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Sunday evening, and the museums are closing for the night. Families with children stream out as security guards start to pull closed the gates and lock them up for the evenings. Isis is among the groups coming down the stairs from the history museum, dressed in a simple off-white sheath dress. She smiles faintly to herself as a mother passes by holding a child by each hand, then pauses a few steps from the sidewalk to look back over her shoulder at the museum. Another day, and yet no more news.
*
Billy is a nerd. This is a fact of reality written in the stars themselves: thus he is a teenager who chooses to go to museums of his own volition just for the fun of it. The young man is wearing a black pair of jeans and a long-sleeve deep red button up shirt, with the sleeves folded half up his arms. As he comes wandering down the steps, he becomes distracted and happens to bump into a woman. Blinking and stepping away, lifting his hands in appeasement, "Oops!" he declares, "Sorry, uh. Miss?" A quick, dimpled smile lights his features.
*
"Oh!" Isis half-turns, stepping out of the way. There's the beginning of a sound that follows, something that isn't quite a word, and for the briefest moment there's a thrum of power with it. But, seeing the young man in question, she presses her lips together with a small smile instead, and the sense of weight in the air fades away to nothing. "No, there's nothing to apologize for. That's what I get for standing around as if they're going to open the doors again, isn't it?" she laughs.
*
For Billy, the perception of magic is strange. He doesn't see auras, he doesn't feel power: he sees math. For just a moment its as if the faintest hint of a halo of equations encircles Isis' head to his sight. This makes him blink, "You're a sorcerer." he blurts out, showing the world that he is the soul of subtlty. But his dimples show themselves again, "That's okay." he says reassuringly, "But what subject is it you're interested in? In the museum?" A hand rises up and he runs it through his dark hair.
*
"Sorcerer," Isis echoes, a faint smile touching one corner of her lips, amused. "Not precisely. But you would not be wrong to call me a practitioner." She tilts her head, giving him a more searching look this time. He certainly doesn't look sinister, but looks can be deceiving, after all. "Ancient Egyptian and middle eastern civilizations are my specialty, actually," she answers after a moment. "And you?"
*
"Me too." Pause. "Kind of." Billy gives a grin and a shrug. Strange insists what he does isn't magic, but Billy hasn't managed to get the distinction into his skull. But she asks him a serious question, and he frowns, thoughtful, "I don't know. Everything." Pause, "Everytime I come I pick something new. Natural History is fascinating: but what guy does't like dinosaur bones?" He shrugs, "Everything. I want to learn everything there is to know: books are nice, I like books, but there's reading about something and then there's *seeing* things."
*
"There is a difference," Isis agrees, dipping her chin. "Between words and meaning. Between description and being. Very few authors can ever capture the second with the first. Besides, things that have made it through thousands of years have a certain…gravitas to them that you don't find in department stores. A weight of accumulated experience. You are…a unique find," she says with a flash of a smile. "I was under the impression there weren't many practitioners or young men who enjoy visiting museums here in the city."
*
Billy nods along in agreement with everything Isis says: his dimples stay resident upon his face throughout. "Yeah. Yeah. I can read about a subject all I want, but to really see something, to study it, to get a feel for the weight of a thing as it rests in the web of reality, … I might not learn more facts, but I'll *know* it better." Him being a unique find, though, has him flushing just a little bit, "There's not a lot of practicioners, but there's some. My parents are both. I'm still learning, about that. Before recently… I just could do some … things." He suddenly laughs, "Most vaguely sky-related: I thought I was the grandson of Zeus or something. Before I found my parents and learned how to… direct stuff. To speak to reality and have it listen."
*
Isis's brows rise at the last, thoughtful. "Interesting," she muses. "Things listen when you know their Names." Again, there's a weight to the word, as if it means something more than just an empty string of syllables. "Speaking of, I didn't catch yours?" she asks with a small smile.
*
Billy offers his hand, nodding his head, "Billy." he says, "Nice to meet you." If she shakes his hand, his grip is gentle and precise. "I don't really know about names. I just… don't do spells? Well, not like other people do." He waves his hand in a vaguely mystical fashion in immitation of Strange's mudras, but utterly ridiculous an immitation at that. "There's no channelling energies from… whatever. Its just concentration, imagination, and words." He pauses, "And not like magic words. I've heard sorcerers do their magic-word-spells. Its nothing at all like that."
