spent so much time seeking out the perfect desk that there was not much more in the ways of furniture in the office. He brought two fairly shoddy chairs. Courteously, he put the more comfortable one out for the guest rather than himself.
Later he would replace them with something more suitable, but for now, he felt compelled to do some actual work instead of indulging in the joys of interior decoration.

The footsteps seemed to hesitate. Richard leaned over the top and tilted his head. Would they decide to knock?
And then the knob turned and a fiery-headed boy walked right in, wearing a rather unenthusiastic expression.
Richard blinked, waited a second after the student entered, then gave him a slight smirk.
"Please, do come in."

(( Shall I assume that Richard already knows Am.'s name? He has a curse on him. > >; See signature. ))

Ambrose automatically hated that smirk. And that obnoxious desk. And the fact that there was a reasonably comfortable chair waiting for him. Out of polietness, he closed the door, but out of spite, Ambrose remained standing.

He didn't understand why he was here-- actually, that was a lie, he knew exactly why They wanted him here: to spread the word. They were all about publicity, after all. The more people that knew about Them, the more smug they became. Ambrose wasn't going to give that to Them, though.

Say hello to the nice man, darling, the voice of Disaster popped-in like a parent would to a ten-year-old. Jimmy! Say hello to the nice man. Good boy! Here's a cookie. Ambrose frowned at the condencending voice, but the worst part was that Diaster knew it to be condencending-- that was the point. Ambrose moved much faster with spite as a motivator.

"Hello," Ambrose glared, watching the vampire carefully. Well, it was a start.

((Yes. I know. I thought about it, and I'm pretty sure that while they didn't really get introduced, Ammy's Am.'s name was mentioned with Rich around. And because he's a creep who listens in, he'll never get to see the spider. o3o))

Oh, now that there was an unwilling client. He didn't want to be there, one bit. Was he sent in by one of the teachers? Richard assumed not; he hoped they would be gallant enough to let him know in advance.
"Hello." He gestured towards the chair. "Do be seated."

He didn't know much about the boy. So far, his vague mental notes about him amounted to 'he seems conflicted about something important'. Well, hopefully he'd have something to add to that after this conversation.

Richard folded his hands and smiled amiably. "So... Ambrose, am I right? How can I be of service?" He glanced around the room, then gave the student an apologetic look. "I would offer you some refreshments, but as you can see, this room is still rather bare."

(( This'll make Ambrose opening-up much easier. ^ ^; Oh, and Ammy is a brilliant nickname. XD ))

He continued to glare at the chair . . . and then gave up, deciding to sit down. The most annoying part was that the chair was moderately comfortable. Damn it.

Ambrose's relunctance vanished, though, as the vampire spoke his name. It had been so long since he didn't have to explain the curse to anyone. So long. He decided right then and without any hesitation to give the man a try. Anyone that knew his name couldn't be that bad.

"I am perfectly fine," he grinned in a vain attempt to be polite-- but, the smile soon faded as his thoughts grew heavy once more. He casted his brown eyes towards the floor, unable to make eye contact. He was looking down on everyone, even this man.

He wanted that to stop.

"How . . . How much do you know about me?" Ambrose questioned, forcing his eyes to be level with the vampire. This man was not one to take lightly. Far from it.

((He would totally hate it I'm sure xD))


No, you aren't, Richard wanted to say. But that would probably make the boy clam right up, so he just nodded slowly, as if in slight disbelief.

His grayish blue eyes were glued to the figure opposite him, watching every small movement. The way he seemed to struggle with eye contact was duly noted.
Richard tilted his head slightly. Ambrose seemed to be wary of him - did he give him any reason to be so? He couldn't recall. Perhaps the boy was just careful with everybody he met. Well, if that was the case, very wise - but he should learn to hide it better.

He smiled in amusement, as if the question was a light hearted joke. "Hm, let me think. Your name is Ambrose... You're in the fifteen-seventeen age range, unless I am very wrong and you're not human." He tapped his chin thoughtfully. "You're either friends or roommates with somebody, or something, far from a human. My bet is on a roommate." His skittishness hinted to the fact he didn't really have many friends around here, if at all. "There is something important that is bothering you. You're feeling bitter and you have been for a while. You don't really want to be here, in this room, but there is something that is forcing you - or somebody."
All of those things he either could tell from his visitor's smell and the traces of others' left on his clothes, or guessed from his behavior. Richard shot him an unsure look.
"I haven't gone too far, have I? I mean," he made a vague gesture. "you did ask me."

Yes, Ambrose did ask how much the vamp knew about him. That didn't mean that the man had to rub it in his face.

