#Parlor Tricks For The Rabble

[arcadebroke]

Doctor Doom

[neverendingdeath]

[BURNING INCENSE]

It was night when he found time to make himself seen in public once again. The late night does little to stifle the sounds of whimsy as the eccentrics do parlor tricks, the peddlers push wares, and the rabble lull into a noisy hum as the energy of the day slowly wears off. The people are carrying sparklers that sizzle quietly next to outside grills to cook in front of the masses, drawing in those hungry from a day's hard work. He does little to mind the crowd; even if they stare at a blonde traveler in white, he is not the first nor last guest from beyond the stars they'll see tonight. They quickly turn away, and he continues on to his destination. 

The streets quiet as you leave the town's center and even the confines of the city at large. Only on the outskirts could solace in mundane life be found. Non-believers, taking care of the elderly, nurturing the sick, those in mourning: all of the people he passes that don't particularly partake in the festivities could have any number of reasons. But just like himself, they all float by with minimal contact or acknowledgment to anyone but themselves. And it was there he found a type of assuage from it all. Once he comes across a red lacquered building with offerings and a place to burn incense for many people at a time, he knows he's at the right place. 

As he takes out his two sticks of incense, he begins to muse. He is far from the religious type; after all these years, the only gods he's ever seen were simply pinnacles of races at their most heightened states—he should know, as he remembers golden wings and the final moments before becoming impaled by one girl he refused to even call by their rightful names. Alas, respect for the dead is something he is sentimental towards. Dead people. Dead ideals. Dead opportunity. It's all worth mourning, even for showmanship to oneself. 

Fond of? No. Often does? No. Proud of? Slim to never. 

But today is a different fish from a different pond, and he puts the two sticks right side up, properly dead center, as he takes in the sight. He does not light them just yet, as he takes out a match to strike against his palm where he holds the box it comes in. 

“I had plans to be alone this far from the terrace. I cannot feign sympathy, but I am not so far gone as to not be curious.” He speaks to the man he passed to get here, his tone unbothered. “What brings you to mourning?” 

He flicks the match, lighting his two sticks of incense as he listens. 

Where life thrived, death paved its path. The atmosphere of the event was less stifling than that of the dreamscape at the very least, but he found himself an observer all the same. Bearing witness and doing what one must to not seem too far out of place. "Likewise," he returned to the traveler. Someone odd, but who was he to say that about others. "Curiosity is the drive of those who go to far." But those were his own thoughts on that matter, even if he did feel they applied to the aura this man carried. There were few sympathies to be had(he wanted none of it) and little to be curious about(it was grief as it always seemed to be). "A day yet to come." He held a match of his own within his gloved hand, already lit. Blade simply watched the flame waver. "What brings one to travel so far yet seek solace from such festivities?" He could not, would not hide the lack of interest within his voice. Whether he was obliged or not, he would at least extend the courtesy given. Few were the opportunities to meet with such people. After a moment, the incense had been lit and he'd forced himself to recall that face, the one so obscured in the few things he could remember.

[daitranscripts]

Vivienne Conversation: Investigate

Tell Me About Yourself

Vivienne Masterpost

PC: I’d like to know more about you, Madame Vivienne.

Vivienne (low approval): How sweet of you, my dear, but I’m sure there’s nothing I could say that you don’t already know. Scene ends.

Vivienne (neutral/high approval): Whatever would you like to know?

1 - Dialogue options:

Investigate: Where are you from? [2]

Investigate: How did you become a courtier? [3]

Investigate (after Vivienne’s personal quest): Tell me about Duke Bastien. [4]

General: Never mind. [5]

2 - Investigate: Where are you from? PC: Your accent’s not Orlesian. Where exactly are you from? Vivienne: I am from the Circle, my dear. One’s country of origin rarely matters there. But if you must know, I was born in Wycome in the Free Marches. I was sent to the Ostwick Circle, but I transferred to Montsimmard while still an apprentice.

3 - Investigate: How did you become a courtier? PC: I’m curious how a Circle mage winds up a courtier. Vivienne: Nobody “winds up” at court, my dear. It takes a great deal of effort to arrive there. I caught the eye of Duke Bastien de Ghislain, an advantageous connection that opened many doors. When the position of enchanter to the Imperial Court became vacant, I was able to secure it.

6 - Dialogue options:

Investigate: You married a duke? [7]

Investigate: What is a court enchanter? [8]

7 - Investigate: You married a duke? PC: You’re married to the Duke de Ghislain? Vivienne: Of course not, my dear! Don’t be ridiculous. Marriage is the business of alliance and inheritance. I’m Bastien’s mistress.

Dialogue options:

Investigate: What does his wife think? [9]

[Back to 6]

9 - Investigate: What does his wife think? PC: And what does the Duchess de Ghislain think of this arrangement? Vivienne: We got along quite well. Duchess Nicoline and I used to host musical salons together. She was a great patron of the arts. She passed away from a fever a few years ago, the poor dear. [back to 6]

8 - Investigate: What is a court enchanter? PC: What duties does a court enchanter have? Vivienne: I am tasked with providing assistance to the empress on arcane matters. Most of my predecessors restricted this to lighting lamps and doing parlor tricks. In such troubled times as these, however, I provide political advice to Her Majesty on the subject of the mage rebellion. [back to 6]

4 - Investigate: Tell me about Duke Bastien. PC: Why don’t you tell me more about your duke? Vivienne: Bastien is… was the leader of the Council of Heralds—the only person who could bring that rabble into line. He could charm a bird out of its feathers and frequently did. I remember once… he broke up a fight between Prosper de Montfort and the dowager with a joke and a glass of wine. Oh, Bastien… I’m sorry, my dear. I don’t think I can discuss this.

5 - General: Never mind. Scene ends.

[ordenyprogreso]

🎨 Aaron Jasinski. Parlor Tricks for the Rabble, 2009.

[booksrbetterthanpeople]

Class of Villainy: Villainous Quotes

(As usually, @msweebyness and @imsparky2002 )

Alya: Pull the lever, Nora!

*Nora looks at both levers for a moment before pulling one, opening a trap door beneath Alya’s feet*

Alya: WRONG LEVEEEEEEEERRR!!

*A moment later, Alya returns with an alligator biting her ankle*

Alya: Why do we even have that lever?

—

Nathaniel: OFF WITH HIS-!

Marc: Oh, consider, my little Wild Card. Shouldn’t he have a trial first?

Nathaniel: TRIAL?!

Marc: Just a little trial? Hmm?

Nathaniel: … Very well, then. *Kisses Marc’s cheek* … LET THE TRIAL BEGIN!

—

Nora: *After Devil appears on her shoulder* Uh… Where’s the other girl?

*Angel appears on her shoulder while under a hair dryer*

Nora: … Yo!

Angel: Oh, sorry! *Gets from under the dryer and pulls out her curlers* Sorry I’m late. So, what did I miss?

Nora: Well, Alya just tossed me this knife and asked me to… You know.

Alya: *Points to Nora like, ‘What the fuck?’*

Lila/Felix/XY: *Shrug*

Nora: Take them out. And then this guy popped up, and we waited for you, and quite honestly-

Alya: Nora!

