#pixy styx and crack

[xxdeadjhonnyxx]

Vyncent Flaw - Retail Whore + Pixy Stix and Crack!!! (2007)

[gh-0st-y]

ooo AAA riddle fic, lets go!!! for my pookies @pixy-styx and @spadecentral !!! <333

— Remember for Me

summary : you unfortunately got a low grade on a high marked test, bringing your mood down - riddle is there to comfort you.

cw : angst to comfort, gn!reader, riddle x reader, fear of failure

authors note : projecting with that fear huh 😬

countless hours of studying, flashcards, conversing with other students, going through every book in the library, and what did you score? 49%.

all your hard work, down the drain. youre back, neck, shoulders ached from your hunched position when you were studying, your eyes red and drooping, practically begging for sleep. all for 49%.

walking to ramshackle was tiring, trudging along, dragging your feet. when you were inside, you dropped your bag onto the floor carelessly which was sure to bite you in the ass later, falling backwards onto the couch that saw your countless nights of studying. grim sat on your stomach, staring down at you, your arm draped over your eyes.

"henchman? whats wrong?" grim said, almost sounding worried. you forced a tight smile, voice cracking whilst fighting off tears behind your arm, "oh, nothing just..tired. so tired.." you sighed.

there was a knock at the door, raising your arm to look at the door. it went silent. then there was another knock. you couldnt leave them waiting.

"coming, coming. grim, get off," you pick him off your stomach, placing him down on your previous spot on the couch as you walked over to the door, tripping over your bag. you groaned, biting your cheek to hold back an angry cry.

finally getting to the door, you opened it, "oh, riddle, hi." you looked down at the boy, "something wrong?"

"i wanted to talk to you about that previous test. may i come in?" he spoke, posture straight and voice as strict and condescending as usual.

"oh..alright." you stepped out the way. riddle walked past you, looking around.

"..you really havent done much to the dorm?" he spoke. you shrugged, not really interested in answering. he turned around to face you, watching you close the door, "so, your score on the test. what was it again?"

you groaned, looking away, "49%, nothing big, i get it, your smart, im not, what else do you wanna shove in my face?" you ranted, "that i wont succeed? that me hanging around ace and deuce damages my head? wanna prove im some kinda– wreck?" you flailed your arms around, anger rising in your chest as you spoke.

"what? great seven, no, i came to offer help for your studies!" riddle tried to speak but you were finally breaking down your walls.

"oh, cause im- im just an idiot, right? cant do a simple test, you think- you think im not smart right? im just another student slacking off!" youre voice raised, tears welling in your eyes

"prefect, calm yourself! what is this behaviour?" riddle spoke, hand on his chest. he sounded like an overbearing, snobby parent.

"shut up, i dont– i dont care! i really dont- j-just shut- up! i get it, i cant do something so simple, leave me a-alone!" you finally cried, yelling at the red head who stared, shocked at your state.

"prefect, i never said such a thing. why would i?" riddle stepped closer, wary.

"i- just-" you sobbed, beginning to shake, knees threatening to give out. you tried to regulate your breathing, "im really just- gonna fail..! great seven, i- fuck–" your knees finally gave up on supporting your weight. riddle hurried over, trying to catch you before you fell, but not really helping your fall. he slowly lowered himself to the ground, along with you, sitting in silence. he listened to you cry, all the while holding your shaking hands with his own.

when youd seemed to calm, he raised a hand, gently wiping away your tears with his finger, "prefect, i understand your fear. it must have been hard. you look so tired, how long were you studying?"

you sniffled, "i couldnt a-answer," your voice shook, body seeming to shiver as you spoke.

"my dear," he raised his other hand, holding your face gently, "you tried tremendously hard. but now, i say its time for a break. i think a cup of tea and a slice of tart is just what you need," he gently tucked strands of loose hair behind your ear.

blinking away excess tears, you spoke quietly, "i-id like that. yeah." you smiled softly, riddle doing the same.

"you are smart, do not forget it. and if you do, ill remind you again. remember it for me."

authors note : YO IM ?????IN TEARS 😭😭 I HOPE YOU ENJOYED <33

[dailyunsolvedmysteries]

Cases of Tampered Halloween Candy

In 1959, a California dentist, William Shyne, gave candy-coated laxative pills to trick-or-treaters. He was charged with outrage of public decency and unlawful dispensing of drugs.

