Cheap Tricks & Class Acts

>"I'm telling you, it's impossible for you to use magic! You simply don't have the ability."
>The purple unicorn in front of you is currently looking at you with one of the most skeptical faces you've ever seen.
>And you used to confound people for a living, so the fact that she would even come close to that record is quite astonishing in it's own regard.
"And I'm telling you, Purplesmart; I've done magic tricks professionally for over nine years now."
>The word "Professionally" you threw in there, is what people in your line of work like to call a misdirection.
>Meaning; you had been doing magic tricks at children's birthday parties for almost a decade to make ends meet.
>It was better than working behind a register, or directing people around the local ShartMart, but only in the sense that you were doing something you considered fun.
>You had been doing magic tricks as a hobby for most of your life. Where others saved their money, you made your pennies disappear into card decks and top hats.
>You remember seeing David Copperfield make the Statue of Liberty disappear on the television. That was the day you told yourself you'd be a magician. But your obsession ran deeper than that.
>For longer than you could remember, your father had been preforming for you. He went down a similar path, and ended up making some pretty big figures in Vegas, where he met your mother.
>You loved your old man, he would always teach you how to do a trick if you guessed how to do it. He taught you everything you knew about an audience.
>Unfortunately, a mistake during a particularly dangerous act had made him preform last trick; [spoiler]disappearing from your life forever.[/spoiler]
>All you had left to remember him by was his old practice deck, which was packed snugly inside the front pocket of your three piece suit.
>He always used that particular deck on you.

>You had marked so many cards in there that you're sure at some point he could have just been pulling randomly at them and would have still found your card.
>You kept it with you whenever you preformed, to remind you of him, and to remember where you came from.
>You barred your heart out to the stage when the time came, but you weren't your father. And unfortunately the price of him teaching everything you know, was that they had seen everything you knew.
>And like that, Incognito the Mysterious's son fell from grace, and the family business disappeared like so many coins and cards and balls that had been vanished before it.
>You made your living getting whatever gigs you could. The magic was there, but the people were unimpressed.
>Eventually you made your living off of birthdays and social gatherings. Tricks, illusions, even the odd sock puppet show.
>Your most recent show had ended particularly horribly.
>You had gotten hired for some heavily autistic manchild's birthday party, and the show wasn't very far before you somehow managed to slip and fall over the stage edge on some sort of cumrag left sitting out.
>Because god has a sick sense of humor, that tumble turned out to be your last. You're pretty sure you broke your neck on something during the fall, and then blackness.
>But it wasn't meant to be, and you found yourself in this land of technicolor horses, where you very quickly found out that a human was a very rare sight.
>In fact, they had never seen anything like you at all.
>Alright, so you may have lost your shit and started screaming when you saw a talking horse.
>But in all fairness they had started losing their shit and screaming first.
>A day of panic later, and you had what you can only assume to be the horse version of Seal Team Six hot on your ass.

>Thankfully, the purple one you had since affectionately named 'Purplesmart' had noticed you were shitting bricks, and took some pity on you enough to ask you a few questions.
>One panic attack of a conversation later, and you had adequately convinced them you weren't actually a huge monster or some sort of murderous hairless monkey.
>A few days later, and the local residents of the town had even gone from screaming and running when they saw you to just confused and fearful looks in your general direction.
>Seal Team Six seemed to tolerate you enough to hold decent conversations though, and you had been staying in Purplesmart's house until they figured out what to do with you.
>But that was then, this was now. The show must go on, as they say.
>"I keep telling you, Mr. Anonymous, my name is Twilight Sparkle, not 'Purplesmart'."
>You frowned.
"Well, you're purple, and smart, so what's the issue here?"
>She frowned in turn
>"The /issue/, Anonymous, is that you can't do magic, despite what you keep telling me."
>You had been having quite a bit of fun with this conversation.
>Shortly after you arrived here, you found out this world had a very different connotation to "magic" than yours.
>As in, magic actually existed here. For real.
>In turn though, you had found out through a bit of independent research they didn't really grasp the concept of your 'magic'.
>After all, what's the point of pretending you have magical powers, when you actually have magical powers.
>The closest thing you could find to your world's magic were props inside of a practical joke shop, but even those were actually just enchanted toys. They didn't have anything like slight of hand.
>Not even 'Slight of hoof'. Whatever that would look like.

