The Itinerant

[Alan Remboldt]

The walkman was old. Indescribably, bafflingly old. So old that to look at it was to be hit, as with a two-by-four across the face, with the true knowledge of how old Walkman technology really was. The duct tape could have been applied to the outside surface during the Reagan administration; the grunge solidified on the clunky apparatus's three remaining buttons, Carter; the design conceived of and implemented...probably Lincoln.

Joyously, it slightly bounced up and down from the hip of Alan Remboldt's stained not-so-blue jeans, just under a banged-up leather satchel, blaring a past age's magnum opus for tinny earphones that would have been mere undecipherable noise if the owner were not lightly singing the tune in a monotonic yet almost soothing baritone.

"...oh don't you want somebody to love, don't you need somebody to love..."

Alan had spent the last night or so under a bridge. He had been hoping to find cheap (read: free) lodging before resorting to this measure, but he was not one to look a gift bridge in the mouth: it was a relatively dry one, with the obvious exception of one particular region, which Alan had fortunately avoided falling into over the course of the night, a happenstance that seldom took place but was rather inconvenient when it did. Small mercies notwithstanding, the effect on his appearance was significant: his wool v-neck sweater was rumpled and wrinkled, even more so than it already would be, and he'd resorted to using a hint of his meager reserve of patchouli oil to become presentable. He himself rather liked the smell, but knew others felt differently.

On opening the door, he found himself staring into his past. This was something that happened relatively often to Alan, but never quite as literally as this. The seats were arranged exactly as he felt like he'd left them that last day, and the same went for the desk at the front. He ambled over to it, and dropped his satchel on the table, rooting through the day's acquisitions to get to his student notes. Here was the day-past-expiration turkey sandwich that the corner deli was about to throw out just as he was walking by; the unopened bag of cookies abandoned by the woman who realized she was running late for work; various denominations of bills found in street gutters. Finally, at the bottom of the satchel (where he knew he would find it) was the official-looking manila envelope. He extracted his contents and waited for the little bird to arrive.

[Rhett Goddard]

Finally. Since Rhett arrived at Hammel all he wanted was some power training. Actually, it was all he wanted since Kocher and it was the reason why he transfered to Hammel. It was damn about time a power trainer was assigned to him and this his first appointment with him. He wasn't sure if it was a group class, private tutoring or just an appointment for both to meet (the e-mail was everything but clear), all he knew was that he was to arrive at Alan Remboldt's office that day at that time. And just two or three minutes late, he arrived to find an open door.

"Mr. Remboldt, I pressume?" He took the liberty to enter the office right away while staring at the man. Not quite what I expected... "Am I in the right place? I'm... not sure." Is that a teacher? Let's not get judgy. Crap, maybe he's a janitor? "I was to meet a new teacher. Mr. Remboldt. I think I'm lost."

[Alan Remboldt]

Alan's smile, though almost omnipresent, never quite gets old to look at: he does it with his eyes as well as his mouth, in a magnanimous display of sincerity. He is, after all, truly pleased to see most people. The little bird was no exception.

"Worry not, young man--you indeed presume correctly." Alan stood slowly, with a quiet yet grand demeanor, and presented his calloused hand in front of him. "I am Alan Heraclitus Remboldt, and the Institute has thankfully humored my desire to teach. I've had ample time to peruse your file, so I do believe we can dispense with the frivolities of small talk--men like you or I don't really have any particular need for conversation wrought only for the sake of establishment of common ground, do we?" He chuckled, then rose from his desk and, passing Rhett, took up a pinion in one hand and gently guided him with him towards the door he'd entered not two minutes before.

"For today, the tutelage shall consist only of you and I. Come, boy--let us take in the town! We of the information persuasion cannot cultivate our craft without something about which to become informed, yes? And what better than people!"

[Rhett Goddard]

Well he talks weird... Rhett stood in his place while the man talked. So he IS Mr. Remboldt. Why is he talking like that? Heraclitus? Is that a word? He was definitely confused. His English was not perfect and now there he was, talking to a man that talked in the strangest way he had heard. He could only understood what he was saying after a second of being said, and so, many parts of the speech were skipping his head. Why is he talking like that?!?!!!

"Huh?" He said as Mr. Remboldt started talking out the door, for what Rhett's first instinct was to follow him, even though he didn't hear anything about going somewhere else. "Oh, umm, ok I guess..."

