Chapter Text
The carpeting was absolutely outlandish.
Moralitas Altrue sat in the plush leather chair, waiting for the double doors engraved with faux mystic symbols to open. Her hand lay on the armchair, drumming in a random rhythm, as she thought about the events that had led her to this point.
She’d flown in from JFK Airport earlier in the week, hoping this trip to London would turn out well. The English Sanctuary had requested for her presence in regard to a certain patient. She was the best psychologist in the magical community (though she could have highly attributed this to the distinct lack of many at all).
The patient himself had been a highly insecure Sensitive whose visions had left him unnerved and unstable. She had done her best to help him over the next few days, but inevitably, as it often happened, the Sanctuary had become impatient. They’d expected a quick recovery and wanted immediate results, claiming they needed the patient as soon as possible. So, instead, they’d brought in another Sensitive to replace her patient’s personality entirely with a more confident, level-headed one. One that could handle visions with more aptitude. And Malthus Nerve was no more.
Upon receiving the news, Moralitas had been unsurprised, but still disappointed and furious at the lack of care for agents in the Sanctuary. She’d decided to take up this grievance with the Medical Department, who then directed her to Administration, who then told her to take it up with the Elders. Which she’d had to wait another day for.
After waiting said day, she’d immediately taken up the matter with Grand Mage Graves, who’d been less than gracious to say the least. However, polite as she had been, Graves gave her a simple answer; the only potential funds they could have had toward building a curriculum and training new psychologists was to be going toward new weapons, provided by a trusted arms dealer. The provider, of course, wanted to remain anonymous in the transaction. Professional courtesy and all.
But Moralitas, in a moment of brief frustration, had been able to pick up Graves’s small suspicion of his provider’s identity--a certain Auric Duplicit. Not that she knew who that was, but it was fairly easy to search up who he was later after her brief appointment with the Grand Mage.
This ‘Auric Duplicit’ was apparently an arms dealer in the magical community and a famous stage magician in the non-magical world. He’d made quite a name for himself on both stages, and obviously got a high off of tricking people, based on his record of thefts and cons in the past.
Regardless of the man’s unsavoury businesses, Moralitas had mulled over the thought of speaking with him. If she could convince him to at least lower the price of the weapons, then at least some funds would be able to go toward a psychology division in the Sanctuary.
Determined, after finding his work address, she'd immediately made her way through the busy streets of London to speak with the con man.
And that was how I ended up here, she thought as her finger-drumming petered out and she brushed her dark hair out of her face, staring at this horribly neon purple, faux-velvet carpeting.
She couldn’t fathom what on Earth would possess someone to get such an eye-sore of a carpet. Moralitas wasn’t usually one to judge, but she couldn’t stand the way it seemed to simply pierce into her skull.
Fortunately, she didn’t have to stare at it much longer as the doors swung open. Sighing quietly in relief, Moralitas stood and briskly strode into the well-lit room. The floor (thankfully) was a dark slate grey, the walls paneled with platinum, with a sheen so pristine, she could see her own reflection. Stage lights shone onto objects and tools customarily found in magic shows as they lined the walls, top hats, scarves and cuffs being some of the most common and mundane. But a few others caught Moralitas’ eyes--an Iron Maiden, a few full-length mirrors, a water tank, as well as many other various stage props she couldn’t seem to identify.
Her attention drifted to the end of the long room to settle on a black desk, and a smooth voice originating from behind the chair. It had a very charming quality to it, smattered with a flattering tone and the kind of intonation you would find in the voices of people in infomercials in the States. It sounded precisely like the sort of voice she avoided on the subway and the Tube--in other words, she didn’t like it.
“Alright, it’s been an absolute pleasure doing business with you. We’ll talk more on Saturday, I have a small meeting to attend...”
Moralitas almost grimaced at the boisterous laugh that came from behind the chair, but was able to school her features before a beep! signalled the end to his call. The chair turned, revealing a man with dark, slicked back hair, narrow eyes and a dark suit with a dress shirt that matched the neon purple carpeting outside.
Auric Duplicit gave her the greasiest smile possible, his mouth full of pearly whites that hurt her eyes more than the neon purple. “Now, I normally don’t speak with those who don’t schedule a meeting first, but as it stands, I am free for the rest of the afternoon. And how could I possibly say no to such a lovely lady?”
