#oc: Quinn Firethief

[quinn-firethief]

Moving Out (but not on)

Quinn can’t stand being in his dorm anymore. Professor Felmea offers a way out for him.

TW: Drinking near the very end, and a mild panic attack(?)

“Quinn!”

Quinn snapped awake as a wand struck the surface of his desk. He jolted back into his seat as he looked around with a wild look in his rapidly blinking eyes. Professor Greyrose was flying in front of his desk, a frown on her lips as her wings beat furiously behind her. “Are my lessons boring you, Mr. Firethief?” He rubbed at his eye roughly.

“N— No, no ma’am,” he muttered. “I’m sorry. I had a late night, I was… I was studying.” That was partly the truth. He studied at the local tavern until it was happy hour, which was always an hour behind closing, and then stumbled home. At least, he tried to stumble home, but he couldn’t handle the thought of going back to his dorm. It was so cold, dark, and lonely, even with his pets. He had fed them before he went out, so he knew they weren’t going hungry. That had sealed the deal for him, and he curled up on a bench in the commons and passed right out. He woke up as the sun was rising, had gone to the dorms to shower so he didn’t look like he had just slept outside—which he had—and then went to his classes. But sleeping on a bench had given him a very fitful sleep, and he found it difficult to stay awake during the classes.

Professor Greyrose’s eyes softened for a moment before she sighed. “Take better care of yourself, Quinn. Now, as I was saying, the properties of the snow serpent…” Quinn rubbed his face and blinked a few times. He was glad he wasn’t in an undergrad class because the room would be full of snickers if it was. It had been a startling awakening, but he quite deserved it. Professor Greyrose was a kind spirit, but she absolutely hated it when people slacked off in her class. She didn’t like taking in people who weren’t maining in her school, as she felt like ice couldn’t be mastered if you didn’t have your full attention on it. She still taught those of course, but she could be a bit more strict with those classes. She had limited class time with them, they often only met three times a week, and she didn’t like that. So she allowed for absolutely no distractions so everyone could learn as much as possible. Ice was difficult, Quinn would admit, but it was nothing he couldn’t handle. When he had a good night's rest, anyway. He had made it through Professor Falmea morning classes, and after this, he would have a Myth class, and then he could go home and…

And do what? He hated going to his dorm. Last night hadn’t been the last time he had slept somewhere else. He had fallen asleep in the tavern quite a few times, and the owner, an older woman who always seemed to look at him as if she understood but with no pity which was why he liked going there, always let him stay. She often put a blanket on him so he wouldn’t be cold. It would leave a crick in his neck and his sleep would be fitful, especially if he had drunk a lot prior, but it was better than going to his dorm. The bed was too comfortable. There were too many memories, god, too many. They were all good memories, but they had been tainted so much by the events of the past few months that he couldn’t handle it. It choked him sometimes, and the only way he could breathe would be to drink or to leave. He had stopped drinking on school grounds after he finished the bottle he had kept in the floorboards and made a fool of himself in front of Professor Cyrus and Professor Wu, so he usually had to leave just to get some sort of reprise from it all. That meant that more often than not, he wasn’t sleeping in his bed, which meant he wasn’t sleeping that well.

The rest of the lesson was a blur. He did his best to pay attention, but he knew he was going to have to study this section by himself at home, or… Just… Somewhere. Probably the tavern, maybe a bench. He could take Amber to some more training and study as she ran a few courses. She needed the training, it had been awhile. Even if neither of them was going to be questing for a while, they needed to keep in shape. He was doing that just fine with Professor Cyrus, though. They kept meeting every Saturday, though it was much earlier now. They started at six, and often stopped at nine, sometimes ten. No matter what time they stopped, though, Quinn was always exhausted. It was one of the few times he actually slept in his dorm because he was too exhausted to go anywhere else. Quinn really wasn’t seeing any improvement in himself just yet, but considering Professor Cyrus hadn’t dropped him just yet, he assumed he was making some progress. That was hard to believe sometimes.

The day was a blur. He went to Myth school and was able to keep himself from falling asleep. Professor Cyrus’s droning voice was just so… boring though. It was quite difficult to keep from nodding off. He rested his eyes every now and then, but never more than a few seconds. The Professor wasn’t afraid to shell out extra homework to those who weren’t paying attention in his class. That was the last thing he needed. Then again, if it kept him at the tavern longer, or even got him to go to the library…

“Mr. Firethief, while I’m sure you enjoy my lessons, class ended several minutes ago.”

Quinn jumped and looked up. Professor Cyrus had his back to him as he was writing on the chalkboard, preparing for the next class. Quinn looked around as he sat up taller, uncrossing his arms. All of the other desks were empty, and the door was open. Fresh spring air blew in and woke him up a bit more. The place didn’t seem so stuffy, now.

“Uh, right. Right. S— Sorry, Professor.”

“If you love the subject so much, I could give you a packet of work.”

“I’ll, uh… Let's do a raincheck on that.”

Quinn knew more than he saw Professor Cyrus roll his eyes. As Quinn stood and quickly began packing away his books, the door creaked open a bit more as someone stepped inside. Professor Cyrus glanced over his shoulder and then paused. “Mrs. Falmea, what a surprise.” Quinn looked up, startled, to find that the Fire Professor was indeed standing in the doorway to the Myth classroom. The curled ends of her long red dress danced in the wind. Her red hair bounced with every step she took, and her chocolate brown eyes smiled more than her lips did.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Drake. I was looking for a student.” She glanced at Quinn. “I wasn’t sure of what to make of the rumors saying you were minoring in Myth, but I’m glad I entertained them long enough to check.” Quinn blinked at her.

“Is— Is something the matter?” He asked, picking up his bag. He slung it over his shoulder and Professor Cyrus scoffed.

“Use the strap like a civilized person, Mr. Firethief.” Quinn resisted the urge to roll his eyes as Professor Falmea chuckled.

“I want to talk to you if you have the time?” Quinn broke out into a sweat, a hard feat for a fire wizard like him.

“Um, well… Professor— Professor Cyrus was about to tell me about this packet he was going to give me.”

“It can wait.”

Quinn glared at the back of his head. Seriously? Any other time he was more than happy to talk his head off and give him more work to do. That was all he did during their dueling practices, though the work was more physical during those. Professor Falmea’s lips, painted red from her lipstick, drew up in a smile. “Perfect! Sorry to interrupt, Mr. Drake, but this really can’t wait.” Professor Cyrus only flicked his wrist dismissively before he continued writing things on the chalkboard, glancing down at his notes that he had gripped in his other hand.

“Go on then.” Quinn glared at him for a moment longer before he huffed and resisted the urge to stomp as he walked away from his desk, over to the door where his Professor waited. She held the door open for him as he went past, then shut it behind them, closing the Myth classroom off from the world.

“Am I in trouble?” The words slipped out before Quinn even thought of them. He felt like he was ten years old again, and he had been caught slacking by his tutor. Professor Falmea wasn’t anything like his tutor, though. He had always been such a serious man, with quite the grim face. Quinn couldn’t imagine he had ever smiled once in his life. But Professor Falmea was warm, and while she had a sharp edge, she had a gentle side she only showed to her students. She was quite the mother, though she never had any intentions of having children of her own. She always said her students were enough as her children. Quinn tried to remember that as Falmea smiled down at him. They were walking along the path in Ravenwood. He wasn’t sure where they were going, he was just following her.

“Professor Greyrose came to me two hours ago to inform me that you were falling asleep in her classes.” Quinn winced. “She also told me that today hadn’t been the first time; she had let the other times go because she felt sorry for you.”

“I…” Quinn’s cheeks flushed. He felt so ashamed. He was able to keep everything together during Professor Falmea’s classes. He respected her so much—and he respected the other teachers too!—that he never wanted to disappoint her. Even with something as simple as falling asleep in her classes.

“She’s afraid you’re losing interest in her element.” Quinn shook his head so quickly he was afraid he was going to get a headache.

“No, no! That’s, that’s not it at all!” Professor Falmea raised a perfectly styled red eyebrow.

“Then what is it?” Her tone was soft and gentle. She was worried, and that made Quinn feel worse. She had better things to do than worry about him and the wreck that he was making of his life.

“I’m…” What could he say? That he was so pathetic that he couldn’t even stand to sleep in his dorm, because of the memories he had made in there with two people that were long gone? “I’m tired.”

“Are you having difficulty sleeping?” Quinn shuffled his feet. He stopped and Falmea blinked before she paused, turning towards him to keep him in her view. He stared up at her and debated on telling her. If anyone would listen, if anyone would never judge him, it’d be her. She knew him, knew him better than all of the other Professors in Ravenwood. He doubted even Professor Cyrus would understand him as well as Falmea did. He wanted to tell her. He wanted to tell her so bad.

“The dorm, it's…”

But he couldn’t.

