What Are the Chances? (Dare/Wishons)

[Rhys Moreau]

Once sitting, Rhys' father reached for his pipe. "You realize you aren't doing much to convince me this whole...thing is normal," the man said, looking over at Dare. His eyes caught briefly on Dare's ring. "You are married?"

"To a man, actually. They even have kids," Rhys answered.

"Do you think me a fool? Do you really expect me to take this seriously? How do I know this isn't all simply a ruse for you to try to take Peter away?" Rhys' father asked as his mother worked in silence in the kitchen.

[Dare Blackwood-Hardt]

Dare spoke up then. "I won't try to convince you that magic can't be used badly," he said. "It can, but it doesn't have to be. You're a preacher, right? You teach people religion so they can get closer to God. I teach magic so it's used properly." He paused, then tried a different angle.

"Does God make mistakes?" he asked. "Or does he make miracles?"

[Rhys Moreau]

Rhys leaned back in his chair and listened to the gentle clink of saucers and cups being set out by his mother on a tray. He remained silent as he waited for his father to answer.

Rhys' father's eyes shifted over to Rhys. "God does not make mistakes," he said. "The things we may perceive as mistakes on his part are failings on ours, or we simply have not seen how he intends to use them." He looked back over at Dare. "That doesn't mean I should encourage my son to partake in magic."

[Dare Blackwood-Hardt]

Dare gave an understanding nod. The man was listening, and that was the hardest part for most people. "You haven't encouraged it, am I right?" he asked. "It's happening already. It's a gift. Think of him like a child prodigy. You can try to stifle his gift so he'll be normal, or you can let him learn how to use it and end up with something amazing.

"My mother wasn't magical," he went on. "We're human too. She and my father married and had children. I have children. I carry their pictures in my wallet. Magic doesn't make us anything more or less."

[Rhys Moreau]

Rhys' mother rounded the counter in the kitchen and set down a tray of tea and fixings before scurrying back into the kitchen, either unwilling or unable to listen to the conversation without a distraction.

"I can not accept it," Rhys' father said, reaching for a cup and saucer to busy his hands. "I've read, studied, prayed, everything I can think of. At least with you it started later." The man's eyes drifted up briefly to Rhys before he added a measure of milk to his cup.

"Just because he's showing this younger doesn't mean the family's ruined," Rhys returned. "He's a kid, he doesn't understand. It isn't his fault."

[Dare Blackwood-Hardt]

"You can't accept it because prayer hasn't taken it away?" Dare asked. "With all due respect, Mr. Wishon, either God isn't listening or he doesn't see a problem." He took a cup and saucer, then brought out his wand. The thin brown liquid inside turned a deep purple. It was grape juice, not wine, but the implication was there.

"My sons, Alistair and Lestat, are two years old. When they get overexcited the curtains change color. If they don't like dinner it'll change into something else. If they don't like my hair color, they'll change it." A moment of concentration and it shifted into the sleek black he typically wore with his dress robes.

"From one parent to another," he said, looking at the man, "I love my sons and want what's best for them. For them, Mr. Wishon. I want them to live good lives, to be good people. I know that's what you want for your own."

[Rhys Moreau]

Rhys avoided looking at his father when Dare finished speaking. Instead, he focused on his own tea, a spoon clinking lightly as he mixed in milk and just a dash of sugar. Sure, his father wanted him to live a good life and be a good person. A good life and a good person just happened to mean being gay wasn't allowed at all.

"We've always wanted what's best for them," Rhys' mother piped up, appearing to set down a plate of finger foods it was doubtful anyone would actually eat. "Rhys knows that. We only ever did what we did so he could live a good life." Well, at least they were calling him Rhys and not his given name.

"I have a good life now," Rhys said, watching his tea. "Peter shouldn't have to wait twenty years to have one of his own."

[Dare Blackwood-Hardt]

"No one here doubts that what you did was out of love," Dare said, though he wanted to choke on the words. It had still been horrible, and he didn't think they should be able to have children at all. It was difficult to be patient when what he was saying didn't seem to have an effect. Why had these people let them in if they wouldn't listen?

