val morales

"Here's the thing, choche—if I wanted any random idiot psychoanalyzing me, I'd pay for a shrink. You get me?"

…

Anyone with braincells might’ve already ran at the look on Val’s face, but Dani had seen Val in every state imaginable and all it would take was a simple phasing parlor trick then she’d be out from under Val’s predatory grin. So Dani let out a playful mrrt, idly transfiguring her throat to use the typical biology of a cat then back again. 

“I’m too handsome to let you get into a scuffle of dominance with me,” Dani snorted at the simple idea of fighting for dominance as if she cared about such silly matters. Dani had fucked more than a few weres in her time, but rarely saw the appeal of such a stringent sexual dynamic.. 

“Neighborly huh?” Dani teased, forever stuck on the way those two looked at each other when no one was looking, “Sure seems like you’re trying to borrow more than a cup of sugar from our dearest neighbor. Besides I’m sure some dashing local was ready to scoop your bird up if she got crushed.” Dani knew there was always someone in the wings waiting for the something-Veelan to turn her head from Dani’s best-friend. “Best let her get crushed and have someone else smear their scent all over her isn’t it?” 

Dani was sick of the dance Val was having with Delilah, she couldn’t understand the tension - fuck and/or get over it. They both had enough partners to do that, this was just silliness.

“Aight let’s get this shit rumbling,” Dani crowed, cinching her leather pants tight around her waist with a length of cord she kept in Val’s house, that she’d bury beneath their couch. What day was it? Unsure but time was false in the Sewers, only kept by concert dates and delivery days. 

Dani made a split second stop into Val’s room, shedding her previously sweated through shirt for a spare she cropped button-up she kept there, left open to show off her leather bralette she didn’t even need and flat stomach. Grabbing a bit of gel to slick back her hair, she fiddled with her wooden jewelry and whistled a gem-sparking spell to bring brightness back to the rough cut rubies on her leather necklace and wristband as she strode back into the living room. “I’m hoping for a club moment myself, girls are so easy when I do light tricks or say I’m in a band - think we can get some notches tonight? Make a proper game of it, quickest to three gets free drinks for a week?”

“Que churra, claro está…” Val muttered under their breath sarcastically, rolling their eyes as Dani hopped to her feet and began sprucing up, while their friend’s words lingered in the back of Val’s mind like a bad ayahuasca trip.

Val wasn’t hung up on the dreaded Duchess of the Den, okay? In fact, Val gave exactly zero fucks about Delilah getting crushed and—their hands clenched into fists at their side—scented by the very next greasy local to take a liking to Delilah’s overused maw.

But just to drive the point home to the pesky little pixie that Val called their best friend (and maybe, just a teeny bit, to reassure Val’s own mind), when Dani reentered the room with a roguish wager on her hand, Val gave a Lothario’s grin and proudly donned their familiar skirt-chasing spots. They slapped their palm into Dani’s and felt that distinct tickle of magic pulse through their fingers; a faery deal. “You’re on.”

***

Stalagmite had closed up shop for the witching hours that followed after the night’s earlier gig, as many Den haunts did when their proprietors were in need of a few precious hours of shut-eye before the next day’s usual grind. Luckily, the late-night locals could always find somewhere to keep the party going, no matter the hour—such that it was often noted with debaucherous pride around these parts that the Den of Magic never sleeps.

Tonight, those in that depraved state of mind found themselves crammed into a tiny pocket of a cave, no more than a glorified crack in a cavern wall accessed by an unmarked crawlspace. It was affectionately referred to by the locals as the Geode, due to the amaranthine crystalline mineral matter that made up the floor, ceiling, and walls of this place. It was a favorite pop-up late-night club space, one where Dani and Val had spent many-a night getting into trouble.

