After the Calling

I know I tried to keep from identifying extraneous characters, but there are so many in this one, that I had to allow for names.

Warnings: Adult themes, profanity, possible squickiness, non-english-non-englishness

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Mickey slammed her locker shut as she watched her friend Velma flirt with Fenton Bailey. A college kid who had nothing better to do than tease silly high school girls. He had graduated last year, but still showed up with his freshman buddies every now and then to preserve the puppy-love crushes that had blossomed before he left for state university. His favorite girl to string along was Velma.

Mickey frowned. She didn’t like Fenton. Not just because he had no business pursuing her best friend, but also because on the few occasions Velma had snuck out of the house to hang out with him, she had returned to school the next day pale, unfocused, and withdrawn. Mickey was positive that he was introducing her to drugs. She hoped it was just marijuana, but she wouldn’t put Fenton past ecstasy or acid or any one of those drugs she read about in the school’s drug prevention pamphlets.

She watched as Fenton bent down so Velma could kiss him on the cheek, but as the beaming teen leaned forward, he turned his head so that she caught him on the mouth. She giggled and waved wildly as he took his leave.

Mickey couldn’t help but roll her eyes as Velma practically skipped towards her.

“TGIF Mickster!” Velma exclaimed. “We are going to have the most kick-ass weekend.”

“I have a Bio test on Monday, and a 5 page essay due in English on Tuesday. I don’t know how kick-ass the weekend is going to be,” Mickey replied.

“It’s gonna be totally kick ass, because tomorrow night, you and I are going to… get this… a night club!”

Mickey’s face pinched skeptically. “I’m pretty sure you have to be at least 18 to get into a nightclub, and you don’t even look 15.”

Velma beamed. “Fenton’s gonna get us on the list.”

“Fenton’s not even 18.”

“He turned 18 last month! Mickey, stop being such a killjoy!” she huffed. “He’s knows somebody, and he’s totally gonna get us in.”

Mickey shook her head. “Velma, that’s a crap idea. We’re too young and we’ll stick out like sore thumbs. And I’d like to see you try to convince your parents to let you go to a nightclub. Right after you convince my parents.”

“Dude, come sleep over my house. My parents are in bed by 9:30 and they sleep like rocks. We’ll just sneak out. Stop overcomplicating this.”

“No.” Mickey didn’t budge. “I just got done being grounded and I’m not interested in spending another weekend cleaning out the garage. We can go see a movie or something.”

Velma scoffed. “Look, I was being nice, inviting you an all. You can go see a movie by yourself. I’m going to that club. With or without you.” She spun on her heel and began making her way down the hall.

Mickey stared after her, not wanting to call her back, but also not wanting her to go out alone on some skeevy date, to some skeevy club, with some skeevy guy. She let out a miffed sigh. “Ugh, Velma!” she called. “Fine, you brat, I’ll go. But no drinking and we’re back at your house by 1 am.”

Velma wheeled back around grinning ear to ear. “You, my friend, are the coolest kid in school.”

“Yeah, tell that to my dad when he’s making me mow the frickin’ lawn,” Mickey grumbled.

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“I’m not sure about this,” Mickey said, as she and her friend stepped out of the cab in front of the nightclub. The building was on a dark street in a shady part of the city and had a line of sketchy looking people trailing from the door. It looked less like a club than like an industrial warehouse. “Are you sure this is the place?”

“Relax, Mickster,” Velma said, already walking towards the front of the line. “Act 18.”

“I’m not 18, so how can I act 18?”

“Okay fine, then just shut up and let me do the talking.”

“No. I think we should go home,” Mickey replied. “They’re probably not going to let us in anyway.”

“Well, we have to try to get in before they can refuse to let us in.”

They approached the door where the bouncer raised his eyebrows at them with skeptical amusement. “Can I help you kids?”

Velma smiled up at him confidently. “Yeah, we should be on the list as guests of Fenton Bailey.”

“There is no list,” the bouncer responded. “You’re either in or you’re not.”

Velma seemed taken aback, but only for a moment. “Well, we are most definitely in.”

The man scoffed. “Alright, how about we cut the shit and you girls just head on home. I’m sure it’s past your curfew.”

