Tier 3+ Story 📜🎩 T H E ☆ M A G I C I A N - Act 26 (Patreon)

Content (for the whole story): original content, w/w, asexuality/demisexuality, cryptid (?) pregnancy, nb(?)preg, sexual & kink awakening, stuffing, nausea, gender ambiguity, birth, transphobia, dysphoria, depression & suicidal thoughts, parental conflicts, use of alcohol and other drugs, demons, religions & mythology (diverse)

▶ Read all from the start
Part I Acts: 1-3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 l 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19
Part II Acts: 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 

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T H E  ☆  M A G I C I A N

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Act 26

Mel

Mel started to worry. Before they left the hotel, he had checked the remaining money in the stolen wallet. They didn’t have that much anymore, and besides of it being very unlikely to work, Mel did not intend to withdraw money from any of the stolen cards. Instead, he wanted to bring the wallet to the lost-and-found later.

Calm down, Lucifer's inner voice soothed him.

The guy laughed. “Now that’s a boy of my taste! It’s loose cash, right? Alright, how about our age. I guess yours, you guess mine, the one closer to the truth wins.”

“Sounds great!”

“Let me start. Your taste in clothing is advanced, but your face and voice appear very young. So I’d go for a mix. I’d say 26?”

“Wow, damn, that’s close. I’m 25.”

Mel’s worry started to grow. He was 21. What was that demon doing?

“Almost then! I’m good at guessing ages, but people always get mine wrong. That’s why I like this bet.” He laughed a wholeheartedly but nasty laugh, his botox straightened wrinkles not moving even remotely. “So go on. And don’t worry, you can’t be rude. But you have to guess the correct number, or at least be one off in order to win.”

Even though the man obviously had a couple of face surgeries, he still looked rather old. Maybe around 60 or more?

“I’d say… 38?”

Mel winced and felt himself slipping back into his body. It hurt, because Lucifer was fighting him back. Calm. Down. the demon's voice repeated, with more emphasis this time.

The guy laughed, clearly amused.

“Oh no, I’m sorry! 37? 36?”

No way he was that young!

He laughed even louder. “No take-backs, boy. But it’s flattering, thanks. You know what? I'll give you one more chance.”

“Oh man… alright. I assume it’s older, since you said it’s flattering. Then … maybe … 43…?”

“You’re killing me! I’m either very good looking today, or you want to lose money badly. I’m 66.”

“You’re lying just to win!”

“I assure you, I’m not.”

“Show me your ID then.”

Still smiling, the man grabbed into his pocket, pulled out his wallet and showed him his ID. The age was - not surprisingly - correct.

“Damn you, I can’t believe it,” the demon said, while reaching in Mel’s pocket and pulling out the stolen wallet.

“Don’t beat yourself up, boy. You’re still young, it’s a skill you learn over time. And don’t forget, I told you my age is hard to figure out in the first place.”

Mel started to really dislike the patronizing way this snob was talking to him. But also the messed up way the demon was portraying Mel himself.

“Yeah, fair, you said that,” Lucifer said and grabbed into the almost empty banknote chamber. Then he paused. “You know what? Double or nothing, let me choose a game?”

Ooh.
Mel started to understand where this was going.

“Sure, seems just fair. What do you have in mind?”

“Hmm… how about the place of birth? Whoever is closer to the actual one wins.”

Nope. Mel did not understand where this was going. This was absolutely unbalanced. Anyone who had an ear for accents could tell that Mel was coming from the Netherlands, or at least Europe or Scandinavia or something. While Mel had no clue about American accents. Though Maybe the demon did.

“Okay. You go first this time.”

“New York.”

As little as Mel knew about accents, the guy clearly didn’t have New York ring to it. Or did it?

“That was fast. What made you say that?”

“Your style. Most of my friends who are that well dressed are from either New York or Los Angeles. 50/50 chance.”

The man was laughing heartily again. “You really know how to compliment an old man, even if it’s not intentional. I’m from Chicago. That’s a rough 12 hour drive from New York, so let’s keep that in mind regarding the closeness, in case we need to get to that.

Now for you … Your accent and appearance clearly say something exotic. Oriental. Persia, I’d say. Yeah, I think the Persian clerk from my favorite shop has the same accent. So I’ll go with Baghdad.”

