#x | thread

The dust settles from the slammed books as Grace Porter fixes Peter with a withering glare over the top of her round glasses- an art that she has  p e r f e c t e d  after years of practice, little though it may do. As his classmate and his friend to boot, she’s had more than enough experience with his particular brand of tomfoolery ( even if it has only recently extended to include her long-standing secret hobby, as well as his harrowing new one ) .

“ I’m not going to be a superhero. I’m just… Your backup. Okay,  S p i d e y ? ” She wrinkles her nose on the word, still not quite able to connect the ratty geek who is classified as her bff with the web-slinging gymnast classified as AMAZING. Peter Parker, amazing? Maybe an amazing loser. “ I don’t have an origin story, or a name, or… A broom, no. I wouldn’t even know where to find one. Unless you can glean the answer from one of these… Geeze, the only word I feel like I can use for these is tome. ”

She grabs a book from the top of one of the piles, brushing the cover clean and opening it up to begin thumbing through the pages. It’s not her usual fare, as it’s neither novel nor arcane volume, but it’s definitely fascinating. Barely of the stuff in this book even resembles the actual art of… Magic? She’s never been quite sure what it’s called, really, but magic seems like the best word for it. Certainly, Peter has been eager to start calling it that.

Grace watches this man with bright, curious eyes, hiding her caution with a veil of  i n n o c e n c e . Better that he thinks she’s an IDIOT, probably. He seems like a dangerous sort of individual, but a vain one. And she can’t help but wonder how much he’s willing to preen for her.

“ Not nearly enough, ” Grace says with a wistful sigh, threading her fingers through her hair and brushing it behind her ear before crossing her arms. “ She’s told me snippets- Little bits and pieces -but not the whole picture, never the whole picture. And I just... Urgh, it’s so bloody frustrating, not being able to understand...” She trails off, giving him a long, contemplative look ( and making sure that he knows she’s watching him ) , biting her lip in a mixture of irritation and analysis. She wants to figure out this man just as much as his counterpart, as if they are a pair of particularly vexing arcane equations that just require the right kind of word or inflection. She muses aloud, giving him a sense of her interest to entice him into talking, himself.

grace rolls her eyes, crossing her arms and staring down at the masked boy with a scowl.

grace swallows hard, watching this strange man who is supposed to help her save the world ( apparently ) with a strained mixture of hope and despair. she closes her eyes and takes a long, deep breath before replying to him. must be calm. must be composed. must not  p a n i c .

“ they.... i’m not entirely certain, who ‘THEY’ are, ” she says, her hands curling and uncurling at her sides as she stares him down, “ ’they’ are the authors of a few of the books that my grandmother left me. records of... extraordinary things. my books... they say that you only appear in... at... the right moment, i suppose. ” her eyes narrow.

there is a small crowd gathering in the middle of central park, circling around a figure with a jaunty red hat and long, blonde hair. she wears a d a z z l i n g smile alongside an outfit that manages to keep her warm in the chilly weather without bulking up her slim body. her hands, however, are truly what these people have stopped to see, for they are the performers of magic.

of course, no one here believes it’s magic, truly. they don’t believe that she can a c t u a l l y throw colorful rags into the air and transform them into doves, or withdraw a full tea set from her hat and pour herself a fresh glass of tea- but that’s what they’re seeing, and they are astounded to be so delightfully tricked.

when the magician finishes up her set to applause and cheers, she sits on a nearby bench and sets her hat beside her to collect tips. different parties from the crowd are more than willing to supply a dollar or two, as well as make an attempt to wheedle the magician’s secrets from her. she merely supplies them with a grin and a shrug, coyly telling them that what she does must be magic.

the southern parts of the united states are almost certainly what hell feels like. the air is constantly hot and sticky, and grace can practically feel the skin curling away from her flesh and being attacked by flies the longer she stays outside in the heat. she holds her jacket- which, by the way, she regrets bringing on e v e r y possible level -over her head to block out the sun as she trudges down the sidewalk of this strange town, despite the fact that she looks ridiculous doing so. she really doesn’t know where she is at this point, she’s taken so many different buses to get here. it’s some “ important ” american city, apparently, where a civil war battle was fought or some shit. the buildings look old, and the people look older. she can practically feel the homophobia and racism oozing from them as she walks.

yeah, so, this job had better pay some pretty high dividends. she had stopped in at a shop in nyc with a magical aura about it, and it had turned out to be an apothecary run by a very cranky... something. a fairy? a werewolf? she wasn’t sure, but they had seemed unhinged enough that she hadn’t wanted to ask. or argue. or do anything but nod her head and agree to go and get more supplies. some kind of venom. she checks her phone again. “ culebra ” venom. honestly, she doesn’t know how to find what she’s looking for. she doesn’t even know what a culebra is?? sounds like a snake. or something.