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 the great gig in the sky, @magia
Constance Dreamweaver a level 1 elf-necromancer from Alluum
teapot // cups and coasters

@magia with 1006 words

Igotta stay high
all the time tokeepyouoffmymind

Constance had personally insisted upon Magia Muse being a mentor at Evercrest for the 4753 term. Her old apprentice was unorthodox, probably clinically insane and absolutely over-the-top in every possible way, but she was a damn good eraser. She had also taught before, with, well, different degrees of success. They all had survived (probably only because of Constance's close supervision) and they had went on to become fairly decent erasers. She didn't think any of them ever made it to mentorship, but they did certainly move on to become somewhat-successful erasers. Middle-class erasers? Constance shrugged at her own thoughts while she placed a diamond-and-robeghast tiara on her head.

Magia was about the show. She was about the fashion. Constance bought dozens, maybe even hundreds of coordinated outfits for them to wear when they went on missions, or even when they went to pick up missions off he billboard. While Constance wasn't on Magia's level of psychotic, they did have quite the time on missions, always picking the most difficult ones to throw themselves into. They weren't going out anything but fashionable and stylish, and they were admittedly the only missions that Constance had ever dressed up for. It was fun, dressing for her own funeral, hoping that at least the dress survived whatever would kill her. Magia probably also had similar thoughts, although it was sometimes hard to figure out behind that mask.

She couldn't deny that her time with Magia as an apprentice was entertaining. It had also been incredibly difficult with Miss Marvelous being around so soon after the rebellion. She was like a constant reminder of what could have been, and also a reminder of just how incredibly fucked up the world was. How horrible the Goddesses' humor really was.

Since there had been sufficient time to settle in and perhaps get "acquainted" with her student, Constance had invited Magia to only what she called "tea in fashion" on the small, hand-written note she had slipped under the mentor's door. She just wanted to catch up with Magia, maybe get some information on her student and how they were doing as a pairing. If they weren't doing well... Constance pulled on her elbow-length golden gloves once she finished applying her golden eyeshadow. If the two weren't doing well, it certainly wouldn't be the first time she would have had to rearrange pairings due to her.

In the other room, the kettle started screaming. Constance exited her en suite bathroom and walked to the kitchen, where she turned off the stove and poured the boiling water into a highly ornate fire-colored teapot with a spout abstractly shaped as a pheonix's head. She had mixed her own tea concoction -- one of her favorites that included a small amount of belladonna -- for the occasion. She pointed, and the teapot, coasters and cups started hovering. She took a step, then stopped.

Was her table really good enough for such a meeting? Her tea table was elaborate and quite interesting, but was it enough?

I can always enchant it to look better, she decided as she walked into the room with her table, the tea things following in her wake. The set floated to the table and landed into their spots quietly. Since it wouldn't be a party without some kind of snacks and alcohol, she had prepared small cookies for the occasion, and they were in a large bowl that matched her teaset. She also put two bottles of Tatian apple whiskey on the table, their black bottles helping to fill up the space on the table that the set didn't take up.

"Ugwu." The spell teleported Constance, the tea table (and everything on it) and two red, high-backed thrones from her sitting room all to an eyrie on Floyd Peak. They all landed in the arrangement that she desired on the eyrie, with the two thrones across from each other and everything perfectly set on the table. "Inye oku." A pinkish ball of light appeared above the table, bathing the entire eyrie in light.

She had told Magia to come to the eyrie, and she only hoped that the woman understood what she meant. It was where the students called their dragons, and it was far enough above campus for the clouds to drift lazily below them on a nice day. It wasn't a nice day, or a clear night; angry, cold clouds hovered below, and an icy breeze sliced through the air.

