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Peter’s voice crackled through the intercom.
“Doctor, I’ve got a call for you on Line 2.”
“Thanks, Pete.”
Dr. McNinja was currently relaxing with his legs propped up on his desk. It was a slow day at the clinic, and the fluorescent lights were starting to bother Doc. But nonetheless, he had to stay at his station here, in case of emergencies… or calls to adventure like this. Doc pressed a button on his phone and put it on speaker.
“Dr. McNinja speaking.”
“Greetings,” an incredibly squeaky voice said, “My name is Lord Marlo Marovitch the Forty-Second.”
“Holy shit, the forty-second?” Doc exclaimed.
“I- yes,” the voice replied, clearly taken aback, “Funny, your nurse said the same thing.”
“Have there even been forty-two generations of people in the Crossroads?”
“We are weaselfolk,” Lord Marovitch explained, “We die and reproduce… quickly.”
“But still! They named forty-two of you Marlo Marovitch? In a ROW?”
Doc heard someone clear their throat. Peter had entered his office at some point, and was staring disapprovingly at the physician. Doc shooed him away, to no effect.
“So how can I help you, Lord Marlo Marovitch?”
“Well, I had heard you’re quite the expert on paranormal events from Liara T’soni.”
“Oh, Ms. T’soni!” Doc exclaimed, “Yes, she’s an acquaintance of mine. Small crush on her, to be honest.”
“That information is unnecessary,” Lord Marovitch scolded, “Anyways, I thought you might be interested in a certain offer I have.”
Doc rolled his eyes. These calls to adventure were a dime a dozen, and usually not very good leads. He prepared the usual rejection speech.
“Listen, Lord Marovitch,” Doc said with a sigh, “My adventuring habits are purely recreational. I don’t really take money for mercenary work.”
“Well, I just sent you an amount of Coin that I think you’ll find difficult to refuse.”
Doc sighed. “Now there’s no need to be hasty with your money, I think you’ll find my dignity cannot be bought-”
Peter gasped, staring at his phone. “Holy shit.”
“I’m hearing a lot of swearing from your clinic, it’s a tad unprofessional.”
Doc snapped his fingers at Peter, giving him the irritated “What are you doing?” look. Peter showed him the phone. It was the clinic’s bank account. Now, Doc wasn’t exactly poor, but his income was relatively modest. Doc and Pete both knew how much money should roughly be in there.
The number they saw on the screen now was practically theoretical.
Doc gulped.
“Uh,” Dr. McNinja stammered, “We can stop, if it pleases you. Like. Forever.”
McNinja could’ve sworn that he heard Lord Marovitch smirk on the other side of the call.
“I assume that you find the sum agreeable?”
“Can you even afford this? I don’t charge half this much for… literally anything.”
“Just a small portion of my coffers,” Marovitch boasted, “Anything for an up-and-coming scholar of the arcane. Well?”
Doc kept staring at the screen. “Uh. Yeah. We’re good.”
Peter’s brow nearly peeled back in shock and anger, and the nurse started gesturing furiously at Doc. Doc squeezed his whole face with his hands in panic.
“As in! As in we’re good to go! This is a good sum of money and I’d be very happy to work with you!”
“What’s the job?” Peter mouthed.
Doc nodded. “Uh, what’s the job?”
“I need you…” Lord Marovitch paused for effect. “...to prove that ghosts are fake.”
Doc and Peter stared at each other for a moment.
“Uh,” Doc said, “Ghosts are real.”
“Oh, not you too!” Lord Marovitch snapped, his squeaky voice somehow finding a higher octave, “They’re a hoax created by so-called psychics who think they can talk to the dead!”
“Psychics are real too.”
“Unbelievable!”
“We live in a crossroads of the multiverse,” McNinja exposited, “That’s why it’s called that, the Crossroads. Things from all over leak into the Crossroads, so… yeah. Some ghosts got through. Psychics too. I’ve worked with one twice now. He’s… a little crazy.”
“Well, I will have none of it!” Lord Marovitch snapped, “My friend the Lady Heidi Pennifold claims she knows a psychic who can perform seances. Thinks she’s been having chats with her - rest her soul - dead daughter. I need you to prove her wrong.”
