The clock ticks again.
     Out of sequence. Perhaps this surprises the clock, but it cannot help but herald such things. It is, after all, as much of Time as the man who will arrive soon.
     Deja Vu. The feeling of having done something before.
     Presque Vu. The feeling that you will do something.
     Somewhere between those two is the sensation that sweeps the area, and lingers at the edge of consciousness: The feeling that you have already done something in the future.
     Then a knock on the door. Perfect to the ticking of the clock. The man is out there, waiting. A small slip of paper in his hand on which is written this address. And a name.
     He chews his lower lip, nervousness. A bit of worry. Strange how in these situations he doesn't know what to expect. You'd think he would have fixed that by now.

     If his attention was warranted, it is freely given. A hiccup in thought. Blue eyes move from the clock to the door, a sweeping motion.
     In the instant, the clock is quiet. Inanimate.
     "Bene," he calls. I hear you. A turn, and Cesare ignores his shirt, resting on a chair, and simply walks to the door.
     For you, dear traveller, it opens a fracture, blue eyes of a young man peering out. No surprise on his beauty, considering this is Venice.

     An Italian, too. Something strange about that, but no hint as to what. Blue eyes are met by mismatched eyes: One yellow, one pale blue. Repellant on most, somehow it seems appropriate. Somehow perfect to him.
     He waits patiently, looking down at the paper a moment, but looking up when the door opens. "Hello, uh, is this the residence of a -- " He glances at the paper "--a Cesare?" damn Derek's handwriting, can't make out that last name.
     He doesn't seem to recognize the man who opens the door, or at least his animated expression does not betray recognition.

     Auburn brow arches. The door widens. And Cesare stands, dressed only in a pair of brown leather pants. Barefoot.
     "Nathaniel?" he half-demands. "Of course, it's me." Cesare rolls his eyes, leaving the door open as he turns around to head back inside.
     Of course, he expects you're following.
     But apparently not fast enough.
     Cesare stops and half-twists, remembering something. "Come in, amice," he motions, stepping aside so as to close the door behind you. "Am I late for an appointement." A glance at the cuckoo. "We were to meet at the cafe?"

     He turns to soon, and misses Nathaniel's reaction. Surprise. "Wha-?" Off balance, Nathaniel wasn't expecting this. He should have. Yet another thing he should fix sometime in the future. His future, anyway.
     "Uh, no." Nate steps inside, and glances about, taking in the sights. At least enough that he can act familiar with the location, when he certainly isn't. "At least, if we were, I have forgotten as well.
     His gaze goes to the clock as well. It is already off by a few minutes. By the time he leaves it will be off by an hour. He hates that.
     "No, I thought I would just drop by. See what you were up to..." Another look around. Distant music to his voice. Hard to catch.

     Cesare nods, and closes the door, pushing it with his foot. "Still the same," Cesare goes on, "...looking at numbers, since finding the guildbook," he explains. The Italian is rough across his lips, reminiscent of Sicily. Ah. Sicilian, he is.
     "Do you want coffee?" Cesare asks, looking to you, "Tea?" There is a clear spot on a wooden chair not so far from Cesare's beloved mess of a dining table. An old sofa sits empty as well; the upholstery is well-worn after all of this time. "How are you?" he asks, already leaning again over the stack, standing comfortably -- one leg bent, the other extended as a support.

     "I'm pretty good" warming to the conversation, getting comfortable with this situation "Coffee is good. Just got back into the country, was at a party in New York." Which is true, admittedly, but he hopes that Cesare wasn't talking to a future Nate only a few days ago. That would make things complicated.
     On the other hand, how much does Cesare know of what Nate does? Nathaniel doesn't know. This could get tricky.
     He picks up a book at random, something ancient, and begins to read. He finds something amusing. "The scene in New York is starting to stale. Can't wait to see where the innovators move to next. I'm hoping somewhere exotic. Can you imagine an international rave scene in Bangladesh?" Nathaniel doesn't look like a Raver. "Anything interesting in the guildbook?" He perches atop the chair, never wanting to do anything conventionally.