Did he just say town? Are we going to Pi... Information persuasion? We? Does he mean we have similar powers? Rhett scratched his head. He could barely make sense of his trainer's words but he did like the idea of going out, specially if indeed they both shared powers. Maybe this was better than he had imagined. Well except for the fact that he talked as strange as it gets.

"Mr. Remboldt, I sincerely have to ask," He cleared his throat and maintained his most notable French accent. "Can you speak slower? Or at least more understandable? It's getting hard to get what you say..."

That was a most likely rude thing to say to a teacher, but at least he was being honest. And it was for the best of them, he couldn't learn much if he wasn't understanding completely the conversation. In the other hand, maybe, and just maybe, it was a pretty neat way to train ESP. After all, if ESP is about gaining information without the five natural senses, if he weren't to use one, the others might raise to the situation, being ESP the sixth one. Interesting thought, I will have to write this one out...

"Also, what did you say about information persuasion?" It interested him hardly to understand this part. "I didn't quite understood that part..."

[Alan Remboldt]

It was a chilly afternoon outside, as per normal, with the air crisply cold in the way that one can taste, making them ever the more content with their choice of jacket.

"I do confess, boy, when I suggested we experience the outdoors, I was referring merely to the greater part of the school campus. I don't believe I've filed the requisite paperwork for us to go any further than the boundaries that region comprises."

At the little bird's request, Alan chuckled heartily.

"Boy, many have made similar requests to yours, and I do own that I've tried mightily to honor them, but the beauty and grandeur of our common language makes it simply too difficult to refrain from using all of it that I can issue at once! Besides, I'm sure you've already figured out one of the best reasons why it's, at the very least, unnecessary that I subdue my dialect. By the time you're done, you'll be able to understand what I have to say regardless of what method I use to say it!"

"Mais je suis sûr que c'est plus facile pour vous de comprendre. Si vous avez trop de difficultés pour en déduire ce que je dis, n'hésitez pas à me demander de me répéter de cette manière."

He chuckled again.

"Ah, but what a lovely language you speak, my boy! I may very well have to learn it someday."

As they rounded the bend, both found themselves in the school courtyard, where people of various types milled and chatted.

"Now, then, I believed you asked me earlier what I meant by 'information persuasion.' It is simply this: we both have extraordinary means of gathering knowledge about the outside world. Mine is without form or direction, and I've spent quite some time learning to extract useful tidbits from it, but I believe yours is quite the opposite--and so, we must practice until your faculties are honed."

"Firstly, you see that woman, over there by the trees near the hedge? She's expecting company soon. Who do you think has agreed to meet her?"

"Next," pointing at a morose-looking girl sitting by herself in the grass, "how many times has this little one read A Clockwork Orange? For that matter, have you? If you haven't you should."

"And finally, this one's a bit tricky since it doesn't involve people, and non-person entities are a little hard to grasp sometimes. Some of the leaves in that tree over there--the one near the bench, see?--are quite disheveled and broken. It looks like something has disturbed them! Can you hazard a guess as to what that might be?"

[Rhett Goddard]

Great, he knows French. Rhett facepalmed himself mentally. Great, he has ESP. He facepalmed himself once again. Great, he won't stop speaking like that. This was not going the place Rhett wanted, unfortunately there was little he could. Great, we're practicing powers!

Rhett looked at his objectives. Were they random? Mr. Remboldt did not seem like the kind of man that would choose random. Maybe he knew something Rhett didn't about the objectives. Whatever the case was. Maybe it was time to pay attention. Not like he hadn't tried this before, but maybe with the help of a trainer, one that has ESP, things would certainly change.

Firstly, the woman. He focused. She had a nice dress, but he didn't like her shoes. They were not tall enough for the dress. Wait, why would I know if some shoes are too tall for a dress? Rhett was not interested in clothes, why would he? He doesn't know a thing about fashion and he's not interested to know. That is, though, of Zara's line of last summer, she bought in Barcelona. What a random fact. Yet Barcelona is quite a nice city.[/i]

"I have no idea who that woman is meeting. The dress, she bought it in Spain, you know." He talked softly to his teacher. He felt dissapointed of himself. "The brand's Zara. It must be about six month's old. Isn't it weird? Why would she use a summer dress in plain winter?"[/b] Women are strange, Rhett knew that. But one thing he had learned was that they act even weirder when... "Unless is a date? Maybe she's meeting her boyfriend, husband or her affair. Her lover anyway."