“And I am quite grateful that you graciously decided to meet with me, thank you,” she responded, ignoring his last comment. She spoke with her Estuary accent, mirroring the magician’s own.
“Not at all. It’s my pleasure,” he chuckled softly. He gestured toward to one of the seats in front on the desk. “Please, take a seat. What can I help you with, Miss…?”
She pulled the chair back and sat primly. “Altrue. Ms. Altrue. And I came to speak with you, Mr. Duplicit, about a certain deal you’ve struck with the English Sanctuary regarding certain weapons they’ve decided to purchase.”
Duplicit shook his head, tsk-ing a little. “Now, what is an assurance of anonymity if people keep finding out about it? Honestly, it entirely defeats the purpose if--oh!”
The salesman snapped his fingers, reaching a hand under his desk. “Almost forgot.”
A small click sounded from behind the desk and Moralitas quickly turned her head in alarm as the platinum panels along the wall began to turn, revealing new objects along the walls--weapons. All manner of guns, artifacts, blades, and enchanted items that had been sealed in glass cases instead now lined the walls.
“Now we can really talk business,” Duplicit said, drawing her attention back to him. “What does the Sanctuary want? Do they want to pull out, is that it?”
“Not exactly,” she replied carefully, “While I would certainly enjoy such an event, the Sanctuary would love to purchase your weapons.”
“Ah, then they’re officially signing off for the goods.” Duplicit’s smile widened, showing off brilliant white teeth with a practiced prominence. “Excellent, are you here to sign then?”
“Mr. Duplicit,” she said firmly, deciding to go straight to the point, “I am a psychologist from the American Sanctuary and I am here to request that you withdraw your offer on the weapons. The English Sanctuary is in great need of training for new psychologists and the only funds available are going towards your weapons.”
Duplicit’s smile dimmed a little in its radiance and he leaned back a bit in his chair, shaking his head a little. “Ms. Altrue, you know I just can’t do that. It’s just not good business sense! Not when they’re offering so much for my goods. Surely you understand my plight.”
“And surely you’ll understand mine when I see my patients undergo personality rewrites and spiral into further depression and anxiety,” she countered, leaning forward. “And surely you’ll understand that I will no longer be patient on this matter. I have been fighting for this for too long to be stopped by you.”
“Now, Mora--can I call you Mora?--you have to know that my own cause goes far beyond me? Do you know why the Sanctuary wants more weapons?" He barely even waited a beat before answering his own question. "The War of Sanctuaries. It’s taken a toll on the trust between Ireland and the other Sanctuaries and do you know who is situated right next to the Irish?”
Moralitas’ lips pulled into a taut line. “Of course I do. And I can appreciate their concern for their own safety but it remains that my patients--” She stopped mid-sentence, her brows furrowing together.
The psychologist levelled a look at the arms dealer with narrowed eyes. “How did you know my name? I only ever said my second name.”
Duplicit offered a sly smile in return with a wink, steepling his fingers together. “A magician never reveals his secrets, Mora. Now, I know you’re upset, really I do. But I simply can’t do it. Not with the English Sanctuary so very much in need of these… security assurances.”
Looking him up and down a moment, she spoke crisply. “Fine. May I request that you at least lower the prices of your weapons, then? That way, the funds could be split up between security against outside forces and a psychology curriculum.”
Duplicit sighed. “I wish I could. Really, I do. But the fact is, if I lower the price any more, not only will I not turn any sort of profit, I won’t be able to recover the acquisition fees! I’ve lowered the price as much as I could without it costing me dearly. Surely you can understand that much.”
“I can, bu--” The psychologist was cut off by a ringing tone originating from Duplicit.
Quickly pulling out his cell, he quickly glanced at it before looking to Moralitas, an obviously false sympathetic look on his face. “I’m sorry I couldn’t help you. But I have another engagement and I can’t afford to be late. My assistant will escort you out.”
He stood from his chair and she followed suit, he offered her an award-winning smile, holding out his hand. “I wish you luck in your endeavours, Mora.”
The Filipina barely held in a pointed glare and didn’t take his hand. “Same to you, Mr. Duplicit. You will most certainly hear from me again.”
She turned on her heel and promptly strode out of the room, ignoring the assistant that stood by the doors. She could practically feel the smug smile engraving itself on her backside.
The neon purple carpet seemed almost a relief compared to the terrible whiteness of his teeth.