—

Lila: *Wearing a ton of jewelry and hitting a drum* Wow! A shiny glittery cave! And just like me, it is covered in sparkly treasure. Sparkle. Sparkle. Sparkle.

XY: You’re not selling it!

Lila: This is stupid! I’ll just walk up and get it!

Felix: If you walk on him, he will kill you. Just stick to the plan. Oh, and when he shows up, just… Keep him distracted. Make him talk about himself.

XY: Yeah, he loves bragging about how great he is.

Lila: Heh. I bet he and Kim get along swell.

XY: Yeah… Probably… Kim did rip off his leg, while he was in crab form, though.

Lila: … HE WHAT?? *The mound of treasure rumbles and lifts up off the ground. She would’ve have fallen if not for a giant claw catching her just in time and bringing her face to face with Jean in his crab form*

Jean: Well, what do we have here? It’s a sparkly, shiny… Wait, no. Just a human. What are you doing down here in the realm? *Notices her staring back and forth at his eyes* J-just pick one to stare at. I can’t concentrate with you trying to- O-okay.

—

Kim: *Skimming through Lila’s book* How can you possibly read this thing? There are no pictures!

—

Nathaniel: Now, where did you come from, and where are you going?

XY: I’m trying to find my way home-

Nathaniel: YOUR WAY?! ALL WAYS HERE ARE MY WAYS!

—

Mireille: How sentimental. You know, I haven’t been this choked up since I got a hunk of moussaka caught in my throat! Huh?… Is this an audience or a mosaic?

—

Juleka: Well… Quite a glittering assemblage, your highness. Royalty, nobility, the gentry, and… *Giggles when she sees the fairies* How quaint. Even the rabble.

—

Myléne: You’ll have your looks! You’re pretty face! And don’t underestimate the importance of body language! Ha!

—

Card Guard: Cheating, tormenting, and otherwise, annoying our beloved King-

Nathaniel: Oh, Nevermind all that! Get to the part where I lose my temper!

—

Adrien: … Ecstatic. I’m afraid Prince Aboohoo-

Prince: Ababwa.

Adrien: Whatever.

—

Mireille: Guys! Get your titanic rears in gear and kick some Olympian butt! *Pegasus blows out her flame-hair* Whoa, is my hair out?

—

Alya: Then I bet you weren’t expecting this! *Lifts up the hem of her dress*

XY: *Screams*

Felix: Noooo! Please no!

Alya: *Reveals a dagger strapped to her leg* Aha!

Felix: Oh, thank God.

—

They’ve got friends on the other side.

Denise: That’s just an echo, sugars. Just a little thing we have here in Paris, a little parlor trick. Don’t worry.

—

Ismael: I’m surrounded by idiots.

—

Jean: I ate my grandma!

—

Ismael: Oh, Sass, do lighten up. *Throws a bone at Sass* Sing something with a little… Bounce in it.

Sass: *Smirks* It’s a small world after all-

Ismael: NO! Anything but that!

—

Aurore: I find delight in the gruesome and grim!

Duusu: Oh, that’s terrible.

Aurore: Thank you, my dear!

—

Chris/Manon/Kiran: Kidnap Mr. Sandy Claws?

Chris: I wanna do it!

Kiran: *Holds up three vials. Two are poison* Let’s draw straws!

Manon: Felix said we should work together.

Chris: Three of a kind!

Kiran: Birds of a feather!

Chris/Kiran/Manon: Now and forever!

—

Aurore: Want to fight?! Want to have a wizard’s duel?!

—

Jean: You can’t run from me! *Lila runs away* Oh. You can.

—

Jean: Hey! HEY!… Did you like my song?

—

Lacey: The world is dark, and selfish, and cruel. If it finds even the slightest ray of sunshine… It destroys it

—

Marc: *Looks in the box* The heart of a pig?!… I’ve been tricked!

—

Nathaniel: WELL-!

Card Guards: Shh.

Nathaniel: *Whispers* What have you to say about this?

Doormouse: *Murmuring nonsense*

Nathaniel: *Whispering* That’s the most important piece of evidence we’ve heard yet… WRITE THAT DOWN!

—

Felix: How did you get back here before us?!

Alya: Well, I… Uh… How did we, Nora?

Nora: Well, you’ve got me. *Pulls down a map with colorful dotted lines with one leading to the school and the other into the forest* By all accounts, it doesn’t make sense.

—

Marc: I’ll go myself to the dwarves’ cottage in a disguise so complete, no one will ever suspect. *Skims through his spellbook* Now, a formula to transform my beauty into ugliness, change my kingly raiment into a peddler’s cloak

[rosemaidenvixen]

In the Fullness of Time

Chapter 4: Years Past

Ao3

Content warning: Classist language, Violation of bodily autonomy without knowledge or consent

Merlin swore as the carriage went over yet another bump.

“A thousand pardons Lord Merlin sir!” Galahad called from outside “Road’s a bit rough out this ways,”

Rough, that was a gentle way to put it. Was this an actual road or were they driving over a legion of troll remains? This was no way for a Master Wizard to travel, but where he was going his preferred forms of magical transportation would not be...well received “How much longer Galahad?”

Without warning the carriage jerked to a stop, Merlin letting out a whole string of curses as he was nearly thrown from his seat.

“We’ve arrived! Mind your boots, ground’s a touch muddy,”

“...Thank you for the warning,” Merlin grumbled, getting to his feet and opening the carriage door.

If anything Galahad had understated the conditions. The road, if one applied the term quite loosely, was nothing more than a coarse dirt track that went from the larger, more maintained road to their destination. Thoroughly churned by countless wagons and boots until it was a quagmire of mud and rubish, reaching ankle deep in places.

Merlin let out a sigh, resigned himself to the inevitable filth, and stepped down, grimacing as his boots sank into the muck. The small company of knights around him dismounted with a clatter of metal and leather. Galahad himself hopped off the front of the carriage and jogged up to face Merlin “What are your orders sir?”

“That won’t be necessary,” Merlin said while gracefully stepping around the knight “You and your men may stand down, I shall deal with this myself,”

Moving with surprising speed, Galahad ran forward and once again blocked his path “With all due respect, I cannot do that, the king’s orders are that all unregistered magic users be investigated by a company of trained knights, no exceptions,”

Merlin barely suppressed a grumble, it was rather impressive how Arthur managed to be both brilliant and a fool “Very well then, set up a perimeter around this…” he glanced warily at the buildings ahead of them “village...don’t want any surprises coming in or getting out,”

“Right on then,” Galahad turned towards the knights “You heard the man, spread out and surround the village! No surprises in or out,”

The knights all rushed to obey, Galahad joining them, as Merlin walked up the road straight into the thicket of buildings. He could have easily handled this by himself, no need for busybodies gumming up the works. But Arthur insisted on the knights’ presence to...what was it? Reassure the masses…

Merlin spared a glance at the people of the hamlet as he passed through. 