He really wanted to correct the man-- really, really wanted to prove him wrong. But, as he listened to the vampire's words, correcting him was hard to do. Everything was on the mark: roommates, feeling bitter, being forced here . . .

"I am human," was the only thing he glared out of pure habit, but he broke eye contact while saying it. Nothing the man said was really false, and he knew it. All except the age, that is.

None of Them said a word, which was remarkable, considering that They simply loved to meddle. It was quite . . . eerie. His mind was empty of all thoughts but his. Finally, the only real correction he could make:

"And . . . I'm a bit older than sixteen."

"A bit?" one Power questioned in the silence.

Shut up.

Aha, so he was correct in almost everything. Very satisfying.
He ran the tips of his fingers against the surface of the desk, much alike somebody petting a favorite animal.

"Is that so? Am I to understand that you're around eighteen or twenty, or are we speaking in more... immortal terms?"
The boy did smell completely human, as far as Richard could tell, and he could tell pretty damn well. His curiosity was piqued; Ambrose was a mystery he couldn't wait to delve deeper into. He had no idea what could it be that made him come here and talk to the counselor, and that was just... exciting.
If it was some obligation of his own - a wish to get to know a potential enemy, so to speak - he wouldn't be so reluctant. No, Richard's bet was on some outside influence... but what? Or who?

(( . . . Explicitive. > >; There was no avoiding this one. ))

Ambrose visibily flinched at the word 'immortal.' It was still a raw topic, one not to be treaded on lightly. And yet, the vampire had just stomped on it. Hard. Various flinching noises could be heard from some of the more responcive Powers That Be.

"I was born in the late 1800's, for one," Ambrose harshly whispered, knowing that he was going to regret deeply for answering. "Time was . . . frozen for me for a long while--"

It still is, darling, a sad yet flamboyant voice rang, sending Ambrose's rage skyrocketing-- so much so that he forgot the voice was internal.

"SHUT THE HELL UP!" He shot up from his chair, screaming up at the ceiling and what was above it. THEM. "SHUT THE FRICK UP, ALL OF YOU! I AM SICK AND TIRED OF PUTTING UP WITH . . . WITH YOUR SH*T!"

Ambrose could have go on. Really, he could have. But, a small voice in his head (a helpful Power, no doubt) told him polietly that he had an audience-- an audience besides Them, that is. The vampire.

Ambrose brought down his gaze . . . and stared at the man. In utter horror.

No turning back now, is there? the flamboyant deity tackfully remarked, although there was a twinge of pain in his voice, as well. He had obviously misjudged how sensitive Ambrose was these days.

Late 1800's... Where was he at the time? In England, probably. Northern England...

At his guest's outburst Richard winced slightly, then followed the boy's gaze to the ceiling. Unless Ambrose's magical ability was being able to hear and understand chandeliers (apparently, they don't know when to hold their tongues...), it was something immaterial he was addressing.

As he looked to him again, there was nothing but calmness in his expression, even though his ears were still ringing.

"Don't bother, son." He shook his head. "God is deaf. God remains deaf. And if he wasn't yet - you just changed that."

A Nietzsche joke would likely be lost on this individual, but well... It still made Richard give a small chuckle.

Ambrose watched the man's expression carefully. Why was the man calm? For all the vampire knew, Ambrose had just screamed at the top of his lungs at a stupid chandelier.

He made God deaf. Good. It was the chuckle that set him off again.

"You, too! Just . . . shut up! Don't look at me! Don't dare breathe on me!" And yet, he stayed. "You all are so STUPID!" He didn't even consider leaving. "Did you ever think that I would dislike this? ALL of this?" Because, if the vampire really could help him . . . "I hate this place! I hate you, and Them, and--" . . . he wanted the help. "FRACKING DAMN IT, STOP STARING AT ME!"

He knocked over the chair in futile frustration. It broke, fumbling onto the floor rather pathetically. Ambrose stared at it for a time, his rage still unquinshed. This man needed to understand. He had to understand.


Who else would?

Richard squinted slightly every time Ambrose's voice went up in intensity. The boy's request was partly fulfilled - Richard's eyes was still on him, but he halted his breathing. One out of two will have to do.
The fact that he said he hated the school Richard disregarded; he was sure the core of the problem was something else. Them... The way he said it hinted that it wasn't just some 'them', he referred to a particular group. And since when he yelled at the ceiling, he did it using a plural form...

At the furniture destruction Richard had to frown. Oh, no, we won't be having that; he had to do something before Ambrose targeted something more irreplaceable - like his fabulous desk.

