Realistic or Modern ˗ˏˋ TRUST FALL. | ( *starboob & ellarose. )

[starboob]

For the audience above watching, let it be known that Valentine Thorne is a rotten liar. She dangles the promise of s’mores and taketh them away. Despicable.

Were it not for the fact that the local good witch could probably yeet them around the globe without so much as breaking a sweat, Miro might have tried something dastardly and dangerous. As it is, they keep their private tantrum private and pick up their wizard staff that they had staked into the sand. “Fine, but if I don’t get s’mores for drawing s’more, I will take to the streets. I will riot!”

It’s not that serious, nothing ever is with them but they try to keep a strong face anyway. (Like that could ever intimidate the blip witch. She’s too badass for their games.) They trace out the new emblems in the sand, asking Valentine only once to repeat the elements to make sure they’ve got them all. Once they start touching the symbols, it goes as expected. Water gives them a small spurt of water. Ice freezes the ground, spreading to about the size of a basketball. Air brings a whisper of a breeze.

Most interesting, the synonyms for “fire” only bring the same paltry red sparks as before, probably because all of the emblems come out identical – not that Miro is able to note this themself. “Green fire,” doesn’t give them green fire either. It just turns the sand green for a second while also lighting the same red sparks. Miro tries a few more times, but the results are all the same. The emblems respond to their touch, but not with the same gusto or vigor as the ones drawn up by Hadeon.

While not defeated, they are tired and eventually slump into the sand, not caring that the ground is wet or that the waves threaten to soak their shoes. As if they’d feel it. “I don't know how he does it." And by "he," they of course mean Hadeon. Even if they're proud of what they've been able to accomplish in this single training session, they know it's nothing like what they've managed before. They scratch the top of their beanie. "The emblems usually appear when I'm in danger, like right before I'm going to be eaten by a monster." They still aren't sure about the other random cases, but those are so few and far between it might not be worth it to investigate. "Maybe I need to be more scared? How do your powers work, Val?"

 

[ellarose]

"My powers defy explanation. I don't have to ask how because this magic is a part of me. I think about it the same way I think about breathing. Sometimes I'll take a deep, intentional breath it to calm down or focus... otherwise, it comes naturally to me." Valentine says with a shrug. "There are a lot of rules I have to keep track of, though." She snaps, summoning a bucket hat that she twirls on her finger like a basketball, "I can summon any object in Bellwick Springs as long as I've touched it once." The hat disappears and she replaces it with an orange feather. She circles her hand over it and a chicken materializes in her arms with a joyful cluck. "I can summon and understand all of the creatures in Bellwick Springs, though it's easier to do if I've bonded with them first." She snuggles the chicken in her arms before sending her back home to her coop.

Valentine points her toe like a ballerina, using it to draw a shape that resembles Bellwick Springs in the sand. "And I can teleport," She looks at Miro meaningfully-- teleport, not blip-- and continues, "Basically anywhere, as long as it's in Bellwick Springs. I can't use my teleportation to travel anywhere on a whim. I've never used it to break into concerts, amusement parks or tourist sites across the globe or anything like that."

She would've seen a lot more of the world if that were the case. These powers would be infinitely cooler if Valentine weren't chained to Bellwick Springs.

With great power comes great sacrifice and all that jazz.

"Telekinesis requires the most focus..." Valentine flicks her hand towards the picnic blanket, raising the basket and radio a few feet into the air. She lowers them gently to the ground and then flexes. "And I have to be extra-extra careful with my strength. I could bench press eight elephants." She glances at them and soberly informs them, "I could break you in half."

It's not a threat-- just a fun fact! Like something you'd find on a bottle cap or a popsicle stick. As for the soul eating, honing in on her name and everything else... Valentine holds her tongue. There's no need to get into all that biz, especially if Hadeon Bellwickson is eavesdropping.

"My magic is wrapped up in my senses and my connections with the town." Emotions like fear tend to provoke outbursts. Powerful outbursts, mind you, but it can get way too dangerous. When she's drunk on her magic she can lose sense of who she's protecting, of what's happening around her. As for Miro... Valentine bites her lip. "Meanwhile, you're borrowing from someone else's well of magic. On top of that, you've been numbed of your senses. You might have to dig a little deeper to get it to respond to you."

