forum A Magical RP (More of an Interactive Story) (CLOSED)

Started December 21, 2019 by Deleted user

tune

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Naomi settled down beside him, smoothing out the skirt of her plum-colored dress. She fiddled with her hair for a moment, trying to put it back up behind a (flower/butterfly) pin.

“No use in hiding out all the way out here,” she remarked calmly. “You’re gonna have to get Read eventually.”

(“Yeah. I should just get it over with.”/“Whatever.”)

Surprise flickered across her face. “Whatever? No, it’s not wha- you know what, never mind. I can tell you’re in a mood. Here, why don’t you come with me? I’ll walk you all the way up to her office, if you’d like.”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he rolled onto his back and crossed one of his legs over the other. His gray coat rustled the grass beneath him as he stretched his arms out.

“I’m serious, C,” she said, “you really can’t keep her waiting. All students have to be Read before the school year starts—you know that.”

“Did you already go?”

“I… yeah, I did. I know we said we’d go together originally, but, well (a teacher made me/I couldn’t find you/I got tired of waiting).”

“Thanks,” he responded. His voice was steady, but he was stung by her words. Before they’d gotten to Ravesson’s, they’d made each other swear that they wouldn’t leave each other behind. She’d been so confident that she was never going to leave his side for a second.

It was only their first day.

He supposed maybe he just moved too slow do her. That was alright, he reasoned. He should forgive her.

“Sorry, C. But—like I said—I’ll walk with you to her office if you need me to, and I can wait for you to get out, too. What do you think?”

(“I‘ll go alone.”/“That sounds good, actually.”)

Whatever eagerness she had left her as soon as he opened his mouth to speak. He had to admit, it pleased him slightly to see her guilt. He promised himself that they’d be even from that moment on, stood, brushed off his pants, and made for the front of the school.

He’d already been inside once that day to unpack his things. This time, however, he wouldn’t be going to his room. The grand hall was filled with students milling about. It was so loud that Cecil could barely think. As soon as he possibly could, he took a right into the hallway where Mistress Frida’s room was and found himself filled with relief. There was nobody in line. He’d waited so long that everyone in his class of about a hundred had already gone.

Mistress Frida opened her door as soon as he came up. She was a tall, heavyset woman with thick hair and round, rosy cheeks. When she moved, the twenty or so bracelets on her arm jingled.

“Hello, Mister Valentine. I’ve been waiting for you to come by.”

“Oh?” That caught him off guard. She was as good as they said, then.

“Come inside. Today, you’ll take a test—not a graded one, of course, don’t look so panicked—that will decide your fate. This test will be about (your personality/your life).”

“My personality?”

“Yes.”

Cecil followed the woman into her room. It was dressed from wall to wall with indigo and scarlet sashes, wondrous gold patterns, old maps, vases with incense sticks, detailed paintings, and a stained glass mural or two. Everywhere he looked, there was another splendid detail that sparkled, shimmered, or popped. Somehow, nothing seemed out of place. It all came together like a perfect picture, and he decided he’d try to paint it when he had a spare couple of hours.

“Take a seat over here, Mister Valentine.” Mistress Frida gestured to a plump pillow sitting across from a mat the color of red wine. About four candles were spread around cushion, so he sat down on it carefully.

“Alright, let us begin. Close your eyes.”

He did as she asked.

“Now tell me, who are you? Who is Cecil Valentine?”

(“I… I don’t know.”/“Do I have to do this?”)

“Yes,” she answered, shutting him down entirely. He opened his eyes to squint at her, noting that she was now in front of him, suspiciously before closing them once more. “Now, who are you?”

There was really nothing he could think to say. He stayed silent.

“Let me make this easier for you. What are three ways you could think to describe yourself?”

“Right now? Uh… a bit bored, I guess, and frustrated, and, um, tired.”

“Tired? Is there any particular reason why?”

(Tell the truth/don’t answer/make an excuse)

(Unfortunately, there’s a point I’d like to get to tonight before stopping and waiting for the morning, so I’ll pick this one and you can have the next. Izzy can join us again whenever she’s free—and to Izzy, I hope you’re alright with the story so far!)

(Choice picked—don’t answer)

She clicked her tongue. “Very well, Mister Valentine. Even though you’re being stubborn, I feel like I‘m still getting to know who you are as an individual. You’re quite the interesting character, you know. Most kids that come in my room can not wait to get their Reading performed. Some have even cried with joy. It’s not unusual that one is nervous, but you don’t even seem pleased to be here. Is it possibly that Ravesson’s isn’t the right fit for you? This University’s tuition is not cheap. Isn’t it a waste to have your family’s money be spent in a place that you don’t enjoy?”

“You don’t know anything about my family,” he replied, anger bubbling through his body before settling into cool, gritty indifference.

“Mister Valentine, I did not mean to offend you. The purpose of a student’s Reading is to help them better understand themselves. It wasn’t my intention to interrupt that process.” Something patted his knee; it was her hand. “You are right. I do not know your family. I know vague things about your father, and… well, let’s not go into that. This isn’t about your family, after all. It’s about you. Relax, Mister Valentine, please, and take a couple of breaths.”

He took her advice and breathed in slowly. The smell of burning candles wafted through the air, bringing him peace.

”Now, tell me what you want at this moment.”

(“I want this to be over.”/“I want to be left alone.”/“I want to feel better.”/“I want to paint.”)