#give cinder a pigeon because I love them both

[enchanted-keys]

You've probably answered this lots before, but: do you have a fairly clear hierarchy of favourites among the Royal Ballet principals? And your favourite role or two for each? :-) Also: of the recent retirees, who would you most like to see guesting?

Also a) thank you so much for obtaining the info that it'll be Nela and Ball for that "Winter's Tale" stream! Partner and I have got our tickets booked to see it at the Cineworld in Aberdeen. <3 It's the ballet that got me properly back into ballet, when I watched it during lockdown, and just: yay. :-)

And b) your blog has just been so lovely and helpful in growing my ballet knowledge! And your gifs are superb, and your Matthew Ball love is validating. :D

Also also: do you have any favourites among the Scottish Ballet dancers? I was lucky enough to see "Cinders" on tour, and I was so impressed with both Bruno Micchiardi (as Cinders) and Jessica Fyfe (as Princess Louise), but I am no expert.

I think someone asked me for a ranking of all the principals some time ago, but I can't even find the post anymore; I don't mind one bit answering this again! <3

If I have to talk strictly about my faves, it goes like this:

Nunez (eheh!): if have to narrow down her most iconic roles I have to give you at least three (please bear with me, I'm doing my best), which are O/O, Kitri and Aurora.

Takada: Titania and O/O. I'm just so very sorry that she's been more injured than not lately. I miss her.

Hayward: Juliet and any Ashton role I can think of (rhapsody, enigma variations, those bits of Titania we got, etc.). I also think she makes one of the best Claras out there.

Kaneko: O/O (saw her live in the BS pdd and the White Adagio with Vadim and it was life changing, bye). Also her Gypsy girl in the two pigeons is iconic. Special mention for her Aurora.

Lamb: Manon. Signature role. Was born to play it. I also really love her Mary Vetsera and her Aurora.

I'm a bit uncertain if I should include Anna Rose or not...sometimes I really love her, but overall I'd like her to be more consistent. But I'll say she was born to play Juliet.

Muntagirov: he's more versatile than people give him credit for, and really has the whole package, but I'd say his best roles are Siegfried and De Grieux.

Ball: he's such an outstanding actor that it's hard to choose, but I'm going with Romeo and Albrecht.

Bracewell: another wonderful Romeo right here, and I was blown away by his Hamlet in the Ashton insights.

Mcrae: Oberon and Rudolph for sure.

Sambè: sorry to repeat myself but we have another great Romeo right here. From what I've seen he makes also a great Colas.

As for retirees, the one that I really wish was still performing is Roberta Marquez, though maybe she isn't exactly a recent one. Out of the most recent ones I only miss Federico Bonelli because he always brought something special to his performances, although I have to say that the struggles and limitations that come with age were very visible in the last couple of years (his Siegfried variation in the SL cinema relay with Takada comes to mind).

As for the winter's tale I'm really happy to see someone who appreciates it as much as I do! I think it's a truly lovely ballet, one of the few modern classics that really stuck with me. You're very welcome for the info and I hope you'll have a great time at the theatre...unfortunately I found out that it won't be streamed in my country, so I'm going to miss out on it 😤

Thanks for all your lovely compliments they're more appreciated than I can say! 😭🩵🙏

Scottish Ballet is one of those companies that I wish had more footage available, because bits I do get to see are really impressive. I'm kind of familiar with Constance Devernay, Bethany kingsley-garner and Andrew Peasgood because I've seen them in the recordings of The Fairy's Kiss and The Snow Queen, and I seriously enjoyed those performances!

I wish there was a full recording of Cinders because both the trailer and the rehearsal look amazing! Jessica Fyfe is a really delicate and expressive dancer from the clips I've seen of her, and both her and Micchiardi impressed me in the rehearsal poste on YT, cause the intentions and mannerisms in their dancing were so clear: I immediately caught up on the reversal of Cinders gender and that she was the princess even though I hadn't read about the novelty introduced by this production beforehand, but everything was immediately clear thanks to their attention to detail.

The little I've seen from this company makes me wish for more!

[laurenscharhagwrites]

When the Honeymoon is Over

Do you find yourself tossing and turning beside your beloved, uncomfortable in satin and goose down, longing for your hearth bed? Do you miss your step-family— wicked, but familiar? Knowing that when you rose, every waking hour would be filled with exhausting purpose, but with purpose nonetheless.

