Story has mind control if that weren't obvious. However, I will say that it's not flawless in it's application in this story. Point in fact, this chapter you'll find out a bit more about how it works out.
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Justin's room was mostly as Michael remembered it.
There was a bed, a tv, an electronic console, a fan... and semi-naked posters of pig girls, human women, and females of other species being put on his walls.
Really, it wasn't that different from Michael's, except he'd never be so bold as to put softcore pornography on his walls.
He reserved that for his closet.
The bed covers with curvacious dog girls presenting their asses with the word "bitches" underscored beneath the images was new though.
"I want one of those," Michael said, mostly to himself.
"I know, right?" Justine laughed, "Saved up a bit for it, but it was worth it."
"Your mother doesn't complain?" Michael wondered.
"Ah, well, you know," Justine laughed again, more nervously this time, "So long as I do my laundry, Mom never brings up what I have in the room."
Michael pondered if his mother would either and, now that he thought about it, would probably just laugh it off.
But then, his mother wasn't very judgemental.
What would she do if she knew that I lusted after her?
Michael shook his head.
"So, father number four is gone?" Michael asked if only to change the subject.
"For 2 months now," Justine grunted, "And thank the gods for that."
"How did he take the news that your mother wasn't renewing the marriage contract?" Michael responded.
In truth, to call the Seven Piece Nation the gathering of many peoples was a vast understatement. Some providences had certain cultural motifs that were mostly shared by their people. Some providences had more of a certain species than others. And some providences were not exactly pleasant to live in, especially for a human. What they all had in common was how chaotic the cultural and legal framework of a species, and sometimes between species, could be from time to time.
For pigs, by way of example, marriage was a contract. A culmination of many things, sometimes even including love, that had a term limit. As most porcine things did.
Concurrent polyamorous contracts had once been the norm, but even the incredibly tolerant legal framework that developed from all species gathering together to make survival possible hadn't been able to keep up with THAT.
And so it was that most pig men and pig girls married a couple of people throughout their lives. If the marriage was going well, the contract would be extended as it needed to be. If it wasn't, well...
"Cried like a fucking pussy," his friend spat, "I don't know how he didn't see that coming, honestly: he didn't even manage to knock Mom up a single time!"
The question of why Justine felt that way about his ex-stepfather didn't even need to be asked. At the very least, Michael didn't want to sit around for another hour of him complaining about the vast amount of things the fella did or didn't do.
Again.
Although, given that Jonesey had never stayed married for more than the 5 years the most basic marriage stipulated, as far as Michael could gather, he wondered why this was a surprise to anyone.
But then, given that he had met the man, he wondered if maybe she was just attracted to awful guys? No one, not even Justine's father, had sounded like a good match.
"And it's not like mom didn't try," Justine grumbled, "But, you know, that's how it always goes, with her trying to make something work that just didn't have the chance..."
Michael's best friend sighed.
"So yeah, why did you have some blood on you?" Justine asked, "Dug for gold too hard?"
"That's a 'you' sort of thing, bud," Michael replied.
"Huh-uh," the pig boy responded, "Sorry to inform you, but it's just you humans with your weak noses that do that."
"Says the guy who made his nose bleed," Michael shot back.
"That was for a completely unrelated reason," Justine answered, "And you keep changing the subject. Dude, what's up?"
Michale hesitated for a second.
He wanted to tell Justine, he really did.
But just how much did he tell him?
What did he tell him?
Well, he would begin with a little bit of the truth.
"...I can do magic," Michael admitted.
Justine blinked at him.
"Magic?" He repeated.
"Yeah, magic," Michael confirmed.
"You mean the thing corporations and the government do with big expensive machines?" Justine asked for clarity.
"There are hobos and religious people that do it on their own," Michael replied, feeling a bit on the defensive.
"And they are all old as fuck!" Justine said, "AND they spend a lot of time outside of the shields."
"And-" Justine started to say, before hesitating, "-they are not human."
And wasn't that the biggest sticker?
Human beings, after all, could not use interdimensional energy. Could not have it course through their bodies so that they could shape it and give it form. It was one of the many ways in which they were inferior to everyone else, despite the fact that not everyone that was a nonhuman could either.
It was a rare talent for a reason.
An obsolete talent, but still rare.
And yet.
"I can do it," Michael confirmed, "Or, I think it's magic? I've been doing something."
The headaches. The hypnosis. What were they if not examples of interdimensional energy usage?
"Fine." Justine allowed, "Assuming that I believe you, how did it happen?"
And here Michael paused for a bit.
"....I made some people do some things," Michael admitted.
"What things?" Justine asked, finally being curious.
"Some things I rather not speak of," Michael replied.
"Huh-uh," Justine replied.
Both boys looked at each other for a while, until Justine was convinced that Michael wasn't pulling a joke on him and until Michael was sure he wasn't just going to dismiss him.
"Alright," Justine said, "Show me."
"Like what?" Michael's eyebrows furrowed.
"I don't know, pull a rat out of a hat or some shit like that." Justine waved his hands around.
"Ok, that's a magician, and they don't use magic!" Michael growled, "They, you know, use tricks and not interdimensional manipulation!"
"Then elevate this pencil," the pig boy took the written implement from his bag and threw it on the floor, "That should be easy, right?"
Michael opened his mouth.
And then closed it.
Could he?
"Alright, let me try," Michael grumbled as he stared at the pencil.
"Don't let me stop you," Justine said with mild expectation.
Michael locked his eyes with the utensil. It was just a pencil, right? He could lift it up with a single finger, let alone his mind. Hell, just making it wobble would prove his claim.
And so, he made the image of a pencil in his mind. He ignored the house, the floor he was sitting on, and even his friend as he put every single iota of concentration in his brain on it.
He imagined the pencil levitating. He imagined how it would go.
And then, with the greatest mental exertion that he could muster, he tried to move it.
Up!
Michael WILLED the pencil to float. He flexed his mind as much as he could feel it does so. He stared at the pencil until his eyes hurt. He clenched with all the muscles in his head until his scalp hurt.
He even started sweating.