And how would you know that?
>You crossed your arms and put on a scoff of fake offense.
>An incredulous sneer was directed at you in return.
>"I know because I happen to be the personal student of the most magical pony to ever live."
"I know, you took every opportunity to remind me about that."
>You had even already thought of a nickname for her teacher/monarch, but you're not quite sure if saying it would get you the death penalty yet.
>"You don't have any magical energy inside of you at all. In fact, you're probably a good contender for the least magical thing ever discovered."
>That took you a little by shock. Although, you figured it made sense, considering you came from a world that had no magic at all.
"Really now? Absolutely none?"
>"Yes, in fact, I'm fairly sure the little amount I did pick up in the reading may have been interference. Your body seems to actually /resist/ all magic, rather than absorbing it."
>You raised an eyebrow
>That one didn't really make sense to you, but then again you weren't really versed in this whole 'real magic' thing.
"Gee, Twilight. I knew I was an amateur magician, but I didn't know I was /that/ bad."
>This earned you a raised eyebrow in return.
>"Magician? Are you saying you were a mage?"
"Uh, in a cosmic sort of sense, yes."
>"What was your name?"
"You forgot it already?"
>"No, I mean your mage name! Like Starswirl the Bearded, or Blackmane the Terrible--Eddie the Speaker! You know what I mean!"

>As a matter of fact, you kind of did.
>Lots of magicians had names like that, you included.
"Oh, my stage name? Anonymous the Mysterious. I got it from my father."
>"But how could there be a family of wizards in a world with no magic?"
"I told you. My world /does/ have magic, it's just not the same as yours."
>You could almost make out the gears turning inside her head as she got lost in thought.
>When she finally came back around, the look of curiosity was almost dripping off of her face.
>"Show me."
>What now.
"What now?"
>"Show me your magic. Prove to me you're telling the truth."
>You felt conflicted.
>On one hand, it might be impressive to somebody who's never seen it before.
>On the other hand, there's a 90% chance she'll immediately say you're some sort of fraud, which would lead into some other conversation about what /is/ and /isn't/ magic, which you really didn't have time for.
>Well, you did have time for it. You had time for a lot of things now that you were unemployed.
>Wait a minute...
>Unemployed...
"I'll do you one better, Purplesmart. I'll throw you and your friends a little magic show."

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

>Thinking back on it, this wasn't a very good idea.
>You had somehow talked Twilight into organizing a little performance tomorrow for her friends, so that you could show them all your 'magic'.
>You hadn't thought it over that much before you offered, but the more you did, the less appealing it seemed.
>In your earlier years, you had been (in your own opinion) one of the better magicians out there, however, your skills had faded over the years as you did less impressive tricks, and more birthday parties and bar mitzvah.
>You stroll into the guest bedroom of the tree house, where you had been staying for the past few days.
>You had attempted to keep the room tidy out of respect, with your prop bag and hat on the bed, keeping your belongings close to you while you slept.
>Admittedly, you didn't own much these days. All that you had when you came here was your prop case and whatever was on your person at the time.
>The contents of both included mostly props and a spare change of magician's clothing.
>Damn you, and your professionalism. Would it have killed you to carry around something useful at work?
>You suppose if you were ever in need of loose change, plastic wands, and some playing cards, you'd be set.
>But the chance of somehow running into MacGyver was somewhere between slim and none in your scenario.
>Maybe you could craft yourself some sort of noose with those never ending handkerchiefs of yours.
>You sigh and set yourself down on the bed, being careful not to disturb your belongings resting on it.
>Your hand moves to your breast pocket as you find yourself carefully pulling out your father's deck of cards.
>You didn't really need to be that gentle with it, but you thought it was better to be safe than sorry when it came to something so important to you.

