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Post by cashmere on Feb 3, 2023 18:21:26 GMT -5
Deep breaths.
In...
Out...
In...
Out...
In...
"Next?" From atop his looming, ivory podium, the head judge unenthusiastically calls, and the line moves along. The teenage mage before him, dressed in violet robes and black facepaint, practically skips away with a certificate in hand. 'Accepted.' One word, and the course of her life was changed forever.
Her smile... She looks so happy. She looks so proud. Cashmere wants to smile like that. He wants to share in that joy. He wants to run over and hug her, and tell her how amazing she was, and celebrate with pop rocks and chocolate, and maybe learn her name and be friends with her. But he can't. Not just because he's still two spots down the line and would lose his place if he did, but because there isn't a drop of that joy in his heart right now. Just a pit in his stomach that grows with every passing second.
In...
Out...
In...
Out...
Who's next? Cashmere holds his hat to peek over at the platform. Oh; he remembers. A few hours earlier, when he had only just entered the line, he'd curiously studied the ocean-blue tattoos on this boy's back. It's certainly bold to walk into the admission hall without a shirt, but the boy's smirk tells that he possesses such boldness in spades. He looks to be in his mid-teens, maybe two years older than Cypress. And the extra experience is clear in his confident stride as he steps forward, into the confluence of the judges' scrutinous eyes.
The judges' expressions are a mix of confusion and disapproval, but this negativity seems to bounce off the boy's devil-may-care grin. The head judge, though, barely affords him a glance; his nose is too buried in his books and papers.
"Begin."
Cashmere lost count of how many times he's heard that word today. That boy must've heard it just as many. Only, unlike Cashmere, he relishes the chance to hear it directed at him. His smile widens, and he wastes no time before his tattoos begin to glow, and he launches into the most spectacular performance of hydromancy that Cashmere's ever seen! Swirling, hovering rivers that rush and lull at his command; whirlpools in the ceiling; at one point, the boy even creates a geyser and stands on top of it! Needless to say, much of the audience (Cashmere, included) are showered with hundreds of water-droplets. But he doesn't care; he's enraptured. For just a moment, that fear fades, replaced by complete awe.
And then it's over. Standing amidst the lingering puddles, the still-grinning boy makes a shallow bow toward the head judge. The head judge doesn't seem impressed; but, then, he was barely even watching the performance. He already saw all he had to.
The discussion is brief. "Accepted."
This comes as no surprise to the boy, who was already reaching for his certificate before the word was even uttered. And then he's off, and then he's gone. In his wake, the puddles are swept away by invisible servants.
Cashmere wishes it had lasted longer - another few minutes, at least - not just because he wanted to keep watching it, but because its finale brought him one step closer to his own judgement. That tattooed boy was just amazing! And here's Cashmere, wearing his silly costume that Cypress helped him put together, and the hat that he'd been given so long ago. 'Someday' that beautiful witch had told him. That day's today. And he isn't ready.
In...
Out...
In...
Out...
"Next?"
Were it not so cold in the room, his forehead would be drenched in sweat. He knows who's next, this time; earlier on, when he'd been less nervous, he'd been admiring the silken frills of her outfit. She doesn't look much older than him - maybe three years? They'd even exchanged a few words. She seemed very mysterious, and her eyes are the prettiest gradient of violet and pink. When he asked what kind of magic she did, all he received was a "You'll see."
She smiles at him before stepping onto the platform, leaving him alone at the end of the line. When he isn't gripped by nausea, he's excited to see what she'll do. It's her time. Just like the boy before, she doesn't show a scrap of hesitation.
Nor does the head judge. "Begin."
The first thing she does is close her eyes. Then, slowly, she raises her hands, mouthing some words that Cashmere can't quite understand. And for a time, nothing happens. But then, all at once, she opens her eyes and extends both hands forward. Surging from her fingertips is mind-bending mosaic of nebulous, pink-tinged smoke, within which lights shine like stars in a nebula!
Cashmere's jaw is hanging open. He has to fight the urge to give applause right then and there. No matter how excited he may be, this is a sophisticated event, and no such fanfare is allowed.
As the girl motions with her hands, the smoke swirls and coalesces into two distinct forms: something like an elephant (and just as huge); and something like a giant, floating octopus. Miniature, burning suns shine like eyes on their heads. But they do nothing; they simple remain as stare. Still, the girl is satisfied, offering a deep curtsey to the judges (some of whom are as amazed as Cashmere).
Still, the head judge barely looks at them. Another few seconds, and then...
"Accepted. Next?"
The girl smiles. With a simple gesture of her hand, the apparitions dissipate into cosmic smithereens. Some of the star-lights remain for a moment, before blinking out.
Daintily but proudly, she takes her certificate and walks back. Her route takes her quite close - perhaps purposefully - to Cashmere, who looks at her dumbfoundedly and mouths "You were so cool!!"
She just smiles and mouths back "Good luck."