     There comes a frown across Cesare's face as he looks at you, it quickly changing to 'what in the world are you talking about?' But Cesare chuckles and sighs, the expression evaporting. "I didn't know you were going to New York." Cesare's eyes narrow. Going to or coming from? Had been? He just waves it away.
     In the kitchenette, things move of their own volition. Even cuckoo seems interested in the conversation.
     The book is tossed your direction. "If you know the scripts of a secret underground goldsmith's already truncated slang, please let me know." Cesare chuckles and turns to face you, giving his back to the table for now. There he leans, crossing his ankles. No need to be rude. Work can wait.
     "The coffee will be just a minute."

     Cesare might catch the look of surprise that briefly washes across the sun and moon eyes, as the objects move. Then more comfort. "Ah, right, forgot about that."
     Then back to Cesare, the book caught. His hand was already beginning to rise, before the book was in the air. "Yeah, I travel a lot. Thought you knew?" Gotta play along, as he obviously knows Nathaniel well enough. The moving kitchen certainly does quiet some fears about discovery. He is unlikely to freak out if Nate displays some of his own milder magic. "It is hard to see the world if I stay in my living room, so to speak."
     Flipping to a random page, carefully so as not to harm the book, he looks at the odd writing. "Nope, can't say that I do. Might know someone who does, though. Extensive libraries, and other resources." The 'other' is emphasized. "Looks like an interesting read, though. At least, I'm sure you will find it interesting." A pause. "Any idea what it might be about?"

     "I'm guessing," Cesare exhales, head tilting as his arms fold across his chest, "...they contain a few incantations about...passing off silver weights and quality. Creation of a few small alchemicial tools, and, if I am lucky, it will tell me formulae for certain...units of measure. That's the key...knowing these formulae that work in others." He shrugs, brown hair flailing when Cesare glances to the kitchen and the approaching pot and cups. His brows arch, as if he's almost surprised.
     "And thanks on the resource," Cesare says, returning to you, "...but...I want to do it myself. First." In case there's other items in the book of which he might be unaware. "And what's there to see?" In the world. Certainly you can follow the threads. The cup and pot land on the floor near your chair, ready for your use. "It's not changed in the last....oh...thousand years..." a guess, but a good number all the same. Though, he can only account for a hundred of it.

     "It is amazing how everything changes while remaining the same. There are people I've never met, and buildings I've never seen. Foods, and aromas, and even foreign mud between my toes. That is what is out there. Even if it is all the same, which is admittedly dull, I can't know that it is until I've been there to experience it." Nathaniel blinks, his eyes sparkle alive like the heavenly bodies they represent for a moment. "Sorry about that. Wasn't expecting to give a mini-lecture."
     "And no problem with the researching on your own. I fathom that, quite well. If you get stuck, just ask, but it is always better to do what you can on your own." He reaches down and pours himself a cup of coffee. "Thanks." He says it to the pot, since as far as he is concerned, that is what made the coffee.

     Cesare stiffens for a moment, looking away to the kitchen as you pour your coffee, an admittely intimate act, and as he thinks upon what you've said. The leather pants creak as he adjusts his crossed ankles, but other than that, Cesare remains contemplative a moment.
     "But you know it," he begins, apparently not distressed by the mini-lecture, "...since you may well say its all the same. If it is, x equals y, and so, the experiences of x should also equal the experiences of y." Simple. That is the logic of all good mathematicians. The logic of this Age.
     "But you can't know until you Do." He smiles "You can't prove they are the same, until you've experienced them both. You can hypothesis they might be, but what is a hypothesis without testing?"
     Coffee is raised and a sip is taken. "Wow, this is good." He always says that. "A good cup of coffee is like finding a treasure on the ocean floor. Unexpected, and always welcome."

     "You always say that," Cesare chuckles, glancing at the remaining cup. The pot lifts and pours. "Your wish is my command," he murmurs, only partially amused at his own humor.
     "But sure, I can prove that they are so. That is what a Theorem is. The unobservable, if it has the same properties as the observed, can be equated." Is that not the results of five centuries of Leipzig, Decartes, Newton, Einstein, and Greenway?

