It seemed like a good idea at the time.
There she was, walking down the street, holding thousands of dollars of valuable electronic… well, you don’t know exactly what it was. Stuff.
What if it started raining?
No sooner said than done. She yells a curse, and starts running, but it’s too late. A droplet has fallen exactly into the right place–right into the little hole that goes into the thingamagig where all the electricity goes.
It seemed like a great idea at the time.
Now, when The Father is standing over you, you wonder if that may not have been the best idea.
As he stares into your face; as he glares into your eyes… You now wish that you did, in fact, know his name.
It seemed like a good idea at the time.
Everything centered around the boy, his son. It was like some archetypal legend. The characters didn’t need names; they were beyond names!
No sooner said than done.
Even if he told you his name, you wouldn’t remember it. No-one would.
It seemed like a good idea at the time.
When you were younger… Twenty, perhaps? You had such fun.
You were at a frat party once. Freezing cold out, but they were swimming anyway, as much as one could swim in the two feet of water in the inflatable pool. Everyone was drunk, and you, already impulsive enough without alcohol, were no exception.
Before you knew it, you had climbed up the basketball hoop.
Ten feet off the ground, you came up with an idea. Indeed, it seemed brilliant. The splash would be fantastic!
It seemed like a good idea at the time.
Hours later, when you woke up in the hospital, when the doctors told you you’d never walk again, nor, for that matter, have full use of your arms or legs, you found the idea of diving off the basketball hoop somewhat less brilliant.
Then, you rose again, out of the ashes of your own creation. You became a phoenix.
The opportunity was offered to you so freely; it was so tempting. It was so exciting, and they only gave you ten seconds to decide (which, of course, made it all the more enticing). How could you refuse?
You, Phoenix of Impulse, accepted.
It seemed like a good idea at the time.
But now, here you are.
It all seemed like such a good idea at the time, but now, with him standing over you, in such a towering rage, you wish you knew his name; perhaps, having not heard it in weeks, it would startle him from his rage?
Now, when not even the most powerful of wards can stop him, you wish that those electronics had not been ruined by water; that the boy’s last-minute plans to save himself had succeeded, and that he therefore would never have died, and that The Father would never have come after you.
Now, as he takes from you the very Phoenix magic you once so readily accepted, you wish you didn’t have it; you wish you never had it; you wish he couldn’t tear it from you so viciously; you wish it did not hurt so much.
You’ve always been impulsive.
But he, in his moment of power, managed a random thought; an impulse that, you are sure, sounded like a brilliant idea to him at the time.
“What if,” you heard him think, “What if I could steal magic?”
He’s The Father, and now, you realize, he’s second in power only to The Detective.
There’s not much he can’t do.