Good luck?
Oh no.
It's his turn.
Enthralled by her performance, he'd completely forgotten that he was next. And all that apprehension comes flooding back, all at once, like a tidal wave threatening to knock him off his feet. His legs won't move. He can feel his heart beating faster, faster, faster, faster...
"Next?" the head judge repeats, agitated. The sound breaks him from his trance, but does just as well to fill him with horror. It's really happening. It's his time to prove himself.
Mustering every bit of bravery in his entire body, he slowly walks up the hovering stairs and onto the platform, holding his hands close to his chest. The platform's material - an odd, blue-grey stone - feels so strange beneath his feet.
In...
Out...
In...
Out...
In...
Out...
It isn't working.
He can feel so many eyes, staring down at him. Not just from the judges, or the audience, or his peers, but from memories. He can remember, it was just two years ago when Cashmere managed his first spell - the first time he showed any magical talent at all. Cypress looked so proud. The way she smiled, the way she hugged him, the way she praised and congratulated him; was it all a lie? Was she just trying to make him feel better? He's supposed to prove himself here, but everyone else has been so much better than him. He feels so pathetic and weak. And he's supposed to prove that he's not?
"Begin."
He draws a sharp breath, and the thoughts fall silent. The fear remains. The doubt remains. All the feelings remains, but in a raw, primal form. It feels as if he's in real danger, like he's surrounded by hungry wolves. Adrenaline: a word that he doesn't know, and would have great difficulty pronouncing. But it's taken hold of him, and he has no clue how to use it.
Why is everything so quiet? He feels the need to shout, just to fill the silence, but he has no clue what he'd even say.
There's no point. Whatever spell he used, whatever incantations he evoked, they couldn't hope to stand up against the others. He can't do this.
Shaking, quivering, he lightly lowers his head. His voice is little more than a whimper, but the room carries it nonetheless.
"I'm sorry..."
Hiding his eyes beneath the rim of his hat, he can't see the hundreds of people staring at him. And they can't see that tears are beginning to spill onto his cheeks. For an agonizing while, not a word is spoken. And the only sounds in the entire chamber are hushed conversations and his own, half-stifled sobs.
But once that while is over, the sound that greets him is no more gentle.
"Denied. Next?"
It's been only five minutes since those fateful words were uttered. And now, under the late-morning sky, childish weeping can be heard at the stone steps that lead up to the academy. There is sat Cashmere, his witch-hat on the steps beside him, face buried in his hands. At least here, outside of the hall, he can cry as much as he needs to.
And he does. It's now been ten minutes, and still he sobs. He hasn't raised his head at all, even as people tread up and down the stairs, ignoring him, leaving him to his dejection. The cold is beginning to turn his hands red; he certainly isn't dressed for it. And even as the most bone-chilling winds blow through, he doesn't move from his spot.
At last, several more minutes later, he speaks. His voice comes between heaving breaths as he mutters to the girl sat beside him.
"Cypress?" His already-frail voice is muffled through his hands. "Am I a bad mage?"
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Post by Cypress Springleap on Feb 3, 2023 23:58:29 GMT -5
Nothing can explain the way her heart drops when she hears Cashmere’s tiny whimper in the silence of the auditorium. Among the crowd where the audience has gathered, a young girl’s expression drops; her soft gradient eyes of blue and pink grow cold; she looks with a spiteful pout at an older man standing next to her who whispers hushed gossip to someone standing next to them. Her goat ears lower as she starts to push through the crowd towards the front, “ Scuse me! Pardon… scuse me.” she murmurs; she weaves and gently pushes loiterers in an attempt to get closer to Cashmere; she wants to encourage him, and to remind him he’s not here alone! He can do this! She’s seen him practice! She’ll blame herself forever about how she wasn’t fast enough. As Cypress breaks through the crowd, her hooves stamping against the hollow wood and her hands pressed against someone’s elbow while they grimace and glare at the little urchin slinking through the crowd, she hears those cruel and horrible words and freezes up. Denied.
