#which im not gonna expand on bc that takes too much writing energy lmao

[magickedhat]

Summary:  Set in a pink, windowless room. Location unknown. A conversation over steaming tea. Part 2/2.  (part one)

When Mr Booth awoke again, he was behind bars.

He had been in jail before. Dungeons, cells, grimy towers with hungry mice and hungrier security. This was nothing like he’d ever before experienced. The bars were thin and spread closely apart, painted cheap gold. They created a curve along the middle to meet at the very top.

It took him longer than it should’ve to realize he was in a birdcage.

Much to his surprise, Mr Booth was not angry. He wasn’t ashamed or humiliated. In fact, when his lips parted to draw a much-needed breath, all he could muster the wits to say was, “Fascinating.”

“Why, thank you very much.”

Startled, Mr Booth’s  gaze shot up. The magician responsible for his current predicament sat roundly in a smooth velvet chair, her dark outfit a stark contrast to the pink wallpaper behind her. Mr Booth spotted her notable lack of headwear this time. She didn't look nearly as impressive without it; in fact, if Mr Booth did not fear for his life, he might've even said she appeared ordinary, with her loose brown curls and eyebags, the worry lines and faded lipstick that pieced together the form of an everyday woman who could’ve been seen crossing the road of any street in London. Now, he could see her for what she was: a human. 

So why was he still so on edge? 

Mr Booth's eyes snapped sideways, taking in the rest of the place in little chunks. They were no longer in his hotel, but the place could be mistaken for such: he found himself surrounded by cozy armchairs, a fluffy carpet, a bracket clock and a bronze mirror, a small table leaden with a sweet-smelling tea set. One might have found it favourable to overlook the window-less walls, or the Mr Booth-sized cage in the corner, but otherwise, the room was perfectly hospitable, as though he'd just been invited into someone's living room for tea and gossip. 

Slowly, Mr Booth pushed himself up. "Where are we?" 

"You’re in my hat,” responded the magician, so matter-of-factly that Mr Booth was briefly perplexed with himself for questioning it. She added another sugar cube into her steaming cup. “And if you still harbour any hope of seeing the light of day, you will answer some of my questions.”

The warmth in her voice had faded despite the tea, and her gaze pierced through him like a hawk's, so intense that Mr Booth feared it could peel his skin from his bones. It hit him, then: she'd been such a good actress, selling this image of a sweet lady searching for a job with a hatfull of rabbits and birds, that Mr Booth hadn't suspected her for a moment. Hidden compartments and pockets; misdirection. A role perfectly tailored for a magician indeed. 

So, Mr Booth smiled. His lips stretched farther, tickled his cheeks in a grin, and he began to laugh.

"Oh, I adore this," he mused after some time. Sitting up straighter, Mr Booth crossed his feet on the cage floor, making himself comfortable. Electricity ran through him in jittery waves, stretching his mouth all the wider, feverish with the sort of energy he found himself chasing for months at a time. How wonderful is it, when they finally catch a whiff of him? When they stare with a hot pot of emotions that swirl between bitter triumph and striking disappointment, or even sadness? 

The surprise that flashed across the magician's features filled him with such delight he dared reveal the thoughts running through his head. Mr Booth waved a hand. "Out with it, then! But please, before that, would you mind filling me in on how you made it this far? You're the only one who has figured me out. How did you do it?" 

The magician huffed; shook her head. "You're not as elusive as you think you are, not-Booth." As she spoke, her spoon began performing small, circular trips inside her cup, jiggling where it met sparkling porcelain. What captured every ounce of Mr Booth's attention was that no hand was lifted to guide it. Proper magic. "Are you powerful? Perhaps. But other than that, you're just a devious little thief who never bothered to hide his footprints before he left the crime scene. How many names did you think you could steal before someone noticed?" 