“It’s really loud.” Falmea blinked and Quinn gripped his bag tighter. He still had it slung over his shoulder, mainly just to spite Professor Cyrus for his comment earlier. What he had said wasn’t wrong, per se. It was loud. The memories that rang in that room and bounced off the four walls could get so loud. “The— The dorms as a whole. The other students, they’re up and talking to friends, or studying. Upperclassmen are constantly coming and going at all hours of the night. The walls are really thin, and…” He looked down at his feet and kicked at a rock. It bounced away from them, into the grass. They had stopped outside the Storm school. “It’s just really loud. It’s hard to sleep. I haven’t made a noise complaint because I don’t wanna be that guy, you know? Everyone’s just having fun or trying to get better. I don’t… I don’t wanna be a jerk.” He didn’t see because his eyes were still on his feet, but Professor Falmea pursed her lips in thought as she stared down at him. She towered over him, but she towered over most.

“Well… Why don’t you move?” Quinn blinked and looked up at her.

“Huh?”

“You’re twenty-two. You don’t have to live in the dorms anymore. In fact, you could have bought a home after you turned eighteen!”

Quinn… Hadn’t thought of that. Honestly. He had never bought a house before because he just didn’t see the point. He wanted to experience the campus life, and have his classes at his doorstep in case he was ever running late. But he was much better with teleportation than he used to be when he first started here, and he was quite done with campus life. He wasn’t sure how much longer he’d be able to stand sleeping on benches and in taverns. Spring wasn’t going to be around forever, and he hated being cold. Having a place to himself could be nice, too. But there was one problem.

“I don’t have the money.” Professor Falmea raised her eyebrows.

“Really! With how much you quested, well, I assumed…” Quinn felt something in him shrivel up and die. Yeah, she was right. Questing used to bring him a lot of money. But he was draining his bank account with his habit of Fireball. It never came cheap. But he couldn’t tell her that. He— He couldn’t. He could only imagine the disappointment that would well in her eyes, and, and he didn’t even want to imagine that. He stared up at her before he swallowed and looked away. He didn’t have a lie to wiggle himself out of that. So he opted for silence, and he hoped she wouldn’t push.

She didn’t, but what she said next made him wish she had.

“Well, you could always ask your parents. I know you’re a very proud man and you don’t like asking for help, but you can always pay them back.” He looked up at her with wide eyes. He knew she was right. But he hadn’t spoken to his family in nearly three months. Not since… He died. He couldn’t. He had gotten a few letters, but he had stuffed them into his desk and never opened that drawer again. They stopped coming after a month. They had given up on him too, and he couldn’t blame him. He couldn’t just ask them for money. Especially for so much. Most houses ran at nearly one hundred thousand coins…

“I can’t... I can’t do that.” He muttered. “That’s too much, it’s…” He shook his head. “I can’t, Professor. I’m sorry. It’s a good idea, but I just…” He sighed. “I can’t afford it.” Professor Falmea hummed.

“Well, then, I will lend you the money.”

Professor Falmea was really going to give Quinn a heart attack. He stared up at her with wide eyes. “W… What?” He whispered, then shook his head. “No. N— No, I can’t. You’re— I’ll never be able to pay you back!”

“You will go on many quests, my dear. If you truly feel the need to pay me back, then you can certainly do it in time. But I don’t want you to fail. I know you’re capable of it.” He stared at her. He felt like he was going to cry. Her face softened and he rubbed at his eyes angrily before he turned his head away.

“I-I…”

“Here. You may try to pay it back. But even if you don’t, that’s fine. I will give you the money to buy the house, but I will leave you to furnish it.”

He stared at the cobblestone walkway under their feet. He wanted to melt into the floor and never return. He was so tired, and so, so ashamed. A year ago, he’d be able to buy his own place and furnish it all on the same trip. He was pathetic. He was a shell of the once great prince, and he had never wanted the ground to swallow him up as badly as he did now. A warm hand clasped his shoulder and jolted him from his thoughts. He didn’t have to look up to know it was his Professor.

“Please, Quinn. Allow me to help you.”

He swallowed. He knew if he said no, she’d back off and never speak of this again. But he couldn’t stay in that dorm anymore. The memories, the scents dulled by time, it was just too much. Every time he slept there without being utterly wasted or exhausted, which both were always great feats, his sleep was racked by horrible nightmares and dreams that damned him. He couldn’t keep going like this. His grades were going to suffer, his spellcasting would be much more sloppy, sloppier than Professor Cyrus already said it was. He swallowed and his mouth felt dry.

“Okay.”

*

It didn’t take longer than one day for Quinn to decide on the house.

“This is called the Fire Tower! I know the landscaping is a bit of an eyesore, but the ground got burnt pretty quickly after the tower was set on fire! There are four floors, not including the attic. The attic has a fire core suspended from the ceiling, it keeps the flames around the tower going! The only way to go to it is through a teleporter down in the attic. The basement would be a very good study area, as the outer walls are made of glass and you get a great view of the lava that surrounds the tower. There is plumbing in the side room on the second floor, so you could always turn that into the bathroom. There are two entrances; the door that's in front of us, and then if you head to the lower level, there’s a door that that leads into the third floor, right above the basement—”

“I’ll take it.”

“P- Pardon?”

“I’ll take it.”

Handing the real estate agent the bag of coins didn’t feel nice. His heart was heavy, as none of the coins inside were his own. He wondered if he would be ashamed for the rest of his life.

*

After Quinn had the bathroom installed on the second-floor side room, just as the agent had mentioned, he didn’t have room for any furniture afterward. He enlisted the help of his neighbors, who seemed sad to see him go, to get all of the furniture he had now into the house. That didn’t consist of much. He had his Fire School banner, the Ravenwood banner, his desk and chair, the desk pad, all of his books, some scrolls he had picked up in Krok, a carpet runner, his crafting bench, and a few vials, jars, and burners that he needed for that. As he carried the crafting table with one of the neighbors, he realized how long it had been since he had crafted something.

It made him sad.

They took a trip to what the school called their ‘attic.’ It was essentially a storage space for all of the students in the dorms. They each got their own limited area so they could store things that they couldn’t fit in their dorms. Quinn hadn’t been up there in a while, but he knew he had some things in there. He had been right, of course. A wooden skeleton key, some gardening pots, and a large object hidden by a sheet. He was confused about what that was until he tugged it down, and as dust flew up and made his eyes water and his nose itch, the blanket fluttered to the ground and revealed a huge tablet. It reached the ceiling, and it was old and weathered down from time. There were symbols painted on it, symbols he didn’t understand.

“What’s that?” One of the neighbors, a storm wizard whose name escaped him at the moment, asked as her friend sneezed from the dust. Quinn stared up at the tablet, eyebrows furrowed downwards as he racked his brain.

“I don’t know,” he finally admitted. “Looks like it’s been here a while, but…”

“Well… Do you wanna just sell it off?” She asked. Quinn opened his mouth, then closed it. He furrowed his eyebrows further before he sighed and rubbed his forehead.

“No. Let’s take it.”

The two glanced at each other before they just shrugged and moved forward to help him move it.

*

His now ex-neighbors bid him farewell after the last object had been placed down, a couch in his living room. A few of them commented on how empty it looked, but he waved off their concerns by saying he was going to go shopping tomorrow. But for tonight, he was beat, and he needed to sleep. But after they had left, he didn’t sleep. Instead, he wandered through his new house. On the top floor, he had made it into a living room and a kitchen. The living room had the one carpet runner he had going from the door to the middle of the room. Right across from the door was a couch he had gotten as thanks for defeating some boss. It hadn’t been the weirdest reward he had gotten so far. The kitchen wasn’t much either. It was just a bowl of tomatoes and two pumpkins, one tall and thin and the other quite stout. He had nothing in the room below that, the second floor, but the bathroom was set up in its side room. All there was was a sink, a toilet, and a bathtub, which was in the very center of the small room. The bathtub was wooden and fireproof. It was where most of his money for the bathroom had gone, but he was from Dragonspyre. He knew how important it was for the bathtub to be fireproof.

On the floor below that, with the second door, he had made it into his bedroom. He didn’t have much money after installing the bathroom, and he obviously couldn’t take the dorm bed. But he wanted to move out as soon as possible, so he sold off some old wands of his to afford a cheap, twin bed that he pushed into the corner. He hung up the wands he didn’t sell along the wall across from the door, and put his Fire School plague—it looked a lot like a shield, the edges were lined in iron and made of wood with a red flame painted in the middle—the very center of the wall. And below that was the basement, which he had made into the study. His desk was near the center of the room, so he was surrounded by the glass walls holding the lava back. It was a bit unnerving, but he was already beginning to get used to it. The study was already a mess, but he quite liked the charm of it. There were scrolls from Krok, piles of books from his three classes, and his crafting table was beside his desk, facing left so he could move back and forth rather easily with his chair. He had his quills and bottles of ink. He had also put that tablet down here too, because while the rooms were very open and wide—which had been a big reason for his purchase—the basement had the tallest ceiling. He put it in front of his study, so he could look at it easily. He didn’t know what it was, but he had a feeling it was from Krokotopia. He had some jars of… Things. He couldn’t quite remember what they were, honestly. He really needed to get back into crafting, he used to love it so much…

The silence in the rooms was deafening. It was the first time he had ever had a quiet house. He grew up in a household with one younger brother and younger triplet sisters, and even after that, he had moved into the dorms where there was always someone in the hallways, always friends visiting and laughing. Most of the time, he was one of those visiting or being visited. But here in this tower, where he was separated by the school by his very own World Door, it was so quiet. It was so… isolated. He had his pets, sure, but they didn’t talk back to him. He felt a bit uncomfortable talking to them now. He was afraid he’d start to feel like he was crazy, and that feeling would become a reality. He was beginning to wonder if this was a mistake, and he decided it was time for bed. He had another day of Fire, Ice, and Myth classes, and he knew it was going to be exhausting. He knew Professor Falmea would want to hear all about his new place too, and even if he didn’t like it, he’d have to put on a front for her. That was going to take a lot of energy.