In 1964, a disgruntled Long Island, New York woman gave out packages of inedible objects to children who she believed were too old to be trick-or-treating. The packages contained items such as steel wool, dog biscuits, and ant buttons (which were clearly labeled with the word "poison"). Though nobody was injured, she was prosecuted and pleaded guilty to endangering children. The same year saw media reports of lye-filled bubble gum being handed out in Detroit and rat poison being given in Philadelphia, although these media reports were never substantiated to be actual events.

On Oct. 31st, 1974, neighbors O’Bryan and Jim Bates, of Deer Park, Texas, took their children out trick-or-treating. Bates’ job was to wait on the sidewalk while O’Bryan escorted the trick-or-treaters to the front door of neighborhood houses. At one point, O’Bryan disappeared briefly behind a shadowy part of the front porch, then emerged holding five large Pixie Stixx filled with flavored sugar. While no one else saw the homeowners, O’Bryan claimed that the residents of the house had cracked the door open and given him giant Pixie Styx to distribute to the children. Later that night, O’Bryan dialled 911, stating that his son had apparently eaten poisoned candy. In spite of the paramedics’ best efforts, eight year old Timothy O’Brien died later that night. An investigation revealed that the cause of death was cyanide-laced candy. The murderer? Timothy’s father, who decided to sacrifice his son in exchange for a $40,000 life insurance payoff. O'Bryan also passed the poisoned Pixie Stixx to at least four other children, including his 5-year-old daughter, Elizabeth, in an attempt to make the urban legend come to life. Miraculously the remaining tampered candy was confiscated before any other children ingested it.

Reports and copycat incidents peaked shortly after the Chicago Tylenol murders, which were first reported one month before Halloween in 1982. This incident involved a murderer who added poison to a few bottles of over-the-counter medication after the medication had been delivered to stores including possible Halloween candy tampering. 

In 2000, James Joseph Smith of Minneapolis handed out candy he had poked needles into, but none of his victims were seriously injured, with just one 14-year-old boy pricked by a needle but not badly enough to seek medical attention. As NBC News reported, Smith was charged with one count of adulterating a substance with intent to cause death, harm, or illness.

In 2019, a Connecticut man was arrested after children found razor blades inside a trick-or-treat bag

[the-atlas-sister]

I'm Fine *Voice Cracks*

Me: *snorts pixie styxs in my shower in a onesie*

My friend: are you okay?

Me: I started my period and the person I've been talking to told me they don't actually feel romantically attracted to me. *voice cracks* But I'm fine.

[writelary]

Gilded Dinner and Motorcycle Dreams

Gilded Dinner and Motorcycle Dreams Features: Magdalene Strange, Pixie Styx, Kazuya (belonging to Maple), Aderyne (belonging to Rin) Universe: Pokemon Redeux

 While there were those who would delight in the mixture of leather and lace, the high and low, the maître d' of the Grand House could not truly abide by such a flagrant misstep of the dress code. Worn out denim and scuffed boots, he found his shoulders tightening more and more upon looking over the creature with such arrogance to walk into his establishment—

 “Truant defiance of the night, my sweet thing, are you attempting to charm me with your cavalier attitude to the troubled side.” Lilting, lulling voice, the man swallows back his words at the siren’s sounds. Magdalene Strange, a familiar and vaunted guest when she comes around. A valued patron of the owner of the establishment, the employee finds his tongue swallowed in the moment.

 The rapscallion on the other hand seems to have words, despite themself. “What can I say, I thought I’d show you what you could go for a ride with, Mags. I’d say you look nice, but when don’t you?”

 Nice. The word sits in the man’s brain like an unwanted piece of runaway trash—how banal, how lacking--

 Smile quirks on Magdalene’s features as she tucks her clutch to her waist. “Now, now don’t go out of your way to flatter me, darling.”

 “Sorry we’re late, it took a bit to find—“ Awkward though she is, Aderyne at least cuts a more appropriate figure in the maître d’s mind. At least she tried. And the other—well, he swallows. An attempt was made, but something just radiates off the man that is loud and—frankly not what he was expecting tonight.

