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Chapter 6

The therapist listened to Othello's story, sans certain geographical details, with a blank mask and cool almond-shaped eyes. Her flared bobbed hairdo kept perfectly aligned but for at the ends framed her pale and delicate features already lined with the stresses of her job.

Othello took the tiniest bit of pleasure in counting the creases his stories had put there over the years. She probably dyed the grey away.

"Mr. Montague," she began slowly. "How do you think feeding your delusions is going to keep you out of trouble?"

"Simple," Othello smiled. "I tell them to leave me alone, or take each one of them apart."

She considered that answer, and watched him question his own response.

"Because I can, you know..." Othello muttered.

Ms. Norn stood up to her full five-feet-and -a-fistful-of-inches and circled to the bookshelf on the wall. "We are going to try a new direction in your treatment starting today, Mr. Montague." Slender fingers hooked on the spine of a thick book. "This is a proximate translation to a very old, and very rare book of emotional and mental disciplines, meditations. I believe they could help you."

"What, like... yoga? 'Cuz I gotta tell you: Not really my thing. Too slow, too quiet, no money-shot at the end."

She brushed the implications aside airily. "Let us go through the first, together. I'm sure it'll fit snuggly with your new 'shaman' persona...?"

Othello pondered the consequences of walking out without trying this new treatment plan, and shrugged. "Alright, Lady Norn," Othello sat forward. "Lay it on me."

A bit of grunt work later -- moving the desk aside to clear space, and the two were seated on the floor, side-by-side, cross-legged.

"Focus on the aspect of yourself that you wish to project to the Monsters," Ms. Norn guided gently. She began circular breathing; in on ten, hold ten, out on ten.

Othello followed suit; in through his nose, hold, and out through his mouth.

"Close your eyes," Norn whispered. "Picture the shape..."

He obeyed. He tried to focus on his best features; his long limbs, his strong grip, his deep voice, his nobly-sized endowments...

But then, his inner image began to struggle against him. It began to warp. When it doubled over and clutched it's head as if trying to keep something in, Othello felt two sharp pains, one each in the corners of his forehead. That pressure built, and then erupted. He watched his vision-self's skull erupt gorily as gnarled spikes clawed out of it!!!

His eyes snapped open, the point on which he sat spun, and he tipped over. "Oh, jeez!"

Norn laughed at him, helping him up. "Why don't you practice that for now." She dusted him off. "We'll set an appointment to see how you progress. Sound good?"

Othello didn't answer right away. He felt almost quiet. Like some thirst he never knew was there was sated a bit, at least. "Yeah," he muttered. "Sounds good..."

With Angel taking the truck to his classes, Othello had taken the Silver Line of the Fortuna Metro to make his appointment. On the walk back to the Tram, Othello kept the pace slow, focusing on the breathing exercises. The pain was familiar, like when he used his Big Voice. It was enough of a connection for Othello to commit to it. On the train itself, he tried the meditations in earnest.

The world sort of swam. He focused on his inner-self. The Dominant. The Prince he envisioned himself to be. The Hunter of Men. Maybe... Maybe he could hunt more than mere men...

By the time he was on the train, the pains in his skull renewed in a throbbing, strobe-like ache. The more he focused on keeping that thing in a familiar shape, the more his skull felt like collapsing. He was just about to relent and let whatever shape unfold when a hand shook him from his meditations.

Expecting some hobo, he went to chase the hand away. Looking up, however, his eyes met the aged ones of Grumman in all of his stuck-up splendor.

"Didn't expect you to take the train..." Othello snorted.

"I fully expected you to do so," he smirked, rubbing his fingers together as if he'd just touched something greasy. "And I was right."

"So, what," Othello snorted, "You've been riding this train all day waiting for me?"

"Hardly!" Though something about the implication reddened the older man's ears. "You used your Magic on me. I can track that scent anywhere I need to now."

That held unsettling implications on its own. "What do you want...?"

Grumman sat back and scowled. "I want to see just how powerful you are. You have no skill, per se, but I find it difficult to believe that someone as weak as you could impress the Alphas."

"You want to fight," Othello ventured.

"Bah!" Grumman waved the notion aside like a fart. "There are better ways to gauge one's spiritual potential. Indeed, the scent you were giving off just now speaks of great things. I need to know how deep it goes. What it's tied to. I need to experience it again."