     "But, my friend, you are practicing faulty science if you never test your theorems." Nathaniel smiles, relaxing back into his seat. "And, you must remember, that a theorem is only good so long as no counter example can be found."
     "My mind is now trying to compose an experiment." He sighs slightly, consoling himself in a cup of coffee. "I hate what the modern education system does to a mind."

     Modern. Well. Cesare would be insulted, if he didn't think it was also true. However, he'd prefer that it not be applied to himself. Indeed, it can't, he recalls, quirking suddenly as he watches you, I was not born 'lately'. Congratulations. He's not talking about me.
     "I test the theorems," Cesare says, "...when it's required," he smiles, knowing the implications. "However, I am content to buy certain theorems," he explains, "...like Riess' on strings. You'll forgive if I...am not ready to test any computations on space-time." Brows arch pointedly.

     Nate twitches an eyebrow. Just how much does this Cesare know about what he does? "Computations on space-time? --" He smiles, adopting humor to cover. "-- sounds a bit above my head."
     Another lift of the coffee mug, only to find it empty. Without thought, he reaches down and pours another one. Fluid action. "Is that what you have been filling your mind with recently?" No more comments about education. Nate was in highschool surprisingly recently -- at least in a linear sense.

     Cesare shrugs, still leaning against the overflowing worktable. "I guess," he sighs, setting his cup down. It's not empty yet, but he needs both hands to place them at his face and drawn them downwards. His mind is often filled with random thoughts. The overwhelming majority of them are never acted upon. He's bored. When was the last thing ever mentioned...came to pass?
     And here we are. One stuck, one free-floating. Cesare stretches, well-toned arms rising above his head. Hands clasp. Another yawn and they drop heavily, he exhaling. Twisting about, he picks up his cup again and takes a seat near his table, staring at it.
     "Did I mention I was in London earlier this year?"

     "London? Nope, can't say you said it to me." Truth, at list by his past. "Maybe you said it to a different me." A laugh, he is joking, but again, perfectly possible. Nate is testing Cesare, find out how much this man might really know.
     "Whats up in London? Partying? Meeting the beautiful people, staying up till dawn?" Nathaniel leans back, swirls the coffee in the cup with deft movements. "You really should get out more. It can't be healthy remaining in one location for great periods of time."

     Red-brown brows rise and fall, acknowledging that what you say may be true. "Holiday. A few nights," Cesare affirms. He does not describe said partying, but indeed, that's perhaps what it was. "Definitely the beautiful crowd. A club...Phantasmagoria. Near Picadilly."

     "Phantasmagoria?" Each syllable is counted off by his right thumb travelling along fingertips. "The name rings a bell, but last time I was there it was closed." Closed, in the permanent sense, but Cesare doesn't need to know that. He usually gets to such places late. Way late.
     "Are there any interesting places in this town?" This is Nathaniel's first visit, at least to himself. He seems to have forgotten for the moment that he is playing a part.

     Cesare turns his head, rather owl-like. "What, places that you haven't visited?" Cesare sighs, staring at you almost accusingly. Boringly. A half-smile, and he says, "It's Venice, Nate. You've seen it ... well ... plenty of times. Nothing's changed. Though," finger goes up beside his cup, "...there is a new French-Asian place near St. Mark's..."

     Nathaniel is surprised at his own words, it took Cesare's reply to make him notice what he said. "Well." He scrambles for a reply. Settles for a child-like pout "Venice needs a change then."
     Glitter of mischief settles in his eyes as he considers what might just shake up the city a bit. He gets this way occasionally. Rarely does he act on those impulses, breaks a few of the rules. It is one thing to shake up a few people, entirely another to shake up a city. Might get the others pissed off with him.

     "Venice could use a change," Cesare agrees, crossing his leather-clad legs, "...but not the type you could provide," he chuckles. "Well, other than raising it about thirty feet and cleaning off all of the buildings. It could use that." He laughs and finishes his coffee, setting cup on the floor near a leg of his chair.
     "But, I would hate for the city to change," Cesare confesses, looking at his maps, criss-crossed by canals and anchored by lagoons. "It's the place I know." Indeed, his heavily-accented English confirms that. He has been in Venice a long time.