Val made their way to the self-serve bar along the back wall, where they spotted an unfortunately familiar head of coiffed hair skulking, beer in hand. “Roland…” Val growled in greeting, the refracting light from the crushed-gemstone walls casting eerie, iridescent purple shadows across the angles of Axel’s cousin’s very punchable face. Val gave the auror a mistrustful once-over and noted that he wasn’t in uniform, which meant he was off-duty.

Val sniffed an open bottle of tequila and then poured a few glugs into a plastic cup, their luminous predator’s eyes never straying from Roland. Over the bass-heavy thumping of music, Val taunted, “Please tell me you’re not actually stalking that radio witch, ey Ro? Eres patético…” They tsked. It was well-known within their circle that Roland’s preferred pastime on and off the clock was harassing a notorious and elusive raven-haired witch from London who worked at the relatively new pirate radio station in the Wet Tunnel, and was leaps and bounds out of Roland Sidewinder’s league. Val took a sip of the stiff liquor in their cup and added, “…don’t you have anything better to do?"

.

Dani let herself be set upright and idly slapped off dirt from the back of her pants and tousled hair, dried sweat clung to her neck and forehead after having damn near sprinted through the Den making more than a few shortcuts to make it to Val in record time. Da had likely already heard through the grapevine that his kid had gotten adult-napped by some wrapped up snowmen and was busy trying to decide to call her Ma and the cavalry or whether or if this was just another scheme Dani had gotten herself involved into.

The answer was - scheme. The best scheme, a real fucking job with a real fucking job that isn’t just paying her under the table with galleons and leers. 

“God we get it you’re Ma’s favorite ya don’t need to be all prickly about me swearin’ by her and all,” Dani whined as she flung herself through the couch then back onto it with a long-suffering sigh, blowing the messy waves out of her eyes. How was she going to word this proper to Val? How was she gonna say ‘Hey I got a job and sometimes I gotta leave the sewer for the tour and shit, it’s so awesome! They’re all so cool can you believe it it’s fucking Cthulhu they’ve been all over the mags and it’s crazy–!’

Except Dani was saying that, hands in the air practically spewing it into the open air. But in for a Knut in for the whole Lourve as her Ma liked to say, so Dani barreled onward in a single breath. “They needed a bassist and their hot blonde werewolf is a fan! Of me! She saw my Tiktok and Youtube video and they tracked me down and the whole thing with terrible disguises and god they were sweating!”

Dani stopped, then blinked and looked Val up and down, sniffing the air.

“You smell like Delilah’s perfume ya know,” Dani slung a single leg over the couch’s arm, practically reclining, “you two sure as fuck were cozy at the barrier tonight, surprised I wasn’t walking in on you two fucking like you’re in heat.”

.

Val stretched their lithe body across the back of the couch just like it was an evergreen branch, peering down at Dani while she rambled. “Cthulhu, huh? Poco pituco for the likes of the Den, ey? But they got a few catchy tracks, if you like that stuff—pretty sure Derek’s a blood bag for one of those kids, he never shuts the hell up about them…”

They were about to mention the fact that Delilah couldn’t stand the fledgling band, which made the prospect somehow more appealing, to Val—they liked anything that would irk the Duchess—when Dani mentioned the girl in a different context. A growl bristled in the back of Val’s throat and they leaned to loom over Dani, vulnerable and belly-up on the couch. A predatory smile uncurled across Val’s face, which hung over Dani’s like a harvest moon. “You know, it’s considered pretty rude to bring up a Were’s heat unless you’re plannin’ on scenting and rutting them proper. You’re lucky I’m such a cool kitty cat…if I were some hot-headed wolf, we’d have to scuffle for dominance, or some shit…” They flashed Dani their incisors, but was only able to hold it for a few seconds before they broke, and laughed, sprawling back onto the couch’s backrest; god, but Pack Weres were dramatic.