>You let out another sigh as you stare down at the packaging between your hands.
>You weren't even sure if what you could do would be considered impressive by their standards.
>If anything, it would be a little less impressive than a minor novelty to them. There was probably nothing you could do with your hands that they haven't seen on a daily basis.
>You could pretty much visualize their disappointment already.
>'Vanishing coin? Big deal, I can make things float with my mind.'
>You were setting yourself up for another disappointment, just like you always had.
>A third sigh leaves your lips.
>What would Dad do at a time like this?
>A rapping at the door suddenly interrupts your thoughts.
"Come in."
>Slowly the door opens, until finally you see a small purple dragon poke his head through the door frame.
>You put on your best fake smile and greet him.
"Oh, hello Spike. Was there something you or Twilight needed?"
>Spike was one of the few people who had really bothered to have extended conversations with you, seeing as you didn't really scare him.
>You and him got along well enough, you'd suppose. He'd usually ask you some trivial things about Earth, then tell you the local happenings.
>"Hi Anon, I actually wanted to ask you about something."
>You looked at him again now that he had fully stepped into the room. His face and posture revealed a mixture of curiosity and guilt.
>Oh god, he isn't going to make you give him 'The Talk' or something, is he?
"W-What did you want to know?"
>If there's some sort of cruel horse god in this world, please don't let that be what he asks.
>"I, uh.. Sorta heard you and Twilight talking earlier."
>Hah, fuck you horse god. Not today.
"Hm? What about it?"
>"Well, I heard you were going to do a magic show tomorrow."
>Your smile begins to fade and you turn around to face the window
"Yeah, and truth be told, I'm a little bit nervous about it."

>"Is it because you think they wont be impressed by stage magic?"
>You get up and wheel around to face the tiny empath.
"H-How did you even--"
>"Well, you can't do magic, and you're doing it on a stage, so naturally it would have to be stage magic, huh?"
>Well, there goes all the words you had in your brain.
>You weren't really sure how to react to what he just said, so you simply sit back down on your bed and sigh for the fourth time.
"I have no idea how I'm supposed to impress them."
>There's a short pause before you hear the dragon start up again.
>"Can I tell you a secret, Anonymous?"
>You can take all the help you can get, so you simply turn your ear to him and mutter out in the affirmative.
>"You're a predator right?"
>You raise an eyebrow and shift your vision back towards him.
"You mean like, my species? Yeah."
>You pull up your lip with a finger and show your teeth to him, pointing to your sharp incisors.
>He visibly grimaces at your toothy display
>"C'mon anon, that's gross."
>You take your fingers out of your mouth and turn your body towards him.
>"..Anyways, the secret is that me and you have much better eyesight than other ponies."
>Eyebrow Status: Maximum Elevation
>We're giving it all she's got Captain!
"First of all, what do you mean by that? Second of all, why does this help my situation."
>Spike gives you a look that could probably be indexed somewhere between annoyed and surprised.
>"Griffins, Dragons, and other predators naturally have better eyesight than creatures that don't hunt to survive. We're better at picking out things from a distance."
>You start to scratch the stubble growing on your face.
"I never really thought of it that way."

>There was still a pressing question though.
"How does this help me."
>"Ponies are really bad at seeing through illusions. One time, I put on a pair of glasses and a hat, and Twilight spent the whole day trying to find me."
>You were starting to pick up on what he was saying.
"So you're telling me that my magic tricks might actually be worth something?"
>Now you were getting excited. A smile creeps up on the corners of your lips.
>"Sure! As long as the enchantments on your props are good enough, you can dazzle them all you want."
>The frown returns.
"My props aren't enchanted, Spike. They're just normal props."
>Now Spike was the one who was confused.
>"But Anon, how can you even do magic without an enchanted prop? You can't do any magic by yourself, so how does that even work?"
>You sit back and think about what to tell him.
>Maybe it's better to just go with the simple solution to this problem.
"Spike, I'll show you my magic, but you have to promise not to tell anybody how I do it."
>His eyes light up and a grin comes over his face.
>"R-Really!? You'll show me?"
"Yes really. Just give me a moment here.."
>You stand up and turn around to face your prop bag.
>You'll show him some simple stuff, you don't really want to spoil too much for him, especially if it turns out this is actually good.
>Peering into your bag, you find your mark.
>Cups and Balls, a classic trick. You do this one at birthday parties all the time, and it never fails to trick people, despite how simple it really is.
>You smoothly and gently set the props outside of the bag, and pick them back up again.
>You walk over to a small table in the corner of the room, pull out the two chairs and set the trick on the table.
"Go ahead and sit. Don't touch the trick, please."
>He nods, and takes his seat.
>You walk over to the bed, and find your two favorite things; Your hat and wand.