 

[starboob]

“She’s going to kill you.”

The inevitability of that is clearer than crystals. Miro can see themself torqued in half and smeared into the streets of Bellwick Springs, their red scar glowing. The vision comes to them so perfectly they have to gasp to remember to breathe; to remember that they are still alive. (It’s just in their head.) They bite the inside of their cheek before their features can betray what they’ve just seen. (It’s just their imagination.) They remind themself that they are no more prey than Valentine is predator, and vice versa.

They’re the blip witch and the green wizard, after all.
Valentine Thorne has saved them more than once, after all.

Scrubbing their eyes until they see little stars and fairies, they mull over what the local good witch has just shared – aside from the fact that she can (and will) break them in half – as it relates to their own newfound abilities. “Borrowing? More like stealing,” they blurt out. “If I were borrowing, I think it’d come a lot more willingly.”

Just as Miro resists Hadeon’s takeovers, Hadeon resists Miro’s use of his power. That’s the way it appears, at least. But if Valentine Thorne believes that they could tap into it and make it theirs, they’re certainly willing to try. Especially if it can help them defend against the parasitic demon feeding on their soul. Maybe then they'll be able to rediscover the coarseness of the sand, the warmth of the sun, or the frigid waters lapping at the shore. (As it is, Valentine is the only one who can reach them.) It might’ve been cool at first to learn they’ve got the constitution of a cockroach, but there is something to be said about the fragility of the human condition. When they were human, they had a life that was their own. That’s one glaring difference between who they were and who they are now.

They trace another emblem in the sand with their staff then tap it, watching the sparks fly and fizzle. If Hadeon can steal their senses, then they ought to be able to steal his magic. It’s just a matter of figuring out how, and they don’t think they’ll figure that out without practice. Which means it's time to be a nerd like the local good witch. (Ugh.)

“You don’t have to write out little emblems for your magic.” Curiously, they look over at the local good witch and recall the way she reacted to the diagnostic exam booklet they had filled out with song lyrics. “You didn’t even know about them.” They ponder this while drawing another fire emblem. “I guess that makes sense. Different strokes for different folks.”

Valentine draws her magic from the town itself. Hadeon, on the other hand, isn’t limited by the boundaries of Bellwick Springs if he was able to possess them in Undersky as well as lend his magic well before they ever set foot here. Until tonight, Miro couldn't even produce a spell over their own; it was always Hadeon providing the template. Hmm...

"Maybe for me, it'll be creativity." It's about the only they have going for them, so it's the only thing they can think of to connect themself to magic. Maybe if they create a pretty enough emblem, the magic will respond with thunderous applause? "Hadeon has all these big complex emblems – I can't even read them when I do see them. They're just pretty and glowing and begging to be touched like a big red button, but green and not a button at all." Excited as they are about this possibility of control, their cheeks immediately light up in flames. "Ah, that probably sounds silly. I swear, I am taking this seriously though. I want my life back."

 

[ellarose]

"No," Valentine agrees with their assessment that she'd never encountered these symbols before. "I've never heard the name Hadeon Bellwickson until you rolled into town, either. You figure with a name like Bellwickson I'd know at least something, right? It's weird."

Is Hadeon using his influence to fabricate a history for the town that doesn't actually exist? Or had his stain on the town been erased so thoroughly that not even the cryptids hiding in the most secret and mystical of spaces knew his name? Valentine has done tireless research on Bellwick Springs. It's her home, a mysterious town that offers her godlike power while simultaneously holding her captive. The keys to her escape could only be hidden deep within its lore. So where the hell has Hadeon Bellwickson been hiding all of this time?

It's impossible to keep a secret from Valentine Thorne. Even whispers attached to her name echo in her ears loud and clear, informing her of anything and everything said behind her back.