Cashmere’s soft sobs fall upon deaf ears of those coming in and out of the academy; all but a single pair. The satyr girl from the audience sits close to him on the stone staircase, one arm wrapped around his quivering shoulders while he cries; her ears droop, eyes soft and sad as she looks awkwardly from her own hooves to the boy crying at her side; when he doesn’t speak or look up she looks back to her feet. She doesn’t know what to say… She couldn’t have possibly shoved through the audience fast enough to get to him when he dragged himself from beneath the biased eyes of those horrible judges; and even though she was there to comfort him with open arms she too found herself choking on tears at the breadth of grief and heartbreak in his glassy, golden eye. She feels tears gathering at the corners of her eyes. He’s worked so hard to practice… It’s not fair! How is he supposed to learn if he’s got no one to teach him!? How’s that fair, making him perform like a monkey in front of a crowd for an entry? Stupid judges, stupid crowd, stupid— she squints her eyes shut and leans her head against Cashmere’s; but when she hears him speak, his voice is frail and weak; it’s muffled in the palms of his hands; but her eyes widen at his words. “ What?” she answers, her voice breathy in disbelief. “ No!” Cypress sits up straight; she sniffs, reaching out to take Cashmere’s hands while shaking her head. His hands are cold and damp from tears. It only sinks her heart further. “ No… no, of course not, Cash…” she whispers as she gathers Cashmere’s freezing hands into her own. She gently rubs the tops and bottoms of his hands to try and bring some warmth back to them before looking up at his face. Her eyes soften in sympathy and grief when she sees his red cheeks and damp face. Quietly, she keeps both of Cashmere’s hands in one of her hands and pulls her sleeve over her other palm using her teeth. “ You’re not…” she says, reaching out and dabbing her little brother’s damp cheeks with the edge of her sleeve. “ You’re not a bad mage… you’re still learning!” When she’s finished wiping his damp cheeks, she gently brushes a thumb beneath his eye, wiping away wetness while she talks. “ You practice so hard everyday… how could you possibly be a bad mage?” She smiles, pulling her arm back to grasp Cashmere’s hands in both of her own palms. “ I’ve seen your magic, Cash! I know you can do it! It’s just…” His hands are absolutely frigid… She frowns slightly as she rubs his palms; she can hear footsteps as yet another person ignores them on the staircase. But, it’s fine! They don’t need them. She bites her tongue thinking of something to tell him; she doesn’t want him to give up here… She looks at his witch hat sitting sadly on the stairs next to him, and still holding his hands in one of hers, she reaches for it. “ Even the best witches are gonna have bad days…” she says, grabbing the hat by its brim. She lays his hands against his knees. “ ...and even witches get scared sometimes, and that’s okay! But even though they didn’t get to see it, you got magic! Good magic!” She straightens out his cape and the frills on his shirt, then scoots over to crouch in front of him. “ And the more we practice, the better you’re going to get!” She gathers up his hands in hers again, swinging them side to side playfully. “ We’ll just show ‘em next time; and when they accept you, that’s when you’ll give them your best snarky comment! Let ‘em know you had it in you all along!” She smiles brightly, corners of her eyes crinkling with her grin. “ Then you’ll grab your acceptance, and leave ‘em gawking after you!” While she’s swinging his hands, she steps back and pulls Cashmere up off the stairs with her momentum— but doesn’t stop there. Cypress pulls him in, wrapping her arms beneath Cashmere’s shoulders in a tight hug. She snuggles him close, resting her head against the top of his fondly; her tail and ears wiggle. “ Why did we ever deny that little witch, they’ll say!” she sighs dramatically, lowering her voice in a poor imitation of the judge. “ He’s so sassy and so full of potential!” She smiles sadly over Cashmere’s head but brightens her grin by the time she pulls back; she holds his shoulders gently for a moment before looking at the witch’s hat in her hand. She looks back at Cashmere, her eyes fond as she reaches out and places it back on his head. “ ...but none of that’s ever going to happen if we sit around being sad on the stairs all day! You an’ me, we’ll go out and practice and by next year you’ll be even better— and you’ll know what to expect! Next time, all the hub-bub will be easier. Next time, you're gonna be extra ready!” She straightens his hat… and then carefully positions it at an angle, because she knows Cashmere tends to prefer it that way. “ But… for today, I guess we can be a little sad.” She adjusts his hat one last time and steps back, breathing a sigh with her hands on her hips. “ Y’know what helps with the sad, though? Some hot cocoa! With marshmallows! Lots of ‘em.” She nods affirmatively and offers Cashmere another smile, hoping to brighten his mood with something he likes— and something that’ll warm him up. She reaches out, offering both her hands to her little brother.
“What do ya’ think?”
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Post by cashmere on Apr 13, 2023 16:50:46 GMT -5
Sorrow is no simple trial. To overcome it isn't so easy as comforting, nor as straightforward as loving. Even overwhelming joy, at times, can just be ignored by the mind plagued by sadness. But when it's just right -- the perfect balance of warmth, affection and promises -- it might just be possible. Especially when the person offering is so precious.
The sobs turn to sniffles, smothered as Cashmere's face is buried in his sister's fluffy hair. And even the sniffles are broken by a little chuckle when Cypress imitates the haughty judge. The sadness hasn't left him, and it likely won't for some time. But his big sister has known how to cheer him up, ever since he was little: a bit of laughter, a bit of a snack, and a warm hug from someone he truly loves.
As Cypress holds her hands forward, there's a moment of pause as Cashmere's face is hidden beneath the wide rim of his hat. But then he looks up, smiling in spite of his red nose and wiping away a tear before softly clutching her hands.
"Yeah..." He sniffles. "Hot cocoa sounds really good."
Tears well up in the corners of his eye, and he almost seems ready to burst into tears again. But then he throws himself forward and his arms around Cypress again, nuzzling into her collar.