>If there was anything you loved the most about being a magician, it was being able to wear a top hat in public and get away with it.
>That and the whole 'doing what you love' thing.
>Putting on your hat, you walk over to the table and set your wand down next to the balls and cups.
>A cursory glance shows that he obliged you and didn't touch the cups, which was good, because if he had he might have ruined the trick.
>Calmly, you pull away your chair and stand across from Spike at the table.
"This, my friend, is called 'The Cups and Balls'"
>"Why do they call it that?
"Because it has cups and balls in it, silly."
>A smirk vanishes on Spike's face as quickly as it appears.
>At least he's being respectful, which was much more than you could ask from an audience in your birthday-days.
>You take the three cups and set them on the table smoothly, one by one.
>You then set out three cotton balls on the table, in front of the cups.
"This is one of the most famous tricks in my world. It's actually one of the first things I learned how to do."
>"Why is it so famous, Anon?"
"Because it's rad as hell, that's why."
>"Alright then, if you say so."
"I know so."
>You pull off your hat, and show the inside to him, pressing it flat for good measure to show that it's completely empty.
"Watch this."
>You 'pull' the wand out of the hat, and show it off to him.
"Pretty cool eh?"

>To your pleasure, he looks slightly surprised.
>"W-Wait, but I thought the hat was empty--"
"Please, save your amazement till the trick is over."
>Now would be a good time to start the magic.
"Now, listen closely, because I'm only going to show you this once."
>He leans in, watching your movements intensely.
"I'm going to take this ball here in the middle, and move it on top of this cup."
>You do so in a smooth manner, placing the cotton ball on top of it's cup.
"Now, here comes the magic. I'm going to make that cotton ball pass through the bottom onto the table below."
>You take the two cups on the sides of the middle one, and show the insides to him, clicking the cups together to show that they're perfectly solid.
>You then stack them both on top of the cup and ball, and grab the magic wand.
>A quick rap with the wand is delivered to the topmost cup, and you lift the pile.
>Underneath your cups, sits a pristine cotton ball, resting on the table below.
>You brace for the lack of amazement or apathetic sigh, but it never comes from the dragon.
>Instead, his eyes go wide, and he struggles to find something to say.
>"B-But Anonymous, that's impossible!"
"Nothing is impossible, if you believe."

>You nearly choke on the campy thing you just said. Clearly your presentation had gone to shit over the years of performing for children.
>Technically you still are, considering how old Spike is in dragon years.
>You repeat your trick again, this time with the second ball.
>Lifting the cups again, two cotton balls are revealed on the table.
>Spike can barely contain himself now. You were getting a little bit excited yourself.
>You hadn't expected your trick to go over quite like this.
"Alright, this next part is gonna go over a bit different, so pay attention."
>At this point, asking Spike to pay attention was a little bit redundant.
>He was practically raping your hands with his eyeballs, trying to understand how it was possible to make something appear out of thin air, without even a lick of magic.
>Not that it would really matter, this trick didn't really use sleight of hand, it was more psychological than anything.
>This time, you place the final cotton ball on top of the far left cup, and cover it up with the far right cup.
"I'm going to make the ball go through the air itself, and pass through into the middle cup."
>"Alright, now I /know/ that's not possible Anonymous."
>Your eyebrow shoots up.
"Oh really?"
>"Because you're clearly passing the balls through some sort of hole or something in the cup. You wont be able to do it if the cups are apart from one another."
>You smirk, tapping the stacked cups with your wand, and tip over the middle cup with another tap, revealing three cotton balls.
"Wanna make a bet on it?"
>He takes a moment to process this new development.
>Another moment passes.
>Spike.exe has stopped working. Would you like to restart? Y/N
>The tiny dragon looks up at you
>"Are you sure you're not magic?"
"According to Twilight, I'm actually so non-magical that my body actually repels the stuff."
>Spike takes his gaze away from you, staring again at the finished trick before you.