"You want more...?" Othello smiled, and whatever Grumman saw in his eyes made him recoil in something like embarrassment.

"I simply need to vet you myself," Grumman cleared his throat.

"What'd you have in mind?" Othello said, looking at his watch. "I have some time before work."

"We need an arena," Grumman said. "I had hoped we could use the campgrounds, but time is apparently limited for you."

"Yes," Othello retorted, at this point, kinda ready to go another round with this douche. "Unlike you, Designer Suit, the jobs available to me are rather limited. However, if you need an 'arena', I have a place for us."

* * *

Othello took a detour, and they disembarked near the Warehouse District, just a few miles from the coast. In the beginning, there were military warehouses, and scientific research labs. But when Fortuna was officially established, such businesses moved toward the center of what was then dubbed the Fortuna Crater to become the heart of the fledgeling city.

These days, the warehouse district was nearly lawless. The old facilities were abandoned, and then looted. Most of the workable buildings were bought up by some rich family of questionable repute, but many of even these were left to crumble. Rumours of this place ran the gamut from being a base for human trafficking and the heart of the local drug trade, to mysterious vanishings and sightings of strange creatures in human disguises. It was the Rim of several Underworlds.

Othello had no interest in such things, but this is where he cut his teeth as a Leatherman. The wolf behind him followed closely. He could sense Grumman's increasing unease.

They rounded the corner, to one of the few buildings running. The building was three storeys. The top floor was said to be office space. The second was the club area; bar, stages, dance floor, etc.

But the first floor was for "Members Only": Be Tempted. It was listed as a gay club, but that Members Only section would have been more appropriately dubbed a hardcore BDSM Play-Space. And Othello had been a Member for just over two years.

The first floor was locked from the inside; the main entrance was reached via fire escape to a side door. Othello used his Membership ID on the electronic lock, and opened the door when it buzzed.

It was a bit early for the club-proper to be open, but that wasn't an issue. Members could access the building 24/7. The key only worked on two of the doors, so Members would easily be spotted by the husky security guard or some maintenance worker before they could poke around someplace they shouldn't.

More importantly, it would be almost completely empty. Nobody around to judge any actions taken with this man.

Othello returned the nod of the bouncer's bald head and continued in. Henrique looked a bit surprised that Othello was with this sort of man, but didn't ask questions. Like a good boi. Othello reached out and rattled the bigger man's collar. Henrique blushed and hummed appreciatively until Othello let him go. "You're welcome to Be Tempted, Sir," came the well-worn greeting.

Othello would have stayed to flirt and tease, but he had places to be. Besides, Grumman is giving him an opportunity that can't be passed on.

The two walked down the stairs, descending into Othello's personal hunting grounds. This is where he reigns, quietly, preying on the pride of men who underestimate him because of his slightly athletic build. The world -- porn, gender norms imposed even on gay men, the majority consesus of hierarchy -- would all insist he be the submissive one. He never felt the need to battle these things, but simply enjoys the sweet taste of a larger man's pride. Being underestimated is simply a handy tool in that pursuit. Of course, he gained a reputation here; most bigger men either avoid him, or approach with no pride to give.

Grumman, then, is fresh meat. He was stuck-up. Pompous. It was unclear if it came from being a monster, or from being in a higher tax-bracket. This man wanted Othello to believe he was better than him.

Othello was hard just thinking about tearing that perception down.

"Do you know this place, Mr. Grumman?" Othello asked airily.

"Only by name..." Grumman muttered. "Though this... portion of its reputation has eluded me before now." His nose never stopped twitching. He knew what went on down here.

"Of course. It is a secret kept as one does for all sacred spaces," Othello smirked.

"'Sacred'?" Grumman scoffed. "Debauched! Hedonistic, at best!"

"Ecstatic! Come now, Spirit Warden!" Othello mocked. "You can't smell it? The prayers men give to each other? The pried-open emotions of naked masculinity? The discarded pride and devoured arrogance?" Inhaling, Othello hadn't realized that he was opening himself up to receive this prayer. He caught himself after a moment, but when he turned back to smile at Grumman, the older man's eyes glinted gold in the ambient shadows. "If you're scared, you may wanna turn back."