"I love you, big sis."
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Post by Cypress Springleap on Apr 18, 2023 20:26:42 GMT -5
The Satyr’s heart fills with warmth and soft sympathies when Cashmere looks up; his nose is a little red button, and his eyes are pink and puffy, but he clutches her hands regardless. She knows she can’t heal the hurt; she can’t sweep away broken dreams the way she can sweep away dust or cobwebs; but this was only his first try, right?
It doesn’t make sense to go through so much effort to learn magic… all the showmanship, the audience, the judges… it’s stupid.
Dumb!
And if she sees those stupid judges faces again…
Cypress closes her eyes before bitterness can overtake the quiet bloom in her chest; her smile is soft and her eyes are glassy as Cashmere sniffles and agrees to a cup of hot cocoa. She’s pretty sure she has enough money to get Cashmere extra marshmallows if she leaves them off of her own cup, which is okay, so long as it brings back the sparkle in her little brother’s eyes.
She holds him tight when he jumps forwards, blinking away warmth that builds at the edges of her eyes. “I love you too, lil bro.” She whispers, nuzzling into the top of his head with her cheek; she squeezes him tight before letting him go.
Before she steps back, she places a soft kiss right in the middle of his forehead.
“Come on my little witchling,” She swings his hands back and forth playfully, smile soft as she begins to lead him down the stairs of the school, and onto the promenade. “Let’s go get some cocoa!”
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Post by cashmere on Apr 20, 2023 0:30:22 GMT -5
A little kiss on the forehead: whenever he's sad, whenever he's ashamed, and whenever Cypress tries to cheer him up, a kiss on the forehead is always waiting for him. It completes the whole consolation, like the wrapping on a present or the cherry on a cake. That final, little act of love... it works every time. And it's a good thing that it does. If it didn't, Cashmere might never be willing to let her go.
He smiles as she leads him along. He doesn't have the same pep in his step; it'll be a while before he regains it. Maybe it'll be after the cocoa, or maybe after a nap, or maybe tomorrow or the day after that. It can be difficult to predict. But, for the time being, he follows her like a pup. And he watches her as she walks, seeing the confidence in every step, and yet the kindness in every word... She's really incredible, like a heroine. As he watches and admires the coolness in her walk, he makes the same promise to himself that he has so very many times in the past: that, when he grows up, he'll be as brave and capable as his beloved big sister. Maybe then, he can help her too.
The Academy Promenade: though the interior of the academy is splendid in its own right, there's nowhere that its majesty can be seen quite so clearly as from here, on the flagstone paths that weave between the sky-piercing towers. One can see almost everything here, from the towers that assuredly hold hundreds of students to the training courtyards. One can see brazen aeromancers, soaring between the parapets and treating the architecture like an obstacle course; they can see terramancers forming structures from the earth itself, constructing in minutes what'd take a mason hours; they can see the Meditation Fields, a spot of serenity in all the wonder. And of course, they can also see the simpler things: stalls and little restaurants that've opened their business on the academy grounds, as well as the veritable army of students, prospective and veteran, that beetle about as they chatter and laugh. It's always busy after any acceptance ceremony; practically half the promenade is taken up by waiting lines! Fortunately, Cashmere and Cypress got here before the rush, and were able to secure two cups of delicious, hot cocoa before a line as long as the Gaazan-Thunderhoof Trail formed in their wake. Lucky they were.
...Except they aren't getting their drinks as a consolation. They're doing it to celebrate, whether getting into the academy themselves or welcoming in another. Even in spite of the lines, there's a mirth that hangs in the air, all because of the joy that they already feel. 'Lucky' is a weird word for it...
But Cashmere doesn't care. Or maybe he just hasn't thought about or realized it. Either way, he's unbothered; instead, his eye is utterly gleaming as he looks down and sees the mound of fluffy marshmallows (presumably with hot cocoa underneath) in the mug in his hands.
"Thanks so much, big sis! Oh my goodness, there're SO many marshmallows!" he earnestly exclaims as they stroll further down the promenade, himself wearing a wide and radiant smile. He blows gently on the steam, with a silly hope that it'll somehow breach the marshmallow barrier and cool the cocoa beneath. He doesn't realize that the reason for his excessive marshmallows is only because Cypress had to sacrifice her own. But that doesn't matter; because, right now, all is well.
