It was a cool February day. Snow was on the ground, and for many, love was in the air. For August, no such luck. In fact, he was the absolute furthest he could possibly imagine for someone who hoped for love. Or at least lust. For a quarter of an hour, at the very least. He was in line. For a new cellphone. And the line was long. But maybe he could do something about that.

He eyed the person ahead of himself, then said “Excuse me.”

They turned to look at the 28-year old man in the nice slacks and button up shirt, complete with silk vest. He let that all show beneath a trendy black leather jacket. His hair was neat, but curly and a little wild from the wind. Eyes, hazel, smile inviting. Teeth, perfect. He was totally her type. She was not his.

Not to put too fine a point on it, but the woman smelled. It wasn’t her fault, it was in her genes. Somewhere in there, she had been given something, some trait in her fruit girl plant makeup, that took after a durian. So while she was beautiful, like the woman on the Chiquita banana sticker, she smelled. Like durian. What a shame.

He did a small series of gestures with his right hand, at waist level. A little finger flicking. A twist of the wrist. Then, he said: “These aren’t the Droids you’re looking for. Move along. Why don’t you go get yourself a coffee and think about Apples. My treat.”

He did the hex, and hexed her mind, making her more malleable to the suggestion. Then, he gave her a twenty dollar bill. Anything to be rid of the scent that was not love.

He repeated the gesture with the next, and the next. Though these few he didn’t pay. They smelled alright. He just told them to go get haircuts or a new outfit. He got to the man in front of the door and paused. What a weirdo.

The guy was in his twenties, tapping messages on an ancient cellphone. An old Nokia. He was drooling a little, and august actually thought he heard the guy say “what’re you wearing.” In public, in front of God and country. He had to save the poor person the man was texting. Before it turned into a serial killer wants to meet irl situation.

“You want to give me that?” August said, with a quick gesture and no preamble. “And you want to run home and take a long, cold shower.”

The man did. And he did.

August moved up to the door. He wouldn’t be able to hex his way through to the front desk without attracting attention now. Someone might notice if everyone in the store left, save him. Plus, all the magic was making him a little hangry and reticent. Low blood sugar, perhaps?

He stared down at his “new” Nokia, and decided to text the girl back to let her know her friend was a creep and wouldn’t be bothering her any more. Looking back through the logs, he had not been too racy. From the start, at least. Just a strange exchange where the person on the other side of the screen introduced themselves, some friendly banter... the other person seemed friendly. Almost too helpful?

Seemed like she was talking tech with him, about new phones and stuff, up until... there it was. He started hitting on her. Heavily. For being sooo smart, and probably pretty too. That had actually been the last message. A “you sound hot. Want to meet IRL?” August hesitated. It looked like the person was typing a response. Well. He would just tell them things were fine after he saw how they would reply. He did so love drama. And, wait—

Something was weird. Going back over the (very long) conversation, it had started with different tags. Like different phones. Somewhere in the past several minutes, that had changed. Now it was him talking to... himself? Something was rotten in the state of Denmark.

Oli was starting to fear that all people in New York were insane. This job had started like any other. Oli was placed in a meet up location, today's client a gentleman named Mr. Branford. He was looking to update his phone, and wanted some assistance. Easy enough! Oli enjoyed going to phone stores and helping clients find the perfect fit for their budget and needs.

The good parts of this job ended about there. He was upgrading his phone from a Nokia. A NOKIA! Who even used one of those anymore. And worse, he insisted Oli come with him inside the Nokia, not their personal phone.

And worse-worse, this guy was a friend of one of their supervisors, so saying no was going to be difficult.

Luckily the walk over wasn't too uncomfortable. The pair communicated through the text functions on the phone, writing back and forth to each other. Oli asked some basic questions: Budget, functions he wanted, storage size, all basic questions. Once they got to the store, however, things took a turn for the creepy. There was a line, no surprise February was when a lot of people were gifted phones. But it was here, in this downtime, where the...unprofessional questions started.

He was no longer asking about phones, instead asking about Oli themself.

The tech mutant tried to deflect these the best they could, the text records reflected this, letting the man down as easy as possible. He was a friend of their supervisor, and Oli was technically trapped at the moment, so one wrong step could be...bad.

For the first time, maybe ever, Oli was thankful to be in an old piece of tech. The Nokia didn't have a camera, so they didn't have to look at the person holding them. But, unfortunately, it did have an audio receiver, so they had to listen to his heavy breathing.

>> “You want to give me that? And you want to run home and take a long, cold shower.”

Oli paused their reply a moment...had they just...heard that? It was faint, the Nokia wasn't known for it's great audio input. But they...swore they heard someone else. Oli steadied themself. It was probably nothing, just another person waiting in line.

After a moment a message popped up on the Nokia's screen.