 Be strong, be strong for the Grand House. Breathing in so his chest expands and fills, the man releases the pressure as he steps into the view of the party. “Might I seat you all? Ms. Strange, it is lovely to have you grace our establishment again—would you like me to inform Master-“

 “Oh, my sweet thing, absolutely not—do not bother the old man tonight. I am entertaining new friends tonight in a game of wits. Thank you though.” Delicate handwave, Magdalene smiles as she leads her party into the vaunted heart of the Grand House, despite the maître d' trailing behind like a lost puppy. Menus are gathered awkwardly to keep up with the woman who strides with ease in heels that elevate her already grand height.

 Short words and stiff bow, the maître d' moves wound up, his body aching to move himself out of the narrative. He offers words, clumsily, before moving on. “Of course, of course—here are the menus for the evening, and your waiter will be with you shortly. Enjoy.”

 Kazu and Pixie were used to concrete floors, splattered blood, teeth clenched as a fist cracks—but the plush velvet carpets and the gilded pillars offer a new battlefield. Aderyne cannot claim any more knowledge of such spaces, but she attempts to make herself momentarily small in the midst of everything—on the bill, in her chair, not certain what to make of the chandeliers and grand pianos.

 “A moment such as this, Aderyne dear, you really should indulge in what a place has to offer as their best.” Finger on the other woman’s menu, Magdalene peruses until nail clicks against the page. “I think you would quite enjoy that.”

 “Oh wow—it’s um, a lot.”

 Kazu straightens in his chair, folding and unfolding the cloth napkin as he attempts a lopsided smile. “I’ve got it, no worries.”

 “See, Aderyne darling. Kazu has it.” Laughter sweet on her tongue, Magdalene tucks away her thoughts for later, of the powder room excursion to write all of this off on her own bill, leaving the boy with something far smaller to tip the place with.

 “Oh—right, yeah, of course. Well, we’re here to talk about motorcycles, right?” Aderyne folds her hands over the menu, nervous energy trying to find a place to land like a flickering ember.

 “Yeah, yeah! Right, so Miss Mags—your thoughts, pros and cons.” Trying to decide how best to lean at the table, Kazu plucks up a utensil as he gesticulates, before catching the visions of other tables, and dropping it back to gravity.

 “My sweet thing, I think they are absolutely fine—between the legs of someone younger and far more roguish than I. Though, I do believe it is best left to those of us who might not break a hip at this day and age.” Eyes flicker to Pixie, who offers a sly grin in response.

 “Pom’s the one who said you need to get out and do something fun outside of the bar, Mags. Besides, we could take it slow on the backroads outside of the city, go drive down through vineyard country.”

 “It can be relaxing, if you go slow, and quite a lovely ride on those backroads.” Aderyne chimes in, fingers dancing over her cutlery. “And—to be quite fair, you would look very stylish on the back of a bike.”

 “Hey now—hip breaking probability is low, and motorcycles are super hot. Ads is right! You’d look really stylish, not that you need any mechanical help to up your status, but—“

 Dinner flows over laughter and quips exchanged. Kazu’s ears brighten red before raucous noise rises from the group. Stories are exchanged over red wine that sends Kazu to sweet bottles of champagne, and the group finds a pleasant rhythm as the night continues on. Motorcycles ride off in the back of their minds, forgotten until the evening comes to a close.

 Velvet black sky, the group parts ways beneath neon glow of the city named for light. Pixie and Magdalene the last of the group walking back along the streets, heels echoing on the concrete.

 “Y’know, Mags I don’t think I got you to agree to a ride.”

 “Oh, my sweet thing you absolutely did not, but I did manage to rope you into a day at the symphony.”

 Snorting, Pixie rolls their eyes. “Voss’ right, I am a soft touch.”

 Thumb brushing their chin to turn their eyes up to hers, Magdalene grins. “Absolutely do not let Ronald hear you say that. It would go to his head. Thank you for walking me home, my sweet thing.”

 “Of course—night, Mags.”

 Fingers about the backdoor to the apartment, Magdalene leans over to press a swift, quick kiss just along the high of Pixie’s cheek bone. “Sweet dreams, Pixie dear.”

[xxdeadjhonnyxx]

VYNCENT FLAW :D! (2003-2010)

VF was a cool electro-punk from Sacramento, California. They stand out for their dynamic and amazing songs and energetic live performances.

