ɢʟɪɴᴅᴀ ᴛʜᴇ ɢᴏᴏᴅ ʙɪᴛᴄʜ

A low, humming sound vibrated in Oliver’s throat. Amusement. And Santi’s jagged words clattered off the armor of Oliver’s impenetrable egotism. “Yes.” Sardonic. “Of course.” Derisive. There had always been an edge to their relationship, a grinding coarseness as they moved against each other. As children it had been uncomplicated dislike. As adults, it was far more complex and difficult to label the layers they’d piled up between them through years in each others company.

yes/of course. three simple words ignite the carefully woven fabric of santiago’s false vibrato. within the smoke of charred cloth inhaled lies their chemistry, the forever dance of chaos and order. 

Dusk. The sun, like a rotten satsuma was sinking below the treetops, leaving it’s tangerine streak across the cotton wool sky. Smoke curled around Persephone’s head, dousing her in fumes as she leaned back against the dated bricks, swallowing the smoke, her fingers plucking ladders in her school tights. A stick of Malboro between her fingers and the sinking sensation that she was flirting with death was a familiar comfort to the siren of a girl, lungs blackened behind the sanctuary of the bike sheds. 

it’s a rare occasion. the wicked witches of the west, and east, respectively, stumbling upon each other in such a slapdash twist of fate, no prophetic plagues dancing on finger tips or flying monkeys waiting for the final signal from their ruler.

He was just as she left him at the end of last year. Perfectly mussed hair, a razor-sharp smile, and an incurable flair for dramatics. She leaned up against the nearest wall, allowing herself a small smile. Same old Santi.

a split second passes and a sharpness cuts through that layer of mocked humor; his cheshire grin takes the worst of the damage, bleeding out and leaving only an unsheathed stare. a girl familiar with his behavior deserves santi’s brutal authenticity.  “i think, first of all, we should probably figure out if that british fuck is even spewing an ounce of truth, and listen, we definitely don’t fucking have to worry about shit, even if there is a hex,” that grin experiences it’s final breathes as it shows for the last time, “i’m pretty sure i have an in with some of the faculty.”

Blue eyes stared at a devilish grin. Was he serious? His hands fiddled with the hem of his shirt nervously. “I believe it’s quite sinful.” Lionel wasn’t really sure if he believed in a God or a higher being ( if he did, why was he being punished so? ), but he did believe in good and evil, and what this boy had said had struck an awful chord in Lionel’s heart. “Do you think it’s sinful to enjoy the tears of others?”

santiago’s eyes are rolling to hell and back, his devil-may-care attitude taking them there. though a valid opinion, the answer is bleach to the messiness of santi’s kittenish curiosity. “hm. well, if you are talkin’ the pang of hunger from devastated third world countries or nations in war, probably fucking not,” he stops, if only for a dramatic pause, “but seeing the kim k crying face of a dumb fuck who decided to cross me? who wouldn’t fucking enjoy that shit?”

“You’re capable of normal human conversation?“ Oliver’s expression was carefully serene. Anyone observing them from afar would assume that as always, Oliver was the eye to Santi’s storm, ignorant to Oliver’s refusal to move away. Instigating.

the desire to descend, to beat satan at his own nefarious game pulls at the edges of his psyche, but he resists temptation, keeping his own crooked halo propped atop his head. “my capabilities are beyond what your dumb-fucking-ass can comprehend.” there’s strain in his words and drizzled across the arch of his smile. oliver is the predator and santiago is the prey. and this is the part where santi should flee, when the hunter is lunging for the hunted, but all he can think about his own cardinal sin, the nail in his sacred coffin. how all he can do in the throes of this moment is weigh the good/bad consequences of being devoured.  

Oliver’s hands were in his back pockets, eye diverted to the scatter of new students that milled about the halls of Lake Placid, now a teeming mess of new initiates. Canting his head towards Santi, he pressed close, shoulders warm through the thin layer of their clothes.

the warmth pressed into the curves of his backside leaves santiago off kilter, a leaning tower somehow still standing upright. his fury is instantaneous, blossoming in angry red on the tips of his hair hidden ears. “god, you’re so fucking gross, please get away from me if you wanna have a normal human conversation.”

one corner of dante’s mouth quirked up at the notion. i’m sure she did. “getting into trouble so soon? you know you have all year for that.” a swift hand darted out to snatch the runes from out in the open, depositing the parchment into an open drawer instead. “unless you enjoy these little visits as much as i do, in which case i must inform you that my door is always open. you don’t have to go around destroying the reputation of innocents to see me.” his hand finally sliding out from its place on the back of his neck, dante waved a flippant hand through the air, gently closing the door behind santi. “you look like you’re settling in well,” he commented, an amused air creeping into his voice as he looked over the boy’s interesting choice of wardrobe, “glad you’ll be comfortable for the lecture i’m duty-bound to give you.” another flick of the wrist, and the chair in front of dante’s desk screeched towards santi. “take a seat. this might take twice as long, considering i asked you to come in — ” he reached for the standing notepad on his desk, bringing it just a touch closer for inspection. “two days ago.”