1 NEW MESSAGE - "WOW. THAT IS A VERY SWEET OFFER MISTER BRANFORD. UNFORTUNATELY I MUST KEEP A SORT OF BARRIER BETWEEN MY WORK AND PERSONAL LIFE, FOR PROTECTION. I AM SURE YOU UNDERSTAND."

August's observation was confirmed, as this message was seemingly sent by the very same phone he was holding in his hands. And while it's impossible to really tell someone's tone through a text message, if the previous messages were any indication, they were trying to reject them gently. [/font][/font]

He stepped forward in line, into the building. As he did, his thumbs tapped out a response.

“Sorry.” They began.

More typing.

“Man you were talking to left. Went home to take a cold shower. He was dirty.”

There was no puking face emoji on a Nokia. What a shame.

“Seems I’m texting myself. You wouldn’t answer to Tom Riddle, by any chance? In his brand new Indestructible Nokia Horcrux. Wizard to wizard, you can share.”

If it wasn’t something mystic, it was something funky. Or something mutant. He had no problems with mutants. They could be useful.

This whole situation was far more interesting than paying attention as he slowly crept forward in line.

Was he the little redhead girl in this situation, about to lose his soul? He always had liked Ginny.

Liked Ginny. Liked the books. Though the author could pound sand.

Oli couldn't hear the heavy breathing anymore, and their suspicions were confirmed by the next few messages that popped into the phone alongside them. Huh...so their client just...left? To take a shower? That seemed...suspicious. But it matched what their audio input had picked up. This wasn't great. Sure, they weren't being harassed and potentially kidnapped by someone with a tech fetish, but that guy had still been a client. Hopefully the weirdness of the situation would prevent Oli from getting in trouble.

W-Wizard? Oh gosh another nut had picked them up. If they were lucky this person was just a Pagan, or super into crystals. In the worse case scenario they had run into...well someone who thought they were a wizard. And apparently this stranger thought they were a wizard too. Wizards, ghosts, AI...Oli was two for two on strangers finding them and having a hard time identifying what they were.

Oli felt frozen a moment, or maybe it was just the Nokia struggling.

After a moment a response appeared on the screen.

"LOL! NO WIZARD HERE! JUST AN IT SPECIALIST WORKING REMOTELY! SEEMS MY CLIENT HAS LEFT, SHAME."

This was a pretty shallow lie. There probably wasn't an IT specialist alive right now who could remotely control a Nokia. But Oli was banking on their current carrier not knowing a lot about technology.

For a moment there was a sound that came through the Nokia's speaker. And while it was soft, and rather compressed, it sounded...almost like someone exhaling? The sound was cut off quickly, as if whatever made the sound realized it was a mistake.

He heard the exhale. He had good perception. He also caught the awkwardness in the tone of the text reply. It felt like a forced laugh. And a lie.

“One of my exes is in IT.” He typed. “He told me remote access is a thing that doesn’t really work in really old technology.”

Was it true? Maybe. He knew enough about tech to bank on it, with or without a savvy ex. But one of his exes definitely could have been in IT. He had enough to run the odds.

“Well, anyways.” He graciously changed the subject. “What do you want me to do with your phone, now that the client has left? What is your IT firm?”

Out loud, he stated for the record. “Ginny threw Tom riddles diary into the toilet...”

The woman ahead of him eyed him wary. He twiddled his fingers. “You didn’t hear that.”

“I didn’t hear that.” She said.

Inwardly Oli sighed, their lie was coming apart pretty quickly. They really weren't that great at lying, nor coming up with excuses on the spot. And being stuck in a phone from the 2000s wasn't helping.

>> “Ginny threw Tom riddles diary into the toilet...”

A message appeared on the screen, maybe a bit too quickly.

"HEY! HEY! LET'S NOT BE TOO HASTY!"

There was a pause, and Oli knew they messed up. The guy probably knew they were listening now, on account of them responding to something he said and didn't type. At this point they had given up on trying to keep their identity under wraps, now focusing entirely on not being thrown in the toilet.

Oli, again, took a pause on the other voices they could hear. The man who was holding them, and some lady seemed to repeat what he said? Without a camera they were missing a major part of this interaction.

Another message appears:

"THERE IS A PARKING GARAGE NEAR HERE. ON THE FIRST FLOOR, NEAR THE ELEVATOR IS A BACKPACK. THE PHONE CAN GO THERE."

Quickly after a second message arrives.

"I CAN EXPLAIN MYSELF FURTHER, BUT NOT IN SUCH A LARGE CROWD."

He dropped his focus away from the woman just in time to hear ping! And see another message appear.

Hm, interesting. It had responded less to what he’d typed than what he’d actually said. The phone had ears... or the ability to listen in, at the very least.

It shot off another reply a few seconds later. About where he could stick the phone.