“I told you,” Mickey said, shaking her head.

But Velma was not swayed. “Dude! You didn’t even ask to see our IDs! We just look young for our age!”

The bouncer shook he head, looking them over. “I’m guessing that you look just right for your age. I don’t need a fake ID to tell me –” He stopped short as his eyes hit Mickey and narrowed. Mickey stiffened immediately under his gaze, something about it making her feel exposed, as if he were staring into her.

Mickey looked away and fidgeted nervously while the man continued to stare at her.

“Dude, take a picture,” Velma said finally.

The bouncer blinked, shaken from his scrutiny, and suddenly changed his tone. “Then again, I’ve made mistakes before.” He stepped aside and motioned them in. “Go right on in.”

A number of unimpressed vulgarities rose up from the long line in front of the door, but the bouncer dismissed them. “Shut the fuck up,” he said to the crowd as the shocked teenagers walked past him into the building.

“Come on Mickey!” Velma said, pulling her jilted friend along. But Mickey was still recovering from the strange sensation she had felt beneath the bouncer’s eyes.

Velma clapped her hands excitedly as the loud music infiltrated their ears. “This is going to rock!” she said, but slowed to a halt as she peered around the large, strobe-lit room.

There didn’t seem to be any one person who wasn’t entangled with someone else. The various states of dress ranged from formal wear to chainmail to partial nudity.

“Uhm… Velma?” Mickey peered timidly around the room. “Did Fenton tell you what kind of club this was?”

Even Velma was a bit unsure as a glitter-clad woman made her way past them. “Not really. But, don’t worry about. Just act 18.”

“Actually, ladies, I think the appropriate age to act in 21.” A heavily accented voice bore down through the music, causing the two teens to spin around in surprise.

An eccentric looking man was examining them pleasantly, the bouncer who had granted them entry standing at his side.

“I wasn’t sure about letting them in, Mr. Mosai,” the bouncer said above the blare of the speakers. “They’re underage.”

“Eh. We are all children at heart.” The man’s eyes had made a beeline for Mickey, staring with an alarming level of intensity. Mickey once again felt as though she was being peered into, and her breathing became shaky as the discomfort travelled to her core.

“They said they were with Fenton,” the bouncer explained, joining the odd man in his inspection of Mickey.

“Well, now they’re with me.” The man said. “Howsit, lovelies? My name is Mr. Mosai. I’ve been told that you are very important people, hey?”

“VIP?!” Velma screeched happily.

“Why don’t you ladies come with me? I’ll buy you a drink,” he said.

Before Mickey could protest, Velma spoke up in clear excitement. “You’ll buy us drinks?! Really?!”

“Well, as long as you continue to act convincingly 21. I’m the owner of this lot, and I can get into shew bad trouble if anyone found out I was giving drinks to 18 year olds.” He winked.

Velma could not have been more pleased. “You’re the owner? Oh, we’re totally 21. Absolutely!” She gave Mickey a nudge. “Right?”

But Mickey didn’t answer. Her nerves were shot, and the vibes that she was getting from this strange individual were not good. She had a tendency to choke up when she was nervous, and she was definitely choking up.

But Velma had grabbed her arm, pulling her along as the man, with the bouncer still in tow, herded them through the crowd to the back of the establishment where a small, quiet, colorful alcove had been carved out to contrast with the raving debauchery.

Sitting in the alcove was a couple that was somehow managing to hold a conversation with a dark-haired man while also fondling each other. Their banter paused immediately when the teens and their new host entered.

“Hey, love, what kind of drink do you take?” Mr. Mosai asked Velma. In the quieter room, his accent was more conspicuous, and completely unidentifiable. It sounded like a bastardized Australian, but Mickey was not an accent connoisseur.

Velma glanced around, finally a little bit nervous, “A pina colada, I guess?”

The man chuckled. “Is that the only drink you know?”

“Yeah,” Velma blushed, embarrassed.

“You know what? It’s a bit crowded in here.” The man suddenly reached toward her and ran a hand down her face. “Why don’t you allow Madonas to take you to the bar, and let you choose from my personal menu, ja?”

Mickey watched with confusion as Velma’s face suddenly went blank before morphing into a cheery, near blissful smile. “Sure,” she said languidly.

