Rahat Aziz
I enjoy talking to you. Your mind appeals to me. It resembles my own mind except that you happen to be insane. - O'Brian to Winston. George Orwell 1984
Rahat Aziz's mind cracked like an eggshell during his awakening years ago, and it never quite came whole after. He's always been afraid he'll be put in some mage bedlam for 'treatment', or worse, put right out of his misery as a marauder. He defected from the hermetic House Skopos because he believed too many of his colleagues suspected his insanity and into the arms of the Sons of Ether where he could more easily be camouflaged among the Weird Sciences. The society's mission statement 'Everything is possible', promised by it's exalted text the Kitab-al-Alacir, has been a lifeline to Rahat as he struggles, more-or-less, to carve a secure life for himself with a semblance of purpose.
Now, age 43, he works as a machinist with his own workshop crafting or modifying parts as a third party contractor to a range of companies. He opens his shop once a week to teach young adults about machinery, soldering, wielding and such whilst attempting to inspire. Yet his insanity has put the breaks on his growth and maturity in many ways; he'll go out of his way to bring home women, or men, for one night stands then coldly shuffle them out the door to a waiting taxi in the morning - disgraceful behavior for a man his age. His born-again fervor for the Etherite's 'holy' text has incited him to become increasingly hateful of the staid Technocrasy and any sabotage he thought he could get away with he would probably be willing to attempt. His sister, a nurse, knows Rahat is deeply troubled but together they shield the truth from their Egyptian parents.
Eighteen years ago:
"Incorrect, Mister Aziz!"
The birch switch wrapped the back of his knuckles, not hurting much - at least not the first few times - their barb lay in its humiliation; being transported back to childhood. The methods were archaic but he had to grudgingly admit it worked.
Rahat traced the somatic hand sign again ending in a motion not unlike a mountza, a figurative 'flinging of shit' gesture used in Greek culture. Hermetic techniques often had a hard time being subtle.. not unlike the Greeks.
"No. No! Did you even prepare for this lesson?"
A female classmate who favored wearing old fashioned summer print dresses shook her head with a kindly smile, this was the first time she had sat beside Rahat. She was quiet but always smelt delightful in passing. All the students were still learning about privacy and caution and all he'd managed to pry from her was a nick name: "Mnemosyne". She raised her hand and exchanged a glance with the teacher and he canted his head, wordlessly consenting for her to demonstrate.
She traced the slightly obscene spell gesture with the grace of a hummingbird, revealing a mistake in Rahat's technique, and followed it up with a complex twisting and curling of the fingers.
Rahat flashed a sheepish grin "Ah, I see." he offered flirtatiously with his traveled accent in a deliberate ploy before he dutifully mimicked her.
"Where did you learn the second part of the sign? That hasn't been taught yet..
..and who were you speaking to?"
Rahat stared at the hermetic master in non-comprehension then turned his head to the desk beside him. His heart sank.
It was empty.