Do you know what to do with these wardrobes, overflowing with silk gowns, with heaps of jewels and crowns, and dozens of shoes that could never make you forget the night of the glass pair? Do the ladies of court shun you, make fun of you, the poser, the cinder-girl upstart? Even the servants snigger behind their white gloves, that time you used the wrong fork, or got down on your knees to mop up your own spill, calling attention to your red and callused hands, or didn’t know what the bidet was for. No allies here, except perhaps your royal husband, who loves you, yes, but has never slept in a chimney corner. You wonder, who was the cruel one, after all—your old family, your new one, or the fairy godmother who came and upended everything? (The fae’s gifts are always sly and backhanded, didn’t you know?) It will take years of therapy, both couples’ and solo, to undo the trauma, to traverse the distance between your world and his. Years of support groups and wellness retreats to figure out your new place in all this, and probably a stint in rehab.   I want to tell you that true love conquers all, but does it? What will your coping mechanism be, I wonder, what will be your poison? Will you be the sort of princess who likes to slum it, donning peasant rags and drinking in the seediest dive bars, never letting yourself forget that you’re still a pumpkin underneath? You ask your driver to take a detour to the old neighborhood, visit Daddy’s grave, park outside the house where you grew up and stare at its walls. Throw a bottle at the old broad’s window and take off before someone calls the cops. Or, would you rather try to become one of them? Take lessons in dance and etiquette, train that voice into something more refined, leaving behind the raw, pure songs that carried you through some seriously dark times, and take up a proper feminine instrument, like the harp? Do you dedicate yourself to causes? Befriend the palace mice and pigeons, and open the kingdom’s first animal shelter? Volunteer at a soup kitchen? Or just give him an heir because motherhood is not only expected, but something you can pour your identity into? Do you become the power behind the throne, Lady Macbeth in a starry gown, Iselin nurturing a future Manchurian Candidate? As many possibilities, my dear, as you have names, Aschenputtel, Cendrillon, Sister Woodencloak, the Rough-Faced Girl, or maybe you’ll be one of those bored housewives who drowns her sorrows in affairs with blue-collar guys: the footman, the guard, your tennis coach, the pool boy. You have so much to make up for, so much you think you need to be punished for, still marking your face with ashes. Explore your bi-curiosity with the scullions, whose smudged aprons smell like home, find a dungeon where you can work out your bondage fantasies, where you can put on a maid’s costume, and be able to say again, Yes, Mistress. Was this the wish your heart made, that heavy clinker sitting cold inside your chest? Or are we all just underestimating you again? You’ve been raked across the coals, walked barefoot over the smolders. You’ve taken enough heat, it’s time to dish it out. Lay the kindling, strike a match, and burn the motherfucker down.

My poem, “When the Honeymoon is Over,” is up at Aphelion: The Webzine of Science Fiction and Fantasy. Many thanks to publisher Dan Hollifield and the rest of the Aphelion team.  

[kaixiety]

Sometimes I’m sad, but then I read page 345 of Scarlet and remember that Marissa Meyer didn’t let pigeons go extinct

[sparklyaxolotlstudent]

What’s this? a new episode of “Another Kindof Chameleon”, AKA, Lila find a miraculous and becomes a hero!... or something.

“Thank you so much!... Again, sorry… yeah… See you tomorrow” Lila ended the call and sighed sadly.

“So, how did it go?” asked Glamm, with one eye in the tv and another on Lila.

“Surprisingly well. I learned a new swear word from Alya.” Glamm did what Lila guessed was raising an eyebrow at her with their creepy eyes. “Ok, maybe I’m not that bad at lying without an elder god doing the persuasion for me.” She added, avoiding both of Glamm’s eyes.

“I prefer the term eldritch abomination, but go on.”

“Yeah…” Lila avoided Glamm’s gaze and picked up a magazine, pretending interest. “That’s why I told her via a call… She wasn’t happy about having to delete the interview because my mom had found out and was furious at me for ‘exposing us like that’… Y’know, in hindsight, It’s a relief that no shady criminal, let alone Hawk Moth himself tried to do something when everyone thought I was Ladybug’s best friend”

“Bad writing” said Glamm matter-of-factly, floating towards Lila.

“Uh?”

“The magazine you’re pretending to read. It has bad writing on all their articles.”

“… Oh…” she put the magazine away. “Anyway, ready for our literature homework?”

“You mean your literature homework” Glamm teased Lila. She just stuck her tongue at her kwami.

“You know what I mean. We… I have to make an analysis on Cinderella”

“Cinder… OH! Ye Xian! It’s amazing how her story has evolved over time. One of my first holders”

“… you knew the original Cinderella?”

“One of many. Miraculous and Miraculous holders are part of a LOT of fairy tales and folklore worldwide. C’mon, making a common peasant girl look like the most beautiful noblewoman? That was me!”

“So she did marry the prince and became a queen?”

“What? No, she just went out for a night of fun, but her step family recognized her – my bad- and we had to flee, and long story short, she lost my Miraculous.”

“That’s too bad.”

“Nah, the King of another Island found my Miraculous and asked me what was going on, and I told her about good ol’ Ye Xian. He went to search for her and married her. It was very romantic.”

“I guess the story of this book is nothing like you just told me Fairy GodKwami”

Glamm shrugged.

-

It has been almost a month since Lila’s debut as a super hero. Thanks to Alya uploading her fights with the other heroes, her popularity had been on the rise, with people praising the group of “Ladybug, Chat Noir and Chameleon”…. She wasn’t happy that Alya had named her that, as everyone latched on the name, and she thought it was way too basic for her tastes.