“And maybe while you’re at the bar, you can forget you ever came here at all.”

“What?!” Mickey finally spoke up, her discomfort and anxiety no longer able to silence her. But her outburst was very short lived. The man turned his eyes on her, and straight away, her anxiety began to fade into something completely unusual. Contentment.

Her nerves and fear were being replaced with an unwarranted tranquility. Even her worry for Velma, as her friend left with the hulking bouncer, was being masked over. She knew distinctly that it was artificial, although she didn’t know how she knew, and something in her subconscious told her that this strange individual was the source of it, but it was so strong that it was preventing her from even being confused about it.

“What is your name?” Mr. Mosai asked, leaning forward to appraise her.

She hesitated before consenting. “My name is… Mickey. You know, I… I should probably leave too,” she said with undue calmness.

“Eh, no. Scratch that, this is the place to be, mos.”

“What is this?” On the couch, the red headed woman pulled away from the grip of the blond man she had been clinging too. “Loris?”

Mr. Mosai smiled. “Something to pass the time, hey?” he said with his unusual inflections. “Park off, Chloe. She’s fine.”

“She looks younger than Chauncey.”

“Ne? What has it, I’ll let her be just now.” The man clucked his tongue.

“I don’t like this,” the redhead pressed.

Mr. Mosai took hold of Mickey’s shoulders, and pushed her hair from her face. “What’s not to like? This pretty thing. I just want to get to know her, ja?”

The blond man spoke up then. “What do you need to know about a teenager, Loris, that you can only find out by tranquillizing her?”

Mr. Mosai became suddenly annoyed. “How’s your mind, hey? Don’t be dof. I prefer them post-pubescent.”

The blond shook his head. “Let her go. She’s a kid.”

“Sjoe, she doesn’t have the aura of a kid,” Mr. Mosai replied. “Now flog it. I swear if you two weren’t so sexy, I’d have no use for you.”

“I just… I don’t like this, Loris,” the blond’s companion repeated.

Mr. Mosai considered them for a moment before shrugging passively. “Then you can get the fuck out.”

The couple stared at him fiercely for a long moment before the redhead stood up, tugging on the blond man’s arm. “Jax, let’s go,” she said. And when he didn’t move, “Jax… we’re leaving.”

“Voetsek bru. Don’t upset your wife,” Mr. Mosai mocked.

The blond clenched his jaw, but stood up, flashing a heated glance before following his partner out of the alcove.

As they exited, Mickey felt as though her last lifeline had left with them, but she couldn’t work up the proper emotions to correspond that feeling. Whatever this man, Mr. Mosai had done to her, it had calmed her nerves to such a lax state, the ceiling could have caved in and she wouldn’t have twitched.

He returned his attention to her. “My fault, lovely Mickey, don’t be phased. Those two are buggered fools. I only want to be friends.” He took her hand and pulled her over to couch that had been recently vacated. “Sit,” he ordered, pushing her back. “Tell me about that special aura of yours.”

“Aura?” Mickey asked airily, sitting down.

“Ah. The Calling hasn’t gotten to you yet, hey? Mos, that’s wonderful.” He leaned towards her, lowering his voice. “There is a light in you that not many people have. And your light is much brighter than most. What’s extra special about you is that you can share that light with all the dim bulbs out there. Like me. My poor light is about to go out.”

“That’s… that’s… terrible.”

He gave her a slow, deliberate nod. “It’s too bad no one will share their light with me.”

Mickey suddenly felt another surge of cooling joviality, and an overwhelming sense of generosity. “I… maybe I can share with you.”

Mr. Mosai gasped dramatically. “Love, you’re sugary sweet, ja? You would share with me?”

Despite her better judgement, she gave a slow nod in agreement.

“Then do it.”

She tilted herself away from him a bit, discomfort seeping through the hazy calm. “I don’t – I don’t know how.”

“Ag no. I could help you, ja?”

“How?” she breathed.

“Here,” he said. “Let me show you.”

And suddenly she was bombarded by the sensation of being divided, as if a pane of ice had halved her in have right down her core. But the feeling wasn’t associated with pain, or discomfort, but rather an oddly hypnotic awareness of every element in her body. Every pore in her skin, the blood cells in her veins, the hair of her eyebrows, they were all quivering along the same frequency. Her very being pulsed and she felt that she may have blacked out for a moment.