“Oh, seances?” Doc blew a raspberry. “Yeah, those are usually fake. Although, uh… I don’t want to rub my science in someone else’s face. Disproving hoaxes is one thing, but sometimes people need their little illusions to get through life. If Lady Pennifold is mourning as you say, I’d hate to ruin the one link she has to her daughter. It’s kind of a dick move, actually, to try this hard to make someone who’s miserable go through more pain-”
“Check your bank account again.”
Peter looked at the screen. This time, he held his tongue as he showed Doc the new sum of money that came in. Doc shrugged with pursed lips.
“On the other hand, science is a cruel and cold mistress that only seeks the cold, hard truth.”
“That’s the spirit!” Lord Marovitch exclaimed, “Now, if you don’t managed to disprove ghosts-”
“Which are real.”
“Disprove seances, I will have to ask for that money back. I’ll pay you for your time regardless, but that sum of money is specifically for those who can find the truth!”
Doc raised an eyebrow. “I mean. We can just not give the money back. We didn’t sign a contract or anything.”
“My second cousin is Executor Selendis.”
“We’d be happy to refund you if my findings aren’t to your pleasure.”
“Glad we could reach an understanding,” Lord Marovitch said, audibly smirking again, “Well, I’ll have my secretary send you the details for the seance. Come prepared.”
And that was the phone call. Doc sighed and placed the receiver back on the phone.
“I feel like I didn’t have control of that conversation even once,” Doc whined.
“Yeah, that sucked.” Peter sighed. “So we really doing this? Like you said, I don’t feel comfortable raining on a mourning mother’s parade.”
Doc stretched. “I guess! You saw how much money he’s paying us.”
“If we succeed.”
“Oh please!” Doc chuckled, “Lord have mercy on the huckster that dared to step up against the scientific research of Dr. McNinja. Probably some idiot who doesn’t know his phantoms from his phantasms. I can’t wait to meet this stupid dumbo who thinks seances are real.”
***
Elsewhere in Arcadia, Mollymauk Tealeaf rubbed his itchy, pointed ear.
“So,” he cooed, “Where were we?”
“Doctor, I’ve got a call for you on Line 2.”
“Thanks, Pete.”
Dr. McNinja was currently relaxing with his legs propped up on his desk. It was a slow day at the clinic, and the fluorescent lights were starting to bother Doc. But nonetheless, he had to stay at his station here, in case of emergencies… or calls to adventure like this. Doc pressed a button on his phone and put it on speaker.
“Dr. McNinja speaking.”
“Greetings,” an incredibly squeaky voice said, “My name is Lord Marlo Marovitch the Forty-Second.”
“Holy shit, the forty-second?” Doc exclaimed.
“I- yes,” the voice replied, clearly taken aback, “Funny, your nurse said the same thing.”
“Have there even been forty-two generations of people in the Crossroads?”
“We are weaselfolk,” Lord Marovitch explained, “We die and reproduce… quickly.”
“But still! They named forty-two of you Marlo Marovitch? In a ROW?”
Doc heard someone clear their throat. Peter had entered his office at some point, and was staring disapprovingly at the physician. Doc shooed him away, to no effect.
“So how can I help you, Lord Marlo Marovitch?”
“Well, I had heard you’re quite the expert on paranormal events from Liara T’soni.”
“Oh, Ms. T’soni!” Doc exclaimed, “Yes, she’s an acquaintance of mine. Small crush on her, to be honest.”
“That information is unnecessary,” Lord Marovitch scolded, “Anyways, I thought you might be interested in a certain offer I have.”
Doc rolled his eyes. These calls to adventure were a dime a dozen, and usually not very good leads. He prepared the usual rejection speech.
“Listen, Lord Marovitch,” Doc said with a sigh, “My adventuring habits are purely recreational. I don’t really take money for mercenary work.”
“Well, I just sent you an amount of Coin that I think you’ll find difficult to refuse.”
Doc sighed. “Now there’s no need to be hasty with your money, I think you’ll find my dignity cannot be bought-”
Peter gasped, staring at his phone. “Holy shit.”
“I’m hearing a lot of swearing from your clinic, it’s a tad unprofessional.”
