#ac:bttp

@majo-no-meino

He’d only been back in town a few days when he’d heard through the grapevine that someone had been asking about him. Him, of all people. Wizard or not, he’d left to foster anonymity, after all; let a new generation of faces replace some of the mortals that might recognize him from, uh, his last “business affair” having gone awry — and he’d been a little curious as to how he’d failed at such a thing without even being in the area. Wasn’t that the epitome of being discreet?

Relax, they’d told him. It wasn’t a mortal asking questions, they’d told him. It was a witch.

He’d found himself abandoning his wariness for curiosity quickly enough. A witch? Really? The fortune teller had had few dealings with witches, and none of them particularly pleasant. The gods knew he and Vivi could scarcely share the same mile radius without incident, let alone sit in a room together. Still, he’d never been one to turn up an opportunity to “network”, so to say - and he knew better than to get on a witch’s bad side by ignoring her.

And that is why he found himself on the edge of her “property”, looking over the shack he’d finally stumbled across after an afternoon of wandering. This was very likely to be the place he’d been directed to— even the air surrounding the would-be cottage seemed to crackle with energy.

@wonderfulwiizard

It was a shame such a large majority of the world had ascribed to the ridiculous notion of currency— and equally a shame that the fortune teller had found himself developing such an addiction to travelling this currency-obsessed world. One could get by on very little when they knew what they were doing, of course, and by the time he’d rounded his two-hundredth year Gale had developed a pretty good understanding of what he was doing.

But sometimes even those who knew what they were doing extended themselves a bit further than they ought. Sometimes times were tight and wallets were light and one did not have the cash to cover their dinner and drink, and these were the nights the fortune teller looked for people to tell fortunes to.

He had the benefit of not being from the area, and not being well-recognized in these parts. He’d heard that this bar in particular had been something of a temporary oasis for plenty of travellers, too— which only made him all the more anonymous. This was the sort of set-up he well preferred when he turned to a man sitting a short distance down the bar, speaking up in a soft voice:

@livin-lovin-molly

This had been a pretty good gig, all things considered. He was especially pleased with the lack of strings he’d managed to have attached to him; that was pretty rare in these days of resumés and work contracts. He’d worked only several nights a week for the man who owned this bar the entire stretch of the gig, had even had the luxury of picking which nights he’d show up. He’d arrive, do the I Am The All-Knowing Wizard spiel, yadda yadda yadda, read a few palms, do a few tarot spreads, send a few particularly gullible woman clutching their pearls in astonishment about how accurate everything he’d said was— and he’d be calling it a night before 1AM, with the whole rest of the night to himself to do whatever he pleased.

And if a few folks bought him a drink on top of his paycheck, then he called that a fairly good night. Better than some nights he’d had, anyway.

The only outlier to the experience had been a particular young woman— and using that term was actually being fairly generous. It’d be closer to the truth to call her a girl, really. Most mortals were children in the wizard’s eyes, but Molly was actually a child. The fact that she hadn’t been barred entry to the bar made her no less one.

Even still, he’d found himself enjoying the nights she’d showed up for his gigs. He laughed harder, that was for certain— and he told a fair few more stories for the fortune-averse girl than he might have had the pleasure of telling otherwise. And then, of course, there was the fact that for each night he hadn’t outed her for having gotten into the bar on false pretenses, he also counted himself blessed that the sharp-eyed girl had not outed him for being - well.

Hoax was such a strong word.

At eighteen years old, the magical appeal of homecoming had surpassed Lily. She’d never actually been to one, having never attended Trinity Academy, but in younger years she’d dreamed of meeting a mysterious boy who would whisk her away to the dance. She would lie on the wooden floor of their apartment, carefully drawing her perfect dress with her tongue stuck out in concentration. Probably a little pathetic for a girl of 14 years old, but it’s not like she’d ever tell anybody but Will of this detail.

Still, it wasn’t as though she had anything better to do that night. Lily sat on a grassy hill just outside the school, hidden from those milling outside by the cover of nighttime. She watched people arrive with their dates or friends in beautiful dresses, taking photographs together under the lights. The ravenette pulled her jean-clad knees up to her chin and rested her head on them, wishing for once that the denim would transform into chiffon like a story about a princess she’d once read.

Maybe she wasn’t as over the fairytale of dances as she’d thought.

Growing up, she’d never had any nice clothes. Her father bought her only the necessities, and wasted the rest of his money on gambling. Lily had earned a bit of money for herself from selling her findings in the mines, but she was saving that up so she could finally leave this city. But it was times like this that she was tempted to blow her bank on a pretty dress like the girl by Will’s side was wearing.