She exhaled sharply. “What was that?”

“That was your light, love. Your aura,” he replied. “And God, it is miraculous. Can you see my light? Look how bright you’ve made it.”

At that moment, Mickey was able to look at him, really look at him, and became aware of an odd, churning cloud about him. She wasn’t sure if she was seeing it or feeling it, but she was definitely sensitive to it. It shone with something akin to the light that the man kept describing.

Loris looked over her shoulder the dark-haired man who had been observing the entire scene while remaining uninvolved. “Eh, strong silent type over there, you see this? She recovers so quickly, it’s like I’ve done nothing to her. Fuck me if Lady Row didn’t miss one.”

Mickey turned to look at the man Loris was talking to. He was staring at her quite strongly with shaded eyes that were marked with harsh black lines. “She doesn’t catch them all,” he answered quietly.

“She usually catches the good ones, ja. And then flogs them,” Mosai answered. “You want to come introduce yourself?” He watched as the man slid over on the couch closer to Mickey. “But you be nice, ja?”

“I’m always nice,” the man said, eyes still on Mickey.

Something about him brought fear bubbling up through the false tranquility that Loris had implanted on top of her emotions, and she couldn’t help but recoil when he reached out and pulled her towards him.

He met her frightened stare without hesitation, and spoke to her in a low, bitter tone. “I’m Arden. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

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WRITER’S NOTE:

Mickey is a healing psychokinetic. She can create enormous excesses of energy and share it. Or it can be taken from her. She can quickly repair damage to her own aura and the auras of others. She is not a biological healer, but a healthy aura attributes to a healthy body.

So you can see how she’d be appealing to two vampirics.

Loris Mosai is an empath. He can manipulate the emotions of others. His accent is a really long explanation, which he will give himself in a later update, but I will say it is a menagerie accent which is based, mostly, in Afrikaans, one of the many languages spoken in South Africa.

I got the idea from my grandfather who was born in America but is of French Canadian and Afrikaner decent. He grew up in South African, went to school all over Europe, and then spent years in Spain before retiring in Canada. He’s got like, quadruple citizenship. It’s insane. His accent is a mess, a true menergie accent. You can’t tell what language he’s speaking at any given time. But I do know that he uses a lot of Afrikaner slang (and British slang, and French slang), and so every word I used that seemed unfamiliar was Afrikaner slang (mostly… I think), donated by my grandfather.

But mind you, in person, this man sounds like a Dutch, French, Spanish, British frog. So if there are any true South Africans out there who want to correct ANYTHING, please please please do.

Translations:

Howsit: How’s it going?

Ja: Yes, or Yeah… but it is very rare that my gramps ends a sentence without “Ja?” on the end. So I think it can be used as sentence emphasis.

Hey: Hey
But if he doesn’t end a sentence with “ja?” then my gramps ends a sentence with “hey.” So again, sentence emphasis.

Shew and Sjoe: Shit. But not like poo, like “Aw well, shit.” I know they mean the same thing, but I don’t think they are the same word. That doesn’t make sense, but I used both, just in case.

Ag no: Oh no!

Dof: stupid

Mos: It means “then”, but it’s kind of like “okay then.” I’m not too sure how to explain it, it kind of just shows up in sentences for no reason.

Just now: Soon. Except, it doesn’t mean soon. It really mean never. If someone is telling you that they’ll do something “just now”, don’t get your hopes too high that it’ll get done. I use this a lot with my grandmother. Oh yeah, I’m gonna drive you to the supermarket just now. She turns red. Hilarious.

Park off: Chill out. Relax.

Ne: Oh rreeeeeaaallly? Kind of like “No shit sherlock” all tucked into one syllable.

Voetsek bru: Fuck off, man
(I dare you to call your grandfather and ask how to say fuck off in another language. Then tell him that the first three options that he gives you are too vulgar.)

I think that’s it, but if I missed something let me know.

I don’t know why Arden is wearing a wedding ring. He’s not married. It’s an enigma. Or I’ve been jacking around with SimPE and not paying attention.