Men and women in clothes just as patchy and ragged as the buildings around them lined either side of his path. As soon as they noticed his presence they parted like all of the sea, ducking inside buildings and hurrying down alley ways. Some peeked at him out of cracked windows and doors while speaking to each other in hushed whispers. A precious few stood their ground, glaring openly at Merlin as he passed by, nearly drawing a laugh out of the Wizard. 

Ignorant rabble the lot of them. 

Fools who spent their lives with noses buried so deep in the dirt they couldn’t be bothered to look up at the stars.

There had been a time in his youth that he longed to teach people like these. To use his powers to help those that lacked the tools to help themselves. To bring enlightenment to those that clung stubbornly to the dark.

Had he ever really been that young?

Merlin shook his head to dispel the daydreams. 

More likely than not this so-called sorcerer was someone that happened to swear right as a pitcher of milk was falling to the floor. Soon enough Merlin could clear this all up and be on his way. As it was all he wanted was to get back to Camelot and have his boots cleaned to a polish. 

A space opened up in front of him as he reached the heart of the village, Merlin paused and glanced around. Most decent sized settlements surrounding Camelot had a central building of sorts, usually used for storage and official gatherings. Even smaller communities had squares that served much of the same purpose.

This town, if it was large enough to truly be considered that, had neither of those things. The only sort of central feature present was a modest stone well, which a large crowd was gathered around.

“--which is why we need to burn him!” a woman’s voice screeched “We cannot tolerate this evil blight in our midst!”

“And anger the demons who made him? Are you mad!? No, we have to sink him in the bog, give him back to his own,” 

“I’m not touching him! You know what Fae do to those who mess with them and theirs, best to wait for the king’s men to come, let them deal with--”

“We’re wasting time! Just give me a barrel and a cartful of peat and I’ll do the job myself!”

Merlin cleared his throat softly, just loud enough to make the gathered crowd turn in his direction. Upon sighting him nearly every one of them gasped and staggered back in alarm. Only three held their ground, two men and a woman, the one who so fiercely advocated for burning if he remembered right.

He allowed his face to mold into the placating smile he so often used when discussing magic with those who hadn’t the slightest idea how it worked “Good morrow to you folk, I am Merlin Ambrosius, here on behalf of the king. Now I understand you’ve been having trouble with a sorcerer?”

One of the men, the one in charge if his slightly cleaner coat and trousers were anything to go by, stepped forward and stammered out a response “Y-- yes, we have him locked up for now, but there’s no telling what kind of curses he’s brewing,”

Even with all of Merlin’s considerable patience, he was barely able to keep from rolling his eyes. These simpletons wouldn’t know a curse if he conjured one up right in front of them.

Well time to go clear this up and let the village goat herd or whoever it was out of wherever they’d penned him up “I promise you have nothing to fear, a squadron of the king’s best knights are here with me and they will allow no harm to befall you. Now take me to this sorcerer of yours and I will deal with him myself,”

The crowd visibly relaxed at his words; or more precisely, upon learning of the knights’ presence, the village headman slowly nodding at him “Follow me then,”

Merlin allowed himself to be lead to the far side of the village, with the rest of the group trailing behind. No doubt curious about his powers as much as they feared and despised them. The headman stopped at the edge of the buildings, pointing into the trees beyond “He’s in there,”

A cave barred with a wooden door was built into a hill a short distance away from the village proper. A space no doubt ordinarily used for storage now converted to a makeshift prison cell.

The headman twisted his cap in his hands “So...how long will it take you to--”

“That will be enough,” Merlin waved him off “I’ll take care of everything from here on out,”

The headman swallowed hard but still stepped aside to let Merlin pass, striding towards the cave. None of the villagers followed him, of course not that he expected any of them to.

Reaching the cave door, he opened it a crack and poked his head in. It was too dark to see the contents of the cave, the light of the open door doing little to penetrate the gloom.

“Hello?” Merlin called into the dark cave “Anyone in here?”

No reply from within the cave was forthcoming. Merlin remained standing in the doorframe in silence for a few moments. 

His patience was rewarded when a soft sniffle broke through the silence.

Merlin blinked in surprise. Well that was...unexpected.

He opened the door all the way, banishing some, but not all of the shadows. Allowing for his eyes to adjust just enough to see a small figure huddled in the far corner of the cave.

A child, dark haired, a boy by the looks of it, sat curled up on the floor of the cave. And by the look of how dirty and disheveled he was, he had been in here for some time. Clear tracks ran down his cheeks from where tears had cut through the dust. The child wasn’t crying at the moment, though whether that was due to exhaustion or dehydration remained to be seen.

Merlin strode over, slowly as not to startle him, and got down on one knee a few feet in front of the boy “Hello there,”

The child said nothing but followed him with his eyes, clearly trying to gauge how much of a threat the Wizard was.

Merlin gave his best, non-threatening, smile “Let’s lighten things up a bit, shall we?” he held out his palm, and with the barest breath of effort a green witchlight flared to life there before floating up to the cave ceiling, filling the small space with emerald light. 

A parlor trick by his standards, but it served as a good example to those not versed in the subtleties of Wizardry.

The child lifted his head to stare at the witchlight as it ascended to the roof of the cave, mouth open and eyes large with wonder.

“Now tell me young one…”

Aware he was being addressed, the child tore his gaze away from the ceiling to stare back at the Wizard, wariness coming off of him in palatable waves.

“Can you do anything like that?”

Merlin expected the child to shake his head, or at the most mumble a soft no. So it came as no small shock when the child raised his own tiny palm and stared at it with furrowed intensity.

His astonishment was even greater when cerulean sparks flared to life in the boy’s hand.

They flickered for a few seconds before going out, the boy letting out a small puff of exhaustion as they did.

This was no charlatan or victim of coincidence, this boy had actual power. And for someone of his age to even attempt to mimic a spell after only seeing it performed in front of him once…

This boy had potential.

And Merlin would be damned if he let such potential waste away in a dank cave.

Merlin got down on both knees “What is your name young one?”

“Hi-- Hisirdoux,”

“Well then Hisirdoux, what do you say we go outside and discuss things further?”

“I...I can’t…”

“Of course you can, others may not like what you can do but if I say you can leave no one will stop you,”

“But…” Hisirdoux raised one of his arms ever so slightly, a soft clink of metal accompanying the action.

A sound no louder than a cricket’s chirp, deafening to Merlin’s ears.

“Boy, show me your hands,”

Hisirdoux complied, stretching both arms out in front of him, allowing Merlin to see crude iron shackles wrapped around his wrists, sloppily fastened to heavy chains bolted into the cave wall.

Merlin had been millenia old even before Camelot was founded. He’d watched empires rise and crumble. And he’d seen every manner of cruelty that humans could inflict on each other. By now there was no atrocity that was capable of shocking him.

This however, gave him pause.

“Hold still Hisirdoux, let me get those off you,”

Merlin moved closer, raising a hand over Hisirdoux’s wrists, gently probing into the shackles with his magic. 

Elemental iron was the antithesis to magic and could impede it in any form, from raw ore to rusty nails, but it’s true power of binding lay in its shaping. Molding the earth and bending it your will, ingenuity triumphing over the unknown. And a clever and experienced Wizard such as himself could see through the patterns of iron’s construction and unravel it.