As he walked to his new bed, he passed by a calendar he had hung up on the wall. He paused and then backed up and turned, picking up a quill from a crate he was using as a temporary nightstand. One of the neighbors had given to him after carrying all of the smaller things inside of it. He dipped it into the bottle of ink and marked off another day. He had gotten into a habit of doing that lately. If he didn’t, the days would become a blur and he’d lose track of time. He hated that feeling. As he crossed out the square, his eyes fell on the date. His breath caught in his throat and he dropped the quill. Drops of ink stained the wooden floors under his feet but he barely noticed. He stumbled away from the calendar as if it had burned him. He suddenly wished he hadn’t looked at the date. He wished he had just gone to bed, and dealt with this tomorrow. Or maybe just never. But he had looked at the date, and now he was about to scream.

It was the fifth.

He died on the fifth. Four months ago. Tonight was the horrible anniversary of the night that had ruined his entire life.

Quinn retched, feeling physically sick at the thought. His eyes were watering as he turned and sprinted out the door in his bedroom, and he stumbled outside. He fought the urge to vomit as he moved right to the World Door, with one destination in mind. He was not going to be able to sleep now. Not while he was sober. He needed some alcohol, Fireball or not, and he needed it yesterday.

*

He had three hundred coins left in his bank account. When he woke up the next morning, he had zero. The next morning, he had a pounding headache and puffy eyes from all of the crying he had done. The next morning, he wished he hadn’t woken up.

[quinn-firethief]

Fireball Duel

Professor Cyrus finds Quinn outside sitting at a bench near his classroom in the middle of the night on a Saturday, drinking alcohol on school grounds. It's no surprise that he's less than impressed. It is a surprise that he has some pity for him, though. TW: Alcoholism, cursing, PTSD, character death (just mentioned, it happened in the past)

The first time they duel, it's a Saturday. It's been three months since Quinn lost his very best friend. It's been three months since he was the one that had to kill him. He's in the same spot that he used to hang out with... with them, after a hard day in classes, after a rough and long quest and they needed a breather before going to their dorms. More often than not they hung out in Quinn's dorm. He can't stand to be there now, so that's why he's there so late at night. He goes to this spot often, sometimes just to chill. Other times, he cries.

That Saturday night, he drinks.

(The fire. Her cackling. Her horrible words, the spell she had cast that turned his oldest friend against him. He and Sarai had no choice. Everyone said that and everyone agreed. They weren't murderers. He wasn't a murderer. It was him or the safety of the Sprial.)

Professor Cyrus isn't pleased when he finds him, and that's clear when his snarky voice speaks up with a simple; "I believe that's against school rules, Firethief."

Quinn pauses, then lets out a scratchy, bitter laugh. His voice is hoarse from crying. "Go ahead and get me expelled then. You've been wanting to do that for ages." And he takes a swig from the bottle without a care in the world. He was too drunk to give a shit.

"I would like the bottle, Firethief." "Fight me for it, you old bastard." "Very well."

Quinn has to stop and wonder if he's dreaming, but when he looks back at Professor Cyrus, it all looks very real as he watches the Professor pull out his wand. "Wh- What the fuck?"

"You've challenged me to a duel, have you not? Whoever wins gets the bottle."

Quinn stares at him before a rage wells in him. He's been feeling it a lot, this rage that bubbles inside of him and blisters his soul. He thinks it's the need to battle, to hurt, or maybe to be hurt. He's not sure. Either way, it scares him every time he feels it. But he's too drunk. He doesn't care. So he stumbles to his feet and carelessly drops the bottle onto the bench.

"Alright," he growls but it's more like a slur. He pulls out his bow and he tastes copper and ash in his mouth as he often does, even though he's so wasted he can't remember why that always happens nowadays. At the moment, anyway. He'll remember when he's sober. He always does. "Hope you're ready to get your ass beat, old man."

(To have a student in her hands, to be able to dangle it before Headmaster Ambrose and the other professors would be too dangerous. He did the right thing. He and Sarai did the right thing. But it doesn't take away the fire. It doesn't take away her cackling. It doesn't take away the sight of one of his own arrows sticking out of his best friend's chest, shot right through the heart.)

Professor Cyrus beats him in two turns. It's no surprise to Quinn, even as he's utterly wasted. Quinn falls onto his back after the circle disappears and doesn't bother getting up. He stews over the fact that he just lost a perfectly good bottle of Fireball Whiskey, even though there hadn't been much left in it when Professor Cyrus stumbled upon him in the first place. Professor Cyrus picks up the bottle that had started all of this and caps it while examining the label before he looks down at Quinn. He asks him something. Quinn can't understand him, he's so far gone in his wasted state that he can't comprehend anything beyond the dull ache in his body from the duel. So he just flips him off instead and decides that's a perfectly fine answer.

Professor Cyrus huffs and then walks away.

Quinn is expecting to be expelled, at least suspended with a stern talking to for drinking on school grounds, but he hears nothing of the alcohol the next day, or the day after that.

He goes to the same spot the next Saturday, with another bottle of Fireball. He gets only a couple sips in before Professor Cyrus is there, staring at him with an emotion Quinn doesn't care-want-to decipher.

(He's sick of the pity. The pity is the reason why he can't go home. The pity is the reason why he can barely sit through his classes with his peers. People lose people all the time. He's no different. He's not special. His best friend is gone but he's not the first to go through such a tragedy, and certainly not the last. He's sick and tired of the pity, of the sad glances, of the knowing stares as if they understand. He wants it all to fade away. It fades away when he drinks.)

They duel for the Fireball.

Professor Cyrus wins.

The question he had asked the first time is repeated after the duel, as Quinn hands him the bottle of Fireball and he's actually sober enough to understand.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

(Yes. He's lonely. He's tired. He feels like a box of gunpowder set to explode.)

Quinn tells him to fuck off.

They meet the same way next Saturday.

(It's a cycle in his sad life. Its some stability. Its a way he can vent under the gist that he's just trying to enjoy his drinking in peace. He knows he's not fooling either of them. But he can pretend.)

[quinn-firethief]

I’m Really Hurt {4/5}

Quinn wakes up and faces some consequences from his actions.

When Quinn peeled his eyes open, he wished he was dead. His head was pounding with such a mighty headache that he felt like his head was going to split open. His eyes were swollen from his crying. He, in lesser words, felt like shit. He coughed once, twice, then curled his fingers around the edge of the blanket that was thrown over him. As he went to sit up and push it off, he realized he didn't recognize the bedsheet. He stared down at it for a bit before he finally thought to look around, and when he did, he let slip a curse so filthy it'd make his ancestors blush.

He had been in the storage closet of Professor Dalia's classroom plenty of times. It looked just this, though instead of charred remains of books and burnt dummies for target practice, there were clean books that were entirely intact—though rather dusty—pots for gardening, and boxes of projects set to be done later in the year. If he had to guess from the color scheme of the books and the gardening pots alone, he'd bet he was in the Life School's backroom. He couldn't imagine any other school would have cots and blankets. How the hell had he ended up here? The last thing he remembered was going home and finding that…

His face hardened and he swallowed. He must've gotten drunk. He must've stumbled out into the streets, absolutely wasted, and gotten himself in trouble. He highly doubted he had gotten into the Life School and set up a cot for himself. He really didn’t have that much confidence in his drunk self. He ground his teeth as he rubbed his head. He needed to get out of here. Apologize to Professor Wu, too. Memories were crawling their way into his head. He could remember looking up at Professor Wu as she clutched some bottles. She had passed them onto someone so she could focus on healing him. Who had been with her? God, he hoped it hadn’t been another student. This sort of thing would completely ruin any good standing he had with people here. Then again, he imagined there wasn’t much of that left regardless. God, he needed to get out of here. He needed to get home. He shoved the blanket off as he turned onto his side to get off the cot, only to stop as he came face to face with Cyrus.

Or, rather, Cyrus’s bald head.

Professor Cyrus was sitting on an old stool, behind the crate that was beside his bed. His arms were crossed on the crate behind the lantern, which had gone out sometime during the night, and his head was buried into the fold of his arms. His shoulders rose and fell at a steady pace as he slept peacefully. Quinn could only imagine the crick in his neck he’d have after he woke up, and even just the thought of it made him wince. He stared at the Professor for a few moments, and as he did, more memories came to mind. Especially when Cyrus blasted him into the wall, and what he had said moments before. He sighed.