That was as much as he could tell. And it was a lot. Half from intuition, though, but wasn't intuition that sixth sense that ESP is supposed to come from? Maybe he was doing it right. No. Maybe it was not intuition, it's just deduction, that's what it is. Sherlock Holmes never needed ESP and he was probably able to know who the woman is waiting for. Rhett couldn't aspire to be no Sherlock, not now anyway.

"I have no idea what a clockwork orange is, Mr. Remboldt." He looked at his second target. Nothing coming to his mind, at least nothing he could see as information that wasn't there before. Not like I have learned to differentiate one from other, though... "I could pretty safely say that I'm not getting any from the girl... And I think the same goes for the..."

ALAN NEEDS A HOUSE
a voice screamed at Rhett's left ear.

"Ugh..." Rhett shook his head and scratched his left ear. "Do you need somewhere to live?"

[Alan Remboldt]

Alan regarded his pupil with a careful ear, taking in the thought from start to finish.

"Mmm...mm. Yes, of course--the threads have a distinctly Barcelonian weave. A distinctly six-month-old Barcelonian weave, at that, I agree. And, yes, your reasoning is quite good; specifically, that woman is meeting a very good friend of hers today for the first time in many weeks. Of course, we do not always want our friends to be just that, do we?" He grinned wryly.

Alan placed a gentle hand at the base of the little bird's wing. "It's perfectly understandable if you aren't in total control of your power yet, boy. The world does not open to one at a mere touch--that is why we are here together today in the first place."

"Vous avez déjà affiché des compétences remarquables pour votre âge. Il n'est pas nécessaire d'avoir honte."

The older man reacted with surprise at the revelation uttered from the little bird. "You've never had the pleasure of Burgess's most seminal work? Why, this shall not stand, young man! The list of books I must have you read grows by the hour."

"Oh, je suis désolé de ne pas le dire avant - il y aura beaucoup de livres qui vous aideront dans votre voyage. Plus tard, nous allons arrêter par la bibliothèque pour se lancer sur eux."

At the bird's final utterance, Alan shook his belly with laughter.

"Oh, child, your bluntness is refreshing. I am indeed quite without shelter as of now, and have had to make do in other ways. Worry not, though--my experience with the homeless lifestyle is extensive. But it looks like the evidence you base that assertion on is quite forceful. Let me know if you'd like to rest, it will be quite understandable from the shock you must have gotten."

"For now, let me show you how it's done!"

Alan stepped off, with a flourish, toward a point roughly in the middle of the courtyard that was of no particular significance whatsoever. He stopped there, and stood with purpose, his eyes intent upon an exit at the southeast part of the yard.

Four minutes passed. Then, a sheepish-looking boy with dark hair burst out of that door, and began to sprint across the yard. Alan raised both his hands just so, leaned just slightly... and was, somehow, in just the right place, at just the right time, to catch the lily, arrest his movement, but not cause him any harm.

"Calm down, boy. Lithium aluminum hydride fires are dangerous, but our lab facilities are well-stocked. It'll be out soon, and it's not your fault it started anyway. Okay? Now let's go get you a hot chocolate like you like after something scary happens."

Alan led the lily back over to the little bird, hand on shoulder. "Introductions are in order, I believe! Rhett, this is Maxwell; Maxwell, Rhett. Max has had a little bit of a shock lately, so we'll take a bit of a break from training to assuage his nerves, all right?" He turned back to the lily. "Rhett here is training his power with me, as I believe you will quite soon. By soon, I mean within about a week or so, boy!" Once again, he laughed merrily, then lead his charges in the direction most likely to produce cocoa (which, of course, was the product of Alan letting his well-trained feet lead him.)

[Maxwell Aquarius]

Maxwell's eyes were wide, his breath coming in short pants. He felt as if the green fire—and all associated authorities—were hot on his tail. He just wanted to keep running until he could find a good hole to hide in for the next few days. Or weeks. If he brought enough pop-tarts, it could probably work…

The gruff voice he’d heard belonged to a face above his at what felt like a towering height. The man was hardly the professor-looking type. He smelled vaguely of… well, the guy could use deodorant.