"Enough for someone to notice," declared Mr Booth, chin sticking defiantly. A strange sort of bravado had overrun him; or rather, the strangest need to challenge. "It’s suffocatingly boring when my presence goes by unnoticed, you see. And---for a while---every one of my plays seemed to fall into the same pitfall. Clueless individuals, surrounded by even denser family and friends.” He hummed, shrugged. “Terribly dull. I needed something big, this time. Something eye-catching. And what’s better than the hotel business, where names are so willingly entrusted to the facility?” 

“Wait a moment,” sighed the magician. She leaned back and rubbed a temple, eyes fluttering shut. “Are you telling me that---of all the reasons something like you would have stolen a person’s identity---... you did it because you were bored?”

“And for the names! And the money,” Mr Booth pursed his lips. “And for the parties. But that correlates with money, yes?”

The magician’s movements were weary as she shook her head and brought her cup to her lips, the most frustrated of exhales leaving her nostrils. Mr Booth might have laughed.

“I’m not as surprised as I should be,” muttered the magician. Just disappointed, he could almost hear her saying. “Perhaps I should get that checked. But enough of that.” Her cup no longer steamed when she placed it on the table again. Her gaze pierced into him, pinning him on the gold-painted iron like a nail diving into feeble butterfly wings. “The original Ethelbert Booth. Where is he?”

Mr Booth whistled, bemused. He was impressed and jittery, yes, but that did not mean he was also planning to be cooperative. "Asking the hard questions, aren't you? I won't just tell you that." He clicked his tongue. "How would you feel about a deal?" 

"Right," gloved fingers tapped on her knee impatiently. Her face hardened. "Let me ask again, then. Etherbert Booth. Where. Is. He?" 

Mr Booth knitted his brows. Were they playing a game he hadn't caught onto yet? He didn’t have another second to ponder this, for something sharp scraped the inside of his mouth and caught the breath in his lungs. The terrible end of a fishing hook came to mind, agonizing and vivid---Mister Booth gagged, but he no longer had control of his mouth. Graceless and clumsy did his tongue move against unwilling teeth, and so his response formed, syllable by painful syllable. "In the garden," he coughed out, mouth numb. "He's in his garden! Get your name off of me, you wicked little---" 

The wicked lady cut him off, elbows on her knees. "Do you mean he's buried alive in his garden?" 

"No," the words pulled themselves out again one by one, like they were fish in the depthless ocean of his hidden truths. Restraining them had fared so well so far. Mr Booth had been proud, even, of conquering his tendency to overshare, but now they flowed out unbidden and silver-stained and utterly indifferent to his own efforts. He shuddered with repulsion, but raised his eyes to meet the magician’s. 

"He is in his garden.” he croaked. “He's the air you'll breathe and the roses you will marvel at. He'll feel you with every step you take upon his freshly-cut lawn but that does not matter because you will never feel him or see him ever again. Do you understand?" A nasty laugh bounced off his abraded throat. "He's stuck. He's in a place worse than death." 

Something flashed in the golden pool of her eyes. "Can anybody pull him out of it?" the words had a rushness to them; impatience and tension. Mr Booth thought she'd press her face against the bars if she leaned any closer. 

"No one," he said, though through a world of pain he was instructed to add: "no one but me." 

Silence stretched out. The magician laced her fingers on her lap, gaze distant. Mr Booth used the spare seconds to gasp a few breaths, expanding the lungs that he thought had been sliced open. What a horrible name. He'd owned names with side effects before. Some had been so irritable that he’d had to toss them back into faceless city crowds again, caring not for where they landed as long as they ceased to itch his skin. But this name was vile. This one had stuck to him like glue and had a mind of its own---or rather, it had a pioneer, nudging its strings, snapping him around and punching holes through his gut when it searched for secrets. He couldn't even tell if it was a real name. 

His glower through the bars must've been intense, because the magician scoffed. "Oh, don’t look at me like that. Does it anger you that you are controlled by a name instead of the other way around? You must have seen this coming." 

"I'm not going to free Etherbert for you." 

Her brows raised. "I never asked you to." Gloved hands reached for her kettle once more and poured steaming sweet liquid into her cup. "In fact, you've done me quite a favor. I've wanted that man halfway across another realm for decades." a snort, another glance his way; her lips quirked at his expression. It must've been a sight indeed. "You've created a few complications, of course, a very rude dent in my plans, but it isn't anything I can't work around. The fact that you're acting so much unlike him, however… that, we must work on." 