Constance adjusted her dress, pulling the golden skirt down, making sure her petticoats weren't showing. The entire thing was an elaborate affair, with a golden outer skirt and a dark burgundy inner skirt under a golden corset top. It was admittedly one of her less-revealing dresses, with a neckline level with her shoulders. The top of the dress was tall and open and had a large collar coming from the short sleeves. She had her black eraser cape draped over her right side, connected to her collar with a solid gold chain. A necklace of gemstones was around her neck, a robeghast pendant shaped in the likeness of an archangel dangling down onto the neckline of her dress.

Despite the elaborate attire, she still wore her swords around her waist, yet they were in finer sheaths than she normally wore: gilded and golden to match her dress, carefully placed in meticulously-crafted placed on her dress so there was no need for an ugly sword belt.

Constance walked over to the nearest chair and sat. She glanced up, past the glowing light orb and toward the stars and moons in the sky. The tiara held up her elaborate updo. Magia should be here soon, she decided after a few moments of stargazing. She had arrived oven an hour early, just so she could make sure she was ready in case Magia decided to show up early, although her times with her as an apprentice usually found her to show up almost fashionably late. At least it gave time to set things up.

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Marvelous Magia Muse a level Fairy-elf from Alluum
(੭•̀o•́)੭̸*✩⁺˚
Magia didn't like people. By any definition, Magia was a misanthrope of the worst degree. She believed all sentient beings were disgusting horrors that should be razed off the face of the earth. Magia was by no means exempt from that policy. If anything, Magia was the worst offender, in her own mind. The only thing stopping her from a gory self-inflicted death was that ineffable idea that, if she killed herself, someone else would be winning.

No one beat Magia that easily. She would bring down heaven and hell before she let any of the people who she could conceive as the "winners" enjoy their victory.

That being said, Magia did like mentoring. Liked it a lot. Perhaps it was the nearly absolute power she held over another being, or maybe it was because Magia had always had a soft spot for children. (Most everyone was a child in comparison with her, though there were a few at Evercrest who did exceed her age.) Maybe it was that burning desire to show what she knew. It was so incredibly satisfying to be understood in full. Every trick analyzed precisely for how truly precise and incredible it really was.

And those she taught of course were forced to identify how powerful and skilled Magia was, par for course.

So Magia couldn't say she hated her shitfuck of a wastrel student, no matter how infuriating they were. Magia knew she just hated seeing someone so similar to her be so very different.

So very wrong. She'd correct them the best she could. That was her job as a mentor after all.

And of course, in the people Magia could say, categorically, that she "liked", though perhaps "tolerated" or "found amusing" were better phrasings, was Constance Dreamweaver.

Her old mentor. The first among a small handful of people who recognized that Magia was once the stage magician Miss Marvelous. Magia had been right, during her exam. She had seen Constance somewhere before. She had seen her in the audience of her earlier shows. In fact, Constance and her family had been one of the few privileged to get a back stage tour. Mostly because everyone who knew anything at the time was saying that Mrs. Hund and her husband were far too important to be allowed to leave with just seeing the show like everyone else.

Magia, at the time, had just been happy to meet someone who said their magic was stunning, technically and visually. Magia had also gotten to hold the small elf baby that had been with them at the time. She missed the happiness she used to feel from that. It had been drowned in too many bad memories. Holding a kid now, Magia half-thought she would break its little neck to protect it from this awful, awful world it had been born in.

Magia found herself stopping before the entrance to the eyrie. It hadn't been difficult to guess where they were going to be holding this little soiree. After all, there was no where better suited to the magnificence of Magia and Constance but a place well above the clouds.

She considered for a moment.

With a gentle motion, Magia removed the mask from her face. One watching her would have felt a little disappointed to discover that Magia was wearing a visor beneath that mask. The kind of visor that covered at least half her face, completely black and smooth like glass. One could, however, see her lips and her small nose which sat in the crevice between two rounded rectangular frames. A strange sight in these times, where Magia despised even a glance at her own face.

But there were likely to be no mirrors. And Constance merited something other than the hard bone her usual mask. Something more personal. A small acknowledgement of the years they spent together, the knowledge they held of each other. Secret, hated knowledge. Constance had a husband. Magia was Miss Marvelous.