"It didn't work, though. Instead of giving Rhys a good life, you lost him. Be honest with yourselves. We're talking to you. I haven't used any magic against you. I've been nothing but honest with you." Dare looked aside at Rhys. He didn't want to scare them because he was afraid they'd just push back, but all the little magic he'd been doing hadn't done much of anything. Peter could be in danger in a place like this.

[Rhys Moreau]

Rhys' father had been doing his best to ignore the little shows of magic the man had performed, hoping that if he simply didn't acknowledge this, then it would go away. Naturally, the two across the table from him didn't leave no matter how many times he blinked. "You are asking a lot of me," he said.

"We're just asking you to make the right choice. If you treat Peter the way you treated me, he might not make it. I was much older than he is and I almost didn't make it," Rhys said. "I may not know him, but he's my brother, and I won't let you hurt him." He finally looked up again.

[Dare Blackwood-Hardt]

Dare pulled a slow breath, then let it out even slower. "They say God doesn't give you more than you can handle," he tried. He personally thought that was bull. If it was true, why did people commit suicide? Why did people commit murder? But he'd heard it often enough spoken by people who called themselves religious, and it was the best he could do.

"Magic can be dangerous." The teapot burst into flame and cracked, tea leaking onto the tray but doing nothing to stop the flames. "This is little magic. This is controlled magic." He gave an obvious flick of the wand and the fire stopped. The cracks slowly filled in and disappeared, and the spilled tea vanished.

"You've been parent to one angry teenager. Imagine another who thinks his parents hate him because of what he is, and imagine he has the power to knock down your house. Imagine he thinks he's something the devil came up with. Is he going to stand next to you and preach God? Do you really think so?" Dare was flushed with the effort of not yelling, but he was angry. He was angry, and he'd still only done small magic.

[Rhys Moreau]

Rhys' father had jumped at the show and his mother had dropped something in surprise, the dish shattering on the floor. A sound like a tiny stampede came from the staircase at the noise and a minute later a little boy with short, feathery brown hair appeared in the hallway, peering into the dining room.

"Why are you wearing a dress?" It was apparently much more interesting to the boy to see a man in what seemed to be a dress than whatever had made the noise to call him downstairs in the first place. Rhys' mother dashed to the boy, though she was uncertain what to do other than put her hands anxiously on his shoulders.

[Dare Blackwood-Hardt]

Dare gave another flick of the wand and the broken dish soared up onto the table, pieces fusing together. It landed lightly. "It's not a dress," he explained. "They're called robes and I know a lot of people who wear them. I've been talking to your parents about the things that happen sometimes, the ones they don't understand." He gave Mr. Wishon a long look before turning back to Peter.

"Your name's Peter, right? What's your favorite color?" Rhys would know exactly what he was about to do.

[Rhys Moreau]

"Blue."

"It was green last week," Rhys' father said, though he seemed just as uncertain as his wife on what to do.

The boy put his hands on his hips. "Now it's blue."

Rhys couldn't help but grin, though at least part of the smile was due to how distinctly uncomfortable his parents were just now. The focus was even more thoroughly on Dare and the magic now, and he wondered how long his parents would let it happen.

[Dare Blackwood-Hardt]

Dare's hair flashed back to its original, preferred blue. Then his robes did as well. He hoped it wouldn't mess with the cloth or anything because they'd been expensive, but if he was doing this, he was doing it all the way. "Have you ever accidentally made something change color?" he asked, then rephrased. "Or maybe you just thought about it being a different color and it changed by itself? I can do that too. My favorite color's purple." Everything he wore turned purple, but his hair stayed blue.

"I'm trying to help your parents understand that it's okay if that happens, but it's tricky because they've never seen it before."

[Rhys Moreau]

Peter's eyes widened and he looked torn, reaching out as though to touch Dare's robes, then looking over at their father. "Daddy says it's bad," he said.

"He shouldn't be seeing this," their mother said abruptly, reaching down to turn Peter's head with one hand while reaching for his arm with the other to steer him upstairs again.

"Stop." Rhys looked over, surprised when he saw his father looking sternly over at the other two. "Let him see."