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Post by Cypress Springleap on Apr 27, 2023 21:48:18 GMT -5
Warmth seeps into Cypress’ hands from the mug held between her palms; but a softer warmth blooms in her chest. Cashmere’s glowing grin is more than enough to justify her small sacrifice, and as they walk down the promenade, her attention is reserved only for him and his wellbeing. Her smile is bright, fondness for her younger brother glittering behind her gradient eyes while Cashmere blows gently at the steam rising from crevices; she giggles, recognizing that it’s a hopeless endeavor on his part. “ They really gave you a lot of marshmallows, huh?” She wonders, as though she didn't ask for them in a hushed whisper over the counter; she flexes her fingers around her mug, feeling its heat in comparison to the chilly, spring morning… the cold chill of Cashmere’s rejection. Her hooves click on the cobblestone as she walks close to Cashmere, ensuring that she’s always within arm’s reach, in case she needs to gently pull him out of the way of someone on the crowded promenade. She blows on her cup of hot cocoa, rippling the few marshmallows that float atop the liquid. She doesn’t take a sip yet, but watches as the steam builds and rises again. “ Make sure you wait for yours to cool a little so you don’t burn your tongue.” She tells him, glancing out at the crowd as they weave their way through mages, students, and magicians of all kinds… Cypress sniffs, looking past them— all their wonderful, stunning tricks, and smiling faces— because if she thinks too hard about it she’ll feel the bitterness setting in again.
It really wasn't fair.
“Oh!” She gently brushes Cashmere’s shoulder, gesturing with her head towards an empty bench beneath a flowering tree; its branches stretch high and proud, white flowers pointing towards the sky. “Let’s sit down while we drink so we don’t spill anything, yeah?”
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Post by cashmere on May 6, 2023 10:49:57 GMT -5
But, strangely, Cashmere doesn't answer. Cypress' question isn't met with Cashmere's chipper voice; it's just met with silence. And in fact, when she looks, she sees that he's stopped a few feet short. He's standing still, with a blank expression and lips listlessly ajar; the only things that move on him are the steam, still ever-rising from between the marshmallows, and his little cape that waves slightly on the breeze. Silence is Cashmere's answer; and if he were to look at his sister, he would see a twinkle of concern in her eyes and her lips pursed in a flat line.
He's staring away, somewhere off the path. And if one follows his gaze, they'd see precisely the thing that has him so confuddled; as, with great lettering in green paint, the academy's stone foundation has been vandalized with a single word:
Witches
It hasn't gone unnoticed either; not only do many students give disturbed glances as they pass down the promenade, but an adult woman -- a teacher, by appearances, with glasses and blonde hair -- has already begun to clean away the blatant defacement. With a wand in hand, she repeats arcane phonemes with perfect articulation, and the paint gradually peels away as if it were aging in mere seconds.
"What do you think that means?" Cashmere's voice isn't as energetic as before, but does retain a youthful curiosity. He doesn't take his eye off the scene, and certainly not the woman's magic.
He asks her what it means, but... she doesn't have the heart to guess.
She's seen this kind of vandalism before in Sol City; they were rarely, so rarely, anything nice.
"It's... probably nothing." She tries to keep her voice up-beat as she steps back to Cashmere; she wraps her arm around his shoulders, trying to guide him away. "Someone here's just... being rude, that's all... it doesn't mean anything. Don't pay it any mind, okay?"
She's met with resistance, for a moment. It isn't intentional, of course; the little listless Cashmere is just momentarily distracted, innocently transfixed on this single word that defaces the stone's elegance. And it is strange; just one word somehow tarnishes the entire edifice. It can't be ignored...
But then he finally feels his sister tugging him along. And, like a puppy, the shift in his focus is immediate and irrevocable.
"Okay!" The glee returns to his voice, and the smile to his face, as he follows her to the seat.
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Post by Cypress Springleap on May 14, 2023 21:46:28 GMT -5
Cypress can feel her heart drumming in her chest. She keeps a soft smile while she leads Cashmere along all the same; but, the graffiti is like a storm cloud following her.
Over her shoulder, she casts one last look at what’s written on the wall: It brings her back to bold, scrawled words of ‘S U N E L V E S S U C K’, or ‘D O W N W I T H T H E C R O W N’, sometimes paired with nasty, mean drawings on the buildings in alleyways of Sol City— always to be cleaned within the day by some grumbling, public official— who would probably point a finger at her as a culprit, if only to have someone to blame.
She’s seen enough in the city to know that mean people say mean things when no one is looking; and she’s seen enough to know that meaner people write meaner things when no one is looking; and that thing up on the wall, in the midst of the Arcane Academy, is bold and angry and selfish.
Just like the things which get written back home; and it scares her, makes her feel just a little uncomfortable in its presence... and she doesn’t want Cashmere to be scared, too.
For a moment, she’s so distracted by her own troubling thoughts, that she doesn’t realize she’s already taken a seat with Cashmere; muscle movement guides her through the crowd, her eyes hazy and far away, locked on the bench she’s taking her little brother towards.
And, when she blinks, she finds herself looking out at the crowd; her hot cocoa still warm against the palm of her hands, but less warm than Cashmere sitting beside her. She lowers her lashes, looking into the murky depths of her drink; she closes her eyes and takes a breath, pushing everything deep down, before she turns to her little brother with a smile.
Kicking her hooves, which dangle just above the ground, back and forth, she gives Cashmere a little nudge with her shoulder. “Are you getting any hot cocoa with those marshmallows?” She teases playfully.