That raised hackles. "Lead on."

Othello smiled and walked to open the door at the end of the hall. The two stepped into what appeared to be a matted roomm, akin to any that could be found in any high school. The floor was a bit slick with lube, oils, and soaps that seemed only partially effective in removing it.

"How did you plan on doing this?" Othello asked.

"I'm going to interrogate you," Grumman said, shaking out of his blazer. "I suppose that is inaccurate; I'm going to study and possibly dissect you if I need to. Whatever power you hold, I plan to grant it to my son."

Othello froze. "You were looking for a private place to kill me..."

"Indeed."

Othello gave a nervous chuckle. "Well, that was unexpected..." The giggles grew. "The Alphas know about this? I'm fairly valuable, you know."

"They would rather such powers be kept 'in-house'," Grumman growled. "They'll come around."

"Aw, Grum!" Othello was laughing now. "You haven't thought this through at all! You think you can just do as you please, damn the consequences? Because you're THAT MUCH better than me!?" Othello doubled over, guffawing now. "You don't even KNOW why I'm so valuable to them, do you!?"

"Shut. Up," Grumman rolled up his sleeves.

In the time he'd done so, Othello was in his face, staring into his eyes. "Tell me what you see!"

Like Elizabeth before him, Grumman threw himself away from him after a moment. Snarling.

"Well?" Othello demanded. "TELL ME WHAT YOU SEE, WOLF!!!"

Grumman couldn't answer. The Change had taken him.

Othello was better prepared for this. Had a better idea of how long this Change would take. He used those scant few moments to reach into his power again, focus on his target, and await that first attack.

When Grumman launched himself at Othello, Tell was ready. "Sit, boi!"

The same power he held over the spirits slammed Grum's wolf face-first into the matts. Othello had to laugh. "I wasn't sure that'd work, but It's easy! It's so much easier than trying to murder you!" He wandered past the downed wolf to a rack of implements Grumman hadn't taken notice of before. He selected a leather strop. "Get up," he purred. "Let's try that again."

Grumman, released from the hammering weight of the command didn't scurry as Othello expected, but twisted to bite his leg. Othello simply lowered the arm and lashed the wolf across his sensitive snout. Grumm reeled back with a high yelp.

"Still wanna see how much power I've got?" Othello cooed. "You sure? It might squash you like a bug."

As he spoke, the wolf backed away, and now stalked in a circle around him.

"Very well..." Othello smiled. "I'm curious too, and you did ask me for it... Sit, boi! Sit!"

Again, Grumm slammed into the ground. Raised elbows squashed flat.

"Sit!" He could almost see a shape press down.

Grumman gasped, going spread-eagle.

"Sit!" A second illusion pressed down, combining with the first to become more distinct.

The wolf yelped as something went crunch.

"SIT!" A hand! A massive hand, made of Fog!

Grumman screamed, eyes bugging out.

"SIT!!" Could the wolf see it now? Now that Othello could recognize it, it felt... "decided" somehow. This is the form his Power takes.

Grumman coughed up blood.

"SIT!!!" The hand simply PRESSED.

Grumman gave a whimper, then went still.

Othello went silent. Breathing hard. He felt as if he'd wrestled the wolf down himself. Through the high of wielding this power, he vaguely wondered if he'd killed the wolf. But it suddenly gasped, and looked to be struggling to swallow something. He gulpd, and gulped, each time becoming smaller. Less hairy. Soon, the naked (and still quite hirsute) Grumman lay before him. Shaking.

"Aw, Grum..." Othello felt himself deflate. "You came here to kill me. That really all you can muster?" He crouched to scratch a shivering Grum behind still-pointed ears. "That's alright. You can always try again. Next time, though, I'm going to play with you after I beat you. So try not to lose, okay?"

Grumman didn't resist. He only stared out of the corner of one terrified eye. At his touch, he bit back a sob.

Well, this one's broken... Othello sighed. I'd hoped an actual monster might be more satisfying. Aw, well...

With that, Othello turned to leave. As he closed the door behind him, Grumman sat up. Shaking, confused hands wrapped around his painfully throbbing boner.

"Wh-what did he do to me...?" He sobbed.

...