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

Started December 21, 2019 by Deleted user

tune

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“Sure, I guess I can spare a minute.”

“‘Spare a minute’? Why, don’t act so high and mighty now, sweetie! It’s not like you were doing anything else. Besides, who knows? If you come into my room, well,” he raised a brow, “anything could happen up there, you know. Anything. At. All.”

“I don’t know what you’re implying, but I’m just coming for the book.”

“Suit yourself.”

The two of them stood, Finnegan going first to give the other a hand. They picked branches out of their hair and patted their legs free of dust until both were satisfied, then began on their way back to Ravesson’s. This time, Cecil didn’t feel any tension towards the gigantic school at all. Everything he’d been afraid of had already happened. All he could do now was try and deal with it, and dealing with it apparently meant striking up a less-than-ordinary conversation with the strange boy beside him. If he was being completely honest with himself, it was the most fun he’d had since he’d received his acceptance letter. The Morrow boy reminded him of some of his old friends, like Cameron and Laya. It was a shame that only Naomi could come with him; he missed their company.

Once they reached the staircase in the main hallway, where kids were still heavily packed in dense, noisy groups, Finnegan stopped dead in his tracks. He spun dramatically and stuck out his hand.

“Let’s go up in style!”

A burst of random energy flooded through Cecil’s veins. In a spontaneous, spur-of-the-moment choice, he grabbed the hand.

And they flew.

Flying shouldn’t have been that exciting to a room full of kids who’d grown up with magic around them their whole lives, but nearly all eyes were on them. Two or three kids even squealed as they zipped overhead up the stairs together, hand in hand. Neither one of them could stop laughing. They were practically cackling with the exhilaration of it all, especially when they reached a different floor and whipped around a corner to get to the next set of stairs. Ravesson’s cream and gold walls passed by in one marvelous blur.

All good things, however, had to end eventually. Finnegan decelerated after they reached a certain floor. He flopped to the ground, panting, and groaned.

“That was incredible!” Cecil yelped. He’d never flown before, not even once.

“Thank you kindly. Oh, man,” his tan hands darted up to clutch at his head, “that smarts like a son-of-a-“

“What happened? Are you hurt?” he interrupted, his own voice admittedly more tinged with worry than he’d expected.

“Nah, nah, don’t you worry, sweetie. Overdid it a tad, went too fast, landed myself a grand old headache. Happens every now and then. Sure makes me dizzy, though.”

“Do you need something? Uh, water, or… I don’t know, uh…”

“Don’t you worry, it’s already fading. Do me a favor, though?”

“Sure.”

“Slide this key in th’ door for Room Six-Oh-Three, will you?”

Cecil took the bronze room key that he pulled out of his pocket and did as he asked. The wooden door creaked open to reveal the standard beige carpeting and eggshell walls that he’d been expecting. There wasn’t much else in it that he could see from the doorway. On the floor directly in front of him was a exquisitely patterned rug, and somewhere next to it was a coat hanger that was missing a leg.

“Ay, thanks. Come on in,” Finnegan announced, walking on past him. As he entered, he pressed on the light switch that would cause all the candle-lights in the room to flicker on. He dropped down onto the puffy couch that came every student’s standard furniture set and rubbed his eyes with the back of his hands.

“Book’s in th’ shelf over there by the curtains. You can take it and scoot, or if you’d like, you can stay for a minute. I have a kettle in my closet that I can put on th’ pit in th’ corner, although I’d understand if you had to go.”

(Stay with Finnegan for the afternoon/go get class schedule)

“I think I can stay. That is, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course I don’t mind. I was th’ one that offered, wasn’t I?” With a slightly bashful smile, the strange kid gestured across the room. “You can take a seat wherever, by th’ way. On that stool, or th’ armchair over here—just not on my bed.”

“Oh? And here I was, thinking you’d want that.”

If Finnegan’s earlier laughs had been snorts, this one was an absolute honk. Light, eager pride rushed through Cecil.

“Why, Mister Valentine! I’m wounded! Here I was, innocently offering you something to drink, and you have to go about dirtying my image! I’ll have you know that I’m a man of character.” He clapped his hands and then rubbed them together. Charm radiated out of him like he was a heater in a cold room, drawing Cecil’s attention to his every word. “Although, I’ll be honest with you, sweetie, I don’t know if I’d mind you dirtying me up. Sounds like a good time.”