*
"Isis," the young woman offers in return, her grip light and cool. "A pleasure to meet you, Billy. It sounds interesting. Although I think it might still be odd to ask for a demonstration here," she adds with a rueful smile, glancing back up toward the museum. "People do still seem to find it unusual. Funny how perceptions change over time. There was a time when not believing in magic would have been far stranger than believing in it."
*
Billy opens his mouth— pauses— closes his mouth, and squints. "Your expertise is in Ancient Egypt and middle eastern civilizations— I'm Jewish by the way, hi— and your name is Isis? Did your parents not like you as a child?" He asks, tone kind, but expression odd. "Yeah, I'm taking an anthropology class on magic and religion. Its fascinating." On the topic of a demonstration, he gives half a shrug, "I want a snack." Reality bends slightly as he lifts his hand, "I want a snack." A strange kind of pressure appears, pushing down and focusing around his hand, "Iwantsnack." And reality shifts sideways: just very slightly— so that in his hand a box of chedder-bit crackers appears. His magic isn't especially flashy, so unless someone was looking *right* at him they'd likely not notice a thing. He tugs open the box, and pulls out a cracker, then offers the open box towards the woman.
*
"What's in a name?" Isis quotes, a twist of wry humor in the words. "Normal is a relative concept, defined by time and place. Mine is different from yours, I think." Little does she know just how true that is. As Billy demonstrates, she watches him intently, as if she's seeing or hearing something more than just the surface of things. "Interesting," she says again. "Words, but…not words. The words are a method by which you grasp what you're doing, aren't they?"
*
At that last question, Billy hesitates, "I don't entirely know." he admits, "I'm still learning. I know no amount of will and thought will do it without the words: I've tried. It doesn't *exactly* matter what the words are, but it kind of does. I could have said give-me-crackers instead and it would have probably worked fine — I was going for a different snack then this, truth be told, but things don't always work exactly right yet. The repetition is important. I have to say things at least twice, usually three times— sometimes more— before it becomes real. Its… different." He smiles a bit sheepishly and shrugs, "Do you do regular magic?" he asks curiously. But he adds on earlier commentary, "That I do agree. Normal varies, and I can tell you 1964 normal stinks." He is a bit grim at that.
*
"It has its downfalls," Isis agrees in regards to 1964. "But beneath the surface, few things are truly different from how they have ever been. There is power in repetition. Deeper truth," she nods. "Perhaps that is a part of how it all functions." As to what she does, she pauses for a moment, giving Billy another of those searching looks in consideration. Finally, she holds out her hand and speaks. It's a word. But it's a Word. And while it has the shape and the sound of something like a word, it's more like the sense of a word. Like whatever language it was in, you would know what it meant, and if asked, would be hard-pressed to say just what language it was.
"Come."
And, abruptly, the crackers are in her hand.
*
"It's not that its different from how its ever been— its that its different from how it will be." Billy's voice is low and frustrated: adapting to 1964 has been difficult for him, but he does nod on the topic of repetition. He doesn't really understand it, but there is truth in what she says. Then she is haloed again by equations, sound becoming symbols, the world obeyind the truth of those symbols. Even before he fully registers the word itself he reads some small, incomplete part of the intent of magic acting on the world. Hearing and understanding only clarify that— and his hand is empty. He is astonished, its written plain on his face. "That's… not a magic word." he says, tone a little lame, "…but its the most magic word I've ever heard." The contradiction is not lost on him.
*
Isis takes a single cracker from the box, then offers it back with a knowing smile. "The magic isn't in the words, not really. Words are wind, we speak them every day. And with use, with…normalcy…they grow less. But beneath the word is the truth of the word. What's in a name? A rose by any other name would smell as sweet. True enough. How many words are there for a rose? But there is something that defines it as a rose. And when you know that, when you know how to speak to it? Then you are speaking reality. And in speaking it, you command it."