Minster Booth faltered. His jaw felt so numb he wondered whether her name had gripped it open again. "I-- what?" 

She sipped her tea. Mr Booth suddenly realized that his mouth was uncomfortably dry, and then even drier when her golden gaze rose on him again. Things shimmered beneath, thoughts and schemes rolling by so fast he grew dizzy just watching the shadow of them. She set her teacup on the table, and presented him with a terrible grin. "You're going to help me, New Booth," she told him, "just as I am going to help you. Do you know what kind of man you've decided to impersonate? Rather poorly, if I may add." 

"You may not," Mr Booth failed not to sound injured. 

"Then, I shall not. But it's no secret that others will catch on like I have, love, and it isn't going to end well for you. So: earlier, you asked for a deal." She raised her chin. "This is what I'm offering you. Your safety for my plans." 

"And what if i just leave?" 

Her smile was a thin line of pearl white teeth. "I believe you might find yourself as stuck as the old Booth, then." 

Bitter realization struck. Her name. Just how easily could these stings pull and twist him into knots? He wasn’t inclined to find out. He narrowed his eyes, staring through the bars. "What is your personal vendetta against Booth? Why do you want him dead?" 

"Dead?" a scoff left her. Mr Booth didn't miss the amusement behind it. "I would never do something so savage, heavens no!" Her shoulders rose and fell in a devious little laugh. However, Mr Booth saw no warmth in that droopy pair of eyes: only cold, hard-earned gold. Her smile became thinner, voice sharper. "I just want his pockets emptied of every single penny he has stolen, New Booth. Simple as that. Now, you coming along and trapping him in his garden---as I said, it complicates things, but as long as you're in possession of his face, there will be ways to work everything out."

“So,” Mr Booth felt lightheaded, confused, and sore all over, but he managed to pull himself into a respectable sitting position anyway, if only to feign a sliver of composure. His throat still throbbed as he spoke. “Let me get this straight. You want to use my disguise in order to rob Ethelbert Booth, whom you hate for reasons you refuse to disclose.”

“As I should. But yes, that’s a splendid summary.”

“And you claim he has relations that will prove dangerous to my… wellbeing?”

“Enemies,” she corrected, stirring her tea. Spoon in hand, this time. “He has enemies that will prove dangerous to your wellbeing. Not everyone will be as kind as to let you go once they’re through---” she shrugged, smiling--- “unlike me.”

“How do I know that?”

“I’ll give you my word.”

And a word given to someone like him ought to be kept. He knitted his brows. “You know what I am.”

“I’ve made an educated guess, but you’re a curious case. Either way, I don’t… care.” A tilt of her head; a knowing smile. “Not as long as you can help me. Do we have a deal, New Booth?”

Mr Booth weighed his options, but found he had very few. There was little he could do with this awful name on him, one that he couldn’t claw off himself just yet. He feared it might snap his neck upon command. What terrible irony.

However... he couldn’t deny he was intrigued. That same electric thrill still coursed inside his body, the excitement that shimmered beneath his skin and awoke every one of his senses. The spark of life in the tediousness of his immortality. It had been a while since he'd experienced genuine danger, and even longer since he'd had a partner in crime---be it one that chained him down and shut him in one of her many birdcages. He couldn’t have everything, he supposed.

So, even if he could, Mr Booth would not have possibly walked away from a deal with such appeal. 

“We need to discuss the terms in greater detail,” he said decisively. The magician grinned, and despite himself, Mr Booth found the corners of his mouth twitching. She poured him a cup of tea, but upon accepting it, Mr Booth paused. 

“You may call me Collen,” he said carefully.

The look she gave him might have been one of surprise. “You’ve a name, then?”

“Yes,” Many of them. Hoards upon hoards, with only few to call his own. But she had not specifically asked for those, so he was not obligated to dig them up. His eyes glittered with curiosity as she watched her fetch the sugar across the table. “May I learn your name, madam?”