Whispers of the past that sought to shatter them both in the present.

"Iziga n'ụlọ", the spell felt rusty on her lips. She didn't particularly like using spoken magic. Magia did not deal in displays of power, she dealt in finesse. But here, it was necessary, and there was no one watching. The bone mask, enveloped in her power, glowed slightly. For a moment it looked like it was bending, warping, and then it was gone. Back to the place on the wall in her room where it hung, surrounded by its brethren.

She liked to picture them there, faces hanging in the dark. Like the visages of the dead and damned watching over her sleep.

The eyrie was technically outside, and Magia had planned accordingly. She was dressed in the usual, cleanly pressed and lined suit. However, as it was Constance Magia was about to meet with, the suit was a dire red. From the suit pants that ended above ankle-cut, high-heeled boots like the sun at dawn, to the fitted waistcoat in a lavish scarlet. She wore a white dress shirt, as always, button to the very top and tied with a neck accessory. This time, she'd chosen a silken scarf, tied in a loose ascot fashion.

The jacket was gathered at the back, creating a flare about her hips that perhaps tried to compensate for the lack of curve but rather more emphasized the severity of her figure. It fell in crisp, understated ruffles in an arch across her backside.

Her hair had been wrangled into an elegant bun high on her head, with small red pins sticking out were more for decoration than to hold the style in place. She had allowed two locks to hang against either side of her head, tucked behind her ears like backdrops for the golden charms hanging there that reached down but never quite brushed each red shoulder.

A crimson double-breasted pea coat hung over her shoulders, creating a more dynamic silhouette than she could normally cut with her thin physique.

All in all, Magia was a flash of red like blood spatter in the air.

The sharp silhouette, she thought, matched the cold, slicing air rather nicely as she walked through the eyrie, heel clicks echoing faintly.

Constance and her tea set, perfectly placed on an elaborate table sitting between two thrones, came into view.

Magia considered the beautiful tea set. A true masterpiece, one that probably cost Constance a fortune. Neither woman was prone to hanging on to their money. With so much to spare, they both adored lavishing gifts on themselves (and sometimes each other; as student and mentor, Magia and Constance had had several dozen, maybe hundred, paired outfits of exceeding class and price).

Constance herself was a gorgeous masterpiece. Complete with a bejeweled tiara atop her blonde locks. Seated in that throne of a chair, surrounded in resplendence, Constance was like the vision a master painted struggled his whole life to capture in thousands of images but never could. She was a ray of of sunlight, like that above them, and she glowed in the warmth of the magic that lit the room. Golden gloves, golden eyeshadow, highlighting the beauty of her hair and skin.

Magia was impressed that they had chosen matching outfits without any coordination. It was one of those little things that made the world seem like it was trying to suck up to her and say it was sorry.

Well, tough shit. No sympathy from Magia. It was still gonna burn.

Magia considered the whole tableau, the tea set and the gorgeous woman and the whole, entire thing high in the sky with clouds drifting lazily below them. She gestured with one red gloved hand to the entire affair.

"Gay," Magia commented, face blank. The whole setup, or herself, the comment really could have been a reply to anything.

But it was mostly in reply to the fact that those tea sets really reminded Magia of the sorcerer class head, Kalall. One of Constance's...friends? Friends in the way that Magia and she were friends perhaps in that it probably wasn't a good idea, but it just was anyway.

1360 words
Magia is Offline
survival
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Constance Dreamweaver a level 1 elf-necromancer from Alluum
teapot // cups and coasters

@magia with 488 words

Igotta stay high
all the time tokeepyouoffmymind

Magia's approach was signaled by the quiet clicking of her shoes against stone. She appeared soon thereafter, dazzling without any magic act or even a smile -- she just was. Magia's blood red outfit matched Constance's golden dress, both perfect compliments to each other. Constance let a smug smile stretch her lips. They still had it.

