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Uninvited Guest

Discussion in 'The Hooded Crow Inn [Fiction]' started by Magdalena Chef, Dec 12, 2011.

  1. Magdalena Chef

    Magdalena Chef Journeyman
    Stratics Veteran

    Mar 6, 2009
    Likes Received:
    Two weeks. It had been two whole weeks since her argument with Peter. Two weeks since she stormed out. Two weeks of having nothing to do and no one to talk to. Two weeks of ruined school vacation. Two weeks of sitting in the Pink Nightmare Room and staring at..thirty shades of pink! How many times had she thought about getting a black dye tub and taking care of it? Twice she had one in hand and then remembered how excited her aunt had been when she showed her the room. Aunt Mags meant well, but it was just, so pink!

    Maggy crossed and uncrossed her arms over her chest, pouting. That's it, he's telling me why he gave up magery. She stood, snatching her cloak off the peg and recalled to his tower. If the aether could boil around her as she traveled, it would have, she was that mad.

    "PEEE – TER!" "Peter!" She stalked through the rooms on the lower floor, the crimson cape fanning behind her.


    Maggy took the steps two at a time, grabbing onto the balustrade at the top and launching herself onto the landing. She ran into his room, nearly tripping over the pumpkins that belonged to his brother.


    She ducked into the library, turned, and bounded up the stairs to the next floor. The mirror hanging there began to hurl its insults, "You've never looked better although that's.."

    "Oh shut up," she snapped and it fell silent.

    As she neared the kitchen the smell of cooking meat filled the air. Maggy walked through the curtains and there was the source, bubbling over in a pot. She lifted the lid, chucks of meat, potatoes and carrots floated in a thick tomato gravy. She could pick out a few of the spices used but Uncle Nick never cooked for himself. Her eyes darted around the room and there it was on the counter, an apron colored like her aunt's. A smile turned the corner of her mouth, "Peter". Winning that pie contest had definitely gone to his head, first a woodcutter and now a chef. What was wrong with him?

    Maggy went to pick it up and a new smell joined with the first...lavender? She tilted her head and inhaled. Lavender...and chamomile? Maggy looked to the closed door just off the kitchen, steam was seeping out from the crack. And she smiled again.

    "Gotcha Snotface," she smirked.

    Forgetting the apron and the stew, she stood before the large iron door, chewed her lip and thought. Maybe it was better to leave him alone. Maybe he'd regain his senses. Maybe he was just trying something different. Maybe.

    She planted a booted foot firmly in the center of the door and kicked hard. It shot inward, the metal slamming into the stone wall, the sound roaring through the tower.

    #1 Magdalena Chef, Dec 12, 2011
    Last edited by a moderator: Dec 2, 2012
  2. Magdalena Chef

    Magdalena Chef Journeyman
    Stratics Veteran

    Mar 6, 2009
    Likes Received:
    It sounded like a cannon explosion. Peter spun around in the water.



    Maggy stood framed in the doorway arms crossed. The steam swirled around her as it made its escape. She looked like some kind of crazed vapor wraith. This could not be good.

    "M...Maggy?" Peter's cheeks colored as he sunk lower in the water. "Uh..what're you doing here?" Then, without missing a step, "Come to join me?" She wanted to smack that goofy grin right off his face.

    "You are going to tell me why you gave up magery."

    "I already did," he said the grin disappearing.

    "Yeah, to be a woodcutter, and I'm supposed to believe that?"

    "You are." He was frantically pulling bubbles around him and slowly making his way across the bath. The bubbles walked with him.

    "Well I don't."

    "I'm a woodcutter, what about that is so hard for you to understand?" He was waist high in the water now.

    "Everything. And no you're not. You're a mage."

    "Am not."

    "Are too!"

    "Whatever you say Maggy. I don't want to be a mage anymore. I've given it up. It's of no use to me. It's not who I am."

    "Liar. You're too good at it. No way you'd give it up to chop trees."

    He sat on the bench running the length of the tub and threw his head back, laughing.

    "Too good at it? HA! Nice try. Now go home."

    "Not until I get the truth." She stepped to the edge of the tub, looking down at him. "Play stupid all you want, you're no more a lumberjack than I'm the Queen of Vesper. You didn't 'give it up'. It's a part of you, like it was a part of your brother."

    "My brother's dead. And there's nothing I can't do as a mage that I can't do with an axe."

    He picked up a bar of soap. "Stick around and watch then. I am what I am. I chose this path, what about THAT don't you get?"

    "The choosing part. You wou...., " slow realization crept over her.

    "Fine. Cast something."

    "Huh?" His eyes were widening.

    "Cast something. Anything. Make an apple."

    He stared at her. "I....I...can't."


    "Because I just can't."

    "Try it."

    "I CAN'T DAMMIT!" He pushed off the side of the tub and swam to the other end. Water slopped over the edge flooding the floor. His back was to her, shoulders slumped.

    "I just can't. I've lost my spark." His voice was full of shame. "I can no longer cast, I can no longer call upon the Sight, or touch the aether – it's gone."

    "I...I'll fix it then."

    "You? What do you know Ms.-Pink-Hair, sneeze and turn into a butterfly? Last time I checked you weren't making Mage of the Year."



    "It's a pixie not a butterfly."

    "Whatever. And you can't fix it. No one can. I gave it away, sacrificed it to some angel or daemon. I suppose it doesn't matter." She didn't see the single tear that slid down his cheek. I tried. I tried to bring you back and I wasn't strong enough.

    "I'll figure a way to fix it, we'll figure a way to fix it....Peter?"

    The bar of soap flew past her head and hit the wall. One side was completely flattened.

    "GET OUT!"

    She started backing out of the room, "I'll find a way, I'll ask your father! He'll know what to do."

    "Wait!" His face paled in surprise. "DON'T!" He lunged across the water.

    "He'll know what to do, he can fix it. UNCLE NICK!" she turned and ran down the hall.

    "NOOOOOOOOO!" Peter dove out of the tub trying to pull pants onto soapy, wet legs. "Get back here!"

    Maggy vaulted over the railing and landed in the middle of the staircase.

    Peter raced past the mirror. "No, no dear it's nothing a floppy hat couldn't..."

    "Shut up!" Peter howled as he slid the last few feet. "MAGGY! STOP!"

    She turned around and he tackled her, both of them crashing to the floor. He pinned her there. "You can't! You can't tell him!"

    "Why not?"

    "He'll KILL me! And then he'll resurrect me JUST SO HE CAN KILL ME AGAIN! He must not know! She opened her mouth to say something and he cut her off. "He believes I gave it up. Do you think that if he knew.....he's gonna ground me until I'm as old as he is! Promise you won't tell him. PROMISE!"

    She thought about it for a minute. "Fine. Now get off me, you're wet."

    "Promise me."

    "I promise." Peter stood, offered her a hand and hauled her off the floor. "Now, I have to wash this all off, " he said running a hand through soap slicked hair, "I'd let you join me but..."

    Maggy made a face and slammed him into the wall as she walked by, "Come over tomorrow, we'll brainstorm."