It was not difficult, these shackles were especially crude. Hastily hammered together from materials never intended to bind. Probably why Hisirdoux was still able to manifest some power. So it only took a minute, then a flick of his fingers and the shackles fell to the ground.

However the damage had been done.

Hisirdoux whimpered, gently poking at one of the angry red burn marks with a wince. 

Merlin laid both hands over the boy’s wrists.

“Sana et integro,”

Bands of green light bloomed to life and wrapped around the burn marks, slowly fading as they sank into the skin, taking some of the bright redness with it. It wouldn’t heal Hisirdoux completely, but it should end his pain for now.

However he would carry the scars with him for the rest of his life.

Had his neighbors known how badly the iron would injure him, a young child fresh into his magic, or had they merely been concerned with sealing his power away at any cost?

The real question was if any of them bloody cared.

“Better?”

Hisirdoux nodded with a sniffle.

“Good,” Merlin reached over and gently cupped his chin, the boy flinching at the contact, tilting his head up to look him in the eye “Hisirdoux, what I can do and what you can do is called magic, the ability to channel the arcane energies of the universe to bend them to your will,”

Hisirdoux said nothing, merely stared up at him with wide, but not frightened, eyes.

“You are capable of so much more than you know, and if you become my apprentice, I can teach you how to wield your powers to their fullest potential,”

“B...but I don’t want to be an apprentice, I want to stay here with mother and father,”

Merlin held back a sigh of disappointment. Hisirdoux might not have realized it yet, but he had no home here, not anymore. No matter, that truth would make itself known soon enough, the only thing to do was get it over with as quickly as possible. no reason for Merlin to prolong the inevitable.

“Very well then,” Merlin stood and extended his hand “I will take you to them,”

Even though he was far from being moved by such things, sentimentality being something he’d abandoned centuries ago, seeing the flash of hope on Hisirdoux’s face and knowing how unfounded it was hardly felt pleasant.

Hisirdoux reached up, tiny fingers grasping his own, and pulled himself to his feet. Following along as Merlin stepped out of the cave, wincing as they stepped into the bright sunlight.

How many days has his parents sat back and allowed him to be locked away in the dark?

Merlin wasn’t overly fond of the sensation of the tiny, grubby fingers grasping his own, but it was the best way to keep Hisirdoux from running off. If their talk of burning earlier hadn’t convinced him, seeing Hisirdoux’s condition in the cave cinched it. 

The boy was not safe here.

And sure enough, as they approached the village, Hisirdoux brightened, and started to pull away “Mother! Father!”

Merlin kept his grip on Hisirdoux’s hand firm, not letting go as they stepped up to the gathered villagers, despite the boy’s attempts to pull away. Steeling his expression when he saw the mother and father Hisirdoux was looking at.

Hopefully Hisirdoux never had to learn that his mother wanted to burn him alive.

The tell-tale clatter of plate armor came up from beside him, and Merlin turned to see Galahad rapidly approaching. 

“How goes it finding the unregistered sorcerer, any luck?”

Merlin paused and greeted the knight with a nod, ignoring Hisirdoux’s attempts to break free and run to his parents “As a matter of fact I have, he right here,”

“Where? All I see is some waifish…..” Galahad trailed off, eyes going wide from behind his bushy brows.

Good to see Merlin wasn’t the only one appalled at how these villagers had treated their ‘sorcerer’. 

And speaking of a crowd was starting to form around them, drawn by Merlin’s appearance and Hisirdoux’s shouts. 

Merlin straightened to his full height and squared his shoulders.

Time to reset the wound as quickly as possible.

“False alarm everyone,” he gestured towards the squirming Hisirdoux with one hand while looking around at the gathered villagers “This boy does have magic, but he is of no threat to you, you can all go back to your ordinary lives,”

Hisirdoux strained as he continued to try and escape Merlin’s grip and run to his parents “Mother! Mother! I can come home now!”

The mother in question stepped up close and glowered down at him, expression hard enough that it caused Hisirdoux’s brightness to dim “That’s not my boy, not any longer, that child is tainted by darkness, he has no place in my house or in this village,”

No one else around them spoke up, either in agreement or objection, although based on the looks on their faces they hardly disagreed.

Hisirdoux froze, expression beginning to crumple “But moth--”

“Don’t you dare!” the woman shrieked, the sheer venom dripping from her voice enough to cause Hisirdoux, some of the villagers around her, and even Galahad to recoil “Don’t you dare address me as your mother! You’re a curse, a demon, you dare to call yourself our child, deceiving us and hiding your true nature so you can bring ruin to us all--”

“Beloved enough,” the man next to her put an arm around her waist and gently pulled her back “I know this is a trying time for you, but you must not lose yourself in such wrathful displays,”

He put both hands on her shoulders and looked her in the eye “Our child may be tainted by Fae magics, but all is not lost, soon the evil will be gone. And there will be more children between us,”

She sighed, slumping in his grip “You are right, soon our village will be godly once more, and we will have more children to replace the one we lost,”

Hisirdoux had gone completely still, staring up at his parents with an utterly horrified, heartbroken expression. 

His father turned back towards Merlin “My wife speaks true, that’s no son of mine, either you take care of him or we’ll do it ourselves,”

An unfortunate but not unexpected response “Very well then,” he gave a gentle tug on the fingers still clasped in his “Hisirdoux?”

The boy looked up at him, eyes brimming. 

“My offer still stands, do you wish to become my apprentice?”

He gave a terse nod, tiny faced pinched in the effort to hold back tears.

“Then let us go and--”

“Hang on,” Hisirdoux’s father cut in “You can’t just carry my son off,”

Merlin raised an eyebrow “I thought you said he was no son of yours?”

The man flushed but held his ground “I sired him, raised him, and fed him. Can’t just let anyone go carrying him off with nothing to show for it,”

The sheer audacity of this man stopped Merlin in his tracks “How are you to demand such a thing when you’ve made it quite clear you’re not interested in taking him back?”

A triumphant glint entered the man’s eyes “You seem fairly interested in him, wouldn’t want to leave him and have something happen now would you?”

Merlin’s expression darkened, disgust he’d thought himself long past feeling slowly trickling into his chest. He’d seen poor reactions to people discovering their child was touched by magic many times before, this was far from the first time Merlin had witnessed parents proclaim their child dead while they stood living before their eyes. But never in all his centuries had he witnessed any cling so greedily to the corpse “You presume much if you think you can command me to--”

“It’s not as though you can just carry him off,” the the man said, unnervingly calm “The king wouldn’t be happy to hear of his Master Wizard carrying off children from their parents. So you can either pay my price or I’ll find someone who will,” 

Around him the other villagers, his wife included, were murmuring in agreement. Mentions of prices or even other options should Merlin prove unwilling to pay floating up in hushed bits of conversation.

Hisirdoux glanced back and forth between the two men. As young as he was he couldn’t possibly understand the intricacies of the situation surrounding him. But he clearly understood something, some base instinct informing him of the peril he was in, that he stood at the crossroads of danger and safety. His tiny fingers gripping Merlin’s hand with all the feeble strength he could muster. 