Members are: Mike Dahlquist aka Mike Diva (known for his famous YT channel) and Maxwell James aka Maxx Jenga (known to be ex-senior producer of Critical Role)

[gh-0st-y]

a crack fic, for @spadecentral and @pixy-styx <333

— What in the Great Seven?

summary : riddles just going about his day when he continuously trips over nothing - whatever could be wrong?

cw: none!! kinda riddle x reader but not rlly

today started out like normal - following all his 810 set rules, keeping eyes on the two mad first years, and talking to the prefect he had been getting close to ever since his overblot.

riddle conversed with you about the upcoming unbirthday party, planning to invite you along, "–if you are able to, do join, itd be marvelo—" but in the midst of his sentence, he tripped forward, barely catching himself as he hit the ground. he sat up, face burning in embarrasment as he glanced around, hearing the familiar laughter of ace and deuce, causing him to get impossibly redder. you had to calm the red head down before he caused a problem,,

but going throughout his day, this happened countless times, riddle growing more and more irritated and embarrassed as the day went on. what could ever be going on?

as he was walking back to the heartslabyul dorm, almost predicted, he tripped over what he assumed were his own feet. before hitting the floor, he was caught by his arm, looking up to see a familiar grinning face..

"fancy seeing you, riddle," che'nya grinned down at riddle whos face stained red once again.

"honestly. you did this all day? unbelievable, che'nya! i should collar you!" riddle now lectured the grinning cat.

"sorry, rids. just couldnt help it!"

"hmph," the red head pouted, turning away. it felt childish but..it was a nice childish behaviour - something he missed.

authors note: SHORT EW - hope you enjoy !!!

[writelary]

Narratives and Whiskey Sours

Narratives and Whiskey Sours Features: Pixie Styx, Ronald Voss (belonging to eldritchrach) Universe: Pokemon Redeux

 Heavy thud of crystalline cut glass hits the finely polished surface of the bartop, heady caramel liquid lapping up, attempting to jump from within. “You, Pixie—you’re a soft touch.”

 “Hah. You really would say no to Pomona, my boy? I heard she owes you some money, and somehow I highly doubt you’re ever seeing that again. And you and I both know it.” Fingers wrapping about the glass, Pixie dips it towards Ronnie Voss.

 Towel thrown over his shoulder, the barkeep rolls his eyes. “Fair. Still, I would feign shock if I didn’t know you.”

 “Know me, that’s bold of you.”

 “Just saying when it comes to Magdalene—“

 “Coming from the man working behind the counter for said woman. Personally if she signed my cheques, I’d be considering my words.”

 Snort cracks as the ginger shakes his head. “You sure you don’t need that drink a bit more deluded—I mean, diluted.”

 “You want to hear about the triathlon or not.”

 “Pins and needles, Pix. Honestly, I don’t even think I have a say in it either way.” Wiping his hand on the towel, Ronnie pops the top off a beer, pushing it across the counter to a waiting hand.

 “Insult to injury, we begin with my being paired with two kids—Kid One and Kid Two for ease of storytelling.”

 Leaning against the counter, Ronnie lifts an eyebrow. “Ease of storytelling of course.”

 “They could always win over the Kid One spot—competition within competition breeds a bit of healthy drive afterall.” Ignoring the noise out of Ronald, Pixie continues. “Kid One starts off strong, a bit too strong—swam right out of the triathlon. Got dragged back, throws a pretty good punch. Anyway, get him shaken not stirred right—toss him back in, and we complete that round.

 “From there we’ve got some running to do, and Kid Two’s got a bit of pep to her step, so send her out on it. She makes pretty good time, takes her a bit with some of the traps, I think—but we get through that too. So now it’s on my plate—“

 “And let me guess, it’s a kitshcy paper plate for a cute family picnic.” Ronnie interjects between slinging suds, half-listening to the story.

 “To be fair—it’s a plate where I tried to encourage Kid One and Two to sabotage the other teams, in the spirit of the competition and all. They—well, better left there. After that I just played what honestly reminded me of one of those games they give to toddlers, and that’s it—triathlon.”

 “And I had to hear about it—“

 “Because you, sonnuva—managed to get your pale ass out of it. Wonder how Pomona found that flyer in the first place.” Sipping their whiskey, Pixie lifts their brow as Ronnie quirks a grin.

 “Fair’s fair.”

 “You lost that card game absolutely fair.”

 “Cry me a river, Styx—I’m certain you absolutely abhorred spending a day with Magdalene out in the sun.”

 “Better to look at than your face even in the shadows.”

 “You wound me.”