The more the guy talked, the more Mel disliked him. He wasn’t just patronizing, but also racist and ignorant. Not only didn’t Persia exist anymore, since, what, almost 100 years; Mel’s accent was nowhere near that of a Baghdadi. Besides that - Mel’s grandmother, the non-white part of him, was neither from Iran nor Iraq, but India.

“That was dumb, my looks gave it away,” Lucifer answered gloomily, “I’m not from Baghdad, but Ramadi is pretty close, probably two driving hours.”

Mel had no idea where Ramadi was or if it even existed, but this whole ordeal made him writhe. It bothered him that the demon endorsed the guy in his racist ignorance.

“Tough luck, kid. Forgot to mention that I’ve got some geological knowledge, too.”

Gross.

“So, where are my 200 bucks?”

“One last round!" the demon begged.

“Can’t do. The race is about to start. Here’s a free piece of advice: A good gambler should know when to stop.”

“Double or nothing!”

“No.”

By now, Mel started to get very nervous.

“Triple or nothing!”

“Stop, kid.”

“Please, one more chance, sir. I was dumb, I should’ve used my magic skills.”

When the man turned back again, he looked as if he thought that Mel went completely bonkers. Mel couldn't blame him; He would’ve given himself the same look if given the opportunity.

“Your what?”

“I’m a magician. I can read minds and things.”

“That’s a mentalist.”

Urgh, this guy!

“Yeah, yeah I’m that.”

“Of course you are,” the man said in a tone as if Mel was a small, deranged child, “You probably follow one of my social media and will tell me stuff you read there. I’m not dumb, you know?”

Mel didn’t even have a clue who this inflated snob was.

“No sir, it’s true magic, I swear. Let’s do tenfold or nothing, that should show you that I’m serious.”

Anxiety took over. This was going on for too long. The demon was playing with fire, and his stomach was hurting so much by now that he would’ve just lie on the floor cramping, if Lucifer wouldn’t be in control.

“And to prove to you that it’s true magic, you can ask me something that you never told anyone, or that isn’t on your social media. Deal?”

The man raised both of his eyebrows. “You got me curious, not gonna lie. If you really can do that you’ve earned the 2000. Okay, deal. What was the name of my first pet?”

The demon positioned Mel’s left hand on his forehead, the other raised dramatically towards the man. Mel caught a glimpse of himself in the reflection of the window under the TV; It looked ridiculous.

“I see … I see …. a… cat? No ….” Lucifer began the charade.

The man giggled.

“Smaller… quicker…. more silent. White… a white bunny.”

The man’s giggle softened, unsure.

“You were… 6. You loved that bunny. He didn’t have a proper name, you only called him bunbun.”

The man stopped giggling.

“That’s … that’s a trick. Somebody must’ve told you,” he said, nervously.

“Coincidentally,” the demon continued without stopping his dramatic show, “this is also your favorite question for your passwords. Which usually are 1234bugatt1!, with a 1 instead of i.”

“Hey, stop -”

“Which is funny, because when your wife left you, she took your Bugatti with her, didn’t she? But don’t worry, I won’t tell your so-called friends, who secretly make fun of you and only stay with you because of your money, that you still cry at night, thinking about her. Despite trash talking her everywhere you go, you naughty, naughty boy.”

Completely shocked, the man was now unable to answer.

“Sandra is happy with her new boyfriends, younger and more handsome than you, so here’s a free piece of advice from me this time: forget about her. Oh, and better get rid of that little money laundering business you’re doing, you have some moles in the company.”

When Lucifer finally dropped the fake pose and instead put his hands in his pockets, he took a more relaxed, but confident posture this time. The man didn’t say anything for a while; Just staring at Mel in shock, his face red. Then he said: “Clearly this is some sort of trick. You’ve been tricking me all along. I won’t pay you anything.”

The demon got closer.

“Maybe it was a trick. Maybe it wasn’t. Either way, you’re impressed and I’ve earned my money.”

“No -”

Mels body got even closer. Their noses almost touched.

“Shut it, old man. Give me my money now, or I’ll put your Rolex where the sun doesn’t shine and bugatti your ass. And if that isn’t enough, I’ll call Sandra and tell her about your side hustle. I’m sure she and one of her journalist or cop lovers would appreciate that info. Oh, and just for the record - Persia doesn’t even exist anymore, you ignorant buffoon.”

▶️ NEXT CHAPTER 

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Story written by RoseVirage
Proof Reader: xtrachubbybunny | Dutch Consultant: EN_NSFW | Emotional Support Reader: xtrachubbybunny

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