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

Started December 21, 2019 by Deleted user

tune

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For a woman who seemingly always had something to say, Mistress Frida was suddenly quiet. Cecil shifted around nervously. A bead of sweat slid down the back of his neck. He was sure he was doing something wrong, and yet he’d done exactly as she’d said.

“Mister Valentine, I… your answer overwhelmed me, I am sorry. You see, my ability is rather rare. It allows me to have a very strong sense of one’s feelings and traits. That’s why I perform Readings and not any of the other professors. Sometimes, however, I wish I could do something more. I wish I could help you students out. I wish I was able to make you feel better.”

“It’s alright.” And it was. He’d had lows worse than how he was at the moment; he could take it.

There was a shuffling across from him, and then the room fell quiet. The only sounds in it were the crackling of the candles and the sounds of their breathing.

“Your ability is shining through. I can see that now. Are you ready to find out what it is?”

“I think so.”

“Mister Valentine, you have the ability to (manipulate light or darkness/turn invisible/heal/summon weapons).”

His brow immediately creased. She surely was joking. Both his father and his grandfather had the ability to summon weapons. The only person he knew out of everyone he’d met over the years that could manipulate lightness or darkness was his mother, and she barely even used her ability. Besides, it wasn’t as if he needed to be reminded of her anymore than he already was. Wasn’t looking in the mirror every morning enough? Could he not get by with just the occasional bad dream? Now he had to have her power, too?

All of the contents of his stomach threatened to come up at once, but he forced them to stay down. Rivers of sweat trickled down his back in much greater quantities than before, and, unlike earlier on the lawn, he suddenly couldn’t get warm enough.

He opened his eyes. Mistress Frida was there, looking concerned, with something in her hand. Blearily, he blinked. She was holding a handkerchief out to him. He took it, wiped his face, and laughed bitterly under his breath.

“Can I go now? Please?”

“Of course.”

Without looking back, he got up and made for the door, her handkerchief dropping from his grip and drifting to the floor. He ran so fast through the fancy, stuffy halls that he was sure people would talk badly of him, but he didn’t care. There was no way he’d stop until he got somewhere quiet.

The moment he sat down behind one of the hedges, he heard footsteps. Naturally, he ignored them. His heart rate was too fast to be worried about whoever was passing by.

The footsteps didn’t go away, not even after five minutes. They led right up to him. He finally looked up at whoever it was and found (Naomi/new kid) staring right at him.”

The student was tall and slim with sepia skin, hair the color of coffee, and dark freckles galore. Cecil couldn’t decide what was stranger: the crooked grin he wore or his actual outfit, which consisted of a loose shirt, brown pants that were just a bit too big, and a ragged, pale yellow cloak that he had tied around his neck.

“Making friends with th’ hedges, are we?” His accent was extremely strange. There was a weird lilt to it, a sort of sound that made some of his words blur together.

To his question Cecil couldn’t even manage a reply. He had no idea who the kid was, and he didn’t plan to answer him.

“Ay, don’t worry. I won’t tell anybody. Much like these,” he patted the leaves of one bush with admiration clear in his face, “I’m great at keeping secrets.”

Great, Cecil thought, watching as the kid threw himself down beside him. Clearly he wasn’t going to leave anytime soon.

(Say nothing/“Who are you?”)

“Finnegan Esperalius Morrow, nice to meet you.”

“Espe-what?”

“Esperalius. It’s an old family name, don’t worry too much about it, sweetie—can I call you that?”

“No.”

“As you wish, sweetie,” he teased, winking, and offering Cecil his hand. Cecil didn’t shake it. “Aw, there’s no need to be rude. I don’t mean any harm.”

“But you do mean to bother,” he replied pointedly, although he admittedly didn’t feel as tense as moments before. There was something in the kid’s dopey smile and brilliant, mockingly innocent eyes that made it hard to feel anxious.

“Oh, of course! According to my nan, bothering’s what I do best. I’m especially good at it when there’s something around to nibble. Say, you don’t have any food on you, do you?”

“No.”

“Terrible shame. I think I might starve.” He plucked a leaf from the nearest bush, held it up, examined it thoroughly, and stuck it in the corner of his mouth. “So, What about you? What’s your name, sweetie?”

“Cecil.”

“Cecil…?”

“Cecil Valentine.”

“And why’re you out here, Cecil Valentine? You came running like hell was on your heels.”

“I got my Reading.”

Finnegan laughed. It was a wonderful snort of a laugh. “Aw, and it upset you? You know, there’s no bad ability. All are fun.”

(“What’s yours?”/“Whatever.”)

“You wanna see?”

Cecil blanched. “What do you mean? How do you plan on showing me?”

The other boy snort-laughed again and swiped one of his hands through his hair, messing it up even more than it had been. He crossed and uncrossed his legs a couple of times before flipping his palms up towards the sky. In one smooth motion, his body lifted up off the ground into the air about two feet above where he’d been sitting. The leaves of the bushes behind them rustled furiously as he leaned backwards, lifted up further, and then swooped in one quick movement towards the ground. Naturally, Cecil winced, waiting to hear a crash that never occurred. When he looked again, Finnegan was hovering barely an inch above the ground. He was so close that his cloak was dragging in the dirt.

“How did you do that? Are you a second year?”

“I’m a first like you, sweetie, but I actually got my abilities way earlier on. Came in with puberty, as my nan used to say. Come to think of it, my nan used to say a lot. She might’ve had a talking problem. Not like me, of course. I’m silent as a mouse.” He punctuated the end of the sentence with a wink.

“Right.”

“So, what about you? What’d you end up with?”

“Light and dark stuff,” he sighed.

“Don’t look so glum about that! That’s a rare one, isn’t it? You’ll be able to do heaps! I’m almost jealous.” Finnegan patted his shoulder lightly before lowering himself fully. “Now that I think about it, I have a book about that sorta thing in my room. You want it? It might help you out some, and I certainly don’t have a use for it. Someone gave it to me as a little gift ages ago. Don’t worry, though—they weren’t anyone special.”

(Go talk to Naomi/go with Finnegan/go paint alone)

(Alright! Time for a very brief quiz. Be honest—you won’t hurt my feelings! How do you like Finnegan? I like him and want to know him better/I don’t like him that much
And how do you like Mistress Frida? She was alright/I thought she was interesting/I don’t care about her all that much, honestly
Like I said, honesty is key, please!)