The way Magia moved highlighted the reds in her outfits and how they matched perfectly to her skin tone. The pink light glinted off her dark visor mask while she lifted her hand and uttered a single word in her typical laconic demeanor. Gay.

Over the years, Constance had never quite adjusted to Magia's atypical way of speaking. Most of the time, she was never quite sure what the other woman was talking about, and she just responded with her best guess. Magia's personality didn't often allow Constance the satisfaction of knowing if she was pinpointing the right thing. What was gay could have been anything -- the setting, the night, Magia, how she felt. It was always a puzzle.

There was a drop of silence, then the wind blew, whispering against the rock. Then it howled.

Constance laid her hand slowly onto the table, and the wind cut off abruptly. Her hair settled back around her face; her lips still held the same smug expression that had been in reaction to Magia's entrance.

"Isn't it?" She opened her arms, gesturing to the elaborate display before her. "Come sit down, I want to know how you've been." She waved her hand toward the chair opposite of her.

The wind howled in the distance, but the air in the eyrie remained still. Constance was always one for conversation, but with Magia she struggled. Asking how Magia was was not the best conversation starter with her former apprentice. If it led to anything, it usually led to something Constance really did not want to think about. Magia had a certain unsettling way about her, almost as if she had been branded with the emptiness rune after she was done being Miss Marvelous.

"Or at least how you've been with your apprentice," she said. "I have two this time, and they're both, well..." She paused and rapped her fingers against the table. "Well, not like you?" Blessed and Pierce were both good people at heart, and neither of them seemed excited to be an assassin. That wasn't to say they were bad students, because they certainly were not, but she knew getting them to really be assassins would be a difficult task.

"They're nice, though," she said. "I don't know if you've seen them around. I'm going to get Blessed a dress, but she has some unconventional measurements. And Pierce needs something nice, I'm not sure what to get him." She frowned and threaded her fingers together. "Maybe I'll move his family to Alluum, somewhere around Xidwin or even in the mountains if they want."

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Marvelous Magia Muse a level Fairy-elf from Alluum
(੭•̀o•́)੭̸*✩⁺˚
Constance's answer didn't disappoint. Without a stumble, Constance accepted Magia's vague declaration for the bullshit, thought placeholder it was and plowed right on into it. Magia was not an easy woman to commit verbal intercourse with, especially when she was in a mood. And even better than that, Constance actually did care to hear about Magia's life, just as she cared to know what went on with all her former students, and their students, and their families, and all that shit.

Constance was, though the closest in nature to Magia that the elf-fairy had discovered, very different from her student. At times they clashed. Not in that they fought, or ever really argued. Magia was too lazy and Constance too permitting to ever allow for such a drawn out conflict between them. There was merely a...difference of opinion, occasionally.

Such as when Magia wanted to tie their latest victim to a horse and have it drag his body through the estate, smashing into things and breaking undoubtedly valuable objects. Constance had this weird thing about being respectful to the dead.

Magia would always assert that, since she killed them, they belonged to her now.

Constance didn't argue, but she always had that look.

Magia shrugged the coat from her shoulders and carelessly threw it over the arm of the plush, high-backed chair Constance had chosen. Magia fell much like her coat in an impetuous but graceful splay. She was the picture of insolence, and yet she carried herself with a ridiculous weight born of decades of training, acting, and dance.

Magia's body was as much of a lethal weapon as Constance's, and it was sharper besides. Small as her mentor was, there was a shapeliness Magia sorely lacked in her frame. No, the magician was a leggy gazelle, save the ludicrously full fat sacs attached to her chest. They settled heavily as she did, bouncing with the force of gravity, and Magia carefully did not scowl.

An annoying, grotesquely overbearing weight that drew more gazes than her masked visage, surprisingly. Or unsurprisingly. She should just chop them off. With a machete. The sorcerers would save her from bloodlessness. If Constance wasn't there to heal her.