“Uh- I-” Cecil had thought he’d have something witty to say back, but he didn’t. His speaking skills were rusty.

“Aw, I didn’t make you uncomfy, did I? I’m sorry, I’ll stop with all th’ teasing.“

“You didn’t make me uncomfortable.”

“No? That’s good and all, but I still feel like I should apologize. Here, I have an idea. How do you like your tea?”

“I don’t drink tea.”

“Be still my bleeding heart! Oh, how many more wounds can I take today? You don’t like tea? Don’t tell me—you prefer coffee?”

“It’s not my fault! Tea tastes like, uh, dirt!”

“It’s leaves!” Finnegan yelped in indignation.

“Same thing! Both grow in the ground, and-“

“Dirt doesn’t grow!”

“You- you know what I meant!”

Never before had such an intense staring contest occurred. Green eyes met light brown ones in a moment of tension before both boys broke away laughing.

“Fine, no tea, then, but no coffee either. What would you like instead?”

“Do you have juice?”

“Juice? Ah, I don’t know about that. I have a chilled cabinet up on top of th’ bookshelf. Do you wanna check?”

“Yeah, sure.”

As it turned out, Finnegan did not have any juice. He also didn’t have food of any kind—not even the cheap, stale crackers that one could buy at the school’s market—or milk. To be fair, according to the kid himself, he hadn’t had much of a chance to go out. Neither of them had. Classes at the University hadn’t even begun yet. In the end, they decided to put some ice in mugs of some nearly frozen water that he’d found in the cabinet.

Time started to speed by in the blink of an eye. They talked about almost anything that popped into their minds. Cecil found out that Finnegan lived with his grandmother, who he called Nan, his little sister, and his two aunts, and that he didn’t exactly come from any sort of money. He also learned that people’s powers came from, according to Finnegan again, the regions they lived in. Cecil had lived in the area of his small home city, Garrica, for his whole life, so he’d never known anything about the differences between magicians in between providences or continents. Fortunately, Finnegan seemed to know a lot. He didn’t so much brag as he did ramble about the things he knew. What he said, however, was never boring. It did help that he would sometimes stop mid-sentence in order to expel a random creature fact or launch into a joke. After about three hours had passed, however, he appeared tired of talking. He started to slowly ask Cecil questions that, on face value, didn’t seem that bad. They actually weren’t hard at all until he confidently asked the one question he’d been dreading:

“What about your family, sweetie? I’ve told you about mine; now it’s your turn.”

Funny how quickly things could change, he thought. When those words left his mouth, Cecil felt the exact same as he had when leaving Mistress Frida’s.

(“I think I need to go, actually. It’s late.”/Tell the truth/Leave)

("I think I need to go, actually. It's late."

“Late?” Finnegan was obviously bewildered. “It’s barely five, I wouldn’t say th- oh. Oh, I get it. That was a bad question, wasn’t it? You don’t have to answer.”

“But-“

“No, really. I know all about family junk. If you wanna keep it to yourself, then feel free. I know some things can be… ah, hard to talk about.” For the first time, he actually sounded completely sincere. It was almost scary. No one had ever changed so drastically before in front of Cecil; he almost felt like he had whiplash.

“Thanks,” was all he could muster in response.

“Ay, don’t worry about it.”

They both sat in silence after that. Five minutes passed, then ten, before Finnegan finally stretched out on the couch. His shirt rode up to expose a strip of his flat stomach. Odd. There was something there, a dark red (scar/tattoo). By the time that Cecil leaned in close to get a look, the other boy had already straightened up. He swung his legs out suddenly and stood, a newfound look of determination painted across his features.

“I have to ask you something.”

“And you had to stand up to do it?” Cecil joked, trying to hide the rising fear that was gathering in the pit of his stomach. What could he possibly be about to ask that was so important?

“Do you… uh, do you want to walk to class with me tomorrow?”

“Oh.” That was it? (“I wanted to walk with one of my friends, sorry.”/“Sure, sounds good.”/“Yeah. Why don’t you come with my friend and I?”)

“Your friend?” For some reason, he seemed disappointed. “Would I know ‘em?”

“Probably not. Her name’s Naomi, and she came with me from Ghastir’s.”