Oddly specific. And it got in the way of his buying a new phone, too. He liked drama though, had even taken some classes in college. One thing he had learned was, you don’t shoot down an idea when you’re acting. When you’re improvising, you don’t go no. You go “yes! And...”

This was his chance to ‘Yes, and.’ He could always return for the phone. Might not get it, because it was new. There might be scarcity. But oh well. He had money. He could slum it with a phone one iteration behind for a few days more. To humor a Nokia.

He turned and vacated his place in line, typing:

“NOKIA, YOU OWE ME.”

Once he was several feet away from the store, and away from the densely packed crowd... he kept walking. Because this is New York. And there was still plenty of densely packed crowd to spare.

He made a beeline for the parking garage spoken of in lore. He tapped out a comment. “I’m heading to the garage to help you. Is it possible for you to type in lower case letters? I tried typing in all caps like you one time and I felt like you’d get the impression I’m yelling at you. And I’m not...”

A second later, he added. “I would not have tossed you in a toilet BTW. lol that was a joke.”

Oli didn't need to breath but they held their breath waiting for the man's response. And when the message was received Oli relaxed a bit. "Owing" was a bit of a vague term, hopefully one this guy didn't try to take advantage of. The Nokia's audio port took in the sound of footsteps, and quieter and quieter voices. It seemed like he had agreed to help, which was nice of him.

A few more messages arrived, confirming this suspicion.

"i apologize. is this easier to read?"

Oli responded, now using only lowercase letters.

"i had hoped you were just joking, but ive been in some rather...unfortunate places."

Very quickly another message arrived.

"and by 'i' i mean my phone has been."

Not the smoothest of saves. Oli groaned inwardly. Talking to people, outside of work and talking about tech things, was hard. But as much as they wanted to drop the whole 'IT working remotely' excuse completely they couldn't, not yet. This guy could still be dangerous...he had claimed to be a wizard earlier. There was still a bit of a walk between the store and the parking garage...maybe Oli would just keep their mouth shut.

When the Nokia switched from all caps to all lower case, he couldn’t help but smile a little and mutter “Cheeky” in appreciation. Followed by “Yes.” Out loud. “Better.”

If they could hear him, he didn’t have to text everything. He could state innocuous things. Just not all the time... lest someone think there were a crazy person wandering the streets of New York.

Oh noooo, not a crazy person. Like, another one. Since there were plenty. But he could honor the request for some privacy, for now at least. Certainly there was a reason for cloak and dagger. Somewhere.

From all the slip ups, August had a hunch the cloak and dagger was more because she needed every bit of help she could get, and the secrecy act brooked no argument. The room to wiggle was negligible. And for a phone with no face, it helped cover for her total lack of a poker face. Well. He could play.

He fell silent for the next three minutes. Then, he ruined it by suddenly breaking the silence to ask: “Do you ever feel trapped?”

He was about a block out from the parking garage, now. With the phone held up to the side of his face like he was on an important call.

The pair traveled silently for a bit. And while the Nokia had no GPS tracking capabilities Oli still had a sense of time. They figured they were getting pretty close to the parking garage. Eventually the silence was broken and Oli found themself...conflicted by his question. It felt like a challenge, or a test.

This time when the man spoke his voice was much louder, clearer. He was actually speaking into the mouth piece. Acting like he was on a phone call. Clever! Oli took a calculated risk, hoping their math wasn't too bad. As thing time when Oli responded it wasn't the gentle 'ding!' of a new message, but with their voice.

"Trapped? Hmm...I suppose so! That guy was weird but...sadly that wasn't the first time a customer got...personal with me..."

The voice on the other end was pretty badly compressed and staticky, this Nokia not providing great call clarity.

"I suppose I should thank you, you must have been very persuasive to get him out of that line."

The sound quality on the old phone was terrible. Like 50% muffled, 50% static. The cadence of the voice was higher, sure, but the voice was still androgynous. The only thing he could be fairly certain of, was that the voice was not robotic like Siri or Alexa. This was no skynet. It was human-ish. Though not humanoid. Aside from that, he was making no assumptions.

Until further notice, he was referring to the cellular person as they and them. Unless they gave him an actual name or an update. And they could have their privacy if they wanted it. He wouldn’t dig... though their backstory intrigued him. Were they really a cellphone, like he thought? Inquiring minds wanna know. How would that have happened? He knew mutants could become many things. For instance, his biological father was... is... a mass murdering, mind controlling, psychopath. But they weren’t talking about his... ick... family tree just then.

Still felt gross that his snap spell, and his fathers power, were in the same ballpark. That was between him and his therapist, though. And his dad was not a cellphone... man.

She finished and he frowned.

“Yeah. People... they could be anything. But they choose to be like that. I’m always sorry for their poor decisions. Sorry I have to be around them.”

He shook his head, but smiled a little. “No need to thank me, but you’re welcome.”