>"Well, you definitely could have fooled me."
"That's my job."
>"To fool people?"
>You nod.
>Spike frowns.
>"It seems kinda dishonest, when you put it that way.."
"I believe a wise man once said that a magician is the only honest profession-- A magician promises to deceive you and he does."
>He scratches at his chin while mulling over what you just said.
>"Yeah, you're gonna do just fine tomorrow, Anon."
"You really think so?"
>"If you pull something half as good as what you did here, then they'll love it for sure."
>You laughed internally at that one. These ponies hadn't seen a god damn thing yet.
"We'll see."
>He excuses himself from the table while you start to clean up the cups and balls.
>"Well, I guess I'll see you tomorrow, Anonymous. That was a pretty cool thing you showed me."
>You nod and let out a little laugh.
"For sure. Feel free to catch the show if you want."
>He laughs back.
>"Again, if it's anything half as good as that, I wouldn't miss it for the world."
>You nod at him as he escorts himself out of your room.
>Once you're sure he's gone, you stare down at the stack of cups in your hand.
>Pulling them apart, you reveal a hidden fourth ball. The key to the trick.
>You take it into your hands and chuckle, putting it along with the other cotton balls.
>The dragon's reaction to your little demonstration had put you in a majorly good mood.
>If what he said about pony vision was true, you couldn't even imagine how well the show would go over tomorrow.
>Setting the cups and balls gently into your prop bag, you look down at the bed.
>Laying atop your sheets was your father's deck of cards. Right where you had left it.
>Grabbing it up in your hands, you set yourself down on the bed where it rested.
>Staring down at it, you continue you try to pick up where you had left off, now with the new-found clarity that Spike had given you.

>Where were you?
>Oh. 'What would dad do.'
>Your smile fades a bit as your depression starts to creep it's way back into your mind.
>For what was now the better part of your life, you had seen him as less of a man, and more of an impossibly high standard.
>He was everything that you had always dreamed of being as a child. And as an adult, he stood as a reminder of everything you couldn't be.
>When you went out onto the stage those few times in his stead, you must have looked like an idiot.
>You tried to be like him, to emulate him. You preformed his tricks and said his lines.
>But that wasn't enough for the crowds. They didn't come to your dad's shows for the magic, they came for /him./
>But where he was larger than life, you sunk into the shadows. Where he was assertive, you were meek. Where he was kind, you were jaded.
>You would have been a good foil to him, sure. He always talked about how one day you could preform along side him, and you dreamed of those days that never did come.
>You were Abbott with no Costello. And the audience didn't appreciate it. The only semi-positive emotion you got was pity. The only people who enjoyed you were those who were untainted by your father's good name.
>Setting your body down on the bed, you ponder the question again aloud.
"What would dad do."
>Was it really worth doing what dad would do?
>You had tried to do what he would do all your life, and all it had done was lead you to misery.
>Maybe you were going around this the wrong way.
>Maybe, instead of wondering what he would do, you should be wondering what he would want /you/ to do.
>That was probably it. You had trusted him more than anybody in the world, and your trust was usually well placed.
>But what /would/ he want you to do?
>You keep pondering, and pondering those words. Until finally, you drift off into the inky blackness of sleep.

