onebehind | magician's apprentice | been a hell of a ride but I'm thinking it's time to grow

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magician's apprentice | been a hell of a ride but I'm thinking it's time to grow

Dylan knew, coming out of the hospital if not going in, that getting sober wasn't going to be easy. He knew he'd have bad days and good days and days in between, and every therapist he's seen since then, every meeting he's been to has only reaffirmed that. They'd also armed him with a bag of tricks to deal with everything and everything in between, but -- well, today is one of the bad ones and nothing is helping. He's been pacing the house like a madman for the better part of the day, trying to find something to hold his attention long enough that he can stop thinking about running down to the nearest liquor store. He needs to get out of his skin. He's just shy of calling his sponsor. He needs to get out of the house.

He needs to get out of the house.

Stopping midway through moving a pile of books from one side of the living room to the other, he latches onto that idea and turns it over in his head. He needs to get out of the house.

He's moving again a second later, though this time, it's with a purpose, a clarity he hasn't felt like he's had in hours, days, weeks. He goes to Jack's room, tapping lightly on the door, and then after a beat and once he's been invited in, sticks his head in. Flashing him a smile that's equal parts reassuring and strained (he's fine, they're fine, this is nothing bad, he's just a little jittery, don't mind him), he tells him, "Hey. Pack your shit."

He has an idea. It'll be good for both of them.

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"Probably, yeah," he decides after a moment. They should probably not sleep in their clothes. "Lemme grab a door."

It doesn't take him long to find something workable, and then he's opening the door on the Warehouse. He gestures Jack inside. He'll stand here and keep watch, just in case. Never mind the fact that he really doesn't expect anyone to wander by.

There's also their toothbrushes and so on that Jack isn't thinking that the hotel could probably get them.

Anyway, when Dylan opens the door, Jack slips through it, finding their discarded bags, and then coming back through a few moments later, stepping out of the way so Dylan can close the door again. "You've gotta teach me how to do that someday," he says.

Dylan reaches for his bag as he pushes the door closed. When he steps away, back towards the street, it's with a thoughtful glance back at Jack. "Just as a 'break glass in case of emergency' kinda thing, maybe."

Edited 2025-11-28 16:23 (UTC)

Jack nods, handing off the bag when Dylan reaches for it and adjusting his hold on his own. "Yeah, absolutely," he promises immediately, because he just wants to learn, and if it's just for emergencies, he'll take it.

After a moment of studying him, Dylan nods. "Alright."

That's not something they'll do right this second, all things considered, but he'll add it to the agenda of things he shows Jack sooner rather than later. For now, though, and with a smile, he turns to head down the street towards the heart of the city. Again, he deepens the connection, letting Jack lean on him as a living translator, and again, he seems to be in no particular hurry, despite how tired he may or may not be. He wants Jack to be able to take in the city, and they'll be at the hotel soon enough, anyway.

Jack grins back, glad Dylan accepted - and then turns to follow him through Macau.

"So did you come here a lot growing up?"

He may have asked that already or Dylan may have mentioned it at some point, but he's curious anyway. He knows that Dylan was relatively young when Lionel died, but he doesn't know how much magic Dylan was involved with after that.

"Just a couple of times with my old man," Dylan reminds him. He doesn't mind repeating himself, though. At the time, Jack was more focused on how he'd learned to speak Chinese rather than how frequently he visited as a kid. "I spent a lot more time he as an adult, after college. It's kinda hard not to gravitate towards here or Vegas, even as behind the scenes as I usually am."

As a magician, he means.

Jack nods. Right, he'd said that.

"So Macau's Vegas of the East or whatever. Is that like..." He pauses a long beat, trying to figure out the best way to word the rest of the question. "How true actually is that?"

He still only really knows Vegas by reputation. The week he'd spent there had mostly been spent either at the Fullers' or at Dylan's apartment, not knowing the area well enough to know how well he would do at going unnoticed as a lone 17-year-old.

Dylan makes a sweeping, showman's gesture around them. "Bright lights, casinos in every building from your Mom and Pop grocery to the bigger hotels, tourists. There's even a Venetian, downtown."

Which they are not going to. The spectacle is nice if you're a tourist, but -- well, they're not, not exactly. Like any hotel off the Strip in Vegas, the one he's thinking of here is just as grand but much quieter.

"Yeah, guess that shouldn't surprise me. People really like to gamble. Also shiny things."

See also: Times Square. He's seen it, he doesn't spend much time there himself unless he's working, but the tourists sure love it.

"It's kinda weird, seeing like... stores I know from home here."

"Global economy or whatever," Dylan answers with a shrug. He's pretty desensitized to it all. "Like, you know that Adidas isn't an American company, right?"

He knows seeing one here bothered Jack. By his own logic, Jack should be equally surprised to know that Adidas is German, so they shouldn't exist Stateside.

Jack pauses at that. "Oh, no." Well now he feels a little dumb. "I just knew people at school liked them, so I kinda figured..."

He trails off with a shrug. He hasn't really had the privilege of paying much attention to brands - or if he did own something of a brand it was either secondhand or a knock-off.

The big name stores around Times Square usually paid too much attention to him to risk shoplifting from them.