The disgust filling him deepened into a rage the likes of which he hadn’t felt in decades. Merlin had to make an effort not to shatter Hisirdoux’s fingers in his grip. From off to the side he could see Galahad watching the entire exchange with his jaw hanging open.

These people, who owned little more than the clothes on their backs, had been blessed with a child with immense magical potential, who possessed the power to potentially build their hamlet up to a kingdom in its own right, and this was how they treated him? They didn’t even afford him the dignity that they would a rat or a wolf, to them Hisirdoux was merely property. Blighted property that they had no desire to keep, but every right to sell to the highest bidder.

These fools had done what in a single afternoon what beings far greater than them had spent years trying and failing to accomplish.

They had made Merlin angry.

He let out a sigh and hung his head “Very well, name your price,”

The man grinned victoriously “Eighty pounds and not a pence less,”

“Fine,” Merlin said coldly.

The man blinked, clearly expecting some haggling involved.

“Galahad,” 

The knight jerked towards him, startled out of his stupefied state.

“Write up a contract stating that these two,” he inclined his head towards the couple in front of him “Are to receive eighty pounds in exchange for signing over their son to be a ward of the crown,”

Galahad nodded slowly, pulling open his bag of parchment and official seals “I’ll get right on that,” he glanced down at Hisirdoux, tears now openly rolling down his small face “How about you two go ahead and wait in the carriage, I won’t be but a minute,”

Merlin nodded, turning and tugging Hisirdoux after him as he headed away from the village and back towards the awaiting carriage.

He waited until Galahad and the crowd of villagers were far out of earshot before starting the chant. Hisirdoux could no doubt hear him, but he would neither remember the words or understand their significance.

Merlin preferred not to use blood magic, both due to the impracticality and the immense risk, but today he would make an exception.

Hisirdoux’s parents, with a complete lack of understanding of magic and how it functions, had declared their child tainted and cut him out of their hearts and community. Deciding to either sell him to offset their so-called loss or kill him and be done with it.

Well if that was the way they treated their firstborn child, Merlin would ensure that there would be no more children after Hisirdoux, for either of them.

From now until their dying days Hisirdoux’s parents would never again bear children, neither with each other nor any other partner.

The words felt cold and slimy falling from his lips, the magic they invoked soft and subtle. Slowly creeping into the bodies of Hisirdoux’s mother and father, altering them just enough to accomplish his goal.

Of course the blood magic curse would only affect those two, the rest of the village, the ones who had been complicit at best and gleeful participants at worst, would not share its effects.

But they would see Hisirdoux’s parents, see what the curse did to them without ever knowing the cause for certain. And they would wonder, and they would be afraid. 

He completed his curse just as the carriage and the rest of the knights came into view, falling silent as he stepped up to them, from far behind he could feel the last traces of magic settle into place and the curse take hold.

Merlin helped Hisirdoux climb the steps into the carriage, from behind him he heard Galahad come up and call to the rest of the knights.

“Alright we’re burning daylight, let’s get a move on!”

A quick glance to the west revealed just how right Galahad was, the sun was now far lower in the sky and they needed to hurry if they wanted to make it to safety before the darkness came and brought trolls with it. Moving swiftly, he stepped into the carriage and shut the door behind him, lifting Hisirdoux up onto the seat and sitting himself beside him just as the carriage pulled to a start.

Hisirdoux remained silent the whole while, had been ever since he’d heard what his parents truly thought of him, eyes locked on the small window, watching the village that had been his home slowly fade into the distance. 

“Hisirdoux,” Merlin spoke softly “I know you must be dealing with quite a lot right now, but you need to understand that there is nothing inherently wrong with your abilities. They are a tool like a sword or a hammer that can be used for good or for ill. They are not evil or corrupt they simply are,” 

The boy refused to look directly at him, eyes bright and lip trembling.

“How your village reacted to your abilities isn’t a reflection of your faults, but of theirs,”

Hisirdoux didn’t react aside from a sniffle, small shoulders starting to shake.

Years from now Hisirdoux would look back on this day as nothing more than a faded scar, a memory of a wound long since healed. But the future was far away, and today the wound was still fresh and raw. Merlin had said and done all he could for now; some wounds could only be healed with time. 

Settling back in his seat, Merlin turned to glance out his own window, prepared to spend the rest of the trip in silence.

Without warning something abruptly pressed into his side.

Startled, Merlin glanced sharply down, only to see Hisirdoux clinging to his torso, openly sobbing against him.

The sight was so baffling that Merlin didn’t know how to react. 

What on earth did this boy think he was doing? Merlin was a Master Wizard, not some nursemaid Hisirdoux could cling to whenever he wished. Merlin’s duty as his master was to instruct him in the ways of magic and that was it, he’d hire a nanny for everything else. If Hisirdoux was going to be his apprentice the boy needed to bloody well learn the difference between the two straight away.

He raised a hand to push Hisirdoux away, but paused just before it could touch him. Keeping it poised in the air for a few seconds, Hisirdoux’s weak sobs echoing in the small carriage, before dropping it with a sigh. Lowing his hand to softly pat Hisirdoux’s back instead.

Perhaps some indulgence was in order, the boy had just been cast out of his home and family. Granted it didn’t look like either of those had been worth very much, but still they were all that he had ever known.

This couldn’t be a regular occurrence, as soon as they got to Camelot Merlin would arrange for a proper nanny to handle caring for Hisirdoux. As master and apprentice, Merlin was responsible for Hisirdoux’s education and nothing else. But just for today, he would make an exception.

As their journey went on, the carriage rocking along as it carried them down the rugged road, Hisirdoux’s sobs gradually softened into sniffles, Merlin rubbing his back all the while, eventually he quieted altogether, though still remaining curled up against Merlin’s side.

“Hisirdoux?” Merlin said quietly.

No response.

He glanced down, glimpsing shut eyes and a slack face, a soft snore escaping him.

For a moment Merlin just stared incredulously. 

The child had fallen asleep on him, of all the impertinent-- good lord what if he started drooling on him?

Merlin briefly considered trying to move him, before settling back in resignation. If he tried to move the boy chances are he would wake up, and after being locked away for days with hardly any food or water and his wrists wrapped in iron...Hisirdoux needed a good rest.

And while Merlin wasn’t smitten with the idea of being drooled on, at least while he was sleeping Hisirdoux would be quiet and out of the way.

Tilting forward as much as he could without disturbing the sleeping child, Merlin peeked out his window, and again out the opposite one. Seeing no knights riding near enough to see inside, he swiftly snapped his fingers. A blanket on the opposite seat becoming sheathed in green light, leaping over and tucking itself securely around Hisirdoux’s sleeping form, the light around it vanishing just as quickly as it appeared

Satisfied that the deed had gone unwitnessed, Merlin leaned back and gave Hisirdoux one more soft pat on the back as the carriage continued on down the road.

[pollylynn]

Just About, Chapters 1–5 (Loosely linked Caskett Rabbles, Set in Season 1)

A/N: I started this “series” (if one can call it that) a while ago—very short things set in Season 1. It had been sitting at four chapters for a while. I wrote the fifth tonight. I’m just going to post them all here, with separators, because they’re so short. 