But Magia! she asked herself in a falsetto, thought-voice that sounded suspiciously like Miss Marvelous–though she knew it wasn't–how will you get fine-ass babes! Flies to honey, man, pearls and pigs and shit!

Well, there was that. Tough life choices all around.

Her elbow came to rest on the coat, and Magia settled her cheek against her thumb and forefinger, staring resolutely at Constance from behind thick black glass. She really was a beautiful woman. Smaller than Magia by far. Magia, not for the first time, tried to induce an attraction to her mentor. She could, in fact, picture them having sex. (And they had probably had some not-so-innocent, not-so-accidental touches when they got shit-faced together, but that didn't count.) But there just wasn't any fire, any need.

Constance was, in Magia's mind, untouchable. And fuck, wasn't that a kick in the shitter, because life would be so much easier if Magia could just seduce her hot mentor and be her loving sex slave.

But no, Magia was going after fucking Theia Rosewood, fuck.

That gorgeous bitch.

Magia let that thought-train crash and burn in the station when she moved to actually join the tea-time conversation. Constance offered some thoughts on her own apprentices, and inquired after hers.

"Ah," Magia vocalized, acknowledging that her former master had spoken and, at the same time, informing her that she would speak. Eventually. While she analyzed her speech and searched for an appropriate response, Magia shifted in her seat to pick up the teapot and pout a steaming cup for she and her mentor.

It was a matter of decorum, and though the host was typically required to serve their guests, Magia was Constance's lesser. More than that, she was her student. Students served their masters, no matter if they were masters themselves or not. Magia cared about appearances, if nothing else.

Besides, they were adding wine to the tea, weren't they? She just needed to taste the blend to know how much she needed to add.

Magia placed the cup before her teacher and moved to settle back in her chair, saucer and cup delicately perched in her hand.

Not like you was an understatement. Magia had heard things. Terrible things. A giantess who was clumsier than any eraser had a right to be and a mouse masquerading as a mage. Bleh. A lack of talent was impermissible to Magia, probably why Constance hadn't assigned either of them to her and kept them both to herself.

Magia didn't know if a dress was the right choice for Blessed, but judging by the glimpses she'd got of her, she knew what had to be done.

"Fur," Magia informed Constance. That kid had a fetish. Moving his family was probably good for the other pleb. Seemed like the kind of kid that liked his family.

Psh. He'd learn.

As for her own student?

"Tool," Magia informed Constance.. "I'll fix 'em."

Just like she fixed the others. That one kid never really slept right again, but they were still going strong, racking up a respectable kill count.

877 words • Constance
Magia is Offline
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Constance Dreamweaver a level 1 elf-necromancer from Alluum
Magia always carried herself with grace. Every one of her movements seemed so deliberate, so important. Constance tracked the movement of Magia's coat, settling on it as it laid sprawled on top of Magia's throne. Then, her former apprentice sat. Constance switched her gaze from the coat to the woman's mask, then down at her hands as Magia poured tea into their cups.

The woman's formalities were somewhat skewed, but Constance decided long ago not to get into her way of things. It was rude, really, to deny someone from being nice. She grabbed one of the bottles of apple whiskey and opened it with a spell before pouring as much as she could into her tea. The bottle was replaced and left uncorked. Constance sipped her tea. The apple notes in the whiskey really added something to the relatively-bland tea that she had chosen. The blandest ones went well with flavored liquors, but they also stood alone well. Sometimes, a tea didn't need to be great, it just had to be passable. The Anbrian rosebark blend was just that: passable.

Magia spoke up, "Fur."

Fur! Absolutely! How hadn't she thought of that sooner? Blessed would love fur. It would also look fantastic on her.

"You're absolutely right," Constance said. "Not only would she love it, it would look fantastic on her. She's quite tall and handsome -- people with that body style look great with fur. I think rabbit or fox fur would be the best option." She knew she was practically talking to herself at that point, and she promptly closed her mouth before she could continue rambling.