Slowly, he pushed his own chair back and got up. "Of course you hate them." he said in a conversationalist manner, taking a step sideways, still watching every movement of his frustrated guest. "You never asked for what they are doing to you, did you? No, you did not. Your anger is righteous..." he continued, walking around the desk. "...and you can't even take it out on them... No. They're not really present physically, you can only hear their voices, am I right? You don't know how to fight them, because you can't hit them."
At that point, he was standing next to the redhead, staring at him with his piercing blue eyes. Richard was only somewhat taller, so he didn't tower over the boy; the way he carried himself, however, spoke of enough confidence to look down upon Godzilla.
His expression suddenly softened as he spread his arms.
"You can hit me, though." he said. "Go on."

Ambrose let Richard speak, eyeing the vampire carefully, closely . . . What the hell was he doing? Thought he was funny-- a real comedian? Hah, ha. Not funny. Not at all. When he spread-out his arms, though, it was Ambrose's turn.

"You . . . haven't the slightest idea of what They are." Instead of helping him, the vampire was mocking him, pretending that he knew Them, that he understood where Ambrose was coming from, that it was okay. Things were far from that. "You say I can't touch Them, can't hurt Them? The worst part is-- I can! I could summon Them from Their stupid high-clouded looking point, stab Them in the jugular as much as I please, if They hold still long enough-- and, it won't matter. They'll laugh it off, shrug it off, and go about Their damned business. They don't care."

Erm. Well, this was awkward. Actually, darling, we sort of DO care if you stab us--

"Shut up," Ambrose growled to the ceiling again, promising to give those wounds if They spoke one more decible. He then turned towards the vampire again . . .

"If I hit you, will you care?" he interrogated. "As un-living as you are, will you bleed? I doubt it. You and Them are more simular than I first thought." And, with that simularity in mind, Ambrose loathed the vampire even more than before, if possible.

He narrowed his eyes a little. Ambrose was right, of course - Richard didn't have the slightest idea. He could only take what he was given and try to draw logical conclusions from it. Usually he didn't stray too far from the truth.

He supported the elbow of one arm with his other hand, then rubbed his jaw thoughtfully.
"Very well then, I was mistaken. You can hit them. But if they laugh it off, then you can't really say that you can hurt them, can you?"
This wasn't an issue with semantics; he was trying to figure out what exactly was the boy's problem. He hoped he wouldn't interpret it as the former.

"Yes." he said. "I would bleed quite profusely all over this-" he glanced downward. "-lovely tiled floor, and I assure you, being a vampire means you have plenty of blood to spill."
At Ambrose's last words, though, he tilted his head in surprise. "Similar? In what way?"

"No," Ambrose glared, his temper quitely steaming, waiting for the next opprotune moment to flare up. "That's what I've been telling you: its worse than you thought." It's worse than ANYONE thought . . . The very idea that you could hurt something and it not care was depressing at best.

As Ambrose spoke, he was pacing, like a lion deciding whether or not to pounce on an elephant. It could be done, with enough effort, but did he want to put forth the effort only to be trampled upon?

"The fact that you can bleed, at least, is slightly reassuring." Only slightly. "Still, you and Them are the same: the same prying into people's lives. The same meddling." A thought then occured to Ambrose. "Did you . . . volunteer for this position? Do you get pleasure from interrogating the student body?"

As he spat out the words, his temper started to rise-- it was threatening to boil over once more. Who knew what would happen if he exploded? Or, rather, who would be in his path. . . .

"Alright." he said. "Then why don't you tell me more? You know, as to not allow any room for me to make any other misguided assumptions."

He smiled lightly, watching the boy move around. Richard's pose was relaxed - nonthreatening. Though it was probably too late for that. He could allow himself to look casual, giving off the false impression that he wasn't ready to immediately respond to any attack. He didn't need to tense his muscles to be prepared - his reaction time was faster than anybody else he knew.
Hopefully he wasn't about to find out about an exception.

He raised his hands. "No, please. Allow me to explain. I'm not forcing anybody to come here. And when somebody does, it's certainly far from interrogation." He actually looked a bit indignant at the suggestion. "My role here is to aid when needed, not to meddle uninvited." He let his hands down, then shrugged. "I have no intention to harm you; when I stepped out from behind my desk, it was not to fight you - I merely offered for you to take out your anger on something physical." Richard gave him a curious look. "But perhaps that's not the best idea. It would likely only fuel your rage."

The vamp want to know more. That's what They wanted out of this: for knowledge of Them to spread. Nevertheless, if the man didn't know about Them . . . He had a point, Ambrose had to concede. The man could not help without knowing about Them. Damn it.