Dylan makes a face, mostly at himself. "Sorry. I wasn't ... "

He didn't mean to make Jack feel dumb. He was just trying to point out why it didn't bother him as much to see 'American' companies here.

Jack shakes his head. "No, it's okay." He's a teenager, anyway, he's used to feeling a little dumb. "I shoulda guessed anyway considering how many brands come from Japan."

As far as cars and technology go, anyway.

He nods, satisfied. "Not a whole lot's made in America, anymore."

If he plans on elaborating on that, however, the thought evaporates as they reach what appears to be the hotel. The building is impossibly tall, though perhaps shorter than some of the hotels in Vegas, but like Dylan said, he's going for comfort over flashiness. Either way, he holds the door open for Jack, then follows him into the lobby.

The floor is dark, polished wood, a sharp contrast to the white marble walls. Above the desk, also done up in dark wood, are two crystal chandeliers, set into a tray ceiling, and Dylan takes a moment to take this in before heading for the desk. A receptionist smiles at them as they approach, and Dylan keeps himself as a conduit for translation as he speaks to her.

"Welcome to the Hotel Royal, Mister Shrike. Checking in?"

He glances back at Jack, then nods. "I need two rooms for the night."

"Of course," she answers, already busying herself on the computer in front of her. "If you'll just give me a moment.

Jack steps through the open door, moving to the side to wait for Dylan and falling into step with him as they head for the desk. He blinks a little when the woman already knows his name - though he probably shouldn't be surprised considering magic.

While the receptionist works, he looks around, gawking a little. It's not that he's never been inside a nice hotel, but he was usually getting weird looks when he was, and he never has actually stayed at one. He's never been just another guest.

Jack doesn't go far from Dylan, still a little nervous - but something does catch his eye, and he turns around, tilting his head as he considers a shape he can make out. He gives Dylan a little mental hey and then gestures with a nod to what he's looking at.

It's a little hard to make out, at first, which is why he wants to make sure that he's seeing what he thinks he is: a stylized eye of Horus, set in some of the trim of some nearby woodwork.

Dylan turns at the mental nudge, following his eyes to the woodwork. It doesn't take him long to spot what Jack is looking at, and he smiles slyly when he does. Casting a surreptitious look at Jack, like they actually need to be subtle about it, he nods slightly.

Yes, Jack, that is what you think it is.

Dylan's smile is sly, Jack just beams, bouncing a little, both that he found it and that it was what he thought it was. Has he mentioned all this is awesome? Because holy shit is it awesome.

Dylan grins outright when Jack does. "We'll have to spend a couple of nights somewhere, so you can get the full effect."

Alas, Jack won't get to see much of an Eye hotel in just one night.

"Though, uh. If you wanna look around for a minute ... " He's not going to stop him. Dylan still has paperwork to sign and all, and the hotel is safe enough considering who it's owned by.

Jack's excitement is still palpable - literally, for Dylan - and he nods. "Yeah, please. I'm guessing there's Eye places like... everywhere?"

Based on the fact that the network exists, that it can get them so many different places, he's assuming those different places would also need hotels catering to the Eye's members. Or, well. If not all of them, at least a lot of them.

He pauses a beat, obviously debating how comfortable he feels leaving Dylan's side - but then nods. It's not like he'll be going that far or off to wander around Macau on his own or anything. It's not like Dylan's going to leave him. "Yeah, okay," he says finally - and then he does step away in earnest, to take that look around.

"The Eye has place everywhere," Dylan confirms.

Something softer follows, mentally passed along the connection as Jack debates going to go look around. It's fine. It's safe. He belongs here. He'll come get him when he's done with the check in process. It probably won't even be that interesting, anyway, because it's just a hotel.

And really, on the surface, that seems to be true. There are vague hints of something greater in the lobby and the adjoining breakfast nook, but nothing overly blatant. They have to pretend to be normal on the surface, for people who aren't in the know, after all.

It may just be a hotel, but Jack hasn't even had that much experience with "normal" hotels, let alone ones catering to a secret organization he's maybe a part of.

The reassurance helps, anyway, and Jack wanders away from Dylan, toward the breakfast area. There's not much there right now, the bones of that morning's service waiting for the next day's. He looks over some of the artwork, trying now to see if he can find anymore of those hints of something beyond the norm. He doesn't find much, though, and he moves on to the view through the windows - and then finds some tourism guides laid out on a table, some of which are actually in English, and he picks one up to flip through it. It's likely to hold his attention until Dylan's done checking them in.

After a minute or two, Dylan pads over to him. He peers over his shoulder for a moment, trying to decide what Jack found. When Jack turns his attentions to him, he takes a half-step back and holds out one of the keycards.

"Adjoining rooms." Then, "Trade you?"

For his brochure.

Jack hands off the brochure - just a small booklet featuring some restaurants, shopping areas, and historical sites around the city - and takes the keycard, turning it over in his hand to look at the logo before he looks back up at Dylan. "What floor are we on?"

He's lowkey hoping for a higher floor for the view, but he won't be disappoint with wherever they are.

Dylan squints at the brochure, and then, "29th. I figured you'd wanna be up high, so you could look at shit."

The elevator ride, once they get on it, won't feel like it takes that long, however. Blame the subtle magic of the hotel.

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