“Ah.” His cheeks went crimson. “I’ve never been very good with th’ ladies, if I’m being honest, sweetie. Or th’ lads, actually. Most find me a bit much to handle. Not, of course, that I mind,” he added hastily, “but, y’know, I don’t want make a bad impression on your gal. I hit a stroke of luck with you.“

“I think she’ll like you,” Cecil responded in what he hoped was a confident tone. In reality, he had no clue what Naomi would think of him. She wasn’t exactly judgmental—no, that wasn’t the right word for it at all—but she had a very particular sort of friend that she often sought out. Finnegan was an odd one indeed. Whether or not he’d fit into that category was a toss up.

“I’m not so sure, but I’ll give it a try. Just for you, though.”

It was Cecil’s turn to blush. He still hadn’t gotten used to the kid’s random sense of humor. While it didn’t always bother him, sometimes it hit a chord and transformed him into a stuttering mess.

“Aw, look at you. You’d outshine any plain old apple with that shade of red. I’d love to spend th’ whole night with you, too,” those words, of course, did nothing to help his flaming cheeks, “but I can’t. I’ve got to get ready to go talk to my nan. She wanted to make sure I settled in well enough.”

“Oh. I’ll get going, then.”

“Meet in th’ morning?”

“Yeah, at eight,” Cecil confirmed. He snatched the book that he’d come to the room for originally from the table, slid it under his arm, and made his way over to the door. Finnegan waved as he exited with a soft, “Catch you later, sweetheart.”

What a day. The day wasn’t quite over, but Cecil was nonetheless exhausted. Rather than head to Ravesson’s market to buy some dinner or attempt grab his class schedule, which he later would discover that someone—most likely Naomi—slid under his door, he marched straight to his bed to crash for the night.

(What I shall call Part One has officially been completed. Would you like to see how some of your choices affected this Part only? Or would you rather launch right into the next Part?
Yes, I’d like to look at my choices/No, I’d like to keep going
Also, what are your hopes for the next Part? Which word describes what you’re looking for? You can choose as many as you’d like.
• Adventure
• Magic—a lot of it, too
• Drama
• New characters
• Romance
Thank you for participating thus far! This is going much better than I’d ever dreamed!)

(Hm, seems we have a conundrum! Well, here's what I’ll do—at the end of this whole thing, I’ll just go through and give an evaluation of how not only your choices affected each Part but also how your choices affected the story as a whole.
As for your other choice, magic, drama, and romance… what a great selection!
Let the story continue for now, then!)

Mornings were, and always had been, Cecil’s least favorite part of the day. Every time he woke up he had to go through the same old routine of brushing out his hair, which had grown so long that he could put it up if he wanted, washing off in the bath if he hadn’t the day or so before, and picking out an outfit from his closet of almost entirely grays and blacks. If he had any stubble, he tried to shave it off before he left for the day. There was no dress code at Ravesson’s, not like there’d been at Ghastir’s, but he didn’t enjoy the thought of growing a full beard at seventeen years old as much as some of the other boys did. He had to admit, he’d expected those around him to be at least somewhat more sophisticated than he was used to considering how expensive of a place they were staying at, but nobody so far besides Finnegan had proven that different.

Finnegan. What a guy, he mused as he rolled out of bed. They’d been at the University for about a week, and he still managed to surprise him. Quite frequently, too. Shockingly, Naomi seemed to like him as well. The first time they’d been introduced, she’d tugged Cecil aside to inform him excitedly that he was “super cute in a really weird way”. That wasn’t a wrong way to describe him, although he would’ve picked slightly different words. Less “cute” and more “chaotic”, less “really weird” and more “fascinating”.

He was supposed to meet them both for breakfast before they headed to one of their three classes of the day, but he was going to be late if he didn’t hurry. Thank goodness he’d had a spot of genius and had washed the night before. After rushing through his boring, familiar routine, he grabbed one of his knapsacks, slung it over his shoulder, and ducked out the door in the direction of the Market.

The store they were trying that morning was a small, quiet coffee shop by the name of The Bubblery that was tucked somewhere behind one of the bigger, busier cafés. One of Naomi’s new friends, Alissa, had recommended it. Apparently one of its head baristas had the ability to levitate cups and plates, so she’d set up shop at the University to do what she knew how to do best and serve customers.

Cecil reached it within record time. He skidded in through its door, causing several sleepy-eyed students to look up, and scanned the room. Sitting at the table nearest the door (was Finnegan/was Naomi/were the both of them).

“Hey,” he said to her as he slid into a seat, “where’s Finnegan? He’s usually the earliest of the three of us, isn’t he?”