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>You're not quite sure when you got here.
>The air around you is tense, and there's a light breeze consistently flowing around your body.
>Speaking of around you, there was currently nothing around you.
>Just an infinite black void, and a light draft, now picking up enough for you to feel it inching you forward.
>You take a few steps in the direction of the wind. Are you dead?
>Maybe so. Maybe all that nonsense about ponies and dragons was your dying brain fooling itself in it's last moments.
>That would be oddly poetic, tricking yourself in death.
>Speaking of being dead, it really isn't that bad.
>There's nothing to do, and that constant breeze is probably gonna get old, but overall it's a little bit soothing.
>Say, if you're dead, shouldn't you be in heaven?
>Or hell? Or anything at all?
>You weren't a really religious person to begin with, but you'd appreciate /anything/ to get a grip on where you are right now.
>If you had to calculate what the percentage chance of you being dead was, you'd probably give an educated guess of about thirty percent.
>Maybe you were just waiting on a close relative to guide you or something. That's what they always talk about on those near death experience shows.
>Oh. There's dad.
>The chances of you being dead have increased a significant amount.
>This was sort of embarrassing. How are you going to explain to him you died in such a shitty way?
>Looking at him closer, he seems to be talking to somebody.
>You walk over to him, as the breeze around you grows stronger and stronger, pushing you harder in the direction of your father.
>He's talking to a child in some sort of getup. He looks vaguely concerned about something, but you can't make out what he's saying.
>As you close the gap, the world around you grows more and more detail, as the draft pushes you along.
>Finally, you take a final step as the world around you becomes more defined. The wind suddenly ceases.

>The wood flooring under you creeks subtly as you step slowly toward the two in front of you.
>Taking a cursory look around, you can tell you're backstage in some sort of theater. There's a familiarity you simply can't put your finger on at the moment, but that's the least of your concerns.
>One concern is how tall everything is around here. It's almost as if somebody took a normal room and gave it a cartoonish stretch upwards and outwards.
>Your father seems like a giant, and the curtains and pillars of the theater stretch on into oblivion, the roof they hold up is beyond your vision.
>The only thing that seemed to be around your height was the child who was currently holding onto your father's pants for dear life.
>Much like the theater, the kid looked extremely familiar, but your mind feels too cloudy to remember.
>Have you been drinking lately? You aren't sure if you could be drunk in heaven. Or purgatory. Whatever this is.
>Thinking it over, your chances of being dead are up in a coin toss now.
>You hear a thunderous applause, and suddenly notice that the boy and your father are standing in a line leading into stage left.
>Another boy runs out of stage right, hugs what could be presumed to be a family member, and walks with them out the backdoor of the theater.
>An announcer says something you can't quite make out, and the line inches forward.
>There's an overwhelming feeling of dread creeping across your body at the moment, and as you walk toward your father you can see the boy at his side is clearly sharing your anticipations.
>Your father notices the boy's nerves, and lightly pats him on the shoulder. The boy looks back for a moment, and they share a smile, both returning to their previous nervous gazes when the connection is broken.
>The dread creeping over you stops, for now.
>You carefully take a few steps toward the two, wood flooring creaking under your feet. Why haven't they noticed you yet?

>Finally, you stood, only about a foot away from your father and the child.
>You look at your father. His face seemed incredibly tense, as if focused on something just beyond his vision.
>He had a striking resemblance to you, although his face was much more clean shaven and his body much more in shape.
>It seemed so surreal to you. After almost two decades, he was right there in front of you. What could you possibly say to him.
>There was so much to talk about, so many questions to ask!
>You reach out your hand and open your mouth to get his attention.
"H-Hey da--"
>"Hey dad?"
>The boy cut you off, and you went cold.
>What did he mean by that. Why did he call your father his dad?
>You squint at the familiar child, trying to understand who he was.
>The examination is interrupted by your father kneeling down to his level.
>"Yeah sport?"
>You glance back at the child and the memories come flooding back.
>The theater around you had a special place in your mind. You were surprised you couldn't remember it.
>It was your elementary school's old theater. You had preformed here a few times. They were always happy to have an old student come back, especially one that could entertain the kids in an assembly.
>You also preformed here as a kid during the school talent show, but only once--
>Oh.
>That's who that kid was. It's you.
>That explains why it looked so familiar. You resist the urge to facepalm, as you listen on to the conversation.
>The boy--Younger you, is frowning and looking down at the floor.
>"Dad, what if they don't like me?"
>Your father frowns back for a moment, but puts on his best look of sympathy.
>"Listen, son. I'm not going to lie to you."
>Younger Anon looks up at him.
>"When you're preforming, not everybody in your audience is going to enjoy every second. It's just a fact of life."
>Anon tries to look back down, but his dad catches his chin and pushes it back up to face him.