But, as Glamm had pointed out, the other heroes were literally named “Ladybug” and “Black Cat”, so her name actually made it feel like she was a part of the team, unlike the more elaborate “Rena Rouge” or “Queen Bee”, much to her annoyance, Lila had to concede the point. And feel strangely giddy at the thought of herself truly belonging to a team. Not that she would admit it.

It didn’t help… or it did, that people immediately latched on the name and Glamm pointed out, even if she tried to name herself something different now, people would still call her Chameleon, so it would be better on the long run to accept the name and own it.

She had fought another akumas in that time, and had made a good synergy with Chat Noir and with Ladybug. Sometimes she copied Cataclysm, sometimes she copied Lucky Charm. Sometimes she didn’t need to do either, and instead got ice cream when she helped defeat Mr. Pigeon. Again.

She felt oddly proud when she heard her classmates talk about her hero persona, some of them, of course, still liked Ladybug better, and Chat Noir had her own fans too. She was surprised to hear Alya telling Ella and Etta now liked Chameleon better, because she looked more fun, which prompted Sabrina to confess she actually liked her too. People started to talk about the new hero and Lila had to excuse herself when she heard Marinette, of all people, commenting that it was hard to imagine a time before Chameleon was with Ladybug and Chat Noir. Marinette.

She didn’t know how to feel about that.

And then things got worse… or better… she didn’t know anymore, after arriving at school one day, and finding Alya making an interview with that Gabriella girl, the one that had became Dollmaker and was, technically, the first person Lila helped save. She totally didn’t count Mister Pigeon.

Curious, she approached in silence and saw some of her friends (err… classmates?... she felt weird that her first thought was “friends”, but shrugged it) around them. And what she saw almost made her cry on the spot.

Gabriella had very nicely posed, a doll of Ladybug, a doll of Chat Noir and… a doll of Chameleon. All in nice poses and much better done than the official merchandise from the movie (That Ladybug had told her one day that they weren’t consulted on those). “Her” doll was very nicely done, and was posed with her tongue whip.

“She’s my favorite” Gabriella’s voice snapped Lila back to reality.

“Really?” asked Alya, whose favorite was still Ladybug.

“Yeah, I mean, I know Ladybug and Chat Noir work hard, but I was the first akuma that Chameleon battled and…”

“Wasn’t that Mister Pigeon?” asked one of the students. Lila glared at him, as did Alya and Gabriella.

“I mean, she only arrived when Ladybug had practically won already… and it’s Mister Pigeon… he attacks the city every other week… No offense to Mister Raimier.”

“Anyway, yeah, Chameleon’s design is a bit more intricate than the others, and I plan to eventually do the others too, like Rena Rouge, I already ordered the hair and I have the base dolls for her”

“Dolls? Plural?”

“Yep. Well, the reason I asked you for this interview, apart to show off, is that I actually made two of each hero, and I would LOVE if this interview reached our heroes. It’s not much, but I would love to give them their own mini-me. “

Lila was… emotional for the rest of the day. She tried to justify Gabriella’s actions as just wanting to gain the favor of the heroes, but she felt so sincere.

“She is what she is” said Glamm after class, when they were going home. “I didn’t perceive any ill intentions from her.

Lila just nodded. She felt a knot in her stomach. If it had been her, she would have commissioned someone like Marinette to do the dolls and then give them to the heroes. But this girl… she had spent money and time and her talent on being grateful to them, as a sort of reward that she sincerely didn’t expect…

She wouldn’t call it a “waste”, and it wouldn’t be the first time something like this happened, not even to her, like the Ice cream she received from Mister Raimier, or the hug she got from August, but she wasn’t saving them to get something… wait…

“Lila?” Glamm called as Lila had stopped on her tracks, having a bit of an existential crisis.

Wait… hadn’t she become a hero in the first place to get the love and adoration of the people of Paris? Why was she feeling weird that one of those people actually wanted to reward her?

They were very close to reach home, where Lila could have a very nice existential crisis in the comfort of her own home. Glamm was so busy trying to get Lila to snap out of it that neither he nor Lila noticed that someone had reached them.

“Lila? Is… is that a Kwami?”

Well, that made Lila snap out of it.

[signs-of-the-moon]

Moon Rise: Chapter 35

It had been a difficult moon for Swiftcloud to bare through, but a full moon nonetheless. Staying in camp was harder than she'd remembered it being as an apprentice. But at least she was in good company. Shadowfang was still on nest-rest along with her, but appeared to be handling it better than Swiftcloud was. He seemed happy for the companionship, and for the chance to spend more quality time with his father, young siblings, and mate. Swiftcloud had to agree that it was enjoyable, but she missed being out in the meadow. She so badly wanted to run in the open fields, chasing rabbits, and training Tulippaw for battle. There wasn't enough space in camp for her to properly stretch her legs, and the medicine cats would yowl at her if she so much as tried to join in a playfight. Still, at least Swiftcloud was kept busy. Just because she was camp bound did not mean she did not have things to do, after all.