Valentine stares out at the sea, entranced by the dark vastness of it beneath the stars. With all the strength in her body, she's certainly capable of swimming past that horizon-- yet she can't. She could turn the sea red if she wanted to, or lavender or yellow, but she won't. The good witch doesn't show all of her cards, not to anyone. That's why she's known as the good witch and nothing more. It's the title that aligns with her motives, that allows her to be perceived in a way that suits who she is-- not what she is. The goal has never been to frighten anyone. (...Except for her enemies, of course. It's fine and dandy if they're frightened.)

That's what makes dealing with characters like Miro Syke so damn complicated. How is she supposed to obliterate the demon inside them without hurting them in the process? Arming her ally with information means she's also arming her enemy with information. Lying to her enemy means lying to her ally. And threatening them, scaring them, means...

Hadeon Bellwickson might be tampering magic she's familiar with, but it's the sort that goes far beyond what she's been willing to tamper with. This is going to test her. What if it comes between choosing to protect Miro or the town? She wraps her arms around herself, shivering against the chill in the air.

"It's not a bad thought... it's just a bit vague so far. Don't sell yourself short. Hadeon knows exactly what he wants. He's sure of himself, he's not afraid to be ruthless, and that's how he takes control. The kind of magic he relies on doesn't have opinions on right or wrong-- it respects a strong will it can follow." Valentine says, setting a hand on their shoulder. "If you're going to challenge Hadeon, you're going to have to keep fighting for yourself. Focus on why you want to stay, on who you are and what you want... and maybe you can convince the magic to obey you instead of him. Charm it by being your creative self! If you think an idea is silly, embrace the silliness. You're a whole lot more likable than he is-- voted best-all-around three years in a row. That kind of influence is a lot more powerful than you might think. If you want your life back, you're going to have to prove it."

This is, ultimately, going to be an internal battle between Miro and Hadeon. Valentine can only do so much from the outside.

"Speaking of fighting for what you want... if you want those s'mores, you're going to have to get started on a bonfire." Valentine gestures towards the pile of sticks she collected further away from the ocean. "Show me what you've got, beanie-boo!"

 

[starboob]

It’s not a question of holding on. For Miro, there is no other option but to hold on – and not because of the demonic parasite they unwittingly invited in. Giving up has just never been an option. That would be all too convenient for the haters, of which there are admittedly few.

“You have to live, Miro. If that’s one thing you have to do, it’s live.”

The firelight glints off their knife as they angle it from left to right. Lighting the bonfire had been as simple as asking for a piece of paper, drawing the emblem, and then using that as kindle. Now they sit before it, feeling none of its warmth as they conjure up all the reasons they have to hold on; to stay. They used to talk about their dreams with Vega; it was almost routine. Those conversations had surprised Miro at first, because Vega seemed to have her whole life figured out, had a full job and everything. And still she was full of want.

It’s up to Miro to live for those wants now. They’re the only one of the two of them who can.

Miro stabs a marshmallow with their knife, plucks it off only to skewer it onto a stick. This will be their third or seventh s’more and they plan to char it as they have all the others. “One perk of not feeling anything,” Miro starts, pulling their flaming mallow out of the fire and holding it up to their palm. On their bandage they’ve drawn the emblem for air and tap it with their ring finger to extinguish the flame. “I don’t have to wait for my food or drinks to cool down.” They sandwich the crispy marshmallow between two graham crackers and squish it with a satisfying crunch. It disappears in seconds, going down without so much as chewing it. “That’s one reason to stay. Probably my number one reason, in fact.” They punctuate this with a sagely nod and signature grin.

Hidden under their veneer of confidence, though, is the fear that nothing about them will be enough. That their dreams and hopes won’t be big enough. That they’re already wasting space with their insignificant contribution to society – like, does the world really need more delivery people? Does it even need their art? “Does it need another fairy killer?”

Maybe they should have become a doctor like their parents.

“If you could do your life differently, would you?”