 Laughter flows out as Pixie sets down the emptied glass. “It wasn’t an awful day. Just wish I could have seen you go up in flames with that red hair and pale skin.”

 “My sweet fair complexion.” Ronnie places a hand upon his cheek like a gentle lady before joining in the low laughter under the singing that resonates around the bar.

 -

 “You were supposed to do the running, or swimming!” Pomona saddles up alongside Pixie beneath the warm early summer sun—her face slathered in sunscreen.

 “Was I?”

 “Yeah! I wanted to see you do something athletic and cool—I mean, good work winning the puzzle.” Eyes meeting her mother’s, Pomona offers a sideways grin and a shrug. “It was fun to watch still.”

 “Thanks kid.” Shaking their head with a half chuckle, Pixie watches as Pomona ducks off to the left to look at a booth as Magdalene moves into their side.

 “Here I thought you were training criminals for a moment.”

 “Just encouraging the kids to have fun with it.” Lifting their gaze, Pixie offers a toothy grin.

 Hum purses Magdalene’s lips before her fingers wrap around Pixie’s shoulder, allowing her leverage as she pulls herself into their gravity, cheek to cheek—the pressure of a kiss just against the side of their features. “You did well. Thank you for indulging Pomona.”

 Grin falters, curves into something smaller, and Pixie reaches out to squeeze Magdalene’s upper arm. “Of course.”

[writelary]

Criminal for a Day

Criminal for a Day Featuring: Pomona Strange, Pixie Styx, Magdalene Strange Universe: Pokemon Redeux

“Go Pixie!” Small sweet voice dances over the  gruff cheers of the crowd—golden and catches Pixie’s ear. A turn they should not have made—a turn that allows knuckles into their cheek.

 Warm rust fills their mouth as they still try to catch a glimpse of the childlike voice calling for their victory—but pain and focus wins out.

 -

 Knees curved to chest, it is well-past her bedtime, but Pomona cannot help but linger upon the staircase to the apartment. Voices and laughter fills the room just beyond the door, the backroom of her mother’s bar. She’s heard the second voice before—playing back and forth to her mother’s own dulcet tones.

 Pixie Styx.

 It took a few conversations to put together the name, but she has had it now for some time, pulling together bits and pieces of a world beyond the one Magdalene cultivated for the two of them. Blood, punches, the cheers of an adoring crowd—

 Fingernails dig into the soft wood of the staircase, straining to hear more words.

 “Come to one of my fights.”

 More laughter—her mother loves to laugh, and the sound pulls upon Pomona’s lips. Words fill in the space after the sounds subside, and Pomona leans in again, listening.

 “The invitation is there, if you ever want to take it.”

 Feet scrambling up the stairs, Pomona thuds back into her bed in record time. An invitation.

               It was not for her, per say, and Pomona hums to herself as she pulls blankets over herself—but if her mother did not take it, it would be socially rude to completely ignore it, wouldn’t it?

 Society.

 Magdalene painted herself as a figure of it, class and crust, indulgence in the finer things. And Pomona knows she has always benefited from said things—fine paintings, music, scientific outings. But a fight?

 A fighting ring.

 Lifting hand out from beneath her quilt, Pomona examines what she can make out in the darkness—stretching fingers long and wide before curling in them into a fist. One year spent with claws and teeth, and she had never fought. The call of fire in her belly reminds her that so many like her make their way that way—

 This Pixie Styx does.

 And they’re mom’s friend, right? So—what would be the harm?

 -

 So, what’s the harm, she repeats mentally to herself as she pulls her hood up and tightens it. Ginger locks poke out as teeth press into lower lip to try and contain her smile.

 Rocking back and forth, rubber squelching against the hardwood floors—Pomona listens for the rise of the first notes of the night. Ah, the saxophone, the playful tones of the songstress for the evening.

 Thoughts of why her mother never sings rise and fade as she reminds herself to be—very, very quiet.

 Luckily, the chaos of the early hours of the bar is loud enough to create enough quiet for her to sneak down the stairs, through the backroom, and then out the backdoor—

 Into the alleyway.

 Hopping to and fro for a moment, Pomona presses hands into the pocket of her sweatshirt, grinning as she steps into and fades into the movement of Lumiose.

 -

 Fingers to blood pouring from their nose, Pixie bites the tip of their lip, head tilted to one side before they spit. “That all you got, kid? Come on, I thought you said I was old enough to be your father.”

