Caffeine and Magix

“–so we need you, oh chosen one, to come and save us,” Gregory finishes. He’s still looking at the corner of the room where you’ve hung a wisteria and hasn’t made eye contact since giving you his name. He never asked for yours.

You feel distinctly uncomfortable, sitting on the couch with your hands folded neatly in your lap. You’re still in your work clothes, black pants and t-shirt the hair salon requires, and you’ve counted at least three different types of hair on you since Gregory’s explanation began. Compared to Gregory’s armor, jaunty hat, and formal footwear, you are very underdressed.

“Um,” you say, “no.”

Gregory rises and sighs heavily. “Oh, thank you, chosen one, we are forev–” He breaks off, eyes finally dropping to meet yours. You see that his eyes aren’t light green like you thought. They’re yellow. “No?”

“Yeah,” you say and try to brush the grey, three-inch long hair from your left knee. Ms. Simpson’s, you think. She’d gotten a healthy trim. “No.”

“Is it because you’re not magic?” Gregory asks, looking down his hooked nose at you. “Because I thought I did a good job explaining that, in my world, you are magic and–”

“It’s because that sounds hella dangerous,” you say. You shrug sheepishly. “I’m not really looking for a fast way to die so…” You shrug again.

“I told you that that’s what I’m for,” Gregory says irritably. “I’ll protect you from Lord Deigh’s henchman as you search for the lost heir. I’m your guard.”

You squint at him. “It doesn’t seem like you particularly want to be my guard, dude.”

Gregory, tellingly, says nothing.

“Yeah,” you say and stand. Ms. Simpson’s hair is apparently there to stay. “So sorry about your lost heir or whatever, but I’m not going with you. You’re clearly not as invested in my safety as I am and, besides that, I just don’t care. Let me show you out.” You try to usher the six foot man out, but he barely seems to notice the attempt.

“They’ve all said yes,” Gregory says. He seems baffled. “What makes you different?”

“They’ve all?” you ask. There’s a sinking feeling in your stomach. “Holy shit, how many people have you tricked into going with you?”

“I haven’t tricked anyone,” Gregory says indignantly. He frowns down at you. “I just drew the short straw this time.”

You gape at him. The short straw? So whoever Gregory works for has done this more than once. And they’re still looking.  “You realize that I’m definitely not going with you now, right?”

“You must,” Gregory says. His frown deepens. “Only the foretold can defeat the sorcerer at Lord Deigh’s side. It’s by my Order’s estimation that you are the mostly likely human from this realm able to–”

“Tell me how many ‘foretold’ you guys have tried,” you interrupt, folding your arms. “If it’s less than five, then I’ll go with you.”

Gregory, again, says nothing.

“Leave,” you say and point to the door. “Or I’m going to call the police.”

“Your law enforcement can’t stop me,” Gregory says. He seems to be getting angry and takes a step towards you. “I said the speech, like I was told too. I humbled myself in front of you. You’re coming with me.” He reaches a hand out.

You yelp and hop out of reach, nearly falling onto the couch. You take the opportunity to jump over the back, abs straining with the effort to leverage your lower half high enough, and put the couch between you and the insane elf-man in your living room. 

“You can not run,” Gregory says and draws the broadsword hanging from his back. “I am much faster than you.”

“Look,” you say, holding up your hands. “Gregory. Greg. Can I call you Greg?”

Gregory cuts your coffee table in half.

You scream a little. “Okay! Okay! Gregory it is. You can’t force me to come with you, I’ll… I’ll smite you!”

Gregory, thankfully, stops. “What?”

“Yeah,” you say, nodding fast, “if you take me to your world against my will, my first act will be to smite your ass with whatever power I get. Then I’ll do whatever I can to make sure none of your Order get another Earthling to come with you.” 

“You would not,” Gregory says. You notice that he doesn’t take another step towards you.

“I would,” you promise. “A-and worse! You want me to find your lost heir? I will, but not to save him. I’ll make sure you never find him!”

Gregory stares. “You’d kill him? Destroy our only chance of freedom?”

“Probably,” you say. You wince at the hurt expression that darts across Gregory’s face. “D-don’t look at me like that, you’re not exactly a great person either!”

“I must consult with my brothers and sisters,” Gregory says, almost to himself. “The Order did not foresee your evilness of character.”

You squawk. “I don’t want to hear that from the dude about to kidnap me!”

“I will return,” Gregory announces, sheathing his sword. He turns on his heel and heads for the door. 

“Um, don’t,” you call after him. You wince as your front door slams. 

You wonder how much a gun can possibly cost.