Frequently, she had been called to sit in on strategy meetings; an honor that was usually only granted to the clan's most senior warriors. Whitestar seemed to value the young molly's input ever since she'd come up with the idea to push back the border; like Swiftcloud was some sort of master battle planner. But Swiftcloud didn't exactly understand why she was looked upon in this light. She wasn't much of a fighter herself. The strategizes she came up with didn't seem to be all that special either, any cat could think of them with enough information given. But Whitestar had faith in her, so Swiftcloud kept some faith in herself-even when she felt she shouldn't.

Beyond battle planning, Swiftcloud took some time to speak with Dewstone. Before, Dewstone had been very intrigued by Swiftcloud's theory that one cat may be responsible for the deaths of Waspwing, Butterflytail, and Ambereye. Between strategy meetings, Swiftcloud gave her opinions to the Code Keeper about the situation. Inside camp, she kept an eye out for suspicious activity. And outside of camp, Dewstone searched for anything unusual. She'd even follow battle patrols to the Forest Patch, just in case evidence may present itself. Or if another warrior fell victim to whoever it might be murdering Grassclan's cats. So far, both mollies had come back without proof of anything. But Swiftcloud was certain there was something going on. She could feel it.

Beyond those obligations, Swiftcloud spent the rest of her time helping the queens by distracting the pluthera of kits in the nursery. They'd grown so big within a moon's time, doubling in size and intelligence faster than the blink of an eye. Most of the kits were talking already, and trying to escape from the bear-length of space they were allowed to travel from their den. Jaybird's kits already had names picked out, being referred to by their prefix for the time being while they awaited their official naming ceremony. Mint, Cinder, and Bunny were their names. It seemed Ashwhisker was fixed on a couple of names as well; Pigeon and Oriole. Good names for good kits, Swiftcloud thought when she had heard them. All the nursery members were good. Once or twice during her camp confinement, Swiftcloud had imagined herself joining the queens. What if during this time off she decided to take the opportunity to have her own litter? Was she even ready for kits? Shadowfang seemed to be happy with whatever decision she'd make, but Swiftcloud was still unsure if she was prepared for motherhood. Especially at this time. Leafbare was fast approaching, and war still hung heavy over their heads. Even though there was a perfect opening, perhaps now wasn't best for starting a family. For the time being, Swiftcloud was content to settle down and watch other cats' families form and grow.

Today, Swiftcloud watched the camp contently from the edge of her den. Across the way she saw Frostfeather lounging outside the nursery, Quailbelly's shoulder pressed gently against hers. The two she-cats were busy grooming one of Jaybird's kits each, while the third bounced and circled around them on clumsy paws. After nudging the silver tabby kit, Mint, off to play, Frostfeather stuck out her tail to block the silver and black tabby's path. With a nod of her head, Bunny reluctantly came to settle between her older sister's paws. The kit wiggled and whined as Frostfeather took her time cleaning her.

"Bunny, lift your ears please so I can clean them." The kit didn't seem to want to listen, antsy within Frostfeather's grasp. Thankfully the older molly was a patient cat, but at this point she seemed to be getting a little annoyed. "Settle down, you restless mollykit," she chided playfully.

"I'm not a molly!" Bunny proclaimed suddenly. He puffed up, wagging his striped plumy tail with indignation. Swiftcloud couldn't help but be reminded of Jaybird in the way he was posturing. Frostfeather blinked, smiling at Bunny with a soft purr of amusement.

"What do you mean...? Ooh. Of course, I understand. Now, would you settle down you rambunctious tom?"

The kit let out a tiny "hmph" as a sign of both satisfaction and surrender, allowing his sister to finish tidying his fur. His ears flopped back down when Frostfeather had finished cleaning them, much to her chagrin. "Would you like me to tell the clan about your identity?" She asked. The silver and black striped kit looked back at his sister and gave an excited nod, bounding off as soon as the opportunity was presented to him. Swiftcloud resisted letting out an audible mrrow of amusement.

"Hey Frostfeather," Rabbitstorm meowed from across camp, prancing over to his sister. He had an unusual bounce in his step, and his face was lit up like sunlight on water. The fluffy tom came to a stop in front of his littermate who looked up at him with curiosity.

"I have some amazing news!"

"Oh really? What is it?" Frostfeather wondered, amused by her brother's lightheartedness.

"Heatherwing's expecting kits. My kits!" He proclaimed, excitement oozing from every flealength of his being. Frostfeather jumped to her paws, trilling with delight. Quailbelly purred out a congratulations, standing and bounding away to be with her sister.

Over by the medicine den, Swiftcloud saw the lilac molly in question. Heatherwing was standing with Whitestar, Cricketsong, and Chicorynose. Whitestar was rubbing her head affectionately against her younger sibling's, Quailbelly joining in as she caught up with her twin. The five sisters were having a conversation that could not be heard at this distance. They all appeared to be in high spirits. If she focused hard enough, Swiftcloud could barely make out the slight bulge of Heatherwing's belly. She must be farther along than I thought.