     Laughter falls like water. "And what type of change do you really think I would provide?" A touch of humored indignance, a raised hand halts a response for the moment. "And I can't lift the city, that is a bit beyond my humble arm's strength."
     "I can understand the comfort of a place well known. Everyone needs that as Sanctum Sanctorum against the wiles of the world without. But an entire city?" He mocks a shudder "The banality is choking here."

     Brows arch again, strong cheekbones flush. "What? Me or the city's?" Cesare smiles. Yeah, well. What else is there? He waves off any response, knowing that in the end, it's one in the same.
     "Ever get the feeling...there's something you don't know? Well," Cesare's hand waves in circular fashion, "...you think you might know, but you don't know if you know it? And even if you did know you knew it, you wouldn't know how to access the information?"

     That stops Nathaniel in his tracks. Where has he heard that before? Damien, he thinks. "Well, yes, occasionally. Not often, mind you."
     He slides off the chair, and ambles along the side of a table. "Any idea what it is you don't know if you know?" This intrigues him. Personal reasons. Far to complicated to explain. "And when did this start happening?"

     Cesare shrugs again, looking down. "Something...missing. Something I know." It is frustrating, certainly. "When did it begin?" he narrows his gaze, then remembers that you may not recall. "Ages ago," is all he says, not getting into the historical record for you.

     "Well, once I went to meet this guy." Nathaniel begins, "Thought it was the first time I was going to chat with him, but apparently -- some years before -- I had spent an evening with him and a few others. It spiralled, or so I found out, into something complicated -- something I shouldn't have forgotten."
     "Anyway, to make the story short, he recognized me, I didn't recognize him. But for the entire evening I had to pretend like I remembered, while only slowly picking up bits and pieces as to what had actually transpired." Nathaniel sighs. "Luckily, I don't think he noticed. Maybe one day I'll mention it to him and we will all get a good laugh."
     "Oh, wait, this had something to do with your predicament." Now he looks frustrated. "Only I forgot what."

     Cesare looks over again, not enthused. Eyes blink slowly and he says, "Nevermind," hand waving again. Then, "Doesn't that get old? Not remembering the last stuff you did or...like now...trying to remember who the hell I am?" Yeah, well. It's obvious. "Those pieces of paper," he waves at you, as if the one from earlier was still around, "...how do you trust those?" Shaking his head negatively, Cesare adds, "I don't know." But what?

     "That obvious huh?" Nate grumps. "I thought I was doing a good job." He narrows his eyes "You aren't a telepath are you?"
     "And it isn't really forgetting, not like that at all. Far more complicated." Nate swirls his coffee again. Annoying how it always gets colder around him faster. He then glances at the papers. "Well, why shouldn't I trust them? They tell me exactly what the writer wanted me to see. I trust them that far."

     "No, I'm not a telepath," Cesare smirks, liking the idea of it. "And you were doing a better job than usual," he adds. "Must mean you really had no idea who I am." He glances over and smiles now, always finding humor in your odd predicament.
     He inhales. "Giancarlo Perilli, better known as Cesare. I believe we met...some...seventy years ago? No, it wasn't that long," he thinks. "Well, it was some time ago." He'll let you do the odd age number. "I..." hand touching his chest and then waving, "...do occasional magic tricks for kids at parties." Oh, yeah. Right. "And I guess...that was my handwriting on the paper. Maybe."

     Nathaniel gapes "Seventy years?" That was a surprise "My god. You must certainly end up to be an interesting person if I decide to hang around you for seventy more years." There is another slip. He never was good with surprises.
     "So how does Giancarlo turn into Cesare? And no, I'm pretty sure that is Derek's handwriting not yours. Known him too long to not recognize the writing."

     Cesare glances to the kitchen, then to the cooling coffeepot. "Excuse," he murmurs, sending the pot up and over to the kitchen, where it'll handle itself.
     "Um...father called me 'Little Caesar,' and it stuck." Ah well. If we have to do this ritual everytime, then asking you how to fill gaps in the mind...well, I have better thing to do with my time, maybe.
     Eyes narrow suddenly. "Alright, those tenses were all wrong, Nate," Cesare sighs, wry expression crossing his features.
     What's wrong with me?