Title: Just About, Chapter 1: Everything and Nothing WC: 300

 A/N: I don’t know. I need a palate cleanser after finishing Season 8, and I was “inspired” by an Elvis Costello song. So 300 words here, and plans for a few more of these, most likely all set in season 1.

She smells like heaven. Well. Not really. She doesn't even wear perfume. She smells like drugstore shampoo and coffee. But it's heaven to him. Legitimately the stuff of dreams. Or it would be, if he slept. But he can't sleep, because she smells like heaven.  

Because her cheek blushed when he kissed it, and the warmth still lingers on his lips. The silk-smooth feel of her skin stays with him, and he absolutely cannot sleep.    

It's ridiculous, really. He asked, near enough.

Why? So I can be another one of your conquests?

Or I could be one of yours.

He put it out there, and she turned him down. Shot him down, if he's honest with himself, and that's that as far as the possibility of any after-hours "research" between the two of them goes. That's that.

But she smells like heaven, and he can't decide if she's adorable or dead sexy or both at once. He can't decide if it's her legs he's into or her eyes or the fact that she's a complete bad ass. Or maybe it's how smart she is. Book and street and everything in between, and then there’s the mouth on her. She’s funny. Cutting, but not quite mean. Not quite, and she’s not the least bit impressed by him.

Not the least bit, and can’t be that, can it?

It might be that, because he hasn’t worked like this for anything in ages. For anyone. He hasn’t had to. Hasn’t wanted to, and what the hell is it about her?  

Maybe it's everything. She catches him, flat-footed and tongue-tied all the time, and maybe it’s every damned thing about her.  

Maybe whatever it is, he needs to get over it.

He asked. She shot him down. And that's that.

********************************************

Title: Just About, Chapter 2—Seemingly WC: 400

A/N: More palate cleansing.

He was supposed to be bored by now. Long before now. She'd have bet on it. She has bet on it, in a manner of speaking. She's been confident. She's brushed off innuendo and anted up to Lanie and Espo and Montgomery. Anted up to everyone brave or dumb enough to give her so much as a sidelong glance about it. About him and their "arrangement."

A week, tops . . .

A couple . . .

A few . . .

But they've barreled past a couple, and if she's honest, a few is already disappearing in the rear-view mirror, and he doesn't seem bored.

He seems a lot of things: Callous, immature, smug, vain, obtuse, reckless, and oh-so-very annoying. He seems hell bent on really playing out whatever this is. Ego, maybe?

But that doesn't fit. Not exactly.

She thinks back to the street. To what she'd meant to be her parting shot and the moment right before.

Or I could be one of yours . . .

She thinks of what he seemed then. Boyish, delighted, smitten. Shy, or something very near to it.

She thinks of all the other things he's seemed since. The not-so-terrible things she isn't always big enough to admit: Curious, astute, invested, feeling.

It's the last one that gets her. It interests her, or it would if she'd let it.

Because for all his antics, she's seen him somber, too. Gut-punched when he does the math on how many I'm so sorry for your loss calls she must've made over the years. Coldly furious at a foul-mouthed prep school punk, who's used to getting away with everything, and that doesn't seem new at all. It doesn't seem recent, and she wonders about it.

She'd wonder if she'd let herself, but she won't. She bites her tongue to keep from asking and tries remember what she knows about Richard Castle, best-selling novelist. What's known about him out in the wide world, because that's where he exists. On billboards and book jackets and slick studio sets. At rooftop book parties and on the mayor's speed dial.

That's where he exists, and she'd do well to remember that, whatever he seems, now and again. Whatever it is he's determined to play out.

It's ego, she decides, and it doesn't pay to wonder. He'll be bored soon enough.

A month, tops . . .

A couple . . .

A few . . .

(But he doesn't seem bored.)

*********************************************

Title:  Just About, Chapter 3—Just a Little WC: 500 A/N: A continuation of this Drabble series, because, for the moment, they keep coming. 

Sometimes he thinks she likes him just a little.

Most of the time he's absolutely sure she doesn’t. She yells a lot, and she’s prone to violence. Not the fun kind, either. She pokes. Hard. And she has this thing about twisting his ear like he's some Dickensian street urchin. At any given moment, he’s pretty sure she doesn’t like him one bit.

But every once in a while, he catches her staring straight ahead with the corners of her mouth turned down hard. Every once in a while, he spies a wicked glint in her eye, and he's pretty sure she trying not to smile. He racks his brain every time. He drives himself up the wall, trying to remember what he just said or did. What he didn’t do that she thought he’d been thinking about doing . . .  

It’s stupid. Insane, really, because what does it matter whether she likes him or not? He’s in. One strategic phone call and absolutely everything he’d wanted has fallen into place. Absolutely everything.

He’s writing like a fiend. He’s up nights willing his fingers to keep up with his brain. He’s scrawling down details every waking moment on every scrap of paper that comes to hand. His mind hums along, four levels deep, while they work. While they bicker and joke and turn each other inside out to get the job done. His and hers.

It’s everything he’d wanted all those miserable months with his marriage unraveling and the words gone. Every last thing, so what does it matter? Smile or no smile. Whether she likes him a little or a lot or not a bit. What does it matter?

There’s the obvious answer. The obvious conclusion that everyone's jumped to. His mother. The whole damned precinct. Alexis. That bothers him more than he'd like.  

You always say you have to love your characters . . .

The glint of cynicism bothers him. The flash of fresh scars from all the upheaval with Gina. The divorce. Before and after. Everything up until these last few weeks, and it bothers him that even his kid thinks it's obvious that Kate Beckett is the shiny new thing. That "research" is code for business as usual.

It bothers him, because it's ridiculous. And because it's kind of a fair cop. It has been, historically, but he’s done with that. Mixing business with pleasure. A lousy metaphor for him and Gina, anyway, which is why he's done with anything that even looks like a relationship.

You always say you have to love your characters . . .

It's ridiculous. He doesn’t have to. And he definitely doesn’t . . .

And so what if he did? So what if he mentally goes to tape and draws up freaking battle plans to see if he can leave her fighting off a smile?

So what if he loves Nikki Heat? Kate Beckett is  definitely not Nikki Heat, and she doesn't even like him.

Except every once in a while, it seems like she does. Just a little.

A/N: 500 words this time. The first and second were 300 and 400, respectively. I'm not going to lock into that pattern, I don't think, but each came out close, and so I decided to challenge myself to shape them into an even hundred.

******************************************

Title: Just About, Chapter 4—Kind of WC: 600

A/N: Another 600 Words

He’s kind of a dork.

She’s trying to process that. Still trying to process it. She’s been sitting with it a while, and a lot has happened. Nothing at all and a lot.

She’d told him. About her mom. About her dad. About her, more or less. Maybe a little less, but more than most people know. Quite a bit more than anyone but Lanie, maybe. More altogether than Ryan or Espo or even the Captain, though they know her in bits and pieces. They know her from guarded revelations over the occasional beer. From gossip that never quite gets stale. Never quite.