 

[ellarose]

"No. I do everything perfectly the first time." Valentine sighs, jokingly imperious, before swallowing the last bite of her s'more and flopping onto her back. She continues, sincerely this time, "I try my best to be perfect and always have, ever since I was little. Don't get me wrong, all the things I've studied and prepared for have helped me survive this long in Bellwick Springs. But I've had to accept that no amount of planning will protect me from misfortune or from making mistakes." She stares at the stars, reciting her next words as though she's heard them a thousand times before from someone else. "Learn from your experiences if you're lucky enough to survive them and keep moving forward. Don't get caught up in what you could've done. Look at who you are right now and think about what you can do while you've still got a life to live. You're still here. That matters."

Desperate wishes to undo the past are exactly what got Miro into this fix in the first place. Similarly, Hadeon Bellwickson seems to carry his past around like a thorn in his side. Valentine suspects this gives the demon a layer of understanding, a way to worm his way into Miro's brain with promises he knows will be irresistible. Promising the revival of someone who is long gone, entertaining fictional universes of what could've been, when they ought to be on the path of accepting things as they are. The truth, no matter how difficult it might be to face.

Valentine knows it's possible, having clawed her way out of a similar hell. This life is not what she expected, it's not exactly what she wanted, but she's still here-- able to protect the town and Miro Syke-- because she refused to give up on herself the day her dreams shattered into pieces. She won't give up on Miro Syke and all the potential their life still has.

"...There are plenty of things I would change if I could go back in time. There are things I wish never happened to me. My life didn't go according to plan, no matter how hard I tried. So y'know what I did? I adapted. I made a new plan. One that took my magic and my circumstances into account. It took time to figure things out, mind you, it wasn't easy." Valentine says, her eyes softer in the firelight. She sits up and sets her hand on Miro's knee, offering some warmth that the fire might not. "Now I'm protecting the town... and I'm proud of that."

Valentine gestures to the fire. "So, you're wielding magic now. If magic ends up being a part of your life forever, how do you see yourself using it? How would you want to use it?"

 

[starboob]

It’s completely like Valentine Thorne to say she simply formulated a new plan when the original one did not pan out. Of course, to say that it was simple is probably a disservice to the grief that had to come before accepting and adapting to her new circumstances. Valentine Thorne is dodgy on her past, only giving Miro enough to sate them in the moment, but they’ve put together the pieces and know they still have an incomplete picture of the local good witch – even if she has revealed such things as striking to kill, much of her is still a mystery.

Miro wants to hold onto their belief that they can still do something for Vega, but a new understanding of their situation is starting to cement itself and, soon, they’ll be able to recognize, just as Valentine has, that there is no going back. There is only forward.

For several seconds too long, they just stare at her hand on their knee. It’s warm. Through their jeans, they imagine that it’s soft, too. The gold flecks in their eyes dance with the firelight. Their cheeks warm.

“I–I dunno,” they shrug, clearing their throat that has gone dry – because of the too many s’mores they've eaten and certainly not because Valentine is touching their knee, sending zaps of electricity up their thigh. “I think if this were before and we were talking hypotheticals, I’d say I’d try to get away with as many pranks as possible.” It’s near impossible to take their eyes off of Valentine’s hand, but they brave the unknown and follow her hand to her wrist to her arm, her neck, her jaw, stopping at the corner of her lips. (Lips she used to kiss them. Save them. Same difference?) They swallow thickly, before they meet her eyes. “But I really don’t know now that it could be real.”

That’s not an answer they’ll settle for. They tilt their head back and search the stars for inspiration. Before their life changed, their dreams were few and far between. Their dreams were simple – like wishing for a gay commune to keep all their friends in one place and enough money to keep them sustained. They never dreamed for greater, and now that endless possibilities lie before them they aren’t sure how to dream bigger, how to imagine what a life with magic could be. (Are they even worthy?)

After a long stretch of silence, they pull their knees up to their chest. “It feels like a waste to do nothing if I get to keep this magic.” The weight of this power could very well crush them with possibility and responsibility. All they ever wanted was to have a silly little life. “I never wanted more.” They were scared to want more. “I’d want to make people happy, I think. I don’t know how I’ll do that with magic, but it seems worthwhile to do what I can to make people smile. To give people hope.”