“I quite deserved that,” he admitted in a soft mumble, even though he knew Cyrus couldn’t hear him. He slipped out of the cot as silently as he could, smoothing down his rumpled clothes. He glanced back at Cyrus and stared for a moment before he picked the blanket up from the floor. He moved slowly so as not to startle Cyrus awake, and he carefully laid the blanket on him. He made sure it wouldn’t slip by hooking bits of it over Cyrus’s shoulders, then decided that would be enough and he slipped out the door. He closed it carefully behind him and heaved out a sigh. Okay. Now, he just needed to get to his dorm without running into anyone—

“Quinn! You’re awake!”

—of course. Nothing was ever easy for him.

He turned around. Luckily, the class was empty except for Professor Wu herself. She smiled at him. “You’re up earlier than I expected, it’s only just about to be eleven!” He blinked at her before he just nodded and looked away. “How are you feeling? How’s your head?”

“My head?” He reached up to touch it and paused as he felt gauze instead of hair before he just sighed and nodded. “It's, uh… It’s fine, Professor Wu. Thanks for healing me. I hope I didn’t cause any trouble.”

“Oh no, no trouble; you just worried us, that’s all!” He nodded before he looked away.

“Right. I should… I should go. I have, uh, studying to do.” Moolinda blinked at him.

“What? Dear, you shouldn’t be on your feet yet! Stay a bit longer!”

“No, I— I really have to go. Thanks for your kindness, Professor. Professor Cyrus is asleep in here, I’ve put my blanket on him, but you might wanna wake him up.”

He moved quickly to the door, weaving through the desks. He couldn’t be here. Not the Life School, anywhere but the Life School. He had picked Sarai up from here so many times, he could pinpoint the exact desk that was hers, and he couldn’t handle it. Not now. Not ever, most likely.

“Quinn, at least stay for some tea—!”

He felt bad, shutting the door in the middle of her sentence. But he just… He couldn’t. His head hurt, and he desperately needed to get home. It was way too bright outside, and he thought that was rather rude of the sun to do such a thing to him. He shut his eyes and shook his head, rubbing at his forehead before he hurried down the sidewalk. Fellow students were moving to and fro from their classes, some carrying thick spellbooks while others were obviously unprepared. It was a sight he was all too familiar with. He drew more attention then he would like because of his bandaged head, but no one asked. Either they knew better, they didn’t care, or they were running late to class.

By the time he got to his dorm, his head was both better and worse. The pressure had let up a bit in the back of his head, but now it was in the front of his head. He swallowed and nearly sobbed in relief as he shut the door behind him. He reached up and tugged off the gauze, being careful to unwind them. He touched the back of his head and found it tender, but not so much he felt the need to put on some more gauze. He sighed heavily as he rubbed at his eyes before he walked over to his bed. He slumped into the covers and shut his eyes, focusing on his breathing as he tried to think of waves to relieve his headache.

He was alone to his thoughts for a while, but then he felt someone nuzzle the side of his face. He didn’t need to open his eyes to know who it was, but he did anyway. He looked over and found Amber’s fluffy face inches from his, and she blinked down at him before she settled down beside him. “Hey girl,” he muttered. “‘m real sorry if I scared you and the others yesterday.” He reached out and stroked the underside of her chin in the way he knew she liked. “I would promise that that won’t happen again, but…”

She stared up at him as if she understood, then licked the inside of his palm. No other words needed to be said. He shut his eyes and laid his head back down, and just tried to exist for a while.

[quinn-firethief]

I’m Really Hurt {3/5}

Cyrus takes Quinn to the one person who can help him, the Life Professor, Moolinda Wu.

This was the longest of the series, its just over 3,000 words LMAO

TW warning: Blood, but it’s not a lot, there’s a cut in someone’s head but I don’t go into graphic detail

“Okay.” Cyrus looked around. It was past one now. There was no one around the streets, at least, there shouldn’t be. There weren’t many rules when it came to upperclassmen, but the younger students did have a curfew at ten. They had to be inside, and all lights were off at eleven. He grabbed Quinn’s arms and pulled him up to his feet. “Okay, come on, let's get inside my classroom. I can take a look at it.” Quinn whimpered again but stumbled after Cyrus. Cyrus kept a hand on his lower back, trying his best to lead him along. Quinn almost fell a handful of times, but thanks to Cyrus’s grip and Quinn’s will, even though he was absolutely wasted and suffering a concussion, they made it into the classroom without any mishaps.

Cyrus sat Quinn in a chair at one of the desks. He shoved the actual desk away for more room so he could crouch in front of him. He grabbed the sides of his face, pressed his pointer fingers against his temples, and concentrated. Quinn trembled in his hold, and while he was staring right at him, his eyes looked distant. Like he wasn’t all there. Cyrus sighed. “Quinn? Are you still here with me?” Quinn tried to nod his hair, then hissed as agony shot up the back of his neck.

“O-Ow… It… It hurts.” Cyrus’s heart panged. Everyone could say what they wanted; he was one of the toughest teachers here, he did have a snarky tongue, but he still cared about the students in his own way. He cared about them enough to never want to see them hurt, or go out of his way to cause them physical pain. Seeing Quinn like this hurt, and it hurt even more because he knew he was the cause of it. What Quinn had said had been cruel, but Cyrus should’ve known better. He shouldn’t have let his emotions get the better of him. He was a Professor, a teacher, a guide before anything. His emotions didn’t matter, only his disciples.

Then again, he hadn’t been sticking to that much lately, hadn’t he?

“Why are you so drunk? What were you thinking, drinking that entire bottle and then trying to duel me?” He kept his voice firm, even though his soul was trembling. Quinn grunted.

“Wanted to fight. Didn’t matter if… If I was drunk.” Cyrus paused at the words and mulled them over for a moment, but then decided he would tackle that later. When Quinn wasn’t bleeding from his head.

“Well are you can see, it does matter. Did something happen to make you drink so much before the duel?”

Quinn fell silent. He swallowed and tears welled in his eyes. Cyrus paused. He pulled his hands back as he stared, his lips parted in surprise. He had never seen Quinn… Cry. Even when he and Sarai came back to tell them what had happened, with Sarai clinging to his arm and sobbing, with his empty eyes and still face.

“S-Sarai,” Quinn finally stuttered out. “She… She left her amulet.” His bottom lip trembled and he whimpered. “She doesn’t… She doesn’t wanna be my friend anymore.” Quinn reached up and rubbed his temple. Cyrus grabbed his hand and pulled it back. He didn’t want him to mess anything up, or disturb the magic he had wrapped around his head. Quinn’s hand trembled in his grasp. “She… She’s left me too,” Quinn whimpered. Tears began to roll down his cheeks. “I’m all alone now, and, and it’s my fault. It’s all my fault. I’ve lost my only best friends and, and it’s my f-fault…!” His words trailed off into a sob and he covered his face with both of his hands. Cyrus stared at him before he chewed his bottom lip. He stood and looked at the back of Quinn’s head, then winced. His magic had helped with the bleeding, but it had done nothing for the cut the jagged stones on the wall had made. He could only do so much as a Myth wizard. The nearest hospital was halfway across town.

But, then again, he did know of one teacher that often stayed up as late as he did...

“Come on. We need to go to Professor Moolinda.” Quinn whimpered and shook his head. “Quinn.”

“Can’t,” he slurred out. “I can’t, I’ll fall and just get hurt again!” He whimpered and Cyrus sighed through his nose. “’m really hurt, ’m really hurt…!”

“I know.” Cyrus’s voice was a level of softness he never gave students. He knew Quinn wouldn’t remember much of this anyway, being so wasted and with his head cut open. “I know you are, Quinn. I know. But we need to go to Moolinda. Can I carry you?”

“C— Carry me?” Quinn muttered. “You’re like… A twig, Professor…” Cyrus snorted and crouched down.

“I was also in a war,” he informed him. “Now come on. This’ll be easier if you wrap your arms around my neck.” If Quinn were sober, he’d be uncomfortable, even insulted with the idea of being carried like a child. Especially by someone like Cyrus. But he was very much not sober, so he lifted his arms and threw them around Cyrus’s neck without complaint. Cyrus wrapped his arms around Quinn’s waist and took a deep breath before he pushed them onto his feet. He huffed and stumbled back a bit as Quinn’s entire weight was laid on him. Quinn’s feet brushed against the floor before he lifted his legs and wrapped them around Cyrus’s waist. He was essentially koala-ed himself to the professor, with his legs wrapped around his waist and his arms wrapped around his neck. Cyrus huffed and adjusted him, bringing him up higher so he had a stronger grip. The last thing he needed was dropping Quinn on the path.

He pushed the classroom door open with a hip, kicked it shut behind him, and then hurried the best he could with Quinn in his arms, down the path, right towards the Life School. The entire way there, Quinn kept muttering one thing, over and over again.

“’m really hurt…”

After the fifth time, Cyrus began to wonder if he was even talking about the wound.

*

Moolinda Wu, Professor of the Life School, often stayed late to grade papers and tend to the garden she had in a side room. She had finished grading papers awhile ago and was just finishing up her gardening when she heard her door swing open. She looked up from the Pink Dandelion that she was tending to, blinking in confusion, before she heard shuffling and then a voice.