"Kits? Already?" Piped a voice. Snowfrost emerged from the nursery in one swift motion, drawing attention onto herself. Her tail-tip swayed with interest at the news, eyes narrowed skeptically. She must have been checking on Ashwhisker and Cricketsong's kits, overhearing the news as she readied herself to retire from the task.

"Yes! Goldensong says it'll probably be a large litter. Maybe with four or five kits," Rabbitstorm explained, the pride in his voice unmistakable.

"Wow! Congratulations, bunny!" Frostfeather purred. "I guess Heatherwing will be moving into the nursery soon, won't she?"

Rabbitstorm shook his head. "She's going to remain a warrior actually, and I've decided to become a queen. Heatherwing will nurse the kits, but I'll be the one to care for them."

"But what about your job as a guard?" Snowfrost fretted. "Will you return to your duties once the kits have been apprenticed?"

Once again, Rabbitstorm shook his head. "No...as much as I enjoy my job, and love being a warrior...I think I will like being a permanent nursery queen too. Mama will be proud, I think."

"Tch. You should not give up your career for this," Snowfrost warned. "You are a gifted fighter. And a great asset to the clan as a guard. We could do without another queen. But we cannot afford to allow good, strong cats like yourself to dedicate their time to kit rearing and emotional support. And there's a war going on; we need every claw in the fight that we can get. Or have you forgotten that?"

"This is my choice to make, Snowfrost," Rabbitstorm challenged. "I'll always be a great warrior. And I won't allow my skills to dull, either. I can be a queen and still be a great asset to our clan. I am simply changing my title, and taking on a second job. I'm not giving up anything. And if the clan should need me to fight, I'll fight with everything I have."

Snowfrost took a step back in surprise, disapproval gracing her sleek features. Her tail began to wag and her muzzle raised into the air with a small "hmph" in remark.

"You will regret this decision." Snowfrost almost sounded threatening. But Rabbitstorm remained calm despite his aunt's disapproval.

"If I do, that's for me to decide."

"What in Starclan's name is going on here?" Jaybird yowled by the fresh-kill pile. From the looks of it she had just returned from a hunting patrol, depositing an impressively sized rabbit to the food supply. The silver queen wasted no time stalking towards the group to join in their conversation. Her nostrils flared with exasperation and her tail swayed slowly behind her as she walked."I leave camp to stretch my legs for all of a heartbeat, and suddenly my kin starts to fight?"

"He is being a mouse-brain," Snowfrost insisted.

"Snowfrost won't accept the fact that I'm going to become a queen when my kits are born."

"Kits? I didn't realize cats born toms could give birth to their own litters," Jaybird's voice sounded skeptical and playfully teasing.

"Heatherwing is expecting. I want to be the one to take care of our kits in the nursery," Rabbitstorm elaborated.

Jaybird's tone immediately shifted. "Oh bunny, that's fantastic! Congratulations!"

"You're encouraging this?" Snowfrost looked shocked.

"Of course. If that is what Rabbitstorm wants, then who am I to deny him? I want my son to be happy. He'll be a wonderful father, and a great queen. He has the same natural instinct as I do. He has my blood."

"And mine," Snowfrost snapped. She seemed utterly offended at Jaybird's remark, like the queen had threatened to poison her firstborn. But this confused Swiftcloud. Rabbitstorm and his littermates were adopted. Did Jaybird and Snowfrost only discuss their blood relations now because they were in front of the littermates?

"Mama, why don't we relax a while together; have some prey?" Frostfeather interjected, trying to diffuse the argument.

Jaybird glared at her sister a heartbeat longer before relaxing. She turned towards Frostfeather, her scowl raising into a polite smile. "Oh yes, that sounds lovely. Going on that patrol did leave me feeling quite famished."

Frostfeather purred in response, swaying her fluffy tail. She herded Jaybird's kits back into the nursery then headed with her mother to the fresh-kill pile. Swiftcloud rose from her spot by the warrior's den, deciding to join them. As she matched pace with Frostfeather she could feel the piercing eyes of Snowfost on the back of their heads. Swiftcloud spared a look over her shoulder to see the medicine cat tense and bristling. Anger glazed her eyes, her gaze snapping onto Rabbitstorm who jabbed her side with a paw. Snowfost jolted away from his touch, storming off to another part of camp to get away from the tom.

Swiftcloud gave her whiskers an indignant twitch as she returned her attention towards the fresh-kill pile. Tulippaw and Tigerfang were there when the warriors and queen arrived. The dark tabby was looking just as proud as the apprentice did, who sat with a bird by the tips of her paws.

"Look what I caught today, Swiftcloud!" Tulippaw exclaimed proudly, jestering towards the blue jay with her tail tip.

"I helped to hold an assessment today," Tigerfang informed. "Tulippaw hunted expertly. She's on her way to becoming a great Grassclan warrior. Though, of course, she still has a lot to learn."

That was a relief to hear. Despite Swiftcloud's confinement, it seemed Tulippaw was keeping on top of her lessons. Swiftcloud couldn't be more proud.

"Thank you for letting me know. I'll be sure to work on Tulippaw's weaker areas just as soon as Goldensong gives me the all clear to return to my duties. I don't think it'll be much longer, thankfully."