The little jab catches him just when he was about to take a sip; and perhaps it was for the better, as it might've still scorched his lips. He looks to her, eye blank and curious... but, given a small moment, his expression alights with understanding and he lets out a chuckle.
"Not yet! Ooo, next time, we should ask for a whole cup of marshmallows!" His smile is as playful and innocent as the thought he shares.
Cypress blinks, then giggles; she covers her lips with her curled fingers at his answer.
The uneasiness left behind in her of the graffiti washes away with Cashmere’s bright disposition, disappearing like a shadow on a sunny day. “A whole cup of marshmallows?” She repeats, her smile visible at the edges of her lips; she reaches out, ruffling Cashmere’s bangs playfully.
“That's a good idea! Next time, let's do that; and we'll share it between the both of us!”
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Post by Cyran Fenastra-Asiliari on May 15, 2023 13:13:38 GMT -5
Bustling streets and ambient chatter seemed to be a staple of the Arcane Academy, a school so full of hopeful mages and wizards that the grounds were choked with them. Men and women of all ages, shapes, and colors bustled from place to place, the very air buzzing with the arcane, a potent magic woven from the strings of mana unique to each student. It made the grounds feel electric, almost… more, in a sense. As if the rest of the world were covered in a bleak blanket that had only been lifted in this one school, where energy seemed to lurk even the darkest of crevices. Students chattered on, blasted spells, practiced rituals in courtyards.
And amongst it all, a lone man slipped through the crowd, unnoticed by all. Perhaps it was the man’s unassuming face - though the patch covering his right eye was rather conspicuous - or the way his steps themselves barely seemed to make a sound against cobblestone. Whatever the reason, as he walked, the gazes of strangers barely seemed to linger on him for long, their eyes almost sliding from one point to another, missing him entirely. And if they’d gotten a good look at him, they would later find that any distinguishing features of his had slipped their mind entirely. Almost as if their minds didn’t want the man to exist.
Nevertheless, Cyran existed, making his way through the Arcane Academy at an unhurried pace.
Clutched in his hands were two items - a map of the arcane academy, folded at three points to unfurl like some kind of pamphlet (one complete with fun facts about the facility’s many benefits and features), and a well-worn, dog-eared book titled “How to Support and Care for your Magically Inclined Child: a Guide for the Woefully Unprepared”. Tucked under his arm, additionally, was a parcel that contained a fluffy tunic with the words ‘I’m a Proud Father to a Mage’s Guild Initiate!’ That he’d picked up from some merchant selling trinkets during the tour. The price had been exorbitant, though he thought it had been worth it.
It was… rather embarrassing of him to admit, really. For all Cyran’s supposed experience in parenting, he hadn’t been able to be present for the things that really mattered. He had no idea how to handle milestones. He’d missed out on so many things… his daughter’s eighteenth birthday, her formative years, her accomplishments in business. And when Cirice had come to him, overjoyed at her acceptance into the Mage’s Guild, he’d been as terrified as he was proud. Hell, he wasn’t even the father that raised her and already he was at an utter loss as to how he ought to support her. Sure, she was powerful and could likely handle herself far better than an old, washed up assassin like Cyran could ever protect her, but he still wanted her to know that her accomplishments mattered to him, and that he would always be there for her during this new and exciting time!
Touring the Mage’s Guild, and getting to know the place, seemed like a good start. He’d gotten Cirice a small gift, a little enchanted cloak that seemed pitiful in comparison to what she’d achieved, but she seemed to like it. After he’d gotten an idea of the contents of the guild - an… off the books tour - he figured the Arcane Academy was the next step. Cirice was doubtlessly going to be learning here as well, right?
The tour had left him rather tired, though, and with a lingering headache from the ever-present magical energy in the air. With a sigh, the assassin primly closed the pamphlet and the book and tucked them in his back, along with the parcel, before making his way through the streets. He’d taken stock of their facilities - they had a lot to offer here. Cirice would be happy. She was an endlessly curious woman, one with a thirst for knowledge and experiences that would be easily sated here. He really ought to stop worrying so much…
As he made his way across the courtyard, the crowd began to thin out where students absconded to their respective classes and activities, leaving him to wander aimlessly on his own. He hadn’t missed the graffiti that marred the statue and the walls, blemishes that left a sour taste on his tongue and an uneasy feeling at the pit of his stomach. Ill wishes left behind from martial academy students, or something deeper? Cyran had no idea, and he didn’t like not knowing. People always feared what they didn’t understand, but to leave their hatred stained in red where young, impressionable minds would see it was detestable. He forced his gaze away from the writing, continuing onward, when he spotted something odd a little ways away.