>"But Anon-- You don't need to worry about everyone enjoying your show tonight."
>"I don't?"
"I don't?"
>"No, you don't. Because you're going out there to show what you love to do. All that matters is that you have fun, and that you try your best."
>Anonymous frowns, and you mimic him.
>"Sport, why do you think I do magic?"
>Anon thinks for a second before answering;
>"Because it's something you're good at?"
>Dad chuckles for a moment before giving the correct answer.
>"Yes, but I also do it because it's something I enjoy doing. You enjoy doing magic, don't you?"
>No thought is required this time.
>"Yeah!"
>"Then don't worry, because if you're enjoying yourself, the crowd will enjoy themselves too."
>He gets back up and pats his son on the shoulder, before closing the gap in the line in front of them.
>Anon smiles for a moment, before frowning again and looking up at his father.
>"B-But what if I mess up?"
>He looks back down at his son.
>"That could happen, but the important thing is to just keep moving on to the next part of the trick."
>"Keep moving on?"
>"Sure. I mess up all the time, but I just keep a level head and move on. There's no use crying over spilled milk, Anon."
>He kneels down again, this time with a serious face.
>"I want you to have something, Anon."
>Oh no.
>He reaches into the pocket and grabs a worn deck of cards in an even more worn box.
>The theater around you starts to darken, the sounds of the crowd fading away until all you can see is the wooden floor and the two in front of you.
>You're starting to hyperventilate now. You remember this.
>This was the day it happened.
>This was the day he died.

>You buckle over onto your knees.
>Was this some sort of sick fucking joke?
>Your father rests the deck into your younger self's hands.
>"What's this?"
>Anonymous looks down at the box with wonder in his eyes.
>"This is my personal practice deck, Anon. Every card trick I've ever shown you, I've used this particular deck."
>The young man in front of you looks speechless. He takes it from his father's hands with care, not wanting to mistreat something of such sentimental value.
>"Anon, I don't want to disappoint you, but I won't be able to watch you perform tonight."
>Taken by surprise, the boy looks up at his father and opens his mouth to say something, but he's silenced by his father.
>"I know I promised. But something came up, and I have an important show to do tonight."
>Anon frowns and looks back down again.
>Your father rests a hand on his shoulder.
>"Don't worry, sport. Your mom's recording it down in the audience. I'll be able to watch it later."
>This only does so much to calm your younger self's worries.
>"But listen, Anonymous. That's why I'm giving you this deck. I want you to have it close to you while you perform."
>"But why?"
>A gentle smile crosses your father's face.
>When you saw that smile for the first time, so many years ago, you saw a man who was brave for you, even in the face of something that was impossible.
>Now as an adult, you could see it held so many other things. Things he would never get to say to you.
>"I know what it's like to be up on that stage, and have nobody on your side. I wasn't always this good at what I do."
>"So just in case you ever feel like that, I want that deck in your pocket to be a reminder that I'll always be there for you, even when I'm not."
>Anon looks down at the deck of cards in his hands, and then looks back up at his father, with a new-found determination.
>"I understand."

>Anon gets another gentle smile and a pat on the back as a reward.
>"Oh geez, sport. Looks like you're up next."
>Your father kneels down a third time, and gives the boy a hug.
>"Just remember, I believe in you, Anon."
>"Thanks dad."
>You watch in horror as they break the hug.
>The boy nods at his father, and starts to walk away.
>You have to stop this, maybe you can change this.
"D-Don't let him go, Anon! If he goes to that show, you'll never see him again!"
>Your plea falls on deaf ears, Little Anon walks around the corner and enters stage left.
>Your father follows him, stopping at the entrance of the stage, peering around the corner at his son.
>The room around you falls in upon itself, shrinking down to it's actual size as it starts to melt away.
>Inky black void swirls around you as you try to get back on your feet, trying to run to your father.
>He stands alone at the curtain, his surroundings untouched by the void.
>Like a beacon.
>Despite being lightheaded, you manage to step up onto your feet, only to be shoved back down onto the cold nothingness.
"W-What the fuck?"
>You flip around on your back and see your old high school bully standing behind you.
>"Magic is for losers!"
>In a daze, you try and stand up again, only to be kicked in the side by another figure.
>An old girlfriend you had had a nasty breakup with.
>"When are you going to get a real job, Anon!?"
>The more you try to stand up and make your way to your way to your father, the more horrible things are said to you, pushing you back onto the ground.
>Your tormentors swirl around you like a hurricane of doubts and fears.
>"What's wrong with him?"
>"What a fucking weirdo."
>"You can't do this forever, Anonymous."
"Stop!"
>Your body hurts. You still try to crawl your way over to the one man you want to see.
>"You're fired buddy, don't come back here again!"