Ambrose observed the vampire carefully, still very much not at ease. He listened to his words, though, finding himself wanting to give this man a chance-- when he spoke of his rage, expecially. There was a time when he had no temper . . . How long ago that seemed.

". . . If you are willing to help," Ambrose started warily, "then . . . give me a sign. Show me that your willing to help."

Ambrose didn't even know how such a sign would be possible, but he needed it in order to continue with the conversation. He needed to be shown that 1) he could trust this man, vampire or not, and 2) that They would not be able to sway him, manipulate him. Just like with Luppa . . .

"Show me."

At Ambrose's request, Richard's expression fell blank. This was not to be taken lightly - he had to play his cards well, and he took a long pause to consider the options. All the time, while he thought, he looked into the boy's eyes, as if he could find an answer there.

When he finally broke the silence, his voice was completely serious.
"If I had a weapon, I would lie it down in front of you." He held up his open hands, palms up. "But as you can see I have none."
Richard shifted his weight from one foot to another.
"Instead, as a sign of my hope and my intention to never come to blows with you, I could tell you one of my weaknesses. The things that can actually hurt me in a permanent way."
He raised a finger, pointing it at the poor chandelier. "But I will not. Do you know why? Because I believe you. I believe that the voices you're hearing are not the product of a diseased mind, but real, intelligent and dangerous entities. And them... I cannot trust."

Richard folded his arms and looked at Ambrose calmly.
"I do not know what other proof can I give you."

Ambrose listened to the man closely, following his every word. His logic was sound . . . It was not proof of help, but rather proof of belief, proof that this vampire considered Ambrose sane enough. That was proof enough.

"You make a good point," Ambrose noted, glancing upwards as several Powers tisked and boo-ed at the false unveiling. Anti-suspense was foul play! Still, some of Them managed to see amusement in it nevertheless.

Touche. There was faint clapping above, and Ambrose smiled a little despite himself.

Ambrose was about to sit back down in the chair but, realizing that he had destroyed it (when did that happen?), he merely got comfortable on the floor, sitting cross-legged and with a straight back. It didn't matter either way, and Ambrose supposed Richard would want his 'guest' to sit down.

"Where do you want to start?"

Traces of a self-satisfied grin that Richard resisted were visible in a twitch at the corner of his lips.
Bingo. Or straight flush, rather, going with the earlier card analogy.
He managed to smile politely instead.

But when Ambrose casually occupied the floor, he gasped with horror. "You mustn't-!" he said, before trotting hurriedly back to the desk to fetch his own chair. Placing it beside where the boy was currently sitting, he nodded with relief.
"I couldn't possibly live with the guilt of having allowed you to catch a cold."

He glanced back at the desk, approached it and ran his hand along it's surface. Good, aged, sturdy wood; surely it wouldn't have any trouble holding his weight? Richard turned his back towards it and pushed himself up lightly to sit on the edge, facing his visitor, his feet dangling an inch or two above the floor.
Looking at Ambrose again, he rubbed his hands together then rested them on his sides.
"Hm. I suppose we can start with... How did you get into this situation? How long have they been accompanying you for?"

(( *dying of excitement* ))

. . . A cold? Several of Them snickered. The very thought that Entropy would become ill! The very thought that one of Them would catch something! Still, Ambrose took the chair, nodding in compliment and nothing else.

The beginning. That was fair, but difficult nevertheless.

"It was winter of 1874. The Americas.

"I . . . had recently been cursed." It was a hard thing to admit. "There had been a rumor of a dragon and its horde of treasure. Although I did not acknowledge the existance of dragons-- I still do not-- I thought there to be a glimmer of truth, that the horde did exist . . . and, that was all that mattered. Aquiring treasure was my 'profession,' my passion." Even now, he could almost grasp the gold, caress it underneath his fingertips . . .

"The witch was there, lying in wait. She had spread the rumor in the hopes of catching interesting prey-- and, she found me. She was estatic. She claimed to have peered into my soul, finding no kindness, only greed, and thust decided one-sidedly to place a curse upon me: whomever did not know my name would only perceive me as a tarantula, an arachnid of the horrid sort. The witch--" His anger boiled up slightly at the mere thought of her. "--that bitch claimed it was to encourage the effort of companionship. Friendship." He chuckled harshly-- he had to. "Do you know anyone that would come close to a spider as big as your fist?" It was a retorical question. Ambrose knew the answer well enough.

"Needless to say, I was in ruins-- my profession had more risks, the kind that I could not control. Travel into cities proved all the more difficult. I could hardly breathe without some woman swinging her purse at me.

"And, that was when . . . They came. To make a deal."

The audience from above was completely still, without a single phrase to utter. This was the best part, the one that They always reminded him about. . . .