“Moolinda? Are you here?”

“Cyrus?”

She stood and took off her gloves, disposing them into an empty flower pot near the door. When she stepped into the main room of her classroom, she gasped. Her co-worker was cradling a student she recognized all too well in his arms, his hand pressed against the back of his head while the student hid his face in Cyrus’s shoulder. “Is that Quinn?! What happened?!”

“He’s hurt. There’s a cut on the back of his head. I was able to stop the bleeding for a while, but it’s starting back up again.”

“How did he get hurt?!”

Cyrus hesitated. While Quinn wasn’t allowed to drink on school grounds, Cyrus also wasn’t allowed to duel a student with supervision. It was because of moments like this. Cyrus had never told Ambrose that Quinn was drinking, mainly because he knew he was a good kid and an… okay student, when put up to Cyrus’s standards. His family didn’t need him being suspended for drinking, or, worse, expelled. It would be the worst thing that could happen to his family. It’d be put right up there with their home practically becoming inhabitable except for maybe ten, fifteen percent of the land. But Quinn was a good kid, and Cyrus knew that if he covered it up, then Quinn would go with whatever he said.

“I found him on the ground. I believe he tripped and cracked his head on the floor. He reeks of alcohol, so I wouldn’t be surprised if he was wasted.”

“Oh, the poor boy! Hold on, I have a cot in the supply closet!”

Cyrus looked down at Quinn as Moolinda rushed out of the room. He was mumbling things, but it was too low for him to understand. He didn’t ask for him to speak up, he just kept him close, and didn’t comment on the dampness that was spreading on his shoulders. Moolinda hurried back inside, holding a collapsible cot on wheels. She unfolded it easily enough and laid it down, and while Cyrus lowered Quinn down onto the cotton surface, she crossed the room to a shelf of potions she had. She grabbed a few vials, checking the labels at record speed before she grabbed her wand from her desk. Her wand was a fan, much like the ones from her homeland, Mooshu.

Quinn had tears streaming down his face still as she approached, and her heart ached at the sight. “P-Professor Wu…?” He stuttered out as he looked up at her with glassy eyes.

“Hello dear,” she whispered. “Can you drink a few things for me? Please?” Quinn whimpered but nodded. “Cyrus, can you help him sit up? I’ll look at his head while he’s drinking.” Cyrus nodded and grabbed Quinn’s hand long enough to pull him up, then pressed his hand against his upper back to keep him there. He took the three vitals from Moolinda. “Don't have him drink this one just yet,” she told him as she handed the last vial, one that was a midnight blue with sparks that swirled inside of it. Cyrus furrowed his eyebrows but just nodded. Myth didn’t deal with a lot of potions, so he just took her word for it. He knew he could. As he got Quinn to drink the other too—one was a strawberry red and the second was a sickly green color, the smell was atrocious and it took him a while to get Quinn to finally drink it all down—Moolinda focused on the back of Quinn’s head. She winced as she found the cut in his wild hair. The strands around it were matted with blood, both dry and fresh. It wasn’t that bad, she had certainly seen worse in her short but eventful lifetime, but it sure looked painful. How hard had he hit his head, falling down? She shook her head and decided to focus on healing the wound, rather than debating on what could have caused it. She opened her fan with the flick of her wrist, and green magic danced across the top of the folds. As she fanned it towards him, the cold air drifted the sparks right to the back of his head. They settled into the cut and slowly sealed it shut. Quinn twitched every now and then, but he had gone considerably quiet after he drank both potions. Moolinda shut her fan and nodded to Cyrus after the cut was sealed completely. “He can drink the last one now.”

As Cyrus coaxed Quinn into drinking the last potion—it was easier than before, as Quinn thought the potion tasted rather sweet—Moolinda retrieved some gauze to wrap around Quinn’s head. While the cut was sealed and no longer at risk of bleeding, it was still sensitive to touch and the air. She didn’t want to risk it becoming infected, or opening up again. After she was done, she gently lowered Quinn back on the cot. Quinn made a soft sound and then shut his eyes, lifting his arms to hug himself. “Will he be alright?” Cyrus asked. Moolinda nodded.

“Of course. The potions I gave you were to help with the pain and to get him to sober up.”

“What about the third potion?”

“Sleeping draft. The sober potion has been known to leave people with some really bad headaches, so I thought it best if he slept through the pain.”

Cyrus nodded as he stared down at Quinn. The young man was already relaxing in the cot. His face relaxed and he didn’t look so tense, but no less sad. His breaths evened out, and though they hitched every now and then, they weren’t as shaky as before. His face was already starting to get some color back into them. “Come on, let’s move him to the backroom. It’s warmer in there.” Cyrus nodded.

They moved Quinn into the storage room where Moolinda kept piles of books and a few other backup cots. Cyrus had heard rumors that she often let students who stayed up too late studying or were obviously combating some sort of sickness nap in the cots during classes, though he had never swung back long enough to see if it was true. He had his own classes after all, and he rarely even stepped into the Life classroom. It was much sadder now, without… Sylvia. It was easier to say and think her name nowadays, but still difficult. He heaved a sigh as he and Moolinda placed the cot down beside a crate, where there was a lantern. As Moolinda lit it, Cyrus retrieved a blanket from one of the boxes and draped it over Quinn. He was beginning to tremble from the cold.

“It’s so sad,” Moolinda whispered. Cyrus looked at her. She was staring down at Quinn, and as she did, she reached out and brushed his messy strands from his forehead. “Before… Well… You know… He was such a bright student. He and Sarai both. But they’ve been the same since…”

“I’ve heard that he drinks a lot, but not nearly as much as this. Not enough to get hurt.” Drake glanced down at him. “I wouldn’t think he’d drink on school grounds.”

“He could have certainly been in one of the taverns,” Moolinda pointed out. “He’s twenty-two, we can’t exactly bar him from going in there.” Cyrus sighed.

“I suppose so.” He looked at Moolinda. “Speaking of Sarai, he mentioned her. He said something about her leaving an amulet, and that she didn’t want to be his friend anymore. Do you know anything about that?” Moolinda shook her head, then hesitated.

“Well, perhaps.” Cyrus raised a thin eyebrow. “Sarai… Several days ago, she left a note on my desk. She thanked me for all I had done for her and the lessons I had taught her, but she said there wasn’t anything for her here. She told me she was going somewhere else, to quest. I have absolutely no idea where she went, though.” Cyrus stared at him before he looked down at Quinn.

“That doesn’t sound like her at all.” Moolinda sighed.

“Cyrus, she wasn’t even your student, how would you—”

“Everyone knew about Sarai and Quinn and… Everyone knew them, Moolinda. Everyone. Those three barely separated, they were with each other through thick and thin. You would think Sarai and Quinn would only cling to each other after what happened.”

“Cyrus, grief changes people. So does loss. Especially a loss like—”

“I am well aware.”

Moolinda realized she had touched a sore subject and she sighed. Of course. Cyrus would know just as well as Quinn what it was like to lose someone. He had lost two people, actually. Just as Quinn had. They stood in silence for a while, staring down at Quinn as he slept. He looked peaceful. Cyrus wondered if he felt that way, and if he did, how long it had been since he had last felt it.

“You should go, Cyrus.” Moolinda’s gentle voice broke the silence. “Sunday is your busiest day, isn’t it? Your students have an exam.”

“I’ll postpone it.”

Moolinda stared at him. She blinked once, twice, and wondered if she needed to get her ears checked. “You’ll— You’ll what?” Cyrus looked at her.

“I’ll postpone it. I’ll go and write up an official form and put it on the door now, actually.” He turned towards the door.

“Cyrus! You kept teaching even when you had the Krok Plague a few years ago! You’re seriously going to postpone your exam for this boy? He will be fine, the concussion will heal as he sleeps—”

“Everyone has left him, Moolinda.”

Moolinda paused. She stared at him. She swallowed. Cyrus was gripping the doorknob in his hand, staring down at his hand. He had a black band on his ring finger there. There was an intense emotion in his eyes, and Moolinda didn’t have to be a psychic to know what he was thinking of. Or, well, who.

“I won’t leave him.” Cyrus looked back at her and shook his head before he pushed the door open. “I won’t leave him like I left Malistaire.”

He shut the door behind him, leaving Quinn and Moolinda. She stared at the door for a few moments and then sighed, taking a few steps to leave, when Quinn suddenly whimpered. She faltered and looked back at him. His face was twisted a bit like he was in pain. She furrowed her eyebrows before she waved her wand, and sparks came from it and fell over him. He wasn’t in any pain, the sparks would turn red if he was, but they stayed golden as they bounced off him and landed on the floor. She got an idea, and she waved her wand again. A soft stream of light came from the tip this time, and it fell over him like a blanket. A cloud formed above him and in it, a scene began to play.

He’s lying in the cot. Sarai is beside him, stroking his hair as her other hand glows green. She’s smiling at him and her eyes twinkle in the low lighting of the lantern beside her. She looks beautiful, as Moolinda was seeing her through Quinn’s eyes.