She could imagine it -- Blessed in a spectacular fur dress. It would be heavy, but Blessed was very strong and would have no issues with it. It wouldn't be a ball gown; instead, it would have a clingy mermaid-like skirt striped with orange and beige furs. The top would be a leather underbust corset and there would be beige fur above to wrap around her chest.

Yes. It would be fantastic. And, damn, it would be pretty warm too.

In hindsight, Blessed probably would have preferred something a little less, well, revealing. Maybe something with sleeves and a neckline that was even with her shoulders, or even a dress with a collar. Constance had her best interest in mind, though; if she went in too modest of a dress, she would certainly die of a heat stroke!

Constance idly stirred her tea with a silver spoon that she had had sitting by her saucer. She kept her eyes on Magia, waiting on her next laconic string of words.

Her student, a tool.

If it were anyone but Magia, Constance might have been upset, but this was her previous apprentice that was sitting before her. Magia had a very unique outlook on things. Constance had hand-picked Magia's apprentice to make sure that they could handle the partnership. The fact that Magia seemed like she was ready to "fix 'em" was a good enough sign; it would mean that she did have plans to actually help her apprentice in some way.

Hopefully "fixing" wouldn't involve a pool of hungry sharks or other equally-perilous situations.

Who was she kidding? It was Magia. She was essentially capable of anything. Constance made a mental note to keep an extra eye on their training for both mentor and apprentice -- a fuck up could cost them both gravely.

She took a drink of her tea, emptying a good amount of the glass.

"What were you doing over the summer?" Constance asked. Mentors and students weren't allowed to live on campus during the summers between graduation and the acceptance of a new class. It was a strange reminder that people had lives outside of Evercrest; the months Constance spent alone in Hangman's Point were mainly spent away from it and the loneliness of the campus.

"I had some things to attend to over in Archangel," she began, "but, besides that, I just had a few missions. One of them took almost two months to do! I had to get real close to the guy, become one of his mistresses. That's never too hard," she laughed. "He was quite handsome, a real gentleman too. I'm still not sure why the client wanted him dead. Maybe he broke their heart? Who knows. I was a little sad to have to see him go. They specifically instructed that I administer a slow-acting poison and read some letter to him while he was dying. Morbid shit." Although what isn't morbid about being an eraser?

She was always sad to see them go, too. There wasn't a single time when she could say that she was happy to have committed murder -- not even on the battlefield with the necromancers. She never got joy out of the slaughter of others. For years, she asked herself why she didn't pick one of the other classes as an option, but, eventually, it became obvious that being an assassin was just what she was meant to be, for better or for worse.

@Marvelous Magia Muse with 848 words

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Marvelous Magia Muse a level Fairy-elf from Alluum
(੭•̀o•́)੭̸*✩⁺˚
Magia watched her master mix the wine with the tea and take a delicate sip. Magia herself picked up the saucer and cup, examining the fine porcelain like she was looking for traces of poison, though she knew that Constance was unlikely to kill her. And really, would it be such an awful way to die? Constance would definitely use a quick, painless poison, probably something with a paralytic. Goddesses, she was so lame sometimes. Dying numb and dumb sounded awfully boring.

Now, a quick acting poison was fine and all, but only something with a real bang. She liked a line of toxins drawn from a particularly ornery family of scorpions–a neurotoxin that caused excruciating pain as it broke down proteins in blood cells. It caused extensive bleeding through various orifices and, in some truly spectacular cases, sweating blood. Now that was a poison.

The cup itself was a beautiful and delicate piece. She raised it to her lips. It was so strange to not have to push her mask up. The wraparound visor was one of her favorite half-masks, and she could easily pair it with a facecloth. It was generally how she went out to eat; though, she didn't do that much. The urge to flay the unfortunate waiter who saw her face was sometimes just too much.

