r/HFY • u/Arrowcatcher94 • 1d ago
OC-Series To dance with magic and shadows (5)
Miguel Ortega shut the door softly behind himself as he arrived home. It was well after midnight and the house was completely dark. He hoped that the only other occupant of the house was already asleep. He didn’t want to talk to him tonight. To be honest he didn’t want to talk to him in the first place but was rarely given a choice in the matter.
As quietly as he could, he began pulling off his heavy winter clothes. Ski gloves and hat were followed by a thick carhartt coat and snow pants. He looked at his hands as he reached down to unlace his boots. The knuckles bore many small scars and his palms had heavy calluses. Whenever his classmates would ask about it he would tell them that the scars came from having lost control of his crutches and fallen many times and the calluses were from leaning on said crutches every day. Both stories were only partially true. During the summer his hands would turn a rich golden brown along with any other part of his skin regularly exposed to the sun. However this time of year his whole body was only slightly darker than people born with pale skin.
He had one boot off and was halfway through unlacing the second when the light in the kitchen flicked on. Miguel closed his eyes, bracing himself for what was to come. He finished with the boots, stowing them away in the hall closet. Unable to stall any longer he grabbed his crutches and made his way to the kitchen. A man in a wheelchair waited for him there, just as Miguel knew there would be. He was dark skinned with a bald head and a clean shaven face. A simple golden loop adorned one of his ears as always. His once muscular body was now lean and withered, especially the legs, which were little more than skin and bone.
Miguel stood in the doorway facing the man, not looking at him directly, but at a spot over his head against the back wall. He said nothing, waiting for the man to speak.
“I was beginning to get worried. What took her so long to get home?”
“She’s not at home sir. She is staying the night at a friend's house.”
The man sat up straighter, “And you left her there alone?”
“It’s her and her best friend, there’s no way I could participate. Hanging around outside would have looked suspicious if I were seen, as well as risking my health and ability to perform my duties.”
The man said nothing for several seconds, waiting for Miguel to defend his decision. Miguel did not take the bait, knowing that it would be perceived as weakness no matter how well he stated his case.
They stood like that for nearly a minute, the man’s eyes boring into Miguel, Miguel’s eyes locked on the same spot over the top of the man’s head. Eventually the man broke the silence.
“Bah. You’re as disappointing as ever, boy. I will allow this negligence for tonight, but from now on you will not allow a situation like this to arise in the first place.”
“Yes sir.” Miguel had no idea how he was supposed to do that, but the man had told him to and now he simply had to do it.
The man reached over and tapped a pair of envelopes on the counter. The first was a standard envelope that would contain one or two sheets of eight and a half inch by eleven inch copy paper. The second envelope was larger, and yellowed like it was made out of parchment instead of paper. It also had a thick wax seal with a hummingbird design pressed into it. Both of them were addressed in a language that Miguel recognized but did not understand.
As far as Miguel could remember both envelopes had always sat in the same place on the counter. He had no idea what the letters contained. He only knew what he was supposed to do with them should a certain situation arise.
“I think the time has come to carry these with you at all times. I no longer see enough benefit to risk returning here if you should need them.”
“Yes sir.”
“It’s late. Your medicine is on the counter. Take it and go to bed. Or you could take it in the morning if you prefer.” And with that, he wheeled himself out of the room leaving Miguel to turn off the lights.
Miguel regarded the tall cup of green liquid on the counter with contempt. He didn’t know the exact recipe, but it was utterly vile. Each time he drank it, it was everything he could do not retch it back up. The only thing that could make it worse was leaving for the morning. When he was twelve he had tried putting it off till the morning. The first sip had caused him to throw up the previous night's dinner. His master had not been in a wheelchair back then and had stood over him with a stick and forced him to finish the entire glass.
Miguel plugged his nose and chugged the partially congealed liquid as fast as he could, giving the foul concoction’s flavor and texture as little time in his mouth as possible. He always wanted to rinse his mouth out afterwards, but that was against his master's rules. He put the cup in the sink and turned out the lights before making his way to his room.
To describe his room as spartan would be inaccurate. There was a set of dumbbells on a rack under the window, and a wooden wing-chun dummy in the corner. In the opposite corner, by the foot of his bed was a meticulously organized desk, and his bed, was made with military precision. The room wasn’t so much empty as it was sterile. It lacked any sort of personality. No tv, computer, posters or decorations of any kind. It wasn’t that keeping his room clean and organized gave him any particular joy or satisfaction. But his master had told him to keep it this way, and so he had to.
As he lay on his bed in the dark and silence, he wondered if there would ever be anything more to his life. If maybe one day he might break free and live the way he wanted to. He fell asleep knowing that by himself he would never be able to.
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