The cloud dispersed and left Moolinda feeling empty and sad. It had been a dream, but it was a dream she knew he wished to be real. She could feel him aching, could feel the hurt that had burrowed itself deep into his soul. It made her own ache. Perhaps it was the Life sorceress in her—they were always much more receptive to emotions—or perhaps it was just because she missed Sarai too. She missed Sarai, she missed him, she missed Quinn too. She missed the man he used to be.

And she could tell that he did too.

She stared at him for a while longer, before she finally turned and left the room. The door shut with a soft click behind her. A tear dropped down Quinn’s cheek.

[quinn-firethief]

Quinn Firethief

Hello everyone! It’s currently four am but I’ll do my best here. Quinn Firethief is one of my oldest wizards. I made him two years ago after I downloaded the game for the first time in like, years, to play with some friends. The graphics update had me shook, y’all. My friends and I loved roleplaying as our characters (both in-game via voice chat and in our texting apps cause we’re weebs) so Quinn is pretty fleshed out. The problem is is that I’m poor so I’m currently stuck right before Marleybone. Hopefully, I’ll be able to change that once I graduate. But for right now, I’ll give you guys the rundown of his character up until this point. Quinn Firethief is a Prince. His parents are the King and Queen of Dragonspyre. Yeah, big surprise, amirite? When I made his backstory, I made it without knowing the whole story of the world. Bad on my part, I know, but I’m really attached to the idea now. So, how that works is that while most of Dragonspyre is unhabitable, there is still a very small part that is. That's where the royal family and a lot of inhabitants that were too loyal to leave ran to. It’s a very small place, they have a very small military, it’s very much a former shell of the great glory it once was. Because of this though, Quinn is well known among their people because there’s probably, at least, a hundred or two left there. He cares very much about them, he’s a great public speaker, very charismatic, and he just really cares about people and really loves helping them in general. It's such a small place that it's really not that big of a deal that Quinn is a prince, a few people might be like “wow what's it like???” but a lot of questions don’t really apply to him because he did live a comfortable life, just not a lavished one thanks to their current situation. But his family does have very good background to their name. Firethieves were the royal family after all. There’s a big legend that they got their last name-Firethief of course-by stealing fire from the Dragons themselves so that they could harness the power and learn how to control it. Depending on whether or not you believe that, you could say a lot of people have Quinn’s ancestors from many many generations ago to thank for fire magic. Others might say that the downfall of the world is probably the family’s karma catching back up on them if that is true.

Before I go into the next part. I no longer talk to the friend that played the next character that I’m going to be talking about. We didn’t end on good terms. But their character is very vital to Quinn’s story. I can’t just write them out. So I’ve decided to just not put their name. Maybe I will later, maybe I’ll completely change it; we’ll just have to see.

Quinn had a best friend who was basically like a brother to him. He was always at the castle, and people even called him a Prince too. When they were of age to go to Ravenwood and start practicing magic (which, in my opinion, is probably eighteen, maybe as young as sixteen if you’re super good) they went together. Like I said, Quinn’s family has a long history in fire magic, being the royal family of Dragonspyre after all, so Quinn immediately dabbled in fire magic. His best friend went into myth. When they started questing, they ended up meeting a life wizard named Sarai (her last name escapes me rn I’ll get back to y’all on that) who was in the same year as them. (She was played by my girlfriend, if she ever makes a Tumblr for her I’ll definitely link it here) They needed a healer, she needed some harder hitters, so they all started questing together. They became the best of friends. They were well on their way to being able to take down Malistaire. The journey didn’t come without difficulties of course. Sarai got sick with the Krok Plague during one of the dungeons, and the boys had to rush through the last few to get the cure for her. Quinn’s best friend ended up dropping Myth because he was doing so horrible. He did, however, become very interested in Balance thanks to Kroktopia and found he did very well in that. While Sarai was sick Quinn realized that he had definitely fallen in love with the sweet and gentle Life wizard, and while he came very close to confessing his feelings, he didn’t.

Krok ended well. They were able to get the cure to Sarai in time and they finished it all out together, with Sarai cured of the plague and coherent. They all crashed in Sarai’s house afterward and chatted about how far they had come, and how they heard that Marleybone was needing help next.

Now, this is when my friends and I stopped playing. Summer of 2018 had drawn to a close and I was going into my Junior year. We all got very busy, my family ran into some bad financial problems so I obviously couldn’t unlock the Marleybone zones, and then by the end of my Junior year, I was no longer talking to the friend that played Quinn’s best friend. I’m in my Senior year and I’m feeling nostalgic, and like most Wizard101 players I’m getting sucked back into this game(help me). But this is where I take some liberty with the story. The three of them do end up going to Marleybone, but after a good few weeks, they end up running into Morganthe who, at this point, is just starting to plan on getting a little public about her villainess. Obviously, at this point, I’m messing with canon a little bit, but not that bad. She ended up casting a spell that took ahold of Quinn’s best friend's mind and completely turned him against Quinn and Sarai. They tried to free him from the spell but it became very clear very fast that it wasn’t possible. They ended up having to kill him. Quinn dealt the final blow with his bow and arrow (I got it from a pack, such a good drop sorry now isn’t the best time-) and the place they were fighting in exploded. Sarai and Quinn were knocked out and then dragged to safety by some other wizards that heard the explosion. While the friend’s body was never found, it was plainly obvious that he was dead. Quinn and his best friend, who was basically his brother, had known each other since they were kids. Like, I’m talking six years old. they had known Sarai for at least two years at this point since Krok and Wizard City had definitely (in my mind) taken some time to get through and fix. They were a very close, tightknit group. They were well known around Ravenwood and it was rare when you saw one of them walking around alone. So, as you can imagine, having to kill their own friend was very, very hard on them. Especially Quinn. He and Sarai can’t even be around each other anymore because it hurts too much, the wound is too raw. Quinn ends up telling Sarai that he needs some time alone, some time to think. So they stop talking, they stop hanging out, and they both just stop questing in general. It’s not the same without their friend’s lute playing to cheer them on.

Quinn gets very depressed and turns to alcohol. At this point, he’s twenty-one, so it is legal. A favorite of his is Fireball. If he’s not sleeping or studying or practicing, he’s drinking. He has nightmares (and rarely dreams, those tend to hurt more) of his friend constantly. He has to move out of the dorm because they always hung out there and it just hurts too much, there are too many memories. He can’t even visit Dragonspyre because of all of the memories they have there, he’d probably drop dead the moment he walked in because of how hard it’d hit him. So he moves into the Fire House (the classic burning tower with all that lava) and to try and cope, he makes a grave for his best friend even though they never found a body. Yep, you’re right, that’s exactly what my header is. Depressing, right? I had a leftover present from some winter event, so I decided to put that there to make it even sadder. This is currently where I’m picking up with Quinn, where he’s at his lowest and he’s pushing everyone away and he feels completely alone. It really resonates with me because of how I’ve been feeling lately (for like NO reason might I add). I’m super excited to write about it, it’s definitely going to be fun. I hope you guys enjoyed that! I’m sorry this was such a long read lmao this took me like twenty minutes to type up. Mainly because I had to keep fact-checking and I’m so tired. It’s now five am and I need to sleep. If you guys have any questions, don’t be afraid to ask. If you wanna be friends, shoot me a text! I need more Wizard101 buddies so badly right now. I might open one-shot requests if enough people show interest in Quinn and my writings enough, but we’ll just have to see :)

Have a good day everyone!

[quinn-firethief]

I’m Really Hurt {5/5}

Quinn can’t find his bow.

Quinn couldn’t find his bow.

He had torn up his dorm looking for it. He retraced his steps. He went up and down all the paths in Ravenwood. He dug up flower pots, he went up and down the path from Ravenwood to his favorite tavern, he asked neighbors, he asked fellow students, he asked teachers—except for Cyrus and Moolinda, he couldn’t even look at them right now without feeling embarrassment and shame—he burst into the Headmaster’s office, he got to the point where he ended up diving into the pond in the Commons, just to see if he could find it at the bottom. Someone from the school newspaper was able to get a picture of him coming out of the pond, sopping wet and frowning intensely, and it was on the front page of the newspaper. Quinn was going to find whoever had done it and burn them.

But some good did come out of that, as he received a note the day the newspaper went out.

Quinn Firethief,

I’ve heard that you’ve been looking for your bow. Have you not thought to come and see if I have it?

— Professor Cyrus

Had it been anything else, Quinn wouldn’t have gone. He would have considered it lost forever and just coped with it, probably bought something else to replace it. But it wasn’t some random hat or some scarf that his father made for him. It was his bow. He loved that bow. It had been given to him when he was ten and had to wait six years before he could even yield it. He would spend so long with it sometimes, cleaning it, changing the string, keeping it in mint condition until the day he got to finally yield it. Even now in his current state, where he drank more than he slept, he kept up with the maintenance that a bow like that needed. After every long quest, he changed the worn-out string. After every battle, he would clean it until the wood shone. Needless to say, he loved that bow. He needed that bow. The day he lost it was the day he hurled himself into the Spiral.