Hm. Anbrian rosebark? Maybe with some floral hints to complement the earthy tone. The spice of the whiskey would undoubtedly be an immaculate complement. Constance was, as always, incredible. Never a hair in an inelegant place. Even her messes had a certain art to them. Cleaning up after an intoxicated Constance was an act of appreciation. She had always been a patron of the arts, after all.

Magia didn't mind a bland tea. In fact, she liked the aftertaste of disappointment. It tasted like life. Still she added a teensy bit of the alcohol, just so her mentor didn't have to drink alone. Nothing was sadder than a drinking partner who refused to indulge.

Constance was ecstatic, taking Magia's suggestion and running with it. Ninety percent of their conversations was Constance's input, Magia suspected. That body type, ha. The kid was certainly unique, big and well-muscled. Magia was most certainly not allowed to interact in any unsupervised manner with Constance's students, but Magia couldn't help but think she didn't mind that body type, either.

The erasers were usually so lithe, she had to stalk the crusaders if she wanted to catch a beefier babe. Well, maybe not anymore. Times seemed to be changing–she'd seen some promising characters in the intermediaries of all places.

"No sleeves," Magia snickered, for entirely the wrong reasons though she did anticipate that Constance would be worried about the excessive insulation: "Fur's hot."

Constance's next question caught Magia by surprise, though she knew it shouldn't have. She'd already acknowledged the woman was actually interested in her life, however fucked up and immoral Constance found her to be.

In a way, Magia suspected her mentor's continuing interaction with her was more an exercise in self-harm than an attempt to watch over her. Well, that wasn't necessarily awful.

Magia had always fancied herself a sadist; it was just fitting that her closest associate be a masochist.

The real issue here was how to address that question. The mentors were basically kicked out for the summer, though she was allowed to take missions still. It was like a little break between babysitting gigs. She could really cut loose, and more than that: she had minimal supervision.

Magia gave her mentor a positively wicked smile, and was keenly aware that it really could be seen. The breaking of her usual stoic, exposed face was somehow all the creepier for the rarity.

"I learned a new language, and another dance style," she informed her. She wondered if she should hold of on describing the bloody execution of thirty crown traitors at a masquerade ball and fancy dinner. The client had been absolutely beside themselves and asked for the worst she could do, and she had accepted with relish. She was personally dubbing it the Murder Mansion Mystery Party™ and had said as much in her official report. She had been asked to provide photographic evidence of a job well done. She had copies in her wallet. She liked to take them out and admire the intestine rope work.

Then again, if she waited until Constance was tipsier, her mentor might throw up on viewing the splatter work she'd applied to the bathroom.

Actually, that sounded pretty awesome.

Well, the night was looking up already.

Going on with the path she'd chosen, Magia took a sip of her wine-sweetened blend and continued, "Taught the instructor a few new moves, too." The twist of her lips was lewd over the rim of her cup, but she refrained from sharing the more intimate details of her association with the fairy woman. Constance wasn't gay enough (or drunk enough) for it.

Though, secretly, Magia's gaydar thought Ms. Dreamweaver just needed the right person to help her appreciate the finer things in life.

At Constance's description of her mission, Magia snorted. "How boring." If he had really broken their heart, the best revenge was to rip his heart out and break it in front of him. Obviously. There were healing spells that could maintain blood flow for a while longer, even without the main organ.

The only reason Magia ever bothered to learn healing spells was for applications like that. The sorcerers hated her presence anywhere in their tower.

Speaking of pumping blood into gaping wounds!

"Finished the next season of Kitten Surprise over the break," Magia shared. "It's going to the animators tomorrow."

Her mostly illegal production of a children's show that wasn't at all a children's show was something of an open secret in the erasers' tower. Nearly half the population of Hangman's Point had watched at least one episode, and a few had even asked her to sign their bootleg copies.

Honestly, with the amount of contraband that passed through their tower, it was no wonder the Vanguard didn't look too kindly on them.

1022 words • @Constance Dreamweaver
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