"Maybe you should get yourself examined soon, see what the medicine cats have to say about your wounds?," Tigerfang suggested.

"You know, that's actually a good idea. It's been a moon after all. I think I'll go do that," Swiftcloud responded.

"We'll catch up later, then," purred the tabby warrior, touching noses with his clanmate. "Come, Tulippaw, let's bring some of this prey to the elders."

"Yes Tigerfang," Tulippaw responded obediently, snatching up the rabbit Jaybird had brought home. She dragged the plump creature by it's leg, disappearing into the rock which housed the elders with Tigerfang. Swiftcloud purred approvingly before turning to her companions.

"Save me some prey please. I'll be back in a little bit."

"I'm sure there will be plenty left over when you come back," Jaybird mewed with a smile.

"Not with the way Frostfeather eats," Swiftcloud giggled, watching her friend snatch up the blue jay and begin tearing into it. She paused momentarily, plucking a long feather from the bird's wing. She moved close to her mother, inserting it into the fur by the base of the queen's tail.

"There. I think that looks pretty," Frostfeather purred. Jaybird twisted around to inspect her daughter's handiwork.

"Oh, it's beautiful. Thank you, precious, what a lovely gift," Jaybird trilled, rubbing her cheek against Frostfeather. Swiftcloud nodded in approval, turning away from the scene, making her way over to the medicine den.

Goldensong was inside the tree's trunk alone, sorting some fragrant herbs that made Swiftcloud's mouth water. The warrior politely cleared her throat, waiting for the medicine cat to take notice of her.

"Ah Swiftcloud, hello," Goldensong greeted as she stood up. "What can I do for you?"

"I was wondering if you could give me an exam. It's been a full moon, and I want know how much longer it will be until I can go back to my warrior duties."

Goldensong let out a thoughtful hum, approaching the patched warrior. She first made Swiftcloud lift her chin, pulling back the cobwebs that had been packed on her wound a few days prior. Swiftcloud could feel the golden molly's nose poking the area, tickling her as Goldensong took quick sniffs. The medicine cat pulled back after a moment, moving to look at the other molly's shoulder.

"It looks like everything has closed up nicely. There's still some scabbing along your neck, but it should flake off within another day or so. I'd say you're well enough to get back to work."

Swiftcloud's pelt prickled with excitement. "Really!?"

Goldensong nodded approvingly. Giddy as a bird, Swiftcloud thanked the medicine cat kindly. She turned quick as a snake, prancing out of the den. She'd go on to have a bite to eat, then maybe out for a bit of training with Tulippaw.

[itsblackmagic-blog1]

I’m out of cigarettes. Normally, that wouldn’t really be a problem for me, but there’s a bad taste in the air. Something magical, something that none of the others seem to notice. It’s in the air, and I know it’s something involving magic. I prefer the taste of nicotine. Whenever I bring up this taste, Witt tells me that while smoking can definitely work, but there’s also a hundred and one spells that I can use to not smell like I just bathed in an ashtray. I tell him that people at work might get suspicious if their neighborhood nicotine addict stopped smelling like he just fucked an ashtray. He never has a counter argument. I wish he did, then we’d have something to fight about. We never fight like we used to, back in Harverbrook. Jack tells me about the spells, too, but I tell him that once he trains his venus everythingtrap to not eat pigeons, then I’ll consider not smelling like cigarettes.

I fucking hate the taste on my tongue, and I know it isn’t nicotine withdrawal, I have spells to get over that. I only ever rarely taste this, but it throws me off every time. Debs said that she tasted the same thing, but doesn’t want to run a spell to test if we’re testing the same thing. Mainly because that spell requires the two of us to kiss. She has nothing against spells that involve a kiss, most magicians don’t, I’ve seen her kiss both Jack and Grace before. It’s just that I taste like an ashtray. Or so I’ve been told. Personally, I think I taste amazing. There’s spells that clear that up, even charmed mints that make your mouth taste purely like peppermint. I know because Grace and Witt have shared some before, trading by tongue. (They still make out like teenagers. I’m told I kiss like I’m in a French film.) (I think I win by classiness.)

I walk into my favorite convenience store, Wang’s Convenience Store (Groundbreaking names, I know.) and take a quick look around. I get good things here when I’m the only customer. Seeing that it’s only me and Wang, I go through the isles and stand in front of the Chinese man. Wang wears khaki pants, a red shirt, and a black apron. He stares right through me for a few seconds, before he smiles. “Welcome, valued customer! Oh, Waller, hello.” The smile fades. Wang must have been on break. “Two packs, Camels?” He asks. They’re my default when there’s other customers.

I do a quarter turn so Wang can see the rest of the store. He looks around, and I do a quarter turn back to him. He straightens his back, squares his shoulders, and unties the strap behind his back, letting the front of the apron fall, showing the hole in his shirt, and revealing the gnome inside. “Wot’ll you be in liking, ye?” He asks, in a thick gnome accent. I have no idea where gnomes are from. Gnomes have no idea where gnomes are from. The only thing anyone knows about gnomes is that their accent is passed on genetically.