Val bent their arms at the elbows and rested their head back on their hands. “And I only reek of parakeet because that stupid little bird woulda gotten herself crushed to death in that mosh pit, okay you fucking pucha? I was trying to be, like—neighborly, or whatever the fuck…” Val sniffed, and then hopped up onto their feet, not wanting to think about Delilah or her scent any longer. They grabbed some loose, worn jeans from a pile on the floor and pulled them on over the briefs they’d been sleeping in, ran a hand through their cropped black hair and grabbed a brown leather jacket from the back of a chair, which they shrugged on over the muscle tank with the Tarapoto Tree-Skimmers logo on it that they were already wearing. “Hop to, Tinkerbell,” Val said to Dani while they looked for their boots, “You know what we gotta do to christen something big happening, it’s tradition. So throw some pixie dust on those pit stains—we’re goin’ out.”

@meow-morales​

Dani let herself topple backwards through the wooden door, her bones vibrating a little before settling down, skin tight then loose then normal again, all the usual signs of her unusual magic. She had a single hand covering her eyes as her body hit the floor with a light thud, her gold and wooden jewelery tinking gentle even while another ripped formed in the knee of her trousers. Already a white handkerchief waving frantically in her free hand.

“If you’re fucking I’m sorry!” It wouldn’t be the first time that Dani had walked in on Val’s bed-notches, nor would it be the last and vice-versa. The pair had torn through the Den of Magic long ago, a pair of heartbreakers and studs letting their body keep the score and the Clinic annoyed with their noon walks of shame to get checked. “But this is super mega wildly important ya know! I promise, swear up and down on my Ma’s latest heist forreal!”

Having not hear a shriek from a bed partner, Dani opened her eyes to a peeved off Val standing over her prone body.

“I’d say your door was open, but I kinda just fell through it instead.”

.

It was rare that Val ever unintentionally shifted into their jaguar form, anymore; but when they did, it was while they were asleep.

Val had spent so many nights, at first, and then days in the jungle stretched and dozing across the strong branches of the evergreens, the cool rainforest canopy a temporary relief from the sweltering humidity. The distinction between human and feline blurred the most while Val was unconscious and dreaming, so it was only natural that even now, as an adult, Val tended to shift back and forth according to their REM cycles.

Even in their slumbering subconscious, Val’s large cat ears pricked up at the sound of a small creature approaching, and the jaguar shot straight up from the bed with a growl when Danika’s voice echoed loudly through Val’s small studio apartment. They shifted in midair, so that they landed gracefully on two human feet, a scowl on their face, with glowing eyes that still half-belonged to the jaguar glaring through the darkness.

“Hijo de puta Dani…” Val grumbled as they stalked through the shadows to flick on a light and then loom over the half-Fae’s sprawled form on the floor, the illuminated neon from their eyes dissolving back to their normal shade of black with every blink. Val peered down at Dani, arms akimbo. “…and don’t be tumbling in here taking my Tia Violeta’s name in vain unless you mean it.”

They reached an arm down to help hoist Dani up off the ground, smirking a little despite the rude awakening; Val was practically nocturnal, anyway, and they were used to spending long nights getting into trouble around the Den with Dani. “Habla, causa. ¿Qué tal? Where’d you disappear to after the show, huh? That tombo giving you shit again?”

[ 𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄 ] ― Delilah asks Val for a dance upon hearing a song

(Inspired greatly by In the Heights here and here)

@squib-city

Blackouts were not uncommon in the Den of Magic.

Their civilization was situated underground, for one thing; magic was finicky, and magic-powered electricity even more so. The citizens of the Den had a power grid that was supposed to be maintained by the local administrative branches—but the Den of Magic residents and those who tried to govern them rarely saw eye-to-eye, and so the latter would regularly shut off said power grid when they wanted to make a statement. Assholes.

But the Den of Magic was bursting with artists and bohemian spirits, who weren’t likely to be silenced by a little bit of darkness, now and then. 

In fact, when the blackouts hit, they reveled. 