 

[ellarose]

"Well, I think you're on the right track. It's dangerous to want too much." Valentine muses, drawing her finger back and forth in the sand. (You would know.) The locket burns hot against her neck, the constant reminder it is. "Especially when you're dealing with magic."

Swindlers with sky high ambitions were charming once, to a naive girl who wanted the world, sweeping her off her feet as they spun their grand dreams into poetry that spoke to her soul. Miro raises none of those red flags as they wonder over their dreams and how magic might affect their life. There's no shiny armor, no trace of a front as they stumble along the path to working things out. Granted, they've only experienced a taste of power thus far-- an appetizer at most-- but their core values are refreshing. Selfless.

"In my book, it's more than okay if all you want to do is make someone smile. I'm just relieved you're not plotting world domination. That's basic-- I've dealt with it more times than you could imagine." Valentine says, blowing a raspberry as she falls onto her back again. It seems like Hadeon Bellwickson is standing in line. While it might have been easy for the demon to slip past Miro's defenses, pulling on their heartstrings to get his way at first... ultimately, because he didn't select a shrewd person to do his bidding, it's going to make it harder for him to play Valentine for a fool.

"But there is something you should want more than anything, Miro. You need to want it."

Characters like Hadeon are capable of cruelty that goes beyond petty trickery. When that doesn't work, there's no telling what tactics he might resort to. So how does Valentine warn Miro without giving Hadeon key insight into what she's thinking? Hm.

"If you want your life back, doing nothing isn't even an option... at least until Hadeon is taken care of. As much as I want to help, there's only so much I can do for you outside your mind." Valentine admits. "Unless your beanie has a secret portal I don't know about yet?"

Truth be told, she has been studying different methods she could use to reach Miro in a pinch. Hadeon doesn't need to know that she's not completely helpless to help. It'll be a pleasant surprise for him, she thinks. Sneak attacks are the bees knees.

"Hadeon targetted you thinking you wouldn't put up a fight, Miro. But you did. Somewhere deep down, you know exactly where you stand. Your heart's in the right place. That's why I believe there's hope for you." Valentine says, her voice light with sincerity. "Hadeon... he's gonna try and use you to swallow the world, apparently. S'mores aren't good enough for him. Are you gonna let him get away with that? You want to stop him, don't you!?" She narrows her eyes, clambering to her feet and throwing her arms in the air, embracing the dramatics. "He's gonna eat all the desserts in the world, leaving none for anyone else. This bastard's going to ruin all the parties. He's going to make so many babies cry."

"If you want to stop him, you need to say it like you mean it. Hell, you should scream it at the sky! Don't be complacent. Don't let him walk all over you. Make his experience living in your mind a living hell. Get angry!" Valentine waves her hand at Miro, encouraging them to get up, the cheer captain in her coming out with a vengeance. She claps her hands three times. "Up on your feet, c'mon! What do you want, Miro? Say it with your whole chest."

 

[starboob]

She really should join the rugby team – she has the energy for it. In any other context, this would rally Miro and stir the spirit in their chest, but with the late hour, the haunting new realities breathing down their neck, they struggle to rise. And when they do, sand cascading off their clothes, they can’t muster a warrior cry, let alone even a sob. The shock from the injury is still too fresh to feel.

Three months they’ve dedicated to chasing their own tail.
Three months of hope. Three months of promise.

“Will you go?”​

Three months of taunts in a voice that’s never returning.

They touch the tattoo behind their ear, tracing the pointy letter. (It was a stupid idea then to let a friend of a friend of a friend with a brand new tattoo gun use them both as guinea pigs. But at least that didn’t result in a demonic entity attaching itself to their soul.) It’s why they did what they did. They saw the shadow in the flash of lightning and bargained with it. All Vega wanted to see that night was the haunted old reactor. She got so much more than that.