"They sent a messenger, one of their various Servants, a brain-washed follower. They made the one offer I could not refuse: to break the curse. Forever." A glimmer escaped from his eyes. "I asked Their payment. They told me their terms.

"I immediately accepted.

"It was only later that day that two of Them told me exactly what I had signed-up for." They were still his only two allies, even over a century later. "Their conditions, Their . . . side-effects," he spatted out like poison, which it was.

"They were turning me into one of Them. A deity."

Ambrose paused for questions so-far and to simply let it all sink in. If the vampire was willing for his explination to continue, though, he would gladly. It was something that needed to be told, even if it was playing into Their hands.

As Ambrose spun his yarn, Richard tried to maintain a neutral expression. However, with every sentence, he found himself slowly leaning forwards and watching the boy intently. He folded his hands in his lap.

After the word "deity" rung out in the air and silence befell the room, Richard blinked and shook his head slightly to snap back to his senses. Immediately, he straightened out his back and put his arms to his sides again. He gazed up to the chandelier in thought. The story, somehow, struck a familiar chord, and that caused a brief amusement to show on Richard's face. A strange being with unknown motives offers a troubled individual a supernatural gift with no mention of the dark side it had? Being a vampire, he had heard that tale all too many times.

But... a deity? What could possibly be a bad side to being a God?

He looked to Ambrose again.
"What" he said, his voice sounding oddly hoarse. Richard cleared his throat.
"What is the price?"

The vamp was taking this well. Too well, if one asked Ambrose, but he simply was glad that the tale wasn't being scrutinized.

'The price?' A good question. Perhaps he was telling this tale to the right man, after all.

"The price . . . are the side-effects. Obtaining the attributes for what you 'represent' . . ." He needed an example. Damn it. Too many people already knew of Occurance, so he would have to choose another, more fitting, example.

"One of the deities that helps me is Dopamine, more casually known as Laughter. They have two names given to Them," Ambrose explained briefly, "which makes dealing with Them all the more taxing. Anyway . . . Laughter obtained several 'side-effects' when accepting his current position.

"First is the over-all lift from society. All of Them have this. You aren't human anymore, you can't be. You start looking at someone, anyone--" This was quickly becoming personal, but Ambrose didn't notice. "--and, they look pathetic. Weak. Mortal. Communication with anyone else besides other deities becomes akin to talking to goldfish. It's humiliating.

"Laughter in particular . . ." Ambrose really didn't want to use him as a blatent example, but he would understand, wouldn't he? He was explaining to someone how horrible the deities are. That's the only reason he and Ambrose met.

". . . can make crying children stop. And, helium to spontaneously form in the air. And . . . spontaneous laughter. Symbols, actions that represent joy and happiness all fall under him. Still, it isn't 'happiness'-- no deity can control actual emotions.

"Another side-effect is . . . that Laughter can no longer stop smiling. Ever. He tries damn hard, but it never gets him anywhere. There's always that sliver of a grin on his face. I hear he cannot cry, either."

He couldn't look at the vampire. Not anymore.

"It's different for every representation."

He was now talking about why he was here. And, he wasn't sure if he wanted to ruin what he had so far.

Ambrose's story was outrageous, but he approached it with an open mind, like he usually did. He tried his best to draw analogies with what he had already seen and experienced, not to make it seem less unusual, but rather to hopefully understand the student's troubles better.
So, after the supernatural change, you start seeing others who aren't like you as inferior to you, as animals... As cattle to be milked, perhaps?...
Heh. He could relate to that, alright.

Richard found his thoughts briefly wandering off to muse over what kind of domain, if any, would be a tolerable one. But no, even if one could choose, and chose something they liked, being stuck with the attributes of that thing for all eternity would simply be a nightmare.
Boredom was what Richard hated more than anything in the world.

There was only one thing he could say at that point, one question that begged to be asked. No other words remained. He watched Ambrose, curiosity mixing with sympathy.
"What is yours?"

At that question, Ambrose froze. His body went ridged, his face even paler than usual, but his eyes remained sharp, defiant to the end. Although usually brown, his irisus were now a vivid scarlet, striking against the white foreground.

He . . . had agreed to tell the vampire everything. In a sense, Ambrose was honor-bound to that. Not that honor really mattered to him, but it was the thought that counted. He had agreed, and yet, he was finding more and more that he didn't like where this conversation was going. Maybe he should stop all together--

But, that would just be conceding the victory to IT. He couldn't let that happen, no matter what.

"They . . . call it Entropy," he harshly whispered, as if not daring to speak any louder. "A deity . . . of chaos."