*
Accepting the crackers, Billy fishes one out. What she says speaks more to him and his understanding of magic then anything anyone else has said. "They say I don't do magic, that I'm a reality manipulator." he offers tentatively, taking a moment to munch the cracker to get his bearings, "That they're different. I've never really understood the distinction. I don't know if it has anything to do with names, but everything else you say, sounds more familiar and right to me then anyone else trying to explain magic to me ever has."
*
"What else is magic, if not the manipulation of reality?" It seems like a genuine question from Isis, as if she can't quite conceive of another way to describe the craft. "For what it's worth, what you've done speaks the most truly to my understanding of magic. Though there is a twist on it. Almost as if…you don't know the Word itself, but you're tapping into it all the same. Like you're reaching, and that's what you can grasp. I would be interested in meeting your teachers," she says, smile flickering. "Some time. If they wouldn't mind."
*
"Well, Dad says its about tapping into these energy sources and shaping that energy with certain actions— words, gestures, rituals, items— and using it to affect the world. That's… not at all what I do. Every bit of that feels wrong: not like, that what he is doing is wrong? But it doesn't describe what I do." Billy does nod to her description of how she perceives his magic, uncertain but nodding anyways: it sounds close. But he adds quickly, "I don't have teachers. I mean, I can introduce you to my parents. They're practicioners. But they didn't teach me. I… didn't grow up with them. Its complicated. But… Dad… I don't think he *can* teach me. Mom..No.. I taught myself. I'm learning myself. Practicing. I'm best at making wormholes." Pause, "Portals. Gateways. Doors from one place to another. No one taught me how to do that."
*
"We experience things differently, all of us. Understanding is a part of things as well." Isis glances back toward the museum once more, sighing softly. "The rules are different for some of us, of course. Gateways sound interesting," she muses. "An interesting application. That you taught yourself, more interesting. To stumble across those truths yourself…I can see why you'd learn little from the other, though."
*
Billy looks… a little bit embarassed, "Its not like it took some great amount of scholarship." he admits, and then he floats up in the air. Just an inch. But enough. All around him this casual, instinctual use of his power causes reality to bend and change. "I was on the roof. I fell." Pause, cough. "I missed the ground and ever since then I can fly." He shrugs, "Its only been a few months that I've been learning to do spells. Everything else is just… instinctual. I was being chased by some bullies who were trying to beat me up, and I teleported. I *was* getting beaten up, and I electrocuted him. Ever since this momentss where I first discovered this… instinctual manipulation, I could repeat it. But spells? Spells are different. Its… *intending* to change something." He pauses, and regards Isis for a lingering moment, "Who was your teacher? Did they explain this name thing to you?"
*
Isis laughs softly to the question, though as soon as she does, it's as though a shadow crosses her features, smile fading away. "I didn't have a…teacher, per se. I will admit, I cheated just a little bit. But I gained the knowledge from another. I've lost most of it now," she muses, frowning slightly. "But even still, it's always been more instinct than intent. Knowledge than action."
*
There is a pause, and Billy tilts his head at the shadow on her features. The frown. "I'm sorry for your loss." And Billy is quite sincere in that. "Here…" He hesitates, "Notebook-notebook-notebook-notebook." And in his hand appears a notebook. He's getting okay at conjuring simple items. Its usually food, but hey. Paper that so happens to have a pen around the binding works too. He pulls out the pen, scribbles down a number, and offers it to Isis. "My number. I don't know if I can help you find what you've lost, but if I can, I will." There's a certain innocent ernestness that is just *bright* in Billy. "But I can introduce you to the practicioners I know."
*
"Thank you." Isis takes the number, looking it over before she tucks it away in her purse. "I will take you up on that. May I?" She holds out her hand for the notebook, scribbling out a number of her own if he hands it over. "In case you should need to call. Or if you just want someone to discuss things with who sees them closer to the way you do."
*
Nodding quickly, Billy hands over the notebook, and when he takes it back he holds it to his chest and smiles. Dimples. "I have work early tomorrow, so I should get going. It was nice meeting you, Isis. Be safe."
*
"You too, Billy," Isis says with a warm smile, something just a little bit more in his name. Like the familiarity of someone who's known him for a very long time. That sense of someone who just…gets you. But without anything else, save a little wave, she turns and moves the rest of the way down the stairs and along the sidewalk.
*