But she’d told him. Castle, who is a thorn in her side. Who is the nosiest, interfering-est, most emotionally tone deaf person she’s ever met when he’s caught up in one of his parlor trick cold readings. Castle, who loves to run roughshod over everyone and everything, especially her.

Castle, who’s kind of a dork.

She’d told him.

She can’t figure it out. He’d been happy enough with his own story.

I noticed your watch. It’s your dad’s, right?

He’d been more than happy enough, and she’d like to think it was about knocking him down a peg. She’d like to think telling him was about wiping some self-satisfied look off his face, but there wasn’t any. Not by then. Not after White Plains and an eerily calm conversation about fathers and daughters and getting away with murder, and even that’s not it. Sudden, absolute confidence that he could’ve kept the secret. That he would have if she’d asked him to.

And even that’s not why she’d told him. Not entirely.

Because she’d started telling him well before that. She’d started the minute she let her feet carry her to his doorstep for some unfathomable reason. She’d started telling him before he even opened the door. She’d started telling him as she lingered in his hallway, stalling long enough that she was suffocating in her winter coat. Feeling wordlessly stupid for being there and finally screwing up the courage to knock.

She’d started telling him the minute the door opened on that bizarre scene. Violent green mud masks and his hair standing straight up. She’d gone there for words—for an ending to Melanie Cavanaugh’s story—and wound up in the moment that hasn’t quite ended yet, even though she’s been home a while. She’d wound up pouring her heart out and leaving him there at her desk like the fixture he’s become.

It isn’t because of who he is, though she sees now that’s what had brought her there. She sees now that she’d gone to see her favorite author. The man whose words have given her the only kind of closure she’s known for a decade, but that’s not who she’d found when the door swung open.

That’s not who’d perched tentatively on the desk next to her, self-consciously trying to smooth down his hair. Really, really wanting to switch off the storyboard with its skeletal outline. Really, really wanting to explain that he’s not usually home of an evening playing laser tag with his kid. Really, really wanting to point out that his mother lives with him, he doesn’t live with her. Really, really wanting to slip back into the skin of who he pretends to be a lot of the time, but not letting himself.

She’d knocked on the door of her favorite author and found him instead. She’d told him her life story. The bits it’s been boiled down to. She’d told him. Because he’s kind of a dork.

A/N: This one is set just after A Chill Goes Through Her Veins (1 x 05). The others are more loosely woven throughout S1, but this episode has always felt like an important turning point to me. 

*********************************************************

Title: Just About, Chapter 5—Turns Out WC: 700

A/N: Finally, the new stuff. 

It's good to have her here again. 

Again

He's a little too giddy about that particular pair of syllables. Giddy enough that he's definitely compensating—scrambling on the inside, overdoing it on the outside. He’s pitched his voice somewhere in the vicinity of just-north-of-Barry-White pitch, and he’s flicking a heavy-lidded gaze across the desk at her as he lets the words roll around in his mouth. 

Bare 

Glistening

Breasts

Oh, he’s definitely compensating. Then and now–on the page and in real time—but he doesn’t really see many alternatives. 

She's here. Again. And that's good, even if she doesn't look one bit like she agrees. Even if the look she's shooting back at him makes his bedroom voice crack—even if he did sort of trick her into it this time—it’s still definitely good, because there's a this time, and that implies that there was a last time, and there was no trickery there. 

And there's the giddy again, when he thinks about her backlit in the hallway, head cocked and brow furrowed at the strange picture they must have made: He and Alexis and his mother, in for the night and up to their typical shenanigans, and then, suddenly, her at the door. And as stunned as he was to see her—as back-of-the-mind perplexed as he was, because how does she even know where he lives?—he still remembers thinking, Finally. 

Finally. That was unquestionably the word looming largest in his mind when Kate Beckett showed up on his doorstep. 

It’s troubling. It’s as troubling as the giddy feeling that comes with Again, because it's not as though he'd been waiting for her. He hadn’t been, hasn’t been, isn’t waiting for anyone. He’s so very not waiting for anyone that he’d wrecked the bedroom with his ex-wife just that morning. 

And that helpful point of information his brain offers up, just as she is on the absolute verge of leaving, is the opposite of helpful. That point of information is something that he discovers in the moment he actually hates the hell out of, and he doesn’t have time to sift through the why. He’s taken the Bare. Glistening. Breasts. gag to the absolute edge of too far and she’s leaving. 

And he doesn’t want her to leave. 

And he doesn’t want Meredith to come back. 

And those two facts are unquestionably intertwined in ways that he suspects are quite complicated. 

Because it’s not merely that he does not want Meredith back in New York—although he certainly  does not want Meredith back in New York. It’s not that his crush on, attraction to, infatuation with Kate Beckett was any kind of proof against taking the path of least resistance when Meredith dropped her bags, her fur, and her dress in short order. 

But having Kate Beckett here in his home—again—makes it blindingly clear that she is the kind of woman he wants in his home. And Meredith is most definitely not. He wants her intelligence and her empathy and her work ethic. He wants her curious mind and the challenge she presents to him in every possible way. He wants a good woman in his own life, and as if these sudden revelations weren’t complicated enough, in his daughter’s life, too. 

It’s another shocking turn of events—and another thing it turns out he was somehow expecting. She brings up Alexis—Kate does—and he’s simultaneously furious and abashed, because Alexis doesn’t, by and large, miss her mother. And no one thinks it would be a good idea to have her back in town. Absolutely no one thinks that, and he’s ashamed.  

So he hits out. He goes on the defensive. And she hits out in kind. She goes for the jugular. They yell back and forth about deep-fried Twinkie sex, about how shallow he is. She looks gratified that he’s living down to her expectations at last, and he aims to please. 

He wishes he could stop himself. He wishes he could stop the conversation cold and just tell her how glad he is. He’s simply glad that she is here. Again. A/N: Here, too, for some reason the episode itself—Always Buy Retail (1 x 06)—got chatty

[yourgiantpinkspacewife]

Three...Fortnights. For THREE FORTNIGHTS I had listened to the insipid drivel. "Ancient Staves!" "Pristine ORBS!!" "GRIMOIRE!!!" "IMMACCULATE WANDS!!!!" "A LIZARD YOU FOUND ON A STICK!!!!!".

This focus, That Focus. I had a treatise on, hands shuffling around my desk...and my roommates desk...and the desks of a few past...and somehow future dormers, thank the heavens I had a slacker chronomancer for a room-mate...ah...there was the damn thing. Necromancy and its use in Modern Magic, and I could swear I had LOST progress with their bickering.

I heard a half-hearted tussle, mostly because the majority of my dorm had opted to think being a mage was just like Rpg's made them out to be, Great Grand Cosmic Power...and the constitution of a wet napkin in a hurricane. Me? I remembered that you were a person before I was some, as the rest of the more modernly minded students might put, "bibbidy-bobbidy-boo bitch". It took me a moment to stand...damn long days writing...before I shuffled a few papers and collected a couple...demonstration tools, making my way out to the common area.

"I'm telling you! No material works better across the board than Black Quartz, and no focus better than a wand!"Mergtholomew sneered, before ducking a half-assed blow from...god these assholes blended together when you hated their faces...Bob? No, not Bob...you have a buddy named Bob...Slagatron.