It was an unspoken sort of calling throughout the Den; when your power went out, you made your way out into the cavernous tunnels that housed their city streets, to drink and dance and be merry in spite of their would-be oppressors. Taverns and pubs set up makeshift bars outside and cooked skewered meats and vegetables on charcoal grills that filled the tunnels with fragrant, mouthwatering smoke. Those who could do magic levitated colorful lights and lanterns, while those who couldn’t set out candles and tea lights in glass jars, whose glow flickered along the saturated cavern walls, casting shadows that ebbed and bobbed. Musicians would bring out their acoustic instruments—guitars and fiddles, hand drums and flutes and standing bass and tambourines, and play folks songs and dirges and jigs in impromptu clusters.

And most of all, people would dance.

It was on one such night that Val found themself drinking ale at a small table with some of their neighbors—Axel, Delilah, and half-fae Dani. The dancing was in full swing all around them, and Delilah—who was known for twirling about the dance floor in a short skirt and kitten heels until dawn, on blackout nights—had already refused several offers from potential dance partners. 

Delilah’s pace was quick, her feet tapping on the ground and she was very happy for the kitten heels she wore today instead of the usually 3-5 inchers she wore around the Den. The whole place seemed have a constant sheen of water on the ground, and the deeper you went the higher the waterline got. Axel almost exculsivly wore boots now, and Delilah who’d always worn heels got taller ones and platforms. Most other spelled their clothes to repel water but they lacked that particular ability. 

“Put me and Roland in one of your boxing rings,” Delilah chirped as they turned down another corner, further into the Den and closer to her job. “I’m sure given a bit of coaching I could knock him out, really give him a reason to pout.” Plus then maybe he’d stop hitting on her? She intensely disliked Roland for treating Axel badly but worse he kept looking down her shirts! “Fuck you, can you walk in stilettos on cobblestone that is constantly slick! I don’t think so,” Delilah turned her nose up marching along towards the gym. “Just teach me to not break my hand yeah?”

The gym smelled how it always did - bleach, blood, beer and sweat. It was so masculine in energy it almost sent Delilah running off in the other direction. Most everyone in the room Delilah had chided at one point or another, her fingers pressing into their chests for getting their shit rocked or rocking their opponent so hard Delilah had to Charm them into staying still to fix them up. Most were looking her up and down, staring at the shortness of her skirt and exposed ankles. At the clinic she wore leggings and tights, as sheer as they were, and didn’t expose this much skin. Most nodded at her, but their eyes still roamed, appreciatively and with some layer of attraction. 

That was new and different.

Unconsciously Delilah stepped a half foot closer to Val, arms tightening around her stomach, fingers sneezing her own love handles and switched to the safest defense mode possible. Snarky but sweet.

“Who’re ya calling a fangirl?” Delilah glared, her tone bristling, she recognized him, a werewolf or something from a family that had no idea condoms or anti-pregnany charms existed. Delilah felt like she met a new Hawkins kid everyday of the week. The guy, Caucus or something, winked at her causing a flush to spread along the back of her neck and down her spine. 

The guy in front of them seemed to have the intelligence of a wet towel, which probably met Val got along with them. Birds of a feather and all. She tilted up on her shoes and wrinkled her nose. “D’you want some like anti biotics, does lotion even work on Vampire marks?” She really should have paid more attention in biology. “Also shouldn’t you also be a vampire, isn’t that how it works or something?” She looked up at Val with a questioning brow and then back at Derek’s hand.

She pulled a handkerchief from her skirt pocket and swiped at his obviously sweaty hand before slapping it with her own. “Charmed, I’m Delilah, it’s nice to meet you. But I wouldn’t say me and Val are friends, more like tolerant mortal enemies who have dinner when my best friend forces us to, and who is gonna teach me to punch someone’s lights on.” Delilah smiled.

Val could sense a multitude of hungry gazes around the gym that locked appreciatively onto a real-live, bonafide woman in a dress—a rarity for this place—like heat-seeking missiles, and even though Val knew the scent and the name and the harmless nature of every single body in this place, they still felt a territorial growl rumble deep within their chest on instinct. That was, admittedly, a little confusing; what did Val care who oggled the parakeet in her skirt and heels? It was probably the whole damn reason Delilah even wore that shit in the first place, for this sort of attention.