santiago wanted to open his mouth, to call him a dusty old sac and take himself anywhere but there. he would’ve if it were literally anyone else. the hints of attraction dante seems to be purposely aggravating settle heavy on santi’s face, irritating his skin, forcing a tinted blush to its tanned surface. it’s not cute, he knows, the splotchiness of the rosied pinks make him feel like a spotted animal. the teenager chugs the mismeasured cocktail of feelings, managing to carry on the conversation without a hitch. “listen, dean dante de luca,” santi begins, tone petulant, “i wasn’t even the one who was the culprit this time. like, honestly, you probably have to recheck your receipts. i admit, if i were you i’d be the first one i’d talk to, too, but i can promise you, everyone will say that angela with the grandma arms started this one. so why don’t we just cut this short, please? i’m really fucking tired of wearing pants.”

he was so engrossed in his work that he hardly noticed when the gramophone in the corner screeched to a halt, the song punctuated by an eerie giggle that couldn’t possibly have been written onto the record. one hand clamped onto the back of his neck, nails digging into his own flesh, the other idly stroked hecate as frenzied eyes read the same jumbled of scrawled runes over and over. he heard the door creak open and his jaw clenched, forcing himself to remember he’s the one who encourages anyone and everyone to come to him whenever they’d like. with the sound of the hinges, the cat bolts, threading herself between the legs of whoever is at the door. dante’s neck straightens, a single irritated degree at a time, to meet the gaze of his untimely guest. “it would appear you’ve let the cat out of the bag, so to speak,” he murmurs, lips pulling back over pristine teeth in something you could almost call a smile, “how can i help you?”

today was supposed to be a lazy day, feet warmed in fuzzy slippers, hot pink shorts conforming to his body, bedazzled no-no words flush against his asscheeks, and his cellphone, alight with notifications and a full battery. but instead santiago was here, the school’s walls and large pillars barring him from enjoying the ac of his own room on a muggy sunday. he sauntered through the building, those furry slippers he shouldn’t be wearing scooting him along. santi had been called in a couple days ago for some unknown reason, probably having meant to show up later that friday. he didn’t feel the need to go, the chaos of the weekend had loomed over his shoulder, threatening to tear him apart if anything unnecessary took time away from whatever event his teenage girl mind deemed more important. of course, he had called ahead, speaking to one of the various school office employees kept around the clock, she had ensured santi of the dean’s presence. he didn’t even so much as stop to open the door leading to the school’s highest authority, instead, with a heavy foot to tile work floor and a pinch of magical energy, it was pushed open of its own accord. a millisecond passed and santiago’s sleep heavy face pops out passed the door frame. “i promise, whatever i did to her, she really effing deserved it.”

his honest intentions were not to offend. levi’s rarely were. although he could not pinpoint the source of his offense, if he were able to he would be prompt to explain that it was simply a part of his common vernacular to refer to peers as “man” regardless of gender. he remained unflinching during the barrage of insults, perhaps because in his fabric of being uncaring nature overshadowed whatever reactionary fibers of his being still existed. though he listened and his eyes hung bored at the other person, thoughts were few and when it was blatant tat the words spoken actually garnered a reply, he lazy sighed, “wow, so i’m the boy on fire? original, original. at least we know you trust everything you hear.”

“how the fuck is that original? unless your apparent brain power comes at the price of your hearing and sense of awareness? really, i’m almost fucking shocked i was the first one who made a comment about what you did. everyone’s talking about the boy with the deep fried hair who set his boring ass human school ablaze to try and live a little. they don’t say it like that obviously, but you get the gist, don’t you?” there’s a flare of authenticity as the notes in his voice rise into a question, real boy curiosity lighting up a sparkle in his eyes.

the sound of another’s voice rang through the sour air, causing levi’s attention to be diverted from the pen that twirled in between his index and middle fingers to the words that spun around the atmosphere. his gaze fell to the person beside him, his suspicions that the teacher’s drone caused a mist of boredom to sprinkle across the classroom proven to be correct. levi leaned back in his chair, the hand with pen in grasp dropping to his side. “you feeling okay, man? that’s too fucking weird a statement to not have a story behind it.”

‘man’ is a spark rattling up his spine and fizzling at the base of his brain, puncturing his thoughts with overbearing irritation. a razored glare meets bottle blond hair and long limbs. the journey his eyes take when they role is entirely unnecessary, but the previously worn joviality is slipped back over his features shortly there after. “y’know i actually find this level of introspection completely out of character for a Dum Boy(™), especially one who enjoys both over frying their hair with chemicals and their school with — well, you used chemicals for dumfries too, right?” 

✖▐┊ ᴘᴀɢᴇ 6 ᴏғ ᴀ spellbook ( magics + overview )