@oaktreeweathergirl

It’d been a long day for Elli. Specifically that maths test last period. It’d never been one of her strong suits yet the school insists they take it. She didn’t even want to think about the score she’d receive on it. Just the thought of it made her drown with guilt. She should have spent more time studying. 

Elli entered the school’s Home Ec. room, ready to clear her mind from the unpleasantness from the day. After all, the cooking club was meeting up. It was something that Elli was wholeheartedly passionate about and loved learning and teaching from her fellow classmates. 

As she looked around the room she noticed only one other people had arrived so far. Elli must have arrived early, which was no surprise since she rushed over. However, it was nice to see the club’s VP ready to go. Maybe she had a class close by? 

“Hey, Lillie,” Elli greeted as she walked further into the room. “Getting ready for today’s dish?” she asked as she set her backpack on a nearby table. While waiting for the brunette’s answer, Elli took off her uniform’s jacket. It always got in the way of her cooking. That and her hair. It reached down to her mid-back nowadays. Quickly wrapping her hair up into a bun, Elli turned back to Lillie hopefully to get a sneak peak at the ingredients they’d be using that day.

@owenization

While the transition from primary to junior high was rough for the extremely shy young girl, it failed to surpass the one from junior high to secondary -- otherwise known as freshman year -- since her younger sister was absent to defend her when necessary. Therefore, Candace planned out her routes from her classes to her locker, and remained close to the walls to avoid confrontation with other students; more importantly, her ideal goal was to encounter her bullies, old and new, at all costs. It required an amount of effort that should be placed into her assignments, but how could she focus on that when her the ticking of the clock haunted her ears until the bell rang, indicating it was time to leave. To march into treacherous territory. ‘Please,’  she asked any intangible force to provide her protection.

Much to her dismay, however, spontaneously changing which hall to travel through proved to be fatal, for the initial vacancy was soon replaced by those boys. She turned around immediately upon seeing the familiar faces, but it was too late -- panicked, she resorted to the wall and buried her face in her arm to conceal the humiliated rosiness consuming her facial features. Sticks and stones may break her bones, but names tore through her like a threadbare piece of cloth.

»— Highschool was a very weird stage for 15 year old Kurt. Even if he wasn’t a social butterfly, he still fell prey to the norms anyone at his age felt at some point in their lives: a stupid crush. He doesn’t even know this person very much! But here he was, cheeks lightly dusted with pink as he spots the person that successfully summoned butterflies in his stomach. It was a sick and gross feeling– one he’d rather not have but he was stuck with for heaven knows when.

 While far from the first time this had happened, it was still a rare occurence and his nannies were never prepared to stop him, so it had been quite easy for the child to sneak out of the mansion unaccompanied: though his father and mother would lose their heads to hear he had gone off alone. And probably fire whichever nanny they chose to blame.

While he loved his family and his home, it was so boring and big and vast and empty. There was hardly anything to do! Playing pretend was boring enough on it’s own when you had to play by yourself, though he had been told time and time again he wasn’t to waste his or anyone else’s time with games of make believe, it was even worse that he had already done everything he could think of in the mansion, er... at least, during the game of make believe, the mansion was a castle. He had done everything he could think of in his “castle” a thousand times over, so off he had gone, slipping out a door near the kitchens, one usually only used by help.

Of course, he hadn’t so much as told his nannies he was going, let alone where. They’d either make him stay or insist on going with him and that was just no fun! While unlike his mother and father, they didn’t discourage his games, they weren’t exactly fun to have along. They wouldn’t even let him into the forest and how was he supposed to make a map of his kingdom when they wouldn’t let him enter parts of it?

So far on his escapades, all of which went unnoticed by his parents yet always through his nannies into a frenzy, he had drawn out a map of his home in crayons, as well as the courtyard out front and the path he had just taken from the kitchen exit down to the clearing in the forest.

So all he had left now to scribble out was the little clearing! And that was exactly what he was planning on doing today.

He started first by propping up the large grey teddy bear he had brought with him at the base of a tree, before kneeling down in the dirt (and getting his pants quite dirty in the process: in his nannies would be upset with this and he’d feel guilty later) and spreading out his printer paper and crayons.  While just thinking out loud, the child phrased his thoughts as though asking the bear: simply a child lost in his make believe.

“What d’ya think I should draw first, Baba?” He said, looking around curiously “I think... we’ll start with the big tree!”