“Pixie Ash.” I say. That’s my default when I’m in here alone. It’s not made out of Pixies, and it’s certainly not made out of their ashes, it’s just a sprinkle of Pixie dust in the cigarettes. Technically speaking, it’s a girl brand, but I’ve gotten in enough fights (physical ones) that I think I can safely even it out with Pixie dust. It’s a sort of high you get from it, it makes you tingle but your brain stays in place. It gets your magic high, like your soul is wobbling around inside of you, but you don’t stumble and fall like what other drugs do.

“Right’n, would ye be liking one er two packs, meester Waller?” I’ve grown used to the gnome accent, I understand it perfectly. The basics, up until he strikes up conversation. But gnomes don’t usually do that. Which is why I like this place.

“Two,” I tell him.

Wang walks off to the back room, he never keeps magic cigarettes up front. He also has stickers for the different brands, to slap onto the magic packs, to keep them hidden, but I never pay the extra five cents. If anyone ever asks, I just say that it’s imported. Then they stop thinking I’m addicted to nicotine, and instead think that I have a nicotine addiction to an expensive brand. But really, they’re the same price as everything else. It’s the cigars that empty your wallet.

With Wang gone, I take my wallet out, and put some cash on the counter. I look behind me as the door to the store opens, and I knock on the counter three times. It’s good form to give Wang a warning when someone else walks in. I’d also get blacklisted if I didn’t help out.

The new customer’s some girl with black hair, with a bright red handkerchief around her neck. Her crummy clothes are splattered with paint. I turn away before I grimace, tasting that foul flavor again. Some sort of black magic, I know that much. Maybe Jack and the others really do taste it, they’ve just grown used to it. Maybe that’s my superpower, I’m so used to the taste of nicotine that I recognize even worse flavors much more quickly.

She comes up to the register, leaning against it like I am. She smells like paint and smoke. I don’t know how my nose is so strong after how much I smoke. Oh wait, yes I do, it’s magic. She looks at me occasionally, more than occasionally, and I wonder what’s taking Wang so long. He’s fast with getting cigarettes, usually, but he fumbles with tying his apron. It’s glued to his fake body, but tying the top part is difficult. Or so I’ve been told.

Wang finally comes back, right before it looks like she’s actually going to speak. That’s good, I don’t like meeting new people. My friends and coworkers are enough as is. He sets the packs of Pixie Ash onto the counter, and gets me my change. Maybe I’ll use it for some jerky for breakfast. I love this convenience store, but Wang charges more for jerky. Once Wang sees the girl with paint on her, he lets out a sigh, and undoes the tie for his apron, showing the real him again. “Hello, meeses Broder, wot’ll you be in liking?”

At once, the two of us figure out that the other’s a magician. The black magic taste isn’t from her, I know that much. I put the packs away in my jacket.

“Phoenix Cinder.” Broder says. “One pack.” That brand is just some ashes from a phoenix mixed into the nicotine. Burns your lungs, but they’re sort of the same as Pixie Ash. I used to be on them, until I realized that Pixie Ash gave you the same buzz.

When Wang walks off, she takes a few crumpled bills out of her pocket, and sets them on the counter, counting them to be sure, before looking at me again, extending a hand out to me. “Kelly Broder, Meggerstonne.” Meggerstonne is another school of magic.

“Mackenzie Waller,” I say, taking her hand. It doesn’t have paint on it, so I’m guessing she paints with gloves on. “Harverbrook.” I don’t know why magicians greet each other like this, it’s not like we’re in the 1800s, where the schools you went to determined where you were in society.

She smiles, and takes her hand back. “So. Pixie Ash?”

“They’re a chick brand, but they give a good high.”

“Hey, nothing’s wrong with chick brands. Phoenix Cinder feels better, though.”

“You mean that feeling that you’re setting on fire from the inside? Oh, yeah, I love that feeling, can’t get enough of it.”

She looks my age, maybe a little younger. There used to be high hopes for our generation of mages, but that concept was abandoned when we all took up doing what small jobs we wanted to do. Turns out, when you won’t shut up about how important someone is, they’re awfully tempted to do nothing, just to spite you. Just multiply that number of asshole teenagers by a thousand and you get a good idea of how fucked the wizarding world is.

I walk out eventually, and she follows after she gets her own cigarettes. We walk off into the alley next to the store, and I put a cigarette between my lips, lighting it with my wand. Really, my smoking habit is the only reason why I’m so used to pyromancy. I can light a cigarette a thousand different ways, I just need my wand present, or an open flame. If I bothered to learn sorcery, I’d be able to light a cigarette plenty more ways. But I’ll be damned if I ask Witt to show me how.