“Yeah. I went by his room this morning to see if he was up. He said he’d join us late. I don’t know why, though.”

“Maybe he just wants to sleep in for once. Guy’s always up whenever we get there. I bet he got (tired/sick) of waking up at dawn.”

“I don’t know, maybe. Doesn’t sound like him, though.” There was already a cup of something in her hand. She slurped it loudly before setting it down. “Mm, that’s really good. You should get something. This is an apple-and-honey tea blend, which I know you wouldn’t like, but you’d probably like one of their coffees. They have a lot of pretty cool flavors.”

He made his way over to the counter, where a woman with hair the shade of cinnamon was waiting. Her lipstick was a berry blue, and her earrings were shaped like blackberries.

“Hello there, peaches! How can I serve you?”

(Get coffee with honey in it/get warm apple cider/get nothing)

“Lovely choice! You can go sit down if you’d like; I’ll send it right on over when it’s done. And don’t worry, some kind young lady before you paid extra, so you don’t have to spare a single coin! Isn’t that a nice treat?”

“Yeah, that is. Thank you.”

By the time he got back to his seat, Finnegan had come into the shop. Cecil had to admit, he looked strange. Really strange. His hair was slicked back neatly, his shirt was crisp—was it ironed?—and his slacks were pressed. The infamous yellow cloak he’d worn for the whole week they’d known him was nowhere in sight.

“Uh-“

“Not a word, Valentine.”

Cecil winced. He’d always been “sweetie”, not “Valentine”. If he was resorting to last names, then something was definitely up.

“Is everything good?”

“Everything’s fine.” That glare could cut through glass.

“If you say so.” Switch the topic, he thought instantly, swiveling in his seat. “Naomi, how did going to talk to Mister Lars go? I’ve heard he can be brutal.”

“Oh, he was nothing. All I had to do was turn on the puppy eyes and he was like putty in my hands, really. Man’s a softie. People just take his jokes too seriously, I think.”

“That’s good.”

A cup of coffee came flying over their heads and touched down right in front of him. Rising in blissful, steamy waves out of it was the smell of honey, sweet and subtle compared to the sugary scent of Naomi’s tea. He picked it up and gingerly took a sip. The drink was absolutely delicious.

“Are you going to order, Finn?” Naomi questioned. “We have to go in, like, a minute or two. You’d better go do it fast.”

“I’m not thirsty.”

“What about breakfast? I ordered some scones for the group that I’m going to grab as we’re heading out, b-“

“Already ate.”

She and Cecil shared a glance. Something was wrong, terribly wrong, but there was no easy way to find out what.

“Well, then… I guess we should start on our way over to Principles, right? I’ve heard Professor Scotch can be downright horrid to kids who’re late.”

(“You go on ahead. We’ll catch up.”/“Yeah, let’s go.”)

“Oh. Uh, alright.” She cleared her throat as she stood to bring her cup back to the counter. The barista handed her a paper bag of a medium size that Naomi tried carefully to balance in one arm. When she finally got it to stay, she strode out of the shop without looking back.

Finnegan didn’t seem too happy with her leaving, but he didn’t say anything about it. Instead, he leaned forward on his elbows and let his head dip downwards.

“Come on—talk to me. I know something’s up.”

His expression softened like ice cream in the summer. “I don’t want to talk about it, sweetie. Is that so hard to understand?”

“I just want to make sure you’re alright.”

One of Finnegan’s fingers traced a slow pattern out on the back of his hand. He seemed distant. Cecil’s nerves spiked. He’d been a blurter since they first met. Up until that moment, Cecil hadn’t even been sure that the guy could think anything without saying it first.

“Ihadahearing.”

“What?”

“I had a hearing, alright? I’m on academic probation.”

A million thoughts started racing through his head at once. What could he be on probation for? They’d barely gotten any grades. Had he started a fight with someone? No, surely not. He didn’t have any bruises or scratches. Did he play a prank on a teacher? That didn’t fit, either. As spontaneous as he seemed, he wasn’t the type to mess with people’s stuff. Although, it was possible that Cecil didn’t know him as well as he felt like he did. They hadn’t been friends for that long.

“Why?”

“Can we just leave it at that? Please?”

“Are you going to be allowed to stay?”

“I don’t know, I don’t get the results until later this week. But missing class sure isn’t gonna help. We should head over.”

“Yeah, sure. But first…”

(Mess up his hair/finish drink)