     Nathaniel freezes, give away that he knows he has been caught. "Well, what do you mean by the tenses being all wrong?"
     From somewhere Nate has produced a small sphere of jade, which he rolls between his hands. Not Cesare's. "You seem to be in top form tonight, I'm guessing. Either that, or I'm doing a pathetic job of covering for myselves." He flourishes a gesture in the air. "I'm sure it'll all work itself out."

     "You said 'must certainly end up to be..." Cesare chuckles. "Add on the 'if I decide to hang around you for seventy more years.'" Voila. Recipe done. And already, the coffeepot's on its way back to you.
     "Maybe I am in top form," Cesare thinks. "Or maybe I'm not going to indulge your confusion today," he fainlly grins. "Maybe," he sighs, looking at the table, "I have work to do." It keeps me busy. "Maybe, it'll all work itself out." To quote someone.

     "You wouldn't, perhaps, believe that this is my first time meeting you, would you? Like, I mean, really the first time?" He shakes his head. "Not a memory thing. Even more confusing than that."
     "How to explain this." He seems embarassed. "Ever notice how I sometimes wander back to you with the answer to a question you hadn't asked me yet?" Well, Nate doesn't know if he has done that, but it is a fair guess. It has happened elsewhere, why not here?

     "Yeah," Cesare says, narrowing his eyes as he often does. Humored skepticism. As if he should close his eyes fully to ward off whatever's being said. "Not a crystal ball, huh?"

     Another laugh, Nate is relaxing. "No, not a crystal ball." Another sip of coffee. "This is really good, very relaxing." He peers suspiciously at it. "You didn't put anything in there did you?"
     "Anyway, it isn't important. Its not a memory thing, I'm not really supposed to go into detail, and I'm sorry it causes frustration." Yes, Nate can read people too. "So, tell me about the recent studies" He gestures towards the guildbook "beyond that."

     Of course there's nothing in the coffee -- Cesare's lips twist admonishingly. But he looks around to the table, at the mess. "Still looking for the Doges' Gold," he quickly summarizes. A man who uses his talents to find wealth? He shrugs. "So, the guildbook was that second path I was telling you about...to peel away some of the subterfuge from the directions." He has an object that tells him where the gold is precisely. Too bad each scrawl seems to be from different code systems. It's something to do.
     "Other than that," Cesare pauses, looking at the cuckoo clock, then at you, "...the same." What expect you? I am much like Venice. I meander like her canals. I end up back here. "I am working on the scripts," he says, voice empty, eyes back to the table.

     Nathaniel follows Cesare's gaze to the cuckoo clock. It chimes the hour. He winces. "Sorry. I forgot about that."
     He considers. "You know. I don't think I properly introduced myself." Idly chewing a lip. "And that could be important, if I forget to and you already know my name." Placing the mug on the table, he bows to Cesare. "Nathaniel Ogilvie, sometimes known as either Janus or Damien, depending on who I'm talking to." He then tilts his head. "How many times have I introduced myself to you?"

     Cesare returns from his melancholic path, looking over to you. "Oh, I can't remember anymore, Nate," he exhales, bending to refill his cup, "...maybe some two or three dozen times? Nice to meet you again," Cesare chuckles, nodding affirmatively. "Here, write this," he says, not really providing implement, "...Cesare. Looking for Doges' Gold. Bored. Lives in..." and he looks up and around, "...some loft in Venice, never clean."

     He laughs in response. "Okay, but I'm unlikely to forgot those bits. Not this time. I promise." And now that he has met Cesare, properly, he is unlikely to forget again. Though when does Cesare think they met? Perhaps that might explain all those reintroductions. Well, can't be fixed now, not without messing up many people.
     "And I'll do my best to keep that promise." He laughs. "So, can I interest you in some cave crawling in search of ancient egyptian artifacts?"