Children, a pair of them - bright eyed and joyous, their legs kicking in the air while each held a cup of steaming liquid in their hands. The young boy, who wore a crooked, star-capped witch hat and robes, was chattering on excitedly while the young girl, a satyr with wild hair and a friendly smile, nodded along. The little boy had looked so natural in his witch getup that Cyran almost hadn’t given them a second glance, but something had stopped him. Children that young weren’t allowed in the academy, were they? Cyran wasn’t sure what the minimum age for education was, but he had hoped that they would wait for a sensible age to allow kids to learn dangerous arcane arts.
Perhaps they were merely lost? Yes, that seemed more like it. Perhaps they’d gotten curious about the school and wandered in, and gotten themselves entangled in the veritable maze that made up the academy’s grounds. But they didn’t look alarmed in the way little ones often did when separated from their known environments. Come to think of it, were they even here with supervision? Alarms suitably raised, Cyran hastened his pace, making his way to the kids.
“Excuse me… are the two of you lost? Do you need directions?”
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Post by cashmere on May 19, 2023 12:34:52 GMT -5
There they were, sat on the common bench merry as berries on a warblevine, even amidst the energetic bustle along the promenade. Students of all ages file across the paths like drops of water in a wild, unending river, but they sit and laugh and enjoy themselves while sipping on liquid chocolate that warms the hands and heart. For a precious moment, they aren't focused on the buffeting river; they're focused only on each-other's smiles. There can be no argument that it wasn't a horrid day. But still, here, shaded by the leaves of the hawthorn tree, they share a moment of happiness.
They'd just been giggling about the cocoa-moustache that Cashmere gave himself on accident -- the sort of thing that, truly, only a child could find the heart to laugh at. Who knows how long they might've continued; until Cypress realized that they'd have to be going, undoubtedly, as Cashmere would gladly sit and chat for hours. But then...
“Excuse me… are the two of you lost? Do you need directions?”
A sudden voice, laced with elven elegance, replaces Cashmere's smile with the silliest of slack-lipped expressions. He'd been so distracted with Cypress and the cocoa that he hadn't even noticed someone approaching them -- at least, that's what he would assume, but the person truly was as silent as a cloud across the sky. Cashmere turns his head, but can only see a man's lower half -- enough to see a willowy frame and dark clothes -- beneath the rim of his witch hat. He has to hold the hat's rim so that it doesn't fall off its loose perch as he looks up to see... unsurprisingly, an elf (Cashmere has yet to know the difference between sun, moon, sylvan and dark). His skin has a bronzish sheen that makes it look more like it'd dent than cut, and his hair is half-shaved in a way that instantly tells Cashmere's simple mind that this man is mature and professional. But what definitely is surprising is something that decorates his metallic face, a spot of dazzling colour amidst raven-black hair and dull-dark clothes. It's something that leaves Cashmere stunned into silence for three seconds: the first spent processing what he's seeing, the second spent enraptured by its stunning petals, and the third spent realizing what it means. And then, with the tick of the fourth second, Cashmere's face alights into sheer amazement, because what he sees isn't unlike a much more fabulous version of something he has himself. It's an eyepatch, but not just any eyepatch; it's an eyepatch decorated with a beautiful, colourful flower! When it comes to himself, Cashmere's never considered the idea of making the concealment fashionable before; he's always kept to whatever bandages they could come across. So seeing such a chic floral design is awe-inspiring. In fact, it's so great to him that he totally forgets that he still has a hot cocoa moustache decorating his upper lip. Oblivious, he leans forward, face beaming; and then immediately voices his admiration, undoubtedly cutting off an attempt from Cypress to actually answer the poor man's question.
"Whoaa! That eyepatch is so pretty!!" He chirps with a cadence and tone that gives away his youth far more than he realizes. And then, to take a closer look, Cashmere quickly sets his cup of cocoa down on the ground and rises to a stand on the bench. He leans forward, smile beaming and single eye sparkling as he looks at the eyepatch with admiration and a clueless disregard for personal space. "Sis, sis, look! This person has an eyepatch, too! Where'd you get it, mister?"
Upon closer inspection, Cyran is surprised to see that the child is right - surely enough, the side of his face is wrapped in a cloth that covers his eye. Cyran manages a small smile, feeling rather flattered that the child had described it as ‘pretty’ of all things. “Well, would you look at that? We match.” He says, leading Cashmere to blush and look away as if he'd just received an idol's compliment. “A friend of mine made this for me.” Cyran had hoped it would make him look less scary after losing his eye… he’s glad to see that it works. “My name is Cyran… what’s yours, young man?”
At the sound of a question's lilt, Cashmere's giddy excitement pops like a bubble. The smile disappears, and he looks to elf-man he now knows as Cyran. It's a cool-sounding name for a cool-looking person, he thinks, still dazzled. It quickly returns, though. There's something truly... warm about him. Trustworthy. Although his expression is stony and his style is (mostly) dark, there's a degree of understanding in his face that makes Cashmere feel...
What is this feeling? Whatever it is, it makes him giggle lightly before he can answer.