So he swallowed his pride, and after class was done for the day, he went to the Myth school. A few students he passed by snickered, but they all soon stopped when he glared at them as he went by. He knew what it was about; that stupid picture in the newspaper. It was mostly daring freshmen, who didn’t quite understand who he was, what he had done, or what he was going through now. The upperclassmen had the decency to not say anything about it, or laugh about it when he was around at least. God, he couldn’t believe this. He was a Prince, and he was once a great student. And now…

The last students had filtered out of Cyrus’s classroom by the time Quinn got there. When he stepped in, he didn’t see the teacher anywhere. Almost immediately his eyes darted around, looking frantically for his bow. Cyrus wouldn’t have it out on display, if he did, some Myth students in the dorm would have told him by now. Was it in his desk? Quinn hurried down the row between the desks, which were all neatly aligned. He had never really cared to notice before, but now that he was looking so hard for his bow, Quinn could see how neat the Myth classroom was. There was no doodling on the desks, no initials from students pass. No gum from what he could see either, Quinn imagined that Cyrus would never let anything like that in his classroom. The carpet looked like it was freshly cleaned, and the paintings on the walls were lined up neatly. They brightened up the room quite a bit, actually. He wondered who had made them. He lingered by the desk, eyes sweeping over the drawers, and he was about to step behind it and start scavenging for his bow when he heard someone clear their throat. He nearly jumped out of his skin and he quickly turned around.

“I can assure you, Firethief, that I don’t have any room for a bow in my desk.”

Cyrus was standing in the doorway to a back room. Quinn couldn’t see anything past him because of his tall figure, but he didn’t care. His eyes had immediately trained on what was in the teacher’s hands. His bow! Relief flooded through every pore in him and he rushed up to the teacher and held his hands out. Cyrus raised an eyebrow and when he didn’t immediately hand it over, Quinn opted for ripping it out of his hands instead. He cradled it to his chest as he took a few steps back, turning away from him to inspect his bow. He could only imagine the build-up of dust and grim! The string was probably worn down too, he doubted he had encased it right! It would take him hours just to fix...

The bow was in perfect shape. The redwood gleamed and glowed in the same way it did just after a fresh polish. He stared down at it in bewilderment, golden eyes wide and nearly full of wonder as he ran his pointer finger along the edge. When he looked at it, there wasn’t a speck of dirt or dust. He had never really trusted anyone to clean or care for his bow, even if he were wounded he’d be sitting up in bed and taking care of it. Not many people knew how to care for bows, they weren’t a very common weapon in their realms. One wrong brush, one badly misplaced touch, and it could ruin the entire bow.

“Did… Did you…?”

“Clean it? Yes. I’ve handled a few bows in my time, so I’ve had plenty of practice.”

Quinn looked back at him with wide eyes. He looked back down at the bow. “Why?” He finally asked after a long pause.

“Well, it was in need of a clean after it spent all night out in the elements beside my classroom, I’m afraid. I believe I was able to polish out all of the scuff marks, and luckily, no wood was chipped in your… Fall.” Quinn looked at him. Cyrus looked mildly uncomfortable. “Consider it an apology. For causing you harm.”

It took Quinn a moment to realize what he was talking about, and when he did, he suddenly felt very uncomfortable too. “No, it’s… It’s fine. I…” He trailed off and then sighed. He rubbed the back of his head. The cut was gone, now. If he ran his finger along the area for a bit, he might be able to find the smallest scar it had made. But it was nothing to write home about. “I deserved it. What I said… Sober or not, it wasn’t right.”

“Regardless, I should not have laid my hands on you. You’re a student, and I’m a Professor. It was improper. And I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, yeah… I’m sorry too.”

Cyrus nodded. He stared at Quinn before he sighed. “When I was trying to help you, you said something rather interesting.” Quinn groaned.

“Listen, I’m a drunk talker, alright? Whatever I said, probably didn’t even make sense—”

“You told me you liked the pain that came after dueling. You said it distracted you.”

Quinn froze. He looked like he had just been caught stealing out of the cookie jar. He stared down at his bow before he pushed it into the quiver on his back. The three arrows he had in there clinked and clanged, welcoming the other piece of them back. “Like I said. That doesn’t even make sense.” Cyrus scoffed.

“Don’t lie to me, boy. You’re horrible at it.” Quinn frowned at him deeply.

“I took a lot of diplomacy classes growing up, I’m a damn good liar,” he growled. Cyrus rolled his eyes.

“You seem to have forgotten your lessons.” Quinn’s cheeks turned a bright red. “I haven’t brought this up to fight with you. I’m merely concerned that you’re going out and putting yourself in danger, simply to have a distraction. I’ve heard you’re still questing.”

“So what if I am? I’m allowed to. I have high marks in all of my classes and a damn good track record!”

“A good track record when you had a team!”

Quinn’s heart dropped. He swallowed and Cyrus sighed. “You are not fit for solo runs, boy. I have seen you fight, I have seen your cards and your deck. You have nearly no healing spells in there!”

“I have that fairy!” Quinn snapped.

“Three whole copies,” Cyrus deadpanned, “I’m sure that carries you through an entire dungeon.” Quinn’s temper flared.

“If you didn’t bring this up to fight with me, then what do you want?!” He shouted. “This is wasting my time! I could be studying right now, or hell, drinking—!”

“I want to mentor you.”

Quinn paused, which wasn’t an easy feat when he was in a rage. He stared at Cyrus. “You want to… what?”

“You have potential, Firethief, and I am tired of watching you drink it all away.” Cyrus stared down at him through the bridge of his long nose. “I want to see you grow, and prosper. I want to help you in any way that I can. I can teach you how to duel, and how to organize your deck better. But I will warn you, I am not an easy teacher, as I’m sure you’ve heard. You won’t be slacking, and if you drink on the day of our training sessions, there won’t be any training that day. If it happens enough times, there still won’t be any training at all. Not to mention, if I do mentor you, there will be no more questing. Not solo at least. Not until you’ve proven yourself. If you take this opportunity, I expect you to earn it.” Quinn stared at him. His eyes dropped away and he looked deep in thought before he suddenly took a deep breath.

“Can you teach me how to fight mind control?” Cyrus stiffened. “And how to free those trapped in mind control?”

Without having to kill them, goes unsaid, but not unheard. It took him a moment to find his voice, and more energy then he would have liked to admit to keeping it steady.

“Those are difficult spells, and they all stem from different branches of Myth magic. You can’t just leap into it.”

“Then I’ll start from the beginning.”

“You’ll what?”

“I’ll start from the beginning. I’ll sign up for your school.”

Cyrus stared at him. “Firethief, you’re already studying in Ice and Fire!” Quinn shrugged.

“You already said I won’t be able to quest. That’ll free up a lot of time. I need to feel it with something, and that can either be alcohol, or some more classes. Which do you prefer, Professor?” Cyrus stared at him before he crinkled his nose.

“Very well. Don’t expect me to go easy on you, simply because I’m training you and you have two other schools to master. If you fall behind, it’s your own fault.”

Quinn felt challenged. He hadn’t felt that way in a while. He stood up taller and squared his shoulders before he looked Cyrus right in the eye.

“Trust me. I won’t.”

Quinn Firethief loved a challenge.

[quinn-firethief]

I’m Really Hurt {Part 2/5}

Quinn goes to his and Cyrus’s usual Saturday duel, utterly wasted.

TW: Alcoholism, vomiting, blood

Cyrus was already there when Quinn came stumbling into the little garden area. He took in his stumbling gait, the way his body was swaying and how he could barely stay on his feet, and, of course, the now-empty bottle of Fireball Whiskey in his hand. He crinkled his nose.

“There’s nothing to duel for if it’s empty, Firethief,” Cyrus informed him as if he were a child, crossing his arms across his chest. The end of his wand glimmered in the moonlight. Quinn rubbed at his face roughly before he tossed the bottle aside. It hit a tree and broke with large shards, which scattered as they hit the ground. Cyrus’s eyes widened at the audacity of it all. “Firethief! There was absolutely no reason—!”

Quinn pulled out his bow and Cyrus stiffened. He watched as the Prince fumbled with it and nearly dropped it twice before, finally, a battle sigil appeared beneath their feet and pulled them to their respective spots. While Cyrus settled easily, Quinn looked positively sick. He looked green in the face as he stumbled in the circle, swaying more than ever. Cyrus gritted his teeth. “This duel is useless, and not to mention, dangerous. You’re drunk. Do you really think you’re going to win?” Quinn hiccuped.

“‘Course I don’t. Still wanna do it.” He fumbled with his bow, trying to fit his hands into the right slots. Cyrus watched with exasperated dismay, shaking his head when Quinn got even greener.

“Boy, think this through. You have less than ten seconds to pick a card, and—!”

Cyrus was cut off by the loud sound of retching. As he watched, Quinn’s body jerked and trembled before he suddenly leaned over, outside of his sigil, and vomited right onto the floor. Cyrus didn’t say anything. Honestly, he was rather speechless. As Quinn’s turn came and went, it switched to Cyrus, who sighed. “I’m not fighting you like this, Firethief. Look at you. You’re a drunken mess. You need to go back to your dorm and sleep this off. Perhaps even take a shower.” He stared at Quinn for a moment longer before he turned his back to him, intending to ‘flee’ from the battle even if it did take all of his energy. Quinn lifted his head and glared at his back with beady gold eyes.

