It was really only a party trick. Finally by either the grace of god or some genetic mutation a person had been gifted a superpower. But it was only good for saving a dying conversation.

Which this corner of the party desperately needed.

“Now watch,” said the would-be-superhero, Evan. He stood in front of an enormous audience of three, all seated on a dingy couch. Behind him people conversed and the music played. The three consisted of a man so deep in sleep that he seemed to be a part of the couch, and two women waiting patiently.

Evan held his drink from the bottom flourishing his left hand around it. He lacked the flare of a true magician, but the two women were watching with at least slight interest.

“And now,” as he spoke he moved the drink behind his back, “it’s gone.” He snapped his now empty hand in front of him showing the front and back to assure of its absence. Both women raised their eyebrows. The one on the left huffed a short laugh. “Wow, some magician. It’s in your waistband. Or your pocket or something.”

Even turned deliberately showing that the drink had truly disappeared. Turning around the cheap magician spoke.

“This is real gen-yoo-ine magic. And now I will bring back my drink… from the great beyond.”

He put his hand behind his back and when he pulled it to his front again, his drink was in his hand.

The woman on the right leaned forward. “Does the worlds corniest magician have any other tricks?”

Damn, toughest crowd around, he thought.

Evan smiled, “Does making other things disappear count?”

The woman both looked unimpressed. Then, from somewhere behind him, a very drunk young man stumbled over, PBR in each hand.

“How ‘bout thish,” he slurred, “I shaw your performance, and how ‘bout you make me vanish, Mr. Magician.” “That would be something Mr. Magician,” the woman on the left mocked.

Evan was worried, but it would be fine right? It’s just making someone disappear from this reality, he thought, not that big of a deal. His ego was a little hurt, and the little liquor he had drank was skewing his decision making, only slightly, though. He really wanted to mess with this kid.

“Alright, sure,” his smile returned. “Now I will make a man vanish into thin air.” He flourished his hands towards the drunk.

“Sho corny,” the drunk replied.

With the little grace Evan took his new stagehands arm and lead him around his back, where he left from sight. To the women on the couch it was as if he walked through an invisible doorway.

“What the fuck,” they said in unison.

Their faces dropped as they stared at Evan. “I told you, it’s real magic.” He laughed and put his had behind his back to retrieve the man.

However when he reached behind his back, the arms he grasped was wrinkly. The guy was young… right? As he thought this he saw the faces of his audience drain of all color. He spun to what should be a young man and took in the sight.

The drunk man had long flowing white hair, with a matching beard that drooped almost to his feet. He now wore a long blue robe faded by time. The parts of his face not hidden by hair were deeply tanned and wrinkled.

His eyes, wide with shock, scanned the room. He settled his eyes on the women. Then, he roared,

“WHAT IS THIS PLACE? WHAT SORCERY HATH YOU HEATHENS USED? DO YOU PULL ME FROM MY STUDIES TO THIS HERETICAL STRUCTURE TO KILL ME? I’D LIKE TO SEE YOU TRY YOU HEATHENS OF THE HILLS.”

The women clung to each other. Both of their jaws slack as they stared at the man. Nothing in their lives could have prepared them for this.

Then he spoke again, his voice deep and commanding, “WELL? SPEAK THEN YE WOMAN FOLK! OR DO THEE WISH FOR COMBAT? THEN HAVE AT ME! I FOUGHT WITH THE NORTHERN BARONIES UNDER COMMANDER LEVIT AGAINST THE DE’TWOT! I MYSELF SLAYED THE GREAT STONE BEAST OF THE EASTERN HILLS! COUNTLESS HAVE COME TO FELL ME AND NONE HAVE COME CLOSE! NO FOE SHALL PROSPER AGAINST ME!

Evan was pouring sweat. He was all too aware of the staring eyes of those around them. What the hell… I don’t even know what…

Before he could finish his thought, the man turned to him. His eyes grew wide and he grasped Evans shoulders with ancient and weathered hands.

“You… sorcerer…” he said, barely above a whisper. “I thought you were a dream. The monastery told me I had imagined this place… but you’re here. Was it all a dream? No surely not… no it can’t be. SEND ME BACK! PLEASE YOU MUST SEND ME BACK WIZARD O’ TRANSIT.”

Evan was felt like he had been kicked in the head by a horse. He tried to speak but couldn’t manage anything. The man was tearing up and shaking him. His grip was tightening and his jagged fingernails dug into Evans shoulders.

“PLEASE YOU MUST! PLEASE-

The forgotten sleeping man raised his head (he truly seemed to have been part of the couch). “Chill out man, you’re killing the vibe. Have a beer or something and stop tweakin’ out.” He then laid his head back and seemingly fell asleep.

The man stopped, his jaw agape. He let go of Evan and brushed off his robe.

“You must forgive me, I was pulled from my work. It is imperative that I return to finish it.”

Finally Evan found the words, “Yeah… ok sure. I can do that for you man…”

The old man smiled, “Before that, however, do you have any PBR?