So Val just wrote it off as the same protective instincts they’d feel over the dancers while they were working at Slick Wands, and didn’t dwell on it.

And they did have to hide their smirk when Delilah shot down Glaucus in a second flat. Serves him right, that slobbering dog.

Val met their neighbor’s questioning glance and shrugged a bare shoulder, as if to say, do you think I know jack shit about vampires? But luckily Derek was ready with an answer, for once: “Oh, no! I’m just your regular old Go-Go-dancing bloodbag….” Derek beamed, indicating that for some reason this brought him an immense amount of pride, and then added, “…to be a vampire you have to get Turned by one in like, a fancy ritual or something…I don’t really know how it works but I’m pretty sure you have to die, too, which sounds like—not very chill, you know?”

In lieu of responding to this, Val fixed on Derek a hard and withering look. ‘Not very chill,’ indeed.

Bellamy stood with his arms crossed, staring at the players flying on the field. From an outside perspective it looked as if he was ignoring his acquaintance beside them as they ranted about their team, but for the small twitch in his lips as he watched them gesture at the players in front of them. “Pft. Fine, I’ll admit this new team is horseshit, but they’re green. New enough that in a year or two they’ll the the ones flying circles around your team.”

Val gave an appeased nod at the young man’s response, retracting their metaphorical claws. Val tipped the neck of their beer toward the other and said, teasingly, “Okay, sure, I’ll drink to your misguided but adorable sense of optimism…” Smug, but not in a rub-your-nose-in-it sort of way. A breeze blew through the stands and Val easily picked up the young wolf’s distinct scent. Talk about green—this pup didn’t appear to have one wild hair on his well-coiffed head. Val also took in the way the boy carried himself; guarded, reserved, stubborn. Not hot-headed and governable like the pack weres Val knew. A lone wolf, then, perhaps? Val could empathize with that. Respect it, even. 

Still, Val knew from personal experience that packless creatures could be skittish and spook easily if they weren't approached with care. Val reclined against the rail, observing the other as they purred softly, smooth and unthreatening and feline, “Are you here all by yourself, pup? Could I buy you a beer, or something?”

"You mean someone I would like to actually crush, physically and emotionally, into a pulp? Because yeah, hell yeah—I call her the Duchess of the Den, she's a small chirpy brunette with a credit card, and she's probably annoyed you to the brink of insanity within the past twenty-four hours..."

"Dude, you think I can remember the names of any of those piece-of-shit movie choices my weirdo neighbors pick to watch on dinner-and-a-movie nights? I can barely keep my eyes open for five minutes after one of Axel's meals, let alone make it through a whole-ass boring film..."

A bead of sweat fell down from Delilah’s temple, a high flustered flush growing in her cheek while her chest swelled up - no, fuck no. Val was hot from a general understanding of attraction, Delilah wasn’t fucking blind, but she sure as shit wasn’t going to allow her body to act on it even unconsciously. No.

Stupid ass were-creature, cut like a fucking diamond who can lift her. Who was Delilah to deny that Val was impeccably created? Dragging her eyes away from those ridiculous arms the Scotswoman made a scoffing noise in the back of her throat. 

“ I know biology! I took the class,” well she took the tests and Charmed her teacher for the grade but who needed to know that? Mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell blah blah blah- “Fuck Roland,” Delilah had been warned not to Charm him but one of these days… “You shoulda seen him two days back though, slid in some muck, fell right on his ass. Mud in his goofy hair looking like some monster from the deep. Tried saying I pushed him but I was standing a half hundred meters getting groceries.” Which she’d bought too much of, and Axel asked her to ask Val if they wanted any. 