“Running, huh?” He hiccuped. “Jeez, you and Malistaire are related.”

As soon as those words slipped from Quinn’s mouth, the rational part of him regretted it. His entire being regretted it when Cyrus whipped around, eyes wide and blazing as he lifted his wand. “How dare you!” He roared, before a stream of yellow shot from his wand. Quinn blinked.

“Oh, sh—”

The blast collided with his chest, and the force sent him flying out of the sigil. It was an immediate win for Cyrus, but the Professor didn’t care; especially when he heard the thump, crack of Quinn hitting the stone wall behind him. His eyes widened and regret seized hold of him as he lowered his wand. The sigil disappeared as he stepped forward. “Quinn!” He shouted before he sprinted to his side. He dropped to one knee beside him and grabbed his arm. Quinn groaned and his head rolled to the side.

“Ah, fuck…” He muttered. Cyrus gritted his teeth.

“This is why we don’t duel when we’re drunk! We make bad decisions when we’re drunk!” He scolded, though he was completely sober. He was too rattled. He had never struck a student like this before. Sure, he trained and dueled with his students, but it never went this far. He was always careful. He always had expert control. “Let me see your head.” He cupped the back of Quinn’s head, being as careful as he could, only to feel his heart drop as he felt something sticky and warm. Quinn groaned again and then whimpered.

“I think, I think I’m hurt.”

Cyrus pulled his hand back. Sure enough, he saw streaks of blood stained on his fingers. He swallowed.

“I think I’m really hurt…”

[quinn-firethief]

I’m Really Hurt {1/5}

Quinn's last friend leaves him. He's not surprised.

He hits his lowest, and Professor Cyrus is the only one around to pull him back to his feet.

TW: Alcoholism, character death (mentioned), depression, and PTSD.

Another Warning: I don’t drink. I’m only eighteen. (Not that I’m shaming those who do! It's just not my thing for personal reasons :)) I did some research and people were saying that they can handle a whole bottle, others were saying they couldn’t handle even a few shots of it. My thought process is that Quinn has been drinking, especially Fireball, for a good two, three months. He has a good resistance built up. That being said he chugs a whole bottle in literal minutes, but that won’t come without consequences. Just stick around and stay patient with me, and if anyone has any tips for writing characters that are drinking, please message me!

It happened while they were dueling for the fifth time. Professor Cyrus—whom Quinn started to just call Cyrus behind his back after he kicks his ass for the third Saturday in a row—and Quinn had been doing this for a month and one week, meeting every Saturday without fail. Quinn always brought some Fireball Whiskey for them to fight over. He usually had a few gulps before Cyrus would show up to pull out his wand and begin the duel without a word. Quinn wasn’t sure what Cyrus was doing with the alcohol, he didn’t seem like the type to drink whiskey. Quite a few times he had caught Quinn off guard and pulled him off into a battle sigil and made him drop the bottle in the process, which would cause most, if not all, of the alcohol to spill. It was such a waste, and it really pissed Quinn off. He started getting smaller and cheaper bottles just for these duels. They did enough to occupy his time while he was walking to the usual spot.

That night, he arrived at his dorm rather late. He had been doing that a lot lately. He couldn’t stand being in the dorm, not when it had some of his most cherished memories about his best friend. The late nights spent talking instead of studying or sleeping, how they would have playdates with their little pets, how they would just lounge in silence as Quinn studied or read and he would tune his lute… It was all too much. Nowadays, Quinn couldn’t even look at his pets. He was sure they didn’t quite understand, but how the hell could he explain death to them when some days he couldn’t even face the truth himself?

He knew that if he wanted to make it to the spot so they could have their duel at the usual Cyrus seemed like the type of man to get angry over that, even though they’d never made this whole thing official and thus, had never set an official time—he was going to have to go in, grab a bottle, and get going. He planned on doing just that, but when he came up to his door in the boys’ dorm, he found a package sat in front of his door. It was half opened, with one of the folds pulled back while the other was still dipped in. He blinked and then frowned. He hadn’t ordered anything, and everyone in the dorms knew better than to try and pull some pranks on him nowadays. The last idiot that had tried ended up with their eyebrows gone after a close call with one of his spells. Was it a booby-trap? Some enemies trying to get revenge on him? He sighed as he suddenly realized he didn’t care. It could blow up in his face for all he cared. He had things to do. He strode up to the box and pulled up the other flap so he could look inside.

His heart stopped.

There was only one thing inside of the box, and it was an amulet. It had a golden chain with a pink gem. Tiny sigils traced the edges of the gem, and even though he couldn’t see the back, he knew there was a glowing symbol carved into the metal so it was fueled by magic. He knew that because he had bought this amulet, this exact amulet, nearly a year ago.

“Quinn, you shouldn’t have!”

Sarai’s voice was soft and had a tone of something like disbelief. She cradled the amulet in her hands with a sort of touch you would give a newborn baby. They were standing in Quinn’s dorm. It was the weekend and they were both out of their robes. Quinn wore a sweatshirt and some jeans with some simple sneakers, and Sarai wore a pretty sundress that had pineapples printed on the white fabric along with some white flats. Her long brown hair was done up in a braid and slung over her shoulder. The style suited her, Quinn decided the moment he looked at her.

“Well, you keep having difficulty with your mana reserve.” He resisted the urge to rock back on his heels. “This is supposed to give you twenty more. I know it’s not much, but, it was all they had in the shop…” He rubbed the back of his neck and smiled nervously. “Do— Do you like it?”

“I love it!” Sarai looked at him and grinned before she suddenly stepped forward and hugged him. She smelled of flowers, as most life sorcerers did. They did do a lot of gardening, after all; Sarai especially. He felt his cheeks getting a bit warm as she propped her chin up on his shoulder. Her breath brushed against his ear and he could feel her smile more than he could see. “Thank you, so much.”

He was thankful, not for the first time, for his speech lessons while he was growing up. It was his taught self-reserve that kept his voice from shaking as he wrapped his arm around her waist and said; “Of course, Sarai. You’re my friend!”

Sarai stepped back and released him from her soft and warm hold. He already found himself missing her touch. She smiled at him widely and opened her mouth, but Quinn never got to hear what she planned on saying as the door behind them swung open.

“Hey! Sorry I’m late, guys! I had to drop off an essay to Professor Cyrus!”

Quinn laughed and grinned. “Hey! It’s alright—!”

Quinn shoved his dorm door open. He had kicked the box aside after he pulled out the amulet. He gripped it in his hand now, so tightly in his fist that he wondered if he would crush the chain. The pink gem glowed up at him almost mockingly. The sigil on the back felt like it was burning him. There was no doubt in his mind that this amulet had been left by Sarai. There was also no doubt that she had left it as a way to tell him that she didn’t want to be friends anymore.

He dropped the amulet in favor of ripping a loose board out of the floor. He yanked a large bottle of Fireball Whiskey and yanked off the cap. This brand is the good kind. It cost him nearly a hundred bottles for just this one bottle. But it's good because it gets people drunk, fast. And he needed to get drunk at that very moment. He’s never needed to get so fucking drunk. He chugged from the bottle, tipping his upper body back to get as much in his mouth as he could. That proved to be a mistake as he choked, hunching to the side as he pulled the bottle from his mouth, coughing and spitting up the orange liquid as it burns in his throat. He quivered, on his hands and knees, before he began to laugh. It started as a low wheeze and then increased in volume as he realized just what position he was in. His last real friend, the first person he had ever loved romantically, had officially cut herself out of her life.

That’s her decision, the rational side of his brain whispered, you can’t change it. There’s no choice in being upset over it. You have to go on.

But we don’t want to go on, the other side of his brain hissed. Of course, it’s her decision, of course, we can’t change it, but that doesn’t make it hurt any less. We’ve lost everyone. We’ve lost everyone because we’ve pushed them all away. Sarai was all we had left and now she’s gone.

And it’s my fault.

Quinn pushed himself up to his knees. He took another deep swig from his bottle. He didn’t drink as fast, but he drank longer. Before he knew it, half of the bottle was gone.

Because I’m the one who told her I needed time to be alone, to find myself. But all I’m doing is trying to find myself at the bottom of a bottle.

He stood up. His pets had hidden under and around the bed and they watched him with mournful looks. His firecat, Amber, debated on going to his side, but something in her sad heart told her there was no point. She hadn’t been able to reach him in months, sober or drunk. Nothing was going to change that now.

He looked at the clock, bloodshot eyes blinking. He looked another swig of his alcohol. He and Cyrus usually fought around one am, and it twelve fifty-five. He needed to get going, he realized. He gripped the bottle in one hand and fumbled for his bow with the other, snatching it off the wall where he had hung it up Friday night. He never went questing anymore. He didn’t need it for the weekends. He spent the weekends studying, rarely dueling, or sleeping. Drinking, too. He chugged from the bottle again as he stumbled out of the room. His foot bumped against the cardboard box and he quickly took another chug.

By the time he had left the dorm, there were only a few sips left in the bottle.