"You hear one story about a sphynx and some vows, and suddenly it's wands this!! Quartz That!! Nothing beats a tome bound in blessed leather, written in dragon blood on pages made from willingly sacrificed Oak!!"Slagatron sneered back, before the rabble started rousing again and I cleared my throat. It took a few moments and a much louder, and more annoyed cough before they managed to pry off of each other.

"Oh, it's the transfer student. What, did the 'talking skull' not do the job? Need to come talk to real makes about real magic?"Another nearly indistinguishable magical prick laughed, my hands rustling around in my satchel, before lacing politely behind my back.

"That's funny, Hedge-sworth. Real Funny. Not too good with the 'real big awesome shit' with 'real focuses'...but I'm real good at one kind of Magic, and even better with my focuses."I 'laughed' back, knowing the 'slur' was enough to get most of these prickly fucks puffing up. You could smell the BattleAxe(tm) wafting off of him, and the cocksure pride in his eyes.

"And what's that? Pretty noises or nice smells? None of the spells you ever throw around are that special. Softening charms? Cleanliness cantrips? We can throw around stars, and you play in the dirt?" The asshole jeered, before I held up a hand. I could feel the condescension oozing off of him as I leaned in closer, my voice a whisper.

"Misdirection and subterfuge, some might call it stage, parlor tricks...y'know what I call it?"I murmured almost imperceptibly, a cruel smile playing across my face as...whatever he wanted to call himself leaned in and mockingly asked me to speak up...just as the hand I'd had behind my back hit him in the teeth with the silver knuckle-duster, his body crumbling soundlessly, thanks to the muting spell I'd cast with it...on?, it was hard to tell...to the ground. "I call it remembering it's hard to cast spells with no fucking teeth or...". It was a bit much, but I only had as long as I could keep my roomie happily stoned...and I could only stretch 'I will help milk your giga-tarantula' for so long with the Druid track...and every moment wasted was one I couldn't get back without...'cheating'.

I heard a rattling tone from my room, my eyes rolling and my hands coming up to rub the back of my head. Of course he would 'call' now...of course. You shot the still trembling group of 'mages' to their devices, the door slowly swinging shut.

"Mr Knight, How is our Lady doing?"

A bunch of the wizards’ college students are arguing about which magical focus is superior. Staffs, wands, orbs, books, nobody agrees on anything. Then the newest student offers a rather unusual alternative.

[am-weblog]

Parlor Tricks for the Rabble - Aaron Jasinski (2011)

[kristsune]

*is greedy, Kris edition* Flowers&Tattoos OTPs, odd numbers please \O/ That way, I'll have the whole set. :)

1. Who is the early bird/ Who is the night owl? Mischief is an early bird, mostly. Not crazy early, but he doesn’t sleep past 8 unless he can’t untangle from the other 3. He’s got gardening to do dammit. Ruckus works at weird times, and tends to be up really late. Rabble cat naps, so tends to also be up at strange times. Anomaly will murder you if you wake him up too early, he does not go to bed early

3. Who hogs the cover/ Who loves to cuddle? oh god, all eight are cuddlers. Rabble, Loudmouth and Killer are the worst offenders, literally no one minds. If you are not careful Stick or Anomaly will steal those covers from right under your nose.

5. Who usually has nightmares? Anomaly, Killer, sometimes Loudmouth and Mischief.

7. Who sweats the small stuff? Not really anyone? its a pretty laid back group, Killer will occasionally.

9. Who makes the coffee (or tea)? Mischief, he makes good coffee. Don’t let Rabble have too much. Bad Idea. Stick for the tattoo parlor. It’s not as good as Mischief’s, but it is decent.

11. Who likes horror movies/ Who likes romance movies? Rabble is not good with jumpscares, shrieking is involved. Poke and Mischief and Killer like romances, as long as they are at least kind of realistic. Anomaly, Stick and Ruckus will watch horror movies together, and depending on the movie either treat it like MST3K or not leave the couch and sleep together that night.

13. Who is considered the scaredy cat? pffft have you met these guys? No scaredy cats here. Though, its amazing what people will think about Rabble and Killer before they know them. Don’t underestimate either of them.

15. Who is scared of the dark? Rabble doesn’t like to be alone in the dark, neither does Anomaly especially after a nightmare.

17. Who works/ Who stays at home? Trick question, home is above the shop for both of them. XD

19. Who loves to call the other one cute names? They tend to all use affectionate names for each other, whether its the alternate on their name like Rab’ika, or Lud’ika, or cyare, riddur, cyar’ika, Stick is the worst offender, though, and will use babe, love, and all of the above, plus anything else he can think of. 

21. Who has an obsession (over anything)? Loudmouth is obsessed with flowers, and will get them tattooed all over his skin. Rabble loves his knives. Killer will murder you if you take his organization away from him

23. Who asks who out on the first date? r2m have been together since they found each other in the orphanage, and they adopted Loudmouth in very young. Stick and Poke have been inseparable since they were 3. And Anomaly accidentally makes the first move, but he only got there just before Stick and Poke could make a move.

25. Who wears the other ones clothes? Rabble steals everyone’s hoodies.He doesn’t even have any that actually fit him properly because he just takes them from everyone else. Stick, Poke, Anomaly and Killer are all similarly sized and will wear each others clothes easily. Stick and Poke haven’t had a separate wardrobe in years.

27. Who takes a long shower/ Who sings in the shower? Mischief sings, literally only the other 3 have ever heard it. It’s generally something slow, not necessarily somber, but he doesn’t do pop songs or anything like that. Literally the entire other house takes forever have you seen all their hair??? Rabble and Loudmouth will take forever if they don’t have anywhere to be.

29. Who is the better cook? Mischief and Stick are generally the best. Stick makes the best breakfast you will ever have.

31. Who is more affectionate? All of them are so affectionate.

33. Who would wear “not guilty” t-shirt/ Who would wear “sin” t-shirt? Killer would wear the “not guilty” and Anomaly would wear the “sin” Everyone expects Stick to wear the sin shirt, but Poke does and will give you a feral smile if you ask about it.

35. Who goes overboard on the holidays? Ruckus and Anomaly if it’s Halloween, otherwise its Rabble and Loudmouth, they go all out on every holiday.

37. Height difference or age difference? Rabble is small compared to the other eight. Mischief is big. The rest are pretty evenly matched, Loudmouth might be a bit taller than the others. Stick and Poke are older than Anomaly and Killer, but not by an obscene amount.

39. Who buys cereal for the prize inside? Rabble. Depending on the prize. Anomaly as well.

41. Who cries during sad movies? Killer, Mischief and Stick. Anomaly, Rabble and Loudmouth get teary for sure.

43. Who wins the stuffed animals at the carnival for the other one? Anomaly, Ruckus and Loudmouth

45. Who is more likely to get drunk? Anomaly and Stick. 

47. Who has the more complex coffee order? Anomaly. Depending on how Stick is feeling, his can get a little complex.

49. Who is the driver/ Who is the passenger? Poke and Stick are both good, but Poke will over Stick, and Rabble and Loudmouth switch it up as well.