"My name's Cashmere! And this..." he continues with a gesture toward the little satyr who would nonetheless tower over him if they were each standing, "is my big sis, Cypress!"
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Post by Cypress Springleap on Jun 17, 2023 14:08:45 GMT -5
Like sun across the misty earth, the mirth of Cypress’ voice and expression dissipates at the sound of someone speaking to them; in contrast to the smile which beams across Cashmere’s face, Cypress’ is more restrained. Though she keeps her smile, the corners of her lips soften, and her eyes darken in skepticism as she looks at the individual who has chosen to approach them. “No, we’re not lost.” She answers, her voice pitched quietly and politely.
The change in atmosphere; that of a giggling child, to a cautious one, comes quite suddenly.
Her ears turn forwards when Cashmere suddenly bursts into excitement; and Cypress simply keeps an eye on him, her expression watchful despite her light smile. When he addresses her, she smiles at him; the chill around her melts the moment she turns to him, voice warm. “I do! I see it, it’s very pretty.” She agrees; and as Cashmere stands up to lean in and observe his eyepatch closer, she reaches up to hold onto the loose fabric of his cloak as a pre-caution.
She lowers her ears slightly when Cashmere turns away to continue talking, and watches Cyran while he talks to him; and while they talk she scans him rather unsubtly.
By all accounts, he seems… nice.
His voice is welcoming, like the quiet warmth of a fire beneath the hearth on a winter’s eve; but fire still burns; and sometimes, it frightens her to think Cashmere might learn that the hard way if she’s not around. Despite the fact that he doesn’t seem like a threat, and that he doesn’t seem all that scary, the graffiti is still fresh in her mind; and paranoia for her younger brother is always at the forefront of her concerns.
She would do anything to keep his innocent smile on his face and his hope for something bigger in his future.
It’s hard to tell if the man speaking to them is a student, a teacher, or maybe a parent of some student who also applied here; nothing about his behavior necessarily screams danger to her, but her skepticism comes from the internal wariness of a child on their own for too long.
She kicks her hooves with less energy, fingertips curling into Cashmere’s cloak to ensure he doesn’t run off too far in his excitement. “Hi,” she greets the man after her little brother has already introduced her to him; she kicks her hooves leisurely while she sits, her opposite hand curled around her cooling cup of hot cocoa.
“It’s nice to meet you, mister Cyran.” In contrast to the warmth which is Cashmere, Cypress remains cool despite her smile; not necessarily hostile, but her unease isn’t well masked for anyone paying close attention. Evidence of her nerves start to show in the occasional flick of her goat-like ears, and the tapping of the tips of her hooves against the earth. “The Academy is real big to walk through, so... we were just taking a break to have some hot cocoa.” She points with the hand holding her mug, “There’s a really nice stand over there, but the line’s real big. They give you extra marshmallows too if you ask for 'em.”
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Post by Cyran Fenastra-Asiliari on Jun 19, 2023 8:51:40 GMT -5
It was… heartbreaking, to say the least, as the lighthearted atmosphere dissipated like smoke at Cyran’s arrival. The young woman, the satyr, was on guard immediately, though her words hidden behind a veil of politeness - as if by greeting him with curt kindness would make him go away faster. The young boy, on the other hand, seemed utterly excited by Cyran, pulling himself up onto the bench to get a better look at Cyran’s eyepatch. And just like that, any awkwardness seemed to evaporate as the young boy introduced them to Cyran.
Cashmere and Cypress. Two little darlings.
And not lost, at that…
Cyran straightened, glancing around once more. But he didn’t see any guardian nearby, and neither Cashmere nor Cypress had revealed anything about one. Which, in all likeliness, meant they were well and truly here alone. While Cashmere spoke, his sister remained silent, making it no secret she was watching Cyran. He didn’t mind. He was already beginning to form a mental picture of their family situation - a younger brother, too young to understand the cruelties of the world, and an older sister, who had been forced to grow up too fast to ensure that her younger brother didn’t have to.
Cyran was no stranger to traumatized children. That didn’t mean it wasn’t painful to see the effects of it so clearly, the wariness and anxiety at Cyran’s presence in Cypress’s movements. He nodded, a smile on his face at the mention of hot cocoa. It was not lost on him that Cypress had not truly offered what they were doing here on campus - not that he truly needed to pry into their business. Cyran just wanted to make sure they were safe. Well, a little honesty and openness went a long way when dealing with children.
“It’s nice to meet you too, Cypress. I’m here because my goddaughter is joining the mage’s guild.” He announced, pride evident in his voice as he spoke about Cirice. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your cocoa time. I just wanted to make sure you two hadn’t gotten separated from your parents at all…”
There was an unspoken question in his words. One he suspected he already knew the answer to.
“But what brings you two here? Are you two touring the campus right now?” He looked between the two of them, making a show of appraising their attire. “By the looks of it, I’m speaking with two young mages, yes? Are you hoping to attend the academy when you’re a bit older?”
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