The prospect was enticing… “Can you teach me to punch Axel’s cousin?” Delilah jogged a little to keep up with Val, giggling madly at the idea of landing a hit on Axel’s shitty cousin. “C’mon V show me how to give someone the good one-two KO.” Miming punching the air Delilah tripped over her heels with a laugh and knocked into Val’s shoulder - “My bad, sorry.”

Val didn’t slow their pace when they heard the sound of impractical shoes scraping pavement behind them—Delilah attempting to keep up. In fact, Val didn't react outwardly at all to the loud-mouthed little bird following behind them—except for an unannounced, satisfied smile that unwound itself across Val’s face like an anaconda stretching along the branch of a tree. Val shook their head, annoyed that they couldn’t seem to shake the feeling; stop that, don’t be ridiculous. At least Delilah couldn’t see them smiling.

But Val did see the picture that Delilah painted with words inside their mind; Roland Sidewinder’s stupid punchable face and unnaturally coiffed hair, covered in literal jungle shit. Of course, Delilah’s version hadn’t taken place in the jungle, but that’s where Val’s thoughts always drifted on their own. “That I would have paid good money to see…” they said with wry amusement, before Delilah was once again sent plummeting off-keel by gravity and idiocy. Val rolled their eyes and reached out to steady the girl, pitying humans and their cumbersome lack of balance. “…and maybe we first just try mastering standing on our own two feet?”

It was mainly regulars who showed up at Brick Break during daylight hours to train before the weekly evening matches, and Val spotted a few familiar faces right away; Glaucus Hawkins was shirtless, sweaty and toweling off, and as he eyed Val and their guest he whistled loudly and yelled, “Who’s the fangirl, Morales?” To which Val offered no reply except to hold up their middle finger in his direction.

Then there was Derek—a dense but harmless meathead who showed up often to watch music and boxing matches, but was rarely himself in the ring. He was leaning against a wall full of weights sipping a protein shake, and Val was surprised to see that visible beneath and around his go-to tank top and too-short athletic shorts, Derek was covered in small cuts and bruises. Yet he seemed in as impeccable spirits as ever as he waved genially at Val and Delilah.

Val nodded back and said, “Lemme guess—I should see the other dude?” 

Derek’s perfectly-crafted face—which was already predisposed to looking stupid—contorted with confusion, not getting what Val was implying for at least thirty seconds before finally the (very dull) lightbulb went off somewhere within that thick skull, and he said, “Oh, L-O-L! Nah, I’ve just been hangin’ out with a new friend is all. He’s a musician! And a vampire.”

Instinctually, Val felt a snarl bristle in the back of their throat. “A vampire did that to you?”

Derek grinned, oblivious. “Yeah! Cool, huh? He doesn’t got fangs or nothin’ so he’s a little un…un-orca….un-orthodontics—“

“—unorthodox,” Val corrected flatly.

.

Delilah was stunned when Val lifted her like a spitting cat and deposited her to the side. Like what the - “Fuck you Morales. Who the fuck do you think you are? How the fuck– this isn’t the jungle! Hands-on approach my ass you’re just showing off!” If Delilah wasn’t sure she’d break her hand on Val’s stupid ass sharp cheekbones she’d smack them so hard. Smoothing out the rumples where Val’s hand had touched her, rubbing at where their fingers dug into Delilah’s skin. “Who the fuck let you get that strong? What the fuck do you bench press?” Do wizards have gyms like that? She’d never seen Axel or anyone else joining a 24 Hour Fitness…

Delilah scoffed, “Hold my tongue? In what universe am I going to be doing that? That’s my whole personality. Ya know, you ought quit fighting and become a comedian, you’ll make a killing.” That was the dumbest idea that Val had ever spouted from their shit-spewing maw. “Besides, I refuse to let myself be on the books when the cops eventually bust you idiots.” Delilah huffed, swinging their own dark hair around, mimicking the stupid swooshing Val did. “Then I’ll bail you out of jail and bring you some plasters just to prove what an excellent neighbor I am.” 

