Author's Note
: all characters are over the age of 18; any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
Recap
: Alexander has inherited a ring that seems to give him some kind of power of command. It doesn't allow him to command people's thoughts, but only their actions, speach, and sensations. He doesn't know what he is doing, and has made a mess of his first experiments. One other person knows about this -- Ellie: a lesbian or maybe bi bartender who aspires to help him get the most out of this ring.
----
And then he was fired.
Alexander stepped out into the alley. Spring seemed to have turned the corner to Summer. The evening was warm; the air had a kind of humid viscosity. A siren went by, something flashed from the end of the alley and the vehicle was gone. Afterimages of green and yellow.
"Fuck."
Louder, into the dim orange of the overcast sky: "Fuuuuuck."
If only he had the stupid ring on him, he could head back in there and make everyone crawl on the floor like dogs. But he didn't have the ring, did he. He had put it in a box, inside another box, inside a shoe-box, at the back of his cupboard.
He had mouthed off to Joann just once too many times, a joke that fell flat, that sounded mean although he didn't intend it that way. Then he put too many capers on a marsala, and it was all over.
He would never make -- or eat -- a chicken marsala again in his life, that was for sure.
Insult to injury, they didn't even wait to the end of his shift, which meant four less hours of pay, but more importantly meant they knew exactly how much they didn't need him.
* * *
"You don't have to go home, but you can't stay here," the old saying went.
Alexander sure as hell didn't want to stay there, but he didn't want to go home. And he didn't want to end up in his local pub, Shenanigans, again. He didn't want to see Ellie, and he couldn't imagine she wanted to see him.
The night before he had opened the door to Aaliyah, Davon still stark naked, Tanya still rubbing his cum over the expansive curves of her breasts, Ellie wide-eyed with her hand over her mouth.
He had opened the door and walked out. He had left them to sort it out for themselves.
No, Ellie probably didn't want to see him.
* * *
"I don't have any choice." Talking to yourself on the subway is not the most promising sign, but it was hardly an unusual practice. There was always
someone
talking to themselves. Usually a drunk, drooling homeless man. But soon, Alexander would
be
that drunk, drooling homeless man.
Unless...
The question he couldn't figure out was, was the ring a curse or a blessing? It seemed like a godlike power, and yet everything about his life had been going to absolute crap since he got it. Not that his life was so fabulous before...
His Great Uncle Julius had been wealthy, they all knew that. But nobody had liked him. He was not invited to family gatherings. Alexander had met him exactly once, at his grandfather's funeral. That had been Julius' brother, Marcus. Julius had kept to himself. Alexander remembered his mother looking daggers at the man.
Still, Alexander had introduced himself.
Julius had seemed pleasant, polite. Alexander remembered him saying that he and his brother had not been close. He remembered him mentioning regrets. But isn't that what everyone says at a funeral? Pleasant, polite... and powerful. He did have an aura about him. The kind of man who expects to be in charge. To make decisions and have them carried out. To be obeyed. It had impressed Alexander at the time. He would have to go back and look. He might have tried to write a poem about power. About brothers named after Roman generals.
Was he the only one who had even spoken to him? Was that why he had gotten this "gift?"
What had Julius done with this ring? What had Julius done to his mother? Could he ask her?
Alexander was so immersed in his thoughts, he almost didn't notice the man at the end of the subway car. Seven in the evening, people were going home; people were going out. Alexander would have thought nothing of it, just another passenger staring into space. The man's gaze seemed a little more focussed than that, but he
had
been talking to himself.
Nonetheless, when his stop came, he again noticed the man watching him intently.
"Well, that's not creepy, not at all."
If he was going to talk to himself, he might as well do it in style.
* * *
Broke, no rent money, no job, no laptop. He had enough credit left on his card for a week or two if he bought actual groceries instead of take-out. Alexander felt a resolve growing in him all through the journey home.
This was no time for scruples. He could focus on being "good" later.
Face it, you're just an asshole
.
Maybe so, he answered himself. But if I'm going to be an asshole, I am not going to be a broke asshole.
Steeling himself against his inner critic, Alexander trudged home, took the stairs two at a time, and pulled out the shoebox. He took the ring into the bathroom which had the brightest light in his apartment.
He held it up and scrutinized it. There were no marks inside the ring. The band itself was scuffed and a little scarred It was a particularly rich, pure color of gold. The stone: rounded, not cut. Black: not opaque, but not transparent in a smoky way. It was more like some kind of obsidian, with something glimmering in the depths, something his eye couldn't quite see. Like a luminous darkness.
Alexander remembered a passage from scripture:
If the light that is in thee be darkness, how great is that darkness.
Very carefully, he slipped it on his right pinkie finger, putting all his attention on the sensation.
As before, he felt nothing unusual. There was no
feeling
that came with this power. No tingle. No tickle. No unnamable presence. It was just a ring on his finger.
But he knew better, and it was time to take charge of his life and change his fortunes.
* * *
Alexander changed into his best clothes, and called an Uber. This would have been an unimaginable luxury. If his fortunes weren't about to change, this would be pretty near half his remaining credit.
He set the destination for an upscale restaurant he had read about earlier that week. The kind of place he would have been trying to get hired at if his career had gone on a few more years.
"Do you have a reservation?" the hostess asked. She was a tasty little morsel. Slender, sharp edged, in a black dress that was revealing enough to whet the appetite in a stylish-but-not-slutty way.
"No," Alexander said, appreciating her figure. "But you will give me a seat at the bar."
She pursed her lips, but said: "Let me see what I have."
She flipped the chart on her iPad around and examined the options.
"You are in luck, sir, I do have a seat at the bar."
Alexander smiled. Of course she did.
He glided behind her through the bustle and noise of the crowded restaurant. The bar was small, with seven stools packed in and just enough space for servers to pick up drinks. One was, indeed, open.
He ordered an aged beef that was an absolutely ridiculously expensive. He had the bartender choose the pairing wine.
It was exquisitely prepared, almost worth the price, if you had that kind of money. Even so, he didn't quite enjoy it the way he had hoped. He felt a gnawing edge of anxiety. He was basically planning a dine-and-dash, and he
hated
those motherfuckers.
He did, however, appreciate the way the place was run. He saw the staff share smiles; the quick, competent way the bartender kept himself organized; the steady flow of drinks and meals passing through. It was a well oiled machine. He could only imagine the kitchen was the same. The poetry of a well run restaurant. How could you put that into words?
As he completed his evening with a nice glass of port, Alexander pondered how to properly end things. The bartender was ahead of him, however, setting the bill down in a (genuine) leather folder.
Alexander made himself respond before he could get tangled up in his head about it.
"Just charge it to the house," he said, looking the bartender commandingly in the eye.
The man didn't blink. "I beg your pardon?"
Alexander made sure his statement was simple and unambiguous. "Charge it to the house."
The man frowned. "If you're being funny..."
He showed no sign of moving toward the console. Alexander's heart sank. Previously, people might not have enjoyed following his commands, but they did it.
The bartender hardened. "Look, buddy, I can call a manager if you want."
It was a threat. The manager would call the police. The restaurant would press charges. Alexander had seen how this plays out.
Fuuuuck.
What was he doing wrong? Maybe the ring had run out of batteries? Were there a certain number of wishes, and he had blown through them already?
The manager strolled over. She was tall, had long shimmering hair pinned back tightly. She wore a pencil skirt, with a serious looking jacket over a business formal top. She also had full, red lips and luminous green eyes. Even as he dreaded appearing the fool in front of this woman, he wondered what it would be like to mess up that hair, those formal clothes.
"What seems to be the problem?"
