Her intentions may have been pure. I needed clothes, that's an indisputable fact, but as I look back and remember the things she had to say about this man and face her emotionless expression now, I sense her true motive. Acting quickly, I say, "Oh, yes. Sorry for borrowing it, I'll get that for you now." I begin towards the staircase to my room, hoping to get this over with quickly.
He sighs loudly and says, "Borrow? When you borrow something without asking, it's called stealing. It's insane that I have to come down here in the first place." His logic is sound and airtight, and any outrage on my part would be unjust. It's terribly upsetting.
"No need to be brash. I lent it to him because he had nothing to wear," explains Irene helpfully. He raises a hand like a pianist's to his face to adjust his sunglasses with the palm of his hand, massaging his temples at once. "Could we get this over with? Honestly, Irene, I'd love to never see you again. Completely baffling individual." She looks up at him, her brows arched in slight surprise. She queries, "Did you not read my letter? I laid everything out for you there."
"I simply could not get through the preamble. Your writing is dreadful." Her sudden vacant eyes evoke wanderlust, a longing for perhaps a grassy open field with the sun beaming down from above, or the steady mast of a ship and the salty breeze of the sea.
"Well, I'll just do you a favor then," I say to put a pin in this all-too comical exchange before Irene manages to retort, then race up the stairs. "Don't keep me waiting," he chimes from the bottom of the staircase. I curse him under my breath. Mages are often unusual, even disturbed, but not one of them could claim to be as odd as this man.
I make it into my rooms quickly enough that I'm spared from the continuation of their conversation, and scour it for the jeans and shirt, finding them discarded on the floor beside my bed. To my displeasure, I find myself folding them rapidly and then neatly stacking them into a bundle.
I hurtle out of my room, the door swinging shut behind me, shooting down the hall and the stairs straight into a horrific, no, mildly bothersome scene; that old man has lazed into the entry hall to greet a guest. His hand strokes his goatee as he delves into a deep concentration. "Mikhail Parnish, right? Oh, isn't this lucky? I haven't seen you since you were a boy!"
Parnish leans forward to get a better look at Docile, seeming confused, then quickly mouths "ah." Brushing some hair aside, he says, "So this is where you live, Doctor. Strange that this is the first time we've run into one another if we live so close by."
Docile nods, then asks with a slightly mischievous tone, "So, what brings you here? You and Fisher seem familiar. Old friends?" Parnish shakes his head, but Irene is the one to speak, saying, "I used to be his employee, but we went separate ways. Now, he's here to-"
"-reclaim what's his," he says, finishing her sentence. Right on cue, I walk up to him and stick the stacked clothes out to him. Their textures caress the palms of my hands, and I'm suddenly unwilling to part with them.
He turns his head over to me and rips away the clothes one-handed. Even through the dark of his sunglasses, I can feel his eyes meeting mine for the first time, for gaze is like a jolt, raising the hairs on the back of my neck. He tears his eyes away, and turns around.
"Never knew you had any kin, Doctor. Now, I bid you all farewell," he utters loftily and airily, and walks away. As he exits, he throws the clothes into the air with an elegant snap of the wrist, and before my yell of protest rises, two pale hands emerge from air, catch the clothes, then return into oblivion.
The door shuts behind him. My mouth still hangs agape as I turn over to my grandfather in search of explanation. Readily he explains, "There was something hidden tagging along with him. You couldn't see it?" I shake my head and Docile sighs. "What was it, though?" Docile shrugs. "I dunno. Shouldn't you?" He turns this question over to Irene, who explains, "She's another member of the Eagle's Hand. She's a bit eye-catching in public, so she's cloaked."
I'm not an amateur by any means, but these two are just a bit ahead of me. Speaking of hidden things, where is Sylvester? I quickly head back into the dining room to find him still seated at the table, twiddling his thumbs, a determined look on his face. Irene sighs to herself as she returns to the table. The ordeal dragged on like a dreadfully dreary corporate meeting, but really it was so brief that our food and drink are still warm.
"He's a strange one," comments Docile, gradually levering himself into his chair with a grunt. The only question I can think to ask is, "How'd you even know him?" Docile drums his fingers together as he recounts, "I was acquainted with his father, and his boy was inseparable from him. He was spoiled rotten, clearly. But, you shouldn't have taken his clothes."
I turn over to Irene. She looks at me with what looks like a nervous grin. She says, "It was shortsighted and crude. And stupid. I shouldn't have done it. Am I forgiven?" Someway or another, it feels like she's playing it off as a joke. It's unfair that I am to suffer this kind of mental torture. Am I being punished for something?
"No, I don't forgive you. This is humiliating! I'm being serious," I say with emphasis, trying to arouse remorse within her, but alas, to no avail. Her typical smile on her face, she says, "I'm doing this for your sake. If you take everything seriously, you'll wind up miserable."
"You're a bad liar and that's a dumb excuse," I say, starting on my breakfast at long last. "Would you like me to explain?" I shake my head vigorously, and so she shrugs and returns to her own breakfast.
Thankfully, we manage to finish it quietly. After wrapping up and clearing the table, I suggest, "Let's just get the shopping over with. It's not like we have much else to do, anyway." Sylvester breaks his long silence by clearing his throat and says, "About that. When the Association representative comes to give us our reward, I'll be sitting out."
This is something I've been expecting, so I've invested time and energy in figuring out how to persuade him to come along. Unfortunately, my labor has yielded no fruit. Pathetically, I say, "You'll be fine. You have us to back you up, so we'll handle any problems." Sylvester says, "It's better to not run into problems in the first place, isn't it?"
"Well, yeah, but how'll you get anywhere by doing that? Do you wanna spend the rest of your life in hiding for possibly no reason? Come on, just take a leap of faith," I say, beginning to feel like it's not actually that pathetic of a line of reasoning. I'm actually pretty good at this!
Sylvester looks up at me with a sullen face. "As long as we meet somewhere far from here, I'll come. But don't expect anything from me then," he says. I clap my hands together and announce to the two people in the room, "Okay, everybody get ready!"
Five minutes later, we meet each other in the entry hall. Sylvester and Irene are both wearing the same clothes as yesterday. I'm fine with Sylvester's outfit, but I give Irene a dirty look. "Do you have nothing besides those tacky white suits?" She reluctantly admits, "I do not. What, is it that big of a problem?"
I reply, "Of course, you can't wear the colors of the enemy. I'll get something for you from my closet. It'll only take a minute." Irene appears amused by my volunteering. She says, "Go ahead. I'm not hard to please."
I run up the stairs to my room, quickly consulting the closet. Thankfully, I was never one to throw away or donate old clothes. I close my eyes for a moment, imagining Irene, deliberating on what best suits her.
My options are a bit limited, because it also needs to fit her and keep her warm in this chilly weather. Well, I have quite a few hoodies, so I grab a large grey one. I find beige cargo pants with a cotton layer beneath, and take those as well. I walk out of the room to find her waiting, Sylvester at the end of the hall tapping his feet impatiently.
I hand them to her, and she briefly looks them over. "Good enough," she gives, before walking past me into my room and shutting the door. A few seconds later, she comes out, dressed for a very windy day. Sylvester says, "Can we get moving already? I've already taken your grandfather's car keys. I'll drive."
He turns around and starts down the stairway, Irene and I following him quickly. I wonder to myself when Docile's car was last turned on.