Val rolled their eyes, leaning their weight into one jutted-out hip with their arms crossed over their chest, the lines of their arm muscles on display. And Val wasn’t like—flexing, per se. But, they weren’t not, either…

So…maybe Val was showing off just a little. But only because this chirpy little parakeet needed to be swatted down a few pegs, once in a while! No other reason (right?).

They flashed Delilah the whites of their teeth threateningly. “It’s simple biology, babe—ask one of your doctor friends about it, I’m sure they’d bring you up to speed…” Hostia puta, does this chick ever stop talking? Val gave a dismissive snort and said, “Please, the cops around here don’t know shit about shit—and taking orders from Axel’s idiot cousin, who can blame them? But if you want to actually be useful, for once, then shut up and come with me…” 

“They were actually made of fuckin’ diamonds, all sparkly and shit. Not that we’d ever see a sparkle down in this cave,” the fact she loved it when unsaid. Delilah poked at the rip in her skirt, another mending project for her garbage sewing skills. The muggle sneered, ‘pretty mug’ god that was low, not that she needed the reminder of what real Veelans looked like. Motherfucking Val Morales couldn’t go a day without stressing her in some way shape or goddamn form. 

“This ‘pretty mug’ isn’t moving anywhere, especially since you left your manners in the muck I just fell into.” Reaching into her pocket she pulled out wet wipes and began to get to work on her hands, she can’t have a ripped skirt and hands smelling like shit. “Besides it’s my god given right to bother you, its written in some coda somewhere ‘Delilah gets to bother the shit outta Val to feel better’. Oh look, its working.” Delilah handed a mocking little smile at them before making a shooing motion. “Why don’t you run along and lose a fight then hmm, I’ll be sure to pencil a Healing session in for you ahead of time.”

Val snorted derisively. Sparkly diamonds; how fucking fitting. 

A catlike smile spread across their face and they leaned down to say at Delilah’s level, “The funny thing about manners is that you’ve gotta be bred with them—and I wasn’t. In the jungle, we have a more hands-on approach to settling problems…” Then, to stop their neighbor’s insufferable badgering (and just to be shitty), Val reached out and firmly grasped Delilah by both arms and physically lifted her before moving her off to one side, out of Val’s path.

Val hopped over the mud puddle that had so offended their neighbor and then turned to look at Delilah over their shoulder, cropped black hair swinging around their cheeks. “…And I’d hold that sharp-edged tongue about me ‘losing fights,’ if I were you. If you’re looking to lose some bets then I can save you the trouble and take your money upfront.”

Delilah’s glared at a person standing a little further away, their eyes still looking her over and dusted off whatever muck was now staining the front of her skirt, which she realized was actually ripped. Letting out a small stream of expletives she turned her eyes on the little watcher, her sneer would have made Axel’s shitty cousin Roland proud. “What’re you lookin’ at anyway?” What she wouldn’t do for a wand, or a spell to fix her appearance. Delilah was late to Farmer’s Market and Axel was going to be so disappointed if she didn’t get his Humming Badger Mushrooms. “Never seen a cute girl fall on her arse because the damn street is made of cobblestone like it’s 18-buggerin’-32.” Magic was forming on her tongue, like licks of peppermint filling her cheeks and to her temples. But she willed it to stop, pushing herself off the ground with an annoyed groan, running her fingers through her dark hair. “Can I help you?”

Val glowered down at their neighbor, running her damn mouth off as-per-frickin’-usual. Prayers to Santa Rosa de Lima that the world not run out of Oxygen just because Miss Delilah Akinlove spent it all on her incessant whining.

“Well Duchess, I’m sure the streets were paved with solid gold wherever you came from…” Val growled, pinching the bridge of their nose in annoyance; they’d worked another all-nighter at Slick Wands and they desperately needed to punch something. “…but unless you want me to use your pretty mug as a literal doormat—which, trust me, I am more than happy to do—then you can help me by moving out of my way.”