>"That was one of the worst acts I've ever seen."
"Please, stop!"
>You're not even bothering to crawl anymore, you're just laying there but the hits keep coming.
>"I'll pay you when you learn to do a decent magic trick, bum."
>"Mr. Anonymous, I'm prescribing you some of these. Please give me a call if you continue having those sorts of thoughts."
>The pummeling stops for a second, but you feel a churning pain in your abdomen.
>Suddenly, a fountain of pills comes rushing out of your mouth, mixing with bile and various other fluids.
>The beating gradually continues as you cough and sputter medication all over the ground.
>"You're pathetic. Can't even do what I pay you to do."
>"You're /that/ Anonymous? Gee, how the 'mighty' have fallen."
>"Get help, you fucking psycho."
>You just can't take it anymore.
>You want this pain to end.
>The more you try to fight it, the harder it gets.
>But if you lie down and do nothing, it only gets worse.
"P-Please, I don't know what I did! I'm sorry!"
>But the beating only gets worse.
>You hear a mad chuckling from all around you.
>"Pathetic. Just pathetic."
>That voice was different, instead of coming from one of the figures currently kicking your ass, this voice came from the very void around you itself.
>"It seems one /tiny/ nightmare is enough to destroy you, pathetic creature."
>Suddenly the beating stops, and the people around you shift and distort until they resemble a cloud of thick black smoke.
>You try and take your chance to make your way toward Dad, but you only hear a chuckle and the beacon of hope is snuffed out, replaced by the void.
"Dad!"
>"He won't help you, Anonymous."
>The black mist around you begins to coalesce into a figure of sorts.
>"In fact, nobody can help you now."
>Okay, time to take a step back, Anon.
>There are multiple questions which we need to work out right now.

>Alright, Question One: What the fuck is going on.
>Answer: I don't fucking know.
>Alright, let's save that one for later.
>Question Two: What the fuck is this black smoke monster?
"What the fuck are you?"
>"Silence, creature."
>A wave of agonizing pain shoots through your body.
>Could your arm always bend like that?
>It's hard to remember, what with the unbearable pain clouding your mind, among other things.
>"Behold mortal! I am Epialos, god of nightmares."
>Well, it's technically an answer to your question, but it doesn't really help much.
>You can barely think in this state. Among the various pains happening through your body, it felt like somebody was taking a nail and hammering it into your temples.
>If you didn't know what being skullfucked felt like before, you do now.
>On the bright side, you knew a method of gathering information.
>Asking Edgelord McSmokeMonster would probably be your best method of knowing something at the moment.
"Where the fuck am I?"
>The smoke laughs.
>"Do you not recognize your own consciousness? I can't really blame you. There's not much here to begin with."
>You take a moment to process that insult.
"H-Hey, fuck you buddy--AHGHFUCK"
>Now, you KNOW that your leg doesn't bend like that usually.
>"You're a brave little mortal, aren't you."
>Your other leg gets a similar treatment.
>"But allow me to give you some advice. The next time somebody is in control of your mind, don't insult them."
"What do you mean, in control of my mind?"
>A laugh emanates from the void once more, causing you mild discomfort.
>Every single breath he takes in between his laughter is like a needle being stuck in you.
>"You're pretty slow for a stage performer. Want me to spell your situation out for you, horse-apples for brains?"
>Horse-apples?
"Oh god, am I in some sort of Pony-Hell?"
>"Oh no, believe me, that's much worse. I've been there."