Be Careful What You Wish For {IC}

OOC

It's amazing how the news can change in tone. Despite attempts to create a division between serious issues and trivial or humorous ones they can never get it quite right for everyone, people become indifferent to distant stabbings or abductions to the extent where they'll speculate on the culprit but get thrown hard back down to reality when gas prices threaten to rise by three percent or imaginary and oversized share values are suddenly decided to be falling. Mathus, as he currently liked to be known, would normally consider himself above the insensitivity of overeacting and trivialising the former by calmly watching all the disasters in the world with an equal lack of reaction. But there's always something that can set a person on edge.

"In other news classified, government, information has been leaked to the internet. Not regarding missile codes or personal details but theories of a man in London, alleged to be able to grant wishes."

The newsreader appeared to be having trouble keeping her face straight, but Mathus found it far from funny as he coughed his shreddies across the room. Shit. How the hell did anyone find out about him. Only six people knew, and he had known most of them since university some longer. He trusted them. Or atleast he had until recently.

"The Prime Minister has yet to comment on this but justifying..."

He turned of the television and tried to concentrate. The wishes changed people, he'd always known that. Maybe it wasn't in the nature of the wishes but it was in the nature of the people, he'd lived with the same roommates for years and he'd noticed that in that time the idea of him moving away had become increasingly absurd to them. He'd never actually raised the issue, but getting whatever you want in life was a strong motivator, but that wasn't a reason to tell someone else. Exactly the opposite. It didn't matter anyway, surely no-one would believe this garbage. But the desperate where always willing to believe a more cynical voice whispered. Surely they wouldn't be able to find him was his next thought, the report seemed too vague. The cynical voice had an answer ready for this too, reminding him that he hadn't always been discrete. Of odd little things happening around him that would soon allow the dots to be joined. And it wasn't in the nature of his gift to say no, he could negotiate and delay all he liked but eventually if they were willing to pay a fair price they got what they wanted.

Sty Feldstein

Through half opened eyes, Sty let his hand flop over the bed and dug into the opened box of Frosted Flakes. His fingers grabbed the sugared coated hidden grains and then smacked them into his mouth. He could almost hear the large screen TV that covered the wall in front of him over the crunch inside his mouth and head. Some of the sugar spilled down his shirt and he followed it remembering he was half dressed, a nice shirt and socks. Was he supposed to be somewhere? With a shrug he reached for another handful. Only half found their way into his mouth.

Somewhere between the munch of flakes and the refills Sty caught a bit of some off news, news story. Something about finding someone who made wishes come true? Sty laughed out loud. “Jimmy Cricket!” He brought his feet up, pulled them under the rest of him standing up quickly on the bed and he began to bounce. That was the best thing about his new number bed, it had a good spring. As frosted flakes spilled down his shirt as he jumped up and down on his bed listening to the story about some guy who granted wishes.

“I want to be a real boy!” He shouted as he jumped.

As soon as he caught just a little air he stopped. Wait, Sty thought, there is a grand story there. Inspiration! It could be a movie, or a sitcom, or a sad sad book of pitifully longings. He could find the place and get grand ideas for all his art. Yes, it would be a hot bed of emotional misfits. He was sure to find something there that would scream of creative energy.He took one last jump and landed on the floor hitting the box of cereal and spilling it all over the fine Persian rug. Sty didn’t notice. With a bit of a search he found his iPhone and called one of the only numbers he ever used.

“Stella, I just found my art! Find out everything about the news story about some man in London who grants wishes.” Brief pause “I don’t know what channel. I can’t do everything.”

Romy grabbed the edge of one of the many black serving trays from the back of the kitchen and walked out to the newest couple to walk into the restaurant and take a seat. She plastered a smile on as she made her way to them, pulling a pad of paper and pen out of her apron as she reached their table. “Hello, my name is Romy and I will be serving you this after noon,” she said in her perky, fake voice. The young couple smiled up at her before ordering two waters and grabbing their menus. Romy simply nodded and walked to the back, setting her tray back down and rolling her eyes.

“Big spenders,” she mumbled, filling two glasses with ice water and setting them on the tray before heading back out. She set the glasses down and walked away, ignoring the couple somewhat as they talked to each other about how everything on the menu was so expensive. Romy walked over to the empty bar and ran her fingers through her hair as she leaned against it and glanced to one of the TVs as the news droned on.

"In other news classified, government, information has been leaked to the internet. Not regarding missile codes or personal details but theories of a man in London, alleged to be able to grant wishes."

Romy frowned, squinting her eyes as if she hadn’t heard correctly. “Wishes? Really?” she said skeptically as she rapped her fingernails against her wet empty tray and almost forgot the couple sitting less than 10 feet away from her, their menus down and sighing. Romy listened until the news story passed and the anchors had a good laugh about it before heading back to her table, smiling as if she had only been away for a few seconds.

“Have we decided?” she asked, pulling out the paper pad again. Her hands wrote down everything they said as if she were on autopilot. But in her mind, Romy was making a mental not to look up online tonight whatever had ‘leaked’ about this London genie. Maybe the news had exaggerated, and he simply could make deals. Romy had no qualms about making deals with the devil if she could get what she wanted most in life.

“Thank you,” she smiled, grabbing the menus and heading back to the kitchen.

By the time the news story was playing onto the small plasma screen centered in the back of the otherwise silent town car, Rosaline seemed to barely bat an eyelash. Of course she briefly considered the complications that could arise from such a blatant exposure of what she had assumed would be slightly secretive Intel. Her well manicured fingers were clicking away on a smart phone as she tried to determine what effects this would have on her hastily thrown together plans as she grew within a breath of London. She’d already landed on the large island, so there was no worries of complicated travel and within the overly organized mailbox on her smart phone lay a confirmation of her penthouse suite. She smiled, genuinely piqued by the prospect that lay in wait, at this point, she would have appreciated any distraction, but this one held a genuine novelty.

**********

The Barcelona sun was bright and shinning, warming the stone floors of the villa for hours before the debutante finally graced the expansive hallway with her light footfalls. It is possible that she had been laying awake, barely tucked into the soft cream sheets of her king sized bed for hours, thinking about the day’s activities, or the lack there-of. It was an odd exercise of her patience to be simply on vacation, but her parent’s had stressed the importance of relaxation, otherwise her appearance would be afflicted with the same strain her mind usually felt. It would seem even more so possible considering it was a strain in and of itself attempting to relax over her normal busy lifestyle. She didn’t like idol hands. She didn’t like vacations where you do nothing, and she surely wasn’t appreciating the gorgeous natural light that filled the overpriced gem above the coast.

She stopped only a moment in her brusque walk down the hall, lightweight robe falling open at its loose tie as she leaned over the laptop and pressed the on button. The first step in her morning routine, followed by the sound of her steps through the kitchen, tapping against the coffee pot that hummed to life and then her fingers flipped the Gucci sunglasses over that unpowdered nose as she stepped onto the gaping balcony and lit a cigarette. Her back arched and her head fell back as she shook out her dark hair and let the sun kiss across her face and neck. She smiled and inhaled on the cigarette. Once it was done she returned to the computer with a fresh cup of coffee, black, efficient.

She had received a missive from a friend, more of a colleague, from University late the night before, an e-mail in her inbox that blinked an urgent sign. She opened it with more than a pinch of salt and her doubt at sincerity was piqued as she read the information about the “Wish Giver”. She couldn’t fathom why he felt all this garbage was relevant until she started reading about the company involved in the research and slowly, over the warmth of the coffee, she began to raised an interested brow.