Kelly pats herself down, looking for either her wand or lighter, with an unlit cigarette between her lips. Despite being highly amusing for me to see some chick rooting through her pockets in an alley, I keep my wand out, instead of tucking it back into my sleeve. When I move closer, she looks up, angling the cigarette with her lips as I move my wand. With a simple tap on the end of it, a puff of a red flame comes off of the cigarette. That’s another reason why I don’t like Phoenix Cinder, the initial lighting of a cigarette always has that red puff. And, depending on how well that cigarette was made, it could explode in your face. My face was dark gray for a whole hour, I had to scrub my face clean since Witt was laughing too hard to help me out with a cleaning spell. (Never cast cleaning spells on yourself if your proficiency is pyromancy, I made an eyebrow disappear one time.) (I still have a cleft in one, residual effect.) My wand’s black. It used to be a light oak in color, then it became charred. Whoops.

I exhale the smoke through my nose, and make my wand disappear up my sleeve. Haven’t smoked with anyone outside of work for a while, so this is a little different. I lean against one wall, Kelly leans against the other. We’re directly across from each other, smoking in the alley. I can already feel my magic starting to wobble. It’s like being in a stream, but you can’t feel how wet the water is, just the current. Usually, the stream isn’t moving, the Pixie Ash keeps it moving. I no longer taste the black magic.

“Alteration and illusion,” she says, before going back to smoking, keeping her eyes on me. She has black eyeshadow, bringing out her blue eyes. Mine are brown, a real dark brown.

After a long drag, and an even longer exhale, I answer “Dueling and pyromancy.” Really, pyromancy should be first, I haven’t fought another magician in forever. Haven’t even punched anyone in a good month. I’d still kick Witt’s ass, though. I would, except he could cast something on my fist and make it weigh more than gold. His magic works fast, he doesn’t even need to use actual spells at this point. Jackass.

“You look the type.” She says, in the nicest way possible. “I mean, not that you look like a thug or anything,”

“No, I got it.” I tell her. “I get that a lot.” With the cleft on my lip, and the cleft in my eyebrow, most people assume that immediately. I’d heal those up, or have Jack heal it, but I like how people are scared of me just by seeing me. I get a sick kick out of it. Kelly doesn’t seem phased. I like that, too. “You look like you were on the losing end of a paintball match.”

She laughs. Still got it. “No, just the aftermath of painting. My clothes are easier to wipe on than rags.”

I nod. “What do you paint?”

“Anything. It’s just fun to do. And a good excuse to use magic.” She sort of reminds me of Witt. The magic usage, at least. He uses magic for anything. Opening bottles, locking and unlocking doors, putting out my cigarettes from across the room (asshole), and flicking light switches. But then again, I use magic to light cigarettes. I don’t think I’ve used my lighter in forever. But then again, the lighter’s so imprinted with my magic that I can probably use it as good as I use my wand. As long as it’s for pyromancy.

Grace has told me that I have ‘dead eyes’. The type of look that doesn’t give off emotion or much feeling. Some people like it, some people find it unnerving. Kelly’s eyes are attentive, focused on mine. I don’t know why I’m focusing on her eyes. Maybe because we’re keeping eye contact while we smoke. I take my cigarette away, opening my mouth to speak, before I taste the black magic again. Something’s wrong, it’s getting stronger. At this point, I should be feeling a magic disturbance, from how strong the flavor is. Maybe it’s the Pixie Ash keeping my magic moving that keeps me from feeling it. I should tell Jack. Gargle some mouthwash, brush my teeth, give him a kiss to let him know what it tastes like, see if he can pull off his pathfinding to the source. But not right now. I rub my tongue against the roof of my mouth to ignore the flavor, and I open my mouth again. But she’s already speaking.

“So what do you do?” She asks.

“I load trucks for an office supply store.” I tell her.

“Magic office supplies?”

“No, the normal ones.”

“Oh. Do magic office supplies exist?”

I think back to when Witt fought a troll with a magic stapler. I hate his sorcery, he can turn any random bullshit into a magical tool. “Depends on where you look, but I’m sure they do.”

She nods, and takes another drag. I wonder if she can taste that black magic, too. I’m not going to ask, because typically you have to pull off a kissing spell to check if two people are tasting the same thing. And even then, we’re smoking, so we’d be tasting Pixie dust and the ashes of a phoenix. She coughs a few times, but tries not to. Must be the Phoenix Cinder burning her lungs, because black smoke leaves her lips. “That’d be-” she coughs. “That’d be cool, a magic fountain pen.” It could be, I just don’t know how. I picture Witt waving around a fountain pen, casting spells. Then I picture on fire. That makes me smile. My smile makes her smile.

“I guess it would.” I say. I still don’t know how, but I say it anyways.

I finally put out my cigarette with my heel. I wear boots, I don’t know why Witt wears loafers all the damn time. Boots are practical. I can kick someone’s ass with boots, I can walk anywhere with boots. Loafers make you look like an asshole. At least, it makes Witt look like an asshole. She does the same, with her Doc Martens. They look better than my boots, even with paint on them. “Want my number?” She asks. I need to find out where I put my mobile.

“Couldn’t hurt.” I say. She takes a Sharpie out of nowhere, and walks up to me. I give her my palm, and she writes it down.