 Cracking their jaw, they step back as the young man rushes forward—momentum driving him into their foot, and then over—

 Payback is a hell of a one-two hit, but something had to end the tango. Ribs burn as they breath out—allowing him to drop to the ground. Foot on his chest, they stand above him, keep him down while the ref calls it.

 Rolling shoulder back, Pixie drops down with a hand out. Winking, they laugh. “Come on, get off the ground, boy. Y’did good. I mean, I beat you, but y’almost had me.”

 Fond words are tossed between fighters before the sound rises again—a tittering, happy voice congratulating them.

 And then they see her for the first time—red hair, hood up, and freckles leaning and waving hand.

 “Gimme a moment—got a… fan?” Pixie thuds hand against the young man’s shoulder, before exiting from the conversation to reposition the scene onto the bright, cheerful red head, pressed up along the edges of the fighting ring. “Hey… kid. Literally right? You know you’re not allowed in here.”

 “Um—you do not know that. I could very well be over… six—eighteen?”

 “Yeah, right—do I know you though? Like, no fuc—freaking offense, kid. You look a bit familiar about the eyes, but—can’t place you for the life of me.”

  Blood had never bound them, but it was just the same to Pomona when she had come to be a human, her face would hold the same things as the woman who had found her Egg and raised her so gently.

 “Oh, yes! I apologize, I should introduce myself—I’m Pomona!”

  “Pomona.”

  “Pomona Strange—Magdalene’s--“

  “Oh—shi—oh. Right, that makes sense, but also—um.” Words, usually their forte, forsake Pixie in the moment, hand coming up to pull their entire jaw down, pinching their chin before they stare the child down (Arceus, how tall was she going to get, she already was only a few inches shorter than they were; though, knowing her mother—Arceus.)

  “Um—are you okay?”

 “Kid, do you want your mother to have one of her bouncers beat the crap out of me? Did I do something to like offend you? Y’know what—doesn’t matter, we’re getting you the hel—heck home. Come on.” Waving off the guys in the fighting pit, Pixie dives into the spectators, grabbing Pomona’s arm.

 “Hey—hey! I can follow on my own.”

 “Clearly you can get here on your own, and how old are you even, kid?”

 “Almost… twelve?”

 “Arceus.”

    “Hey! I am very intelligent, and well-versed for my age, and you did invite mom after all.”

      Pixie cannot help the pull of their lips, half-ease of curve. “I thought you said you were smart, kid—I invited your mother.”

“Well, I simply decided that was a fair invitation to me too, and I wanted to go—I haven’t ever been in a fight, or seen one!”

Blood burns in their nose as they breath in against aching ribs, and Pixie sighs as they continue down the streets with the child, leading her back towards her mother’s establishment. Darkness sits upon the city, the lights it was so named for burning bright. “Better for it, kid—you’re too young to get wrapped up in all of that anyway, and I’m certain if you have to be punched, your mom can find you like a self-defense class to take. Just—it was really dangerous for you to come, alright?”

“Too dangerous for me, and not for mom?”

  “Your mom’s an adult.”

“I’m almost as tall as you, and it’s not too dangerous for you apparently.” Pomona shrugs demurely turning to face the glowing lights of the jazz bar ahead. “Can we just—sneak me back in?”

“No.”

    Opening the door to the backroom, Pixie sighs. “Listen kid—I’m going to walk you up to your apartment, and then I’m coming back down here to get your mom. She deserves to know you snuck out, and you two need to figure it out between you.”

 A plan that sounds all well and good until the door to the apartment is opened, and Magdalene stands in all of her glory, a jacket half-on, her features coloured with worry, but her hair not a strand out of place. “Pomona—darling, my sweet thing, there you are—“

 “… Hi mom?” Smile pulled on, Pomona pulls on the strings of their hoodie.

“Pixie—what are you? Is someone going to explain this to me?” Knees to the ground, Magdalene’s arms wrap about Pomona, before she peers back over to the other adult upon the stairs.

    “Um—yeah, so met your kid, she well. She overheard my invitation to you, and decided it was a group invite, and so. Showed up for my fight.”

 The words sit for a moment before a small noise escapes Magdalene. “Ah. Alright—yes, Pomona come in. We need to chat, darling. And Pixie—“

 “Look, I’ll get out of your hair—“    

“Come along, you are going to bleed all over my staircase otherwise.”