“I suppose we both have things we’re good at.” August said. After a moment, he said: “I’m good with people, and with music. And you’re good at IT.”

“Real talk? Me and my violin was kind of about feeling trapped.” The topic was deep, but his tone was wistful. “We’re almost there, by the way.” He added, as an afterthought.

Oli was quiet, contemplating what to say next. This guy was...interesting? Seemed to think the worse of people, even mentioned that he was sorry to be around them. And yet also claimed to be good with people. Well...they supposed one could be good at something without enjoying it. Like...janitors.

What he said next was far more interesting to Oli, and prompted responses far less likely to offend whoever was carrying them right now.

Music! Violin! How exciting! Oli loved music, but they didn't get opportunities to listen to live music very often.

The voice again came through the speaker of the phone, still staticky and muffled, but with an unmistakable tone of excitement.

"Are you and your violin stuck in a dead end job? I could imagine that's an easy way to feel trapped."

Oli could hear echoed footsteps as the two entered the parking garage. The place was rundown and nearly empty. Across from the entrance it was easy to spot the elevator, a large OUT OF ORDER sign tapped to the rusted door. And, on a ledge near the elevator, sat a small green backpack. The drab green blended in nicely with the trashy parking garage.

Apparently, his hobbies made them excited. They’d taken the bait.

Not that he had been baiting or anything...

Their comment actually made him laugh out loud.

“Oh. That’s funny. Me, a dead end job with my violin.”

Though technically the only place up from second chair was first, and first chair was REALLY good! But he was not telling Nokia person that.

“I am a concert violinist with the New York orchestra.” August explained. “I make a lot of people happy when I play. As opposed to my violin playing being bad and trapping me in woe.”

He looked around the parking garage.

Hope this isn’t a setup~~~~~ His heart practically sang.

There was the backpack.

Ugly ax murderer steps out of the shadows in
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>> “I am a concert violinist with the New York orchestra.”

The voice coming from the phone, again, sounded excited and genuinely impressed.

"Wow! Really? You must be really really good!"

August was able to make it to the backpack without being axe-murdered, but the creepy and dirty atmosphere of the parking garage made it the perfect backdrop for such a scene. Who's to say there wasn't an axe-murderer somewhere in this garage, or he was on a lunch break.

Looking at the backpack reveals that it was left unzipped. And inside the backpack...was...a...phone. Another phone. A much newer, and nicer, phone than the Nokia in his hands. And even better the phone was in a very cute phone case, featuring some round, cartoon, animals. The juxtaposition of the old and tattered backpack and the bright and shiny phone was almost comical.

The echoing sound of footsteps stopped, and Oli assumed the pair had made it to the backpack.

"Alright! We made it! If you'd be so kind as to set the Nokia in the bag that would be lovely!"

There is a pause, and then the voice spoke up again, far less cheery and far more...socially awkward.

"Uh...uhm...mister are you, like...uh...cool? You know...'cool'?"

A horrible way of gauging whether or not Oli will display their mutation further by shifting from one phone to the other, or just hope the guy leaves them be.

>> "Wow! Really? You must be really really good!"

“I’m a pro,” he said with pride. “Music major in college and everything.”

He had gone through the hoops you go through to be able to market yourself. Got the certificate of authenticity and all of that. Not to toot his own horn or anything.

... why did he like that phrase.

—

He unzipped the bag. Or started to, then realized it was not zipped. Felt foolish. Got into the bag. Found a phone. A good phone. In an adorable phone case. Like something a teenage girl might adore. Or a teenage boy, who liked rotund anime-eyed animals. Or whatever.

Hey, boys can like cute things too. He had gone through a phase in college, involving lace. Because, turns out back in the old old days, fine lace on men’s clothing was a sign of fashionability. At least, according to those friends who’d been way into fantasy and gotten him RPIng dungeons and dragons and don’t ask.

He did not wear lace much these days. But. Yes. People can enjoy whatever the hell they want. He would not judge a book by its cover. The cutesy cellphone could have belonged to Al Gore for all he knew. Just as easily as Hillary Clinton or Cardi B.

He held up the phone, and just took a moment to admire it. That was a nice phone. Probably even better than his own. And he didn’t even have a cute case.

>> "Alright! We made it! If you'd be so kind as to set the Nokia in the bag that would be lovely!"

He got ready to fulfill their request to the letter, but their next comment caused him to pause, mid-motion.

Cool? Was he cool? Was this phone going to try and sell him drugs? Because if they were a cop and he asked them, they would totally have to tell him. That was the law.

... ha. What to say, what to say?

“Suuuure?” August said. More seriously, he stated: “I can keep a secret, yes.”

I didn’t tell you I was a wizard, did I? Oh? I did. Well at least I didn’t talk to you at length about my cult...

... Yet.

“Why?” He asked innocently. Was there some dramatic secret you wanted to share?