#wastarter

LOCATION: summer solstice ball, evening/night

Beatrice curls into her seat on the window ledge, forcefully yanking the curtain closed to hide her from the rest of the ball. She rests her feet against the sliver of wall opposite her, covering her knees in a swathe of blue fabric. This whole thing is stupid. She shouldn't have come. Between the fire-eaters and the sword-swallowers, there's too much happening to feel like home.

She catches a glimpse of her reflection in the window - wrong - and habitually lifts a hand to feel for feathers. It flutters there a moment before she pulls it away lest she ruin her hair. She'd put it up in a half-remembered copy of the way her mother used to do it, the way she herself had begrudgingly done it for one of her sisters. The dress she's wearing feels like something half-remembered too. Same with the dancing. When she looks at the ballroom she remembers learning to dance. Standing on her father's feet while they whirled around in front of the fire. And later too, the more formal stuff with her mother reminding her of the footwork. A ball, and she's hiding herself away. Mother would be so disappointed, she thinks like a needle to the heart.

She huffs out a beleaguered sigh. Then startles badly as someone pushes aside the curtain hiding her away. “Jiminy Christmas!” she scowls, dropping her feet back down to the floor. “Unless you're here to offer me fancy food, this spot's taken!”

Leo stood in front of the refreshments table, staring at the person in front of him as if they had grown a second head. "What do you mean this is faerie food?" He was just about to take a gigantic bite of the cupcake in his hand when the server made an offhand comment about the food. "Are we talking magically delicious or should I worry about turning into a giant?" Leo was growing sick of magical mishaps. After being explained, they were made by the fairy godmothers in Elias, and his nerves eased the slightest bit. "Level with me here, on a scale of 1 to 10, how much do you trust the safety of this food?"

casimir lingered just off to the side of the happily ever after potions stall, a glass vial twirling lazily between his fingers like he’d been doing it his whole life. the liquid inside shifted colors every few seconds soft gold to violet to something darker and his smile sharpened every time it changed. he watched the crowd more than the merchandise, eyes catching on anyone curious enough to get too close.

“you look like someone with good instincts,” he said smoothly, stepping into someone’s space just enough to be noticed. he held the vial out between them, tilting it so the light caught just right. “so tell me. what kind of position are you searching for” his grin widened, playful but edged.

Ichabod occupies the farthest seat in the café, where the light thins and conversation blurs into something indistinct. The dimness suits him. It allows him to observe without being observed. The low hum of chatter settles into white noise, though he does not truly tune it out. He listens, selectively, sifting through fragments of dialogue in the faint hope that some careless remark might prove useful to his case.

Most of it is intolerably mundane. With quiet resignation, he withdraws a book borrowed from the library — a historical account of Elias, its older districts and half-forgotten foundations. The spine is stiff, as though rarely opened, yet the pages are browned with age, touched by time if not by readers. He studies it with measured attention, one leg crossed neatly over the other. The only light he permits himself is the pale spill of a streetlamp through the window beside him.

A chair scrapes across the floor. Someone sits opposite him. A controlled, steady breath follows.

Ichabod does not look up immediately. He turns a page instead, allowing the silence to stretch. It is unusual for anyone to approach him uninvited — more unusual still to do so without speaking. But human motives are rarely worth premature speculation. If they intend something, they will reveal it.

He continues reading. An artificial clearing of the throat breaks the quiet. That, apparently, is his cue. Only then does he lift his gaze — calm, composed, analytical. “Can I help you?” he asks evenly.

it was the end of the day and sylvie was about to lock up for the night. she liked working at the bakery because it reminded her of all the work that she did when she was in the castle. when her step mother forced her to work instead of getting to spend time learning how to rule. getting covered in flour, baking bread, being around an oven was so familiar and comforting to her. plus if she worked at the bakery she could take home any of the pastries at the end of the night. she occasionally was too tired to cook dinner when she got home, relying on whatever she could find. she wasn't going to go home just yet today, wanting to socialize in town for a bit or walk home slowly.

today there was plenty of left from today. she gathered a basket of the leftover pastries. it was far too much for everyone at the cottage to get through, even the eight of them. maybe someone outside would want something. sylvie locked the door to the bakery up and flagged down the nearest person. "excuse me. i hope you don't find this too odd, but i have a bunch of leftover pastries from today. would you like to try something? i'll never get through all of this basket."

open starter for anyone. location: new elias, near city hall.

the sidewalks of new elias were too clean, too polished. glass towers reflecting a version of the city mavis didn’t quite recognize. she’d already been turned away three times that morning, each rejection delivered with a tight smile and a rehearsed “we’ll call you.” her folder of resumes felt heavier with every step, edges bent from being opened and closed too many times. she paused near a crowded intersection, watching people in tailored coats and rushed expressions pass byher like she wasn't there.

with a quiet breath, she stepped toward the nearest stranger lingering by a coffee cart, nerves prickling beneath her skin. “sorry,” she started, offering a small, hopeful smile. “do you happen to know anywhere hiring around here? i’m not picky. i just need… something.”

——— striking her most popstar worthy pose, luz had just finished belting to her heart's content. the other patrons in the place were happy the performance was over. one too many microphone screeches had pierced their ears. she jumped on the stage a huge smile on her face and slightly panting from the adrenaline coursing through her. "come on you have to go up and sing!" she told the person she was standing in front of. "it's so much fun i promise."