     He smiles at the notion of you remembering. Maybe. Always maybe. But at the notion of artifacts, Cesare's gaze narrows again. So hard to get energy to change your own emotional state. "Um, maybe?"

     "Has nothing to do with the Doge's gold, admittedly. I just thought you might be interested in being the first person to step into a tomb sealed for a few thousand years." Won't tell him how long. Again, too confusing for linear types. "One treasure is equal, really, to another, right?"

     A wicked grin peels across Cesare's face. "You win," he admits. You'll get me to move. You'll get me to dispel this cloud for a while. "Let me grab a few things." He'll not admit it, but suddenly, Cesare is excited.
     A grin can be seen by the careful eye. Pitching up from his chair, he sets his cup down and moves around the large table. A shirt. A pair of combat boots.
     Maybe, a chance at something fun and successful. Oh, what success feels like...one sometimes forgets.
     "Do I need to take anything?"

     "Well that depends on how you want to get there." Nate crawls back up on the chair. "We can take the Ogilvie Express, which can be very jarring for the unsuspecting. In which case you will need water, perhaps some food, -- "He glances at a non-existant wrist watch "-- And clothes designed for nighttime desert travel."
     With his left hand he offers the other option "Or, we can find tickets and go by airplane or boat. In which case, anything you might normally need."

     "Express is fine," Cesare chimes, fingers making short work of buttoning his shirt. Feet thrust into the boots. Tying can come later. "Um..." he looks around, "...pack." There. Cesare ambles over, picking up a black pack of some...efficiency. Material and style. "Okay..." he adds for himself. A list being checked off. "Food...clothes..."

     Meanwhile, Nathaniel roots around in one his pockets. "Ah ha, here we are." He pulls out a bent cigarette. The tabacco looks too red. Not tabacco. "Do you have a lighter? Much as it is inconvenient in this form, it really does help the look to have a cigarette."
     He walks slowly towards an emptier area of the floor, tapping a rhythm with one foot.

     A lighter? Cesare stops in his crisscross of the room, pointing to a silver case on a small table. He then bends to finish tying his boots, following that up with a run upstairs and return with a second pair of pants, more like black fatigues, and a black top of some stretch material. Add to that pile an automatic weapon -- Browning -- and some rations, and Cesare seems much too prepared for such a trip...

     Nate drops a rope that he acquired from somewhere. Not Cesare's. Then he walks over to the silver case. With quick motions, the cigarette is alight spreading reddish wisps of saffron scented incense. He breaths in deeply -- Can't be incense -- and immediately his pupils dilate.
     He then starts puffing smoke rings about the area, seemingly at random, more amused with their appearance than anything else. "Just tell me when you are ready." Voice is unsteady.

     "Almost," Cesare murmurs, finding a black coat of material similar to the pants. That...he puts on. Items are rolled into the backpack, a holster's put at his side. Home for the Browning. A flashlight acquired. The rations are tossed into the pack, and a knife is strapped at the back of his waist.
     Once done, a hand waves, and the lighting changes in the loft. Dimmed. "Okay," he says, moving towards you with some haste. The front door is locked, and Cesare backs towards you, examining the place. Things seem...settled.

     Nathaniel exhales red smoke towards Cesare. It curls and grows of its own accord, a haze that envelopes the near space around Nathaniel. Hallucinogen of some sort, images almost immediately dance at the edge of vision. Tugging the mind towards them.
     Kephra, the winged beetle holding the sun disc aloft.
     Staff and flail of the Pharoah, rendered in lapis lazuli and carnellian.
     Sands crunch under foot, somewhere in that moment the floor fell away. The red haze slowly clears, allowing the desert wind to whip through with the scent of sand.
     It is night, and the sky glitters with a trillion stars. Nothing moves up there. No hint of satellites or other modern conveniences. No light pollution from the ground either.
     Perhaps Cesare recognizes the valley of the King's. But not the same valley he would be used to. No tourist stations. no excavations. Empty.
     "Now departing Ogilvie Expressways, middle of no-where, Egypt."

     Cesare, used to many things, blinks.
     "Whoa."

Posted by rowan at May 24, 2003 12:16 PM