Wrigleyville

I’m tooling through the streets of Wrigleyville, and by tooling I mean puttering through the mass of humanity that comes out for Cubs games like I’m 90 and on a mobility aid.

Ugh. I’m more than half-tempted to hit flight mode and buzz a few people. Just because I can.

And why are you in Wrigleyville, Douzeper?

Well, voice in my head, I’m here to hopefully find the Magus.

If he’s in town and it is a gameday, he can usually be found on one of the “Wrigley Rooftops”, scarfing down sliders and beer.

The man whose job it is to protect the world from invasion from magical dimensions is an alcoholic Cubs fan.

Makes me feel all warm and fuzzy. How about you?

The Magus comes is a native Bahstaner wit’ a tick Southie accent, who happened to grow up a die-hard Cubs fan.

How he survived his childhood, I’ll never know, but it probably has to do with magic.

AW, C’MON, BUDDY! THE LIGHTS GREEN ALREADY!

Sorry, but I am about one middle-finger away from full-blown homicidal road rage.

Screw it. Activate flight mode.

My wheels pivot to a horizontal plane and the anti-grav coils kick in. Short wings extend from the side, and my exhaust becomes my thruster.

I should have done this an hour ago.

I’m going to rise above the buildings and dial up my vision a bit. Hang on.

There he is. I’m moving in closer now. The Magus is roughly 5’8 and weighs about 350. His face his broad, usually flushed red (although his face is more red than usual due to his screaming at…whoever, I don’t know baseball), and lined from a life of stress and booze. It also sports the only ZZTop beard I’ve ever seen in real life. Must be to make up for the fact he is bald.

Today, he has dispensed with the normal robes most wizards wear and is decked out in a Cubs hat, with Cubs shirt, Cubs Jacket, a big foam “Cubs are #1” finger, and Cubs pins from different eras placed in various places. 

I’m swooping in for a landing. The owner may not like my bike on the roof, but my give-a-damn is broken.

Uh-oh, the Magus is giving me the stink-eye.

Now he’s yelling something about the Umbral Umbrage of Utu or something.

He’s gesturing to my comm mike and making a throat cutting sign.

I think he wants me to turn my mike off.

Until next time, hopefully,

Douzeper

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