Her smile carved soft lines into the corners of her eyes. “You already have it, don’t you?” But he could not speak it, Mr Booth would have complained, had she not plunged the conversation into cleverly-plotted schemes and theatrics and sealed promises immediately after. 

Mr Booth was not a patient man; but for now, for a fraction of his unlimited time, he decided he would be, if only to learn her real name.

[commedias]

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@jejulity: in the time we’ve known each other, i’m pretty sure she’s changed blogs three times, changed carly twice ?? (once for fc and once for name), but one thing that never changes is her quick replies and fun muses. i’m also kicking myself rn bc i deleted part of what i originally write for her but i'mma still rewrite tho. ANYWAYS…… i love her reppin’ all female ocs and i like giving them the love n attention they deserve like w o w especially when all her muses are so cute ?? they’re also so unique like a military officer!tiffany ?? ex-assassin!hyejeong ?? sign me tf up. i love having our short but still quality threads bc it motivates me to do my replies and helps me channel my writing into smth easy and stress-free before moving on to bigger threads which i might flop on :’( i’m not always the best at expressing my emotions or gratitude for others but i appreciate seeing her in my im’s all the time even tho my reply speed sux :((( she’s a good person and i truly wish her the best even tho life might get her down sometimes.

@heejaez: lol…… this girl…… i mean i can’t be so self-obsessed to call her a stan but the support level she’s shown me in such a short time has been so astronomical ?? like deadass i feel like she loves my muses just as much as i love my muses. i wish she would love her own muses more too bc despite what she says, her portrayal is the bee’s knees and i will fight anyone who says otherwise !! the amount of love she’s expressed for my writing and blog really makes me happy to know ppl can enjoy my content just as much as i know theirs. hdkdlalxd idk i just can’t wait to see where hansol x areum tho even tho tumblr keeps trying to play us by not having them show up in my activity ;-; like the chemistry is so there and i can tell from her writing and muse that our thread is gonna turn out bomb af already. also she actually just an “@” to me so *shrug emoji*

@throughthedcrk: took me like a hot minute to spell her url even tho it’s not that hard lmao…… anyways definition of single-muse talent right here !! like if i ever had the energy to make a single muse blog (almost did for jeon jinki one time when i was drunk ;-;) i would aspire to make it as fucking bomb as hers. like don’t get me wrong i love bts fcs but i’m really critical on them bc i feel like there’s so many that it’s hard to find a stand-out personality ?? but honestly when i hear jungkook i naturally think of bay. like he has the vulnerabilities that i’ve seen similarly in other jungkook muses but no one plays them as accurately and as poignantly as she does. fucking definition of talented writer right here poppin out them quality replies in under ten seconds. give her love and love bay too bc that boy deserves it after all he went through :’( UGH even his backstory is so unique imo like when will your fave ever ??

@cxrrvptvs: ugh where do i begin omfg ?? i mean i already put j in my last follow forever so it might get redundant BUT idk she’s been there since the beginning ? like even tho i’ve only had this blog for less than two months (two month anniversary coming up on the 8th :’) ) it’s amazing to see how far our characters have come since. our ships are honestly my fave no lie :(( like taeyong started out with a rly strong idea and i’ve had such a good grasp on him, but i feel like he really started to come to life when his verse with jinwoo began ?? taeyong is lowkey self-insert (i mean not full-on, but taeyong, sunghyun, and wooyoung all represent aspects of my personality and like a mix of them would get you me lmao) but writing replies to our thread has really helped me expand him beyond my own beliefs and make him an individual character in himself ?? also her muses are so loving and kind without being saccharine sweet ?? like deadass taeyong and sunghyun are both sad lil shits who never eat and jinwoo and dohyun always take care of them but not in a toxic, codependent way and it’s so beautiful :’) this is getting so long but i deadass started tearing up at a few of my replies from sunghyun to dohyun bc of how far he came with his all-star boyfriend and i’m so fucking shook. even tho i can’t write smut bc underage, we use fade to black to imply what happened n like usually my muses don’t connect with someone enough to bang lol ?? at least with taeyong and sunghyun….. but like taeyong and jinwoo go at it like fuckin animals and physical intimacy is a huge indicator of a strong connection. anyways hdkdlslsmd i’ll shut up now point is i love j, i love her muses, i love our threads, and i also love her threads with other ppl and internally scream whenever she adds a new muse so BYE kxiickskskkd