Doc snapped his fingers at Peter, giving him the irritated “What are you doing?” look. Peter showed him the phone. It was the clinic’s bank account. Now, Doc wasn’t exactly poor, but his income was relatively modest. Doc and Pete both knew how much money should roughly be in there.
The number they saw on the screen now was practically theoretical.
Doc gulped.
“Uh,” Dr. McNinja stammered, “We can stop, if it pleases you. Like. Forever.”
McNinja could’ve sworn that he heard Lord Marovitch smirk on the other side of the call.
“I assume that you find the sum agreeable?”
“Can you even afford this? I don’t charge half this much for… literally anything.”
“Just a small portion of my coffers,” Marovitch boasted, “Anything for an up-and-coming scholar of the arcane. Well?”
Doc kept staring at the screen. “Uh. Yeah. We’re good.”
Peter’s brow nearly peeled back in shock and anger, and the nurse started gesturing furiously at Doc. Doc squeezed his whole face with his hands in panic.
“As in! As in we’re good to go! This is a good sum of money and I’d be very happy to work with you!”
“What’s the job?” Peter mouthed.
Doc nodded. “Uh, what’s the job?”
“I need you…” Lord Marovitch paused for effect. “...to prove that ghosts are fake.”
Doc and Peter stared at each other for a moment.
“Uh,” Doc said, “Ghosts are real.”
“Oh, not you too!” Lord Marovitch snapped, his squeaky voice somehow finding a higher octave, “They’re a hoax created by so-called psychics who think they can talk to the dead!”
“Psychics are real too.”
“Unbelievable!”
“We live in a crossroads of the multiverse,” McNinja exposited, “That’s why it’s called that, the Crossroads. Things from all over leak into the Crossroads, so… yeah. Some ghosts got through. Psychics too. I’ve worked with one twice now. He’s… a little crazy.”
“Well, I will have none of it!” Lord Marovitch snapped, “My friend the Lady Heidi Pennifold claims she knows a psychic who can perform seances. Thinks she’s been having chats with her - rest her soul - dead daughter. I need you to prove her wrong.”
“Oh, seances?” Doc blew a raspberry. “Yeah, those are usually fake. Although, uh… I don’t want to rub my science in someone else’s face. Disproving hoaxes is one thing, but sometimes people need their little illusions to get through life. If Lady Pennifold is mourning as you say, I’d hate to ruin the one link she has to her daughter. It’s kind of a dick move, actually, to try this hard to make someone who’s miserable go through more pain-”
“Check your bank account again.”
Peter looked at the screen. This time, he held his tongue as he showed Doc the new sum of money that came in. Doc shrugged with pursed lips.
“On the other hand, science is a cruel and cold mistress that only seeks the cold, hard truth.”
“That’s the spirit!” Lord Marovitch exclaimed, “Now, if you don’t managed to disprove ghosts-”
“Which are real.”
“Disprove seances, I will have to ask for that money back. I’ll pay you for your time regardless, but that sum of money is specifically for those who can find the truth!”
Doc raised an eyebrow. “I mean. We can just not give the money back. We didn’t sign a contract or anything.”
“My second cousin is Executor Selendis.”
“We’d be happy to refund you if my findings aren’t to your pleasure.”
“Glad we could reach an understanding,” Lord Marovitch said, audibly smirking again, “Well, I’ll have my secretary send you the details for the seance. Come prepared.”
And that was the phone call. Doc sighed and placed the receiver back on the phone.
“I feel like I didn’t have control of that conversation even once,” Doc whined.
“Yeah, that sucked.” Peter sighed. “So we really doing this? Like you said, I don’t feel comfortable raining on a mourning mother’s parade.”
Doc stretched. “I guess! You saw how much money he’s paying us.”
“If we succeed.”
“Oh please!” Doc chuckled, “Lord have mercy on the huckster that dared to step up against the scientific research of Dr. McNinja. Probably some idiot who doesn’t know his phantoms from his phantasms. I can’t wait to meet this stupid dumbo who thinks seances are real.”
***
Elsewhere in Arcadia, Mollymauk Tealeaf rubbed his itchy, pointed ear.
“So,” he cooed, “Where were we?”