He tried to think nice thoughts. After all, the guy was likely a mind-reader or something if he knew his name. Because he would definitely remember meeting someone who looked, smelled, and sounded like someone who came straight from the 20s train-hoppers rush.

On a second thought, there was a certain old-man-ness that he found himself naturally trusting. His glance fell from the height of the slightly smelly older guy to the rather clean-shaven blonde at his side, who looked as overwhelmed as he felt. It was comforting in the way that grunts of pain at the dentist made him feel like ants were crawling all over his arms.

He wanted to ask something intelligent, like, "How do you know about the lab?" or ”How do you know about lithium aluminum whatsits?”

Instead, all that came out was, “Hot chocolate?”

[Rhett Goddard]

"Hot chocolate?" Rhett asked just as Maxwell said the one same thing.

He started following Mr. Remboldt as he remembered the odd things that had just happened. He knew exactly when he would arrive and where. Precognition. He looked at his teacher. It was scary to learn that precognition is an ability a meta could have: In his year in the meta world he had never learned that. Not like I'm selfish, but wasn't this MY class to learn to control MY power? Why are we helping a scared kid? The inability to efficiently train Rhett's power was the reason he left Kocher. He felt it was unfair for them to lose their original path. Not like it was fun to listen an odd man trying to oddly teach, but it was at least something. Oh well... Sadly there was little to nothing he could do besides cursing in his mind and following instructions. He felt Mr. Remboldt could actually spin this into making Rhett believe this was part of training.

When arriving at the closest coffee shop in campus, Rhett quickly walked first to the stand.

"Coffee Frappé, please?" He took out enough money to pay for it and quickly received his order before walking up back to his teacher's position. "So?"

[Alan Remboldt]

Alan was nose deep in a concoction of his own devising that, in homage to (as opposed to blatant copying of) a certain naming convention he'd found amusing, he'd called the All-Seeing Eye. Five shots of espresso writhed like venomous snakes inside the burrow of a tall cup of Kona blend, poised to strike his nervous system. Alan seemed to recall that a café near the wharf had offered the "beverage" free of charge, provided that its consumer did so under a stated time limit. For old times' sake (and to the memory of Mr. Monticello--such a nice guy) he quaffed the mixture in one fell gulp. He did not so much withstand the bright fluid flash inside his head and throat as revel in it.

After taking a few minutes to savor the post-adrenaline rush spell, he realized that the little bird was pecking at him. He rendered the proper attention.

"So what?"

He grinned playfully. "Come on, then. Let's conclude your lessons for the day."

Alan approached the lily spryly and placed a gentle hand upon his shoulder. "It was quite good to see you in person, Maxwell--however unpleasant the circumstances may have been. So far as I am given to understand, which is a fair amount, you will be studying under my instruction quite soon. Keep well until then!"

And they were off.

Alan regarded his avian charge with a nosy glance. Then, he smiled warmly. "Well, that was quite eventful, wasn't it? I got to meet my new charge, and you got a free drink. Ah, ah--don't protest. Good work is nothing to be ashamed of, and the lift you pulled on the fellow third in line certainly qualifies: you chose a mark with obvious means, both to ensure success and to make sure that he won't mind as much when he notices. I am quite impressed."

As quickly as they'd left, they had arrived at the institute's venerable library. "And this, my boy, is where the lion's share of your work will be done. You are a man of knowledge, of having ken of things beyond what you ought, and this is a shrine to those of a very similar quality!"

Alan stepped off in a completely random direction, informing the librarian that, no, he did not require assistance, thank you very much; yes, he understood that his appearance was somewhat less than optimal, but that he'd trouble the inhabitants only sparingly.

In a matter of minutes, Alan had selected two books, almost as if he knew by heart where they were.

"These, Rhett, are two books that I expect you to have read by next month. One of them is good for you, and the other is great.

The first is A Clockwork Orange. You will love this book. Everyone does.

The second is Wittgenstein's seminal treatise, Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus. You'll notice I've selected the edition in the original German--that's relatively important. In fact, I daresay that the point of the exercise would be defeated if you were to read it in anything else...

Good luck with all of it, and until we meet again!"

With the sort of flair that only a grimy old man can pull off, Alan ambled out of the oaken doors toward nobody knew where.