[ditown-art]

i forgot the password for this blog so i didn’t use it for months and now i have to catch up on everything AAAAA. i won’t post everything i drew since i last posted regularly here, so here’s just a quick overview of everything i did in 2020

january- i can’t remember if there was much good artwork, but this is a(n admittedly unfinished) photostudy! look at me drawing something that’s NOT an oc portrait. 

february- clearly i learned nothing bc it’s straight back to oc art

march- started working on a picrew, never finished it, probably never will—but it was fun while it lasted

april- probably the peak of art here. a photostudy that i’m still v v proud of

may- finished my first-ever webcomic for my senior project! i’m too afraid of cringing to look back at it and read it again, but i remember being proud of it at the time, which is what matters

june- another comic! this was a short one-page character/story exploration that i never expanded on lmao

july- drew an oc’s bedroom. after taking a perspective class later in the year, i can look back and see all the flaws lmao...but it was good practice at the time. and not an oc portrait, thank god

august- another comic! this was Yet Another one page character exploration. rather than plan out the panels from the beginning, i started by drawing out specific imagery, then fit them together in ways that matched the vibe™. it was an interesting way of making a comic and i like the outcome even still, though i think that method of comic making works best for one shots like this. imagine trying to do that for a whole series...i’d die

september- back at it again with the oc art, but i used reference this time and drew a full body, so that’s a win!

october- more like OC-tober. i tried to draw an oc every day and only got like 5 days in </3

november- in the fall i took two online art classes, one of which was a perspective class. this was for an assignment; lots of work, but very rewarding! if i could redraw this again, i’d try to make the house look more crumbled, maybe have more fun; i was really hung up on getting the perspective right, but in the future i’d like to try and have more fun with line and shapes to really emphasize a certain look.

december- closing off the year with an oc portrait. around this time + for the next few months i got tired and burnt out on art, so i’d do oc paintings with the symmetry tool on, more to relax and practice painting/color than to focus on things like learning anatomy or interesting poses or composition. it’s what it is.

im posting this in june 2021, and since then i’ve honestly just been doing oc portraits mostly. L. maybe in the future i will have energy to work on art more?? i feel a little burnt out, trying to do my monotonous soul-crushing grocery store job + freelancing as a content writer which is also monotonous and soul-crushing in a way + trying to work on writing projects of my own with absolutely no success. aaaahhh. life is so much. maybe i’ll never be a Good artist, or a professional artist, or maybe i’ll never finish any creative project and maybe i’ll never make it as a creator. maybe i’ll just work retail or become a housewife or be a poorly-paid content marketing writer for big corporations forever, and creativity will be my little escape, my fun hobby. and that’s all it will be, and that’s ok. or maybe i’ll move on to other things, change careers, stop thinking so much about my ocs because they’re a stand-in for friends more than anything, and when i'm living a busy life and getting out in the world i’ll have no need to live vicariously through these ocs and maybe then i’ll stop writing and drawing. and that’ll be ok too, right? i like writing and drawing now. even if i’m not good, if my work doesn’t mean anything or say anything, it’s something i enjoy for me. if that’s all it ever is—frivolous, self-centered, something that one day i might lay down forever and never come back to—then i’ll be glad for the time i spent drawing and writing and thinking of stories and so on, but it won’t be my whole life. and that’s ok; i’ll be ok. sorry to end this art overview with an existential crisis. i’m gonna go eat lunch. i hate spelling ok like ok and not like okay, but im too lazy to type those two extra letters. ok lunch time fr bye. also who wants to talk about my hero acedmia?? can we PLEASE talk about my hero academia. ok bye fr.