When they think about her wishes, who she was at her core, the way she took them under her wing like they were a failed fledging… Well, obviously they have to fight, that was never a question, but it reminds them of the importance of this fight. Her dreams live through them now and one of those dreams had been to help Miro realize their own dreams; get enough money that she could free them from the need to work and they could focus on their art. But she had also wanted to adopt all the animals in the shelter and set them free. She wanted to steal the materials from all the abandoned construction projects in the city and use them to build her own utopia. She wanted to ask that werewolf DJ out on a date…

‘She’s really not gonna get to do all that?’ The question is a wrecking ball they dodge, preferring instead to avoid that confrontation (as they have been doing for the last three months). 'Nope. No time for that.' It'll consume them if they let reality in. It’s better to focus on fury.

Miro squeezes their eyes shut, clearing out all the memories of Vega and what-could-have-beens, replacing them instead with all the reasons they need to stay.

Hadeon tried to use them to hurt Valentine. Hadeon wants to use them to take away everything sweet in the world. (Like Valentine.) Hadeon wants to destroy every child’s joy and that is unforgivable. “He can try, but I won’t let him ruin everything pure in this world.”

They roll up their hands into tight balls, lifting their chin. “You hear that, demon?!” They shout, hopping up as if that will help their message be heard. “You want this life? You’re gonna have to rip it straight from me!” And they know they’re a slippery bastard to catch. All the cops in Undersky say so. “I’m protecting all the kids from ruined parties and crushed dreams. I’m gonna set all the shelter animals free." Behind them, the fire snaps in loud agreement. The heat of it builds as the flames warp between red, green, purple, orange – until all the colors of the rainbow are waving behind them like a banner of resistance. "And I’m gonna get my fucking life back!”

 

[ellarose]

Dazzling.

Red illuminates a raised brow, green sparkles in her widening eyes, purple is the subtle parting of her lips, orange is a few shades shy of the pink that brushes over Valentine's cheeks. They're warm. That's natural. That's the fire. The fire behind Miro, duh, which is sparkling, rising, dazzling. It roars like a rainbow lion over the words she'd thought to cheer them on with. They turn to ashes and leave her speechless.

"Funfetti fire!" Valentine gasps and it occurs to her that she should've stayed speechless. Magic packaged in a cake box is so old school-- and this is nothing like the time she fought three decorative tiers of sentient cake at the Miller's wedding! "No, it's..." It's fire. Yes, but it's no ordinary fire. It smells sweet, but it's not cake-sweet. It's not like s'mores either. (...Pomegranates.) It's a whisper, a reminder that this magic comes from Hadeon... but the colors? That's Miro's signature. That's their creative way of making it theirs. "Wowzer."

While Valentine's capacity for speech is decidedly broken, she has plenty of words for her notebook. She snaps for it and furiously flips for her fire section, beyond green fire, to create a brand new page for rainbow fire. Bellwick Springs stirs around her, the energy in the air snaps around her and pumps in her chest like a second heartbeat. Busily, she buries her embarrassment and overwhelm into writing her new entry. Miro throws phenomena around for her to study around like confetti. They're pretty astonishing that way.

Will she ever sleep again? The prospect's looking unlikely. Come to think of it... Miro looked pretty tired themself before whipping out their funfetti flames.

"Swanky stuff." Valentine says with a nod, holding her tome up over her face as she reads her entry. A beat passes and she shyly sneaks a peek at Miro from behind it. She clears her throat.

"I think you're in need of a new title." Valentine continues primly, disappearing her tome and gesturing to the multi-colored flames behind them. "The green wizard moniker is a bit outdated now. You could be the rainbow dragon, defender of desserts, laughter and animals everywhere." She bites her lip, quirked in an awkward half smile, and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. "How do you feel? I forget that not everyone lives on my night shift schedule."

 

[starboob]

Magic is… Magic is…

Magic is draining. Not even a second after Valentine Thorne utters the (magical) words Funfetti fire, they’re crumpled on their knees, struggling to keep even their head upright. (It’s never like this when they use Hadeon’s emblems. It wasn’t like this when they drew up those weak sauce ones earlier either.) “Ngh.” The rainbow still waves proudly behind them, casting them in a kaleidoscope of color. It shows no sign of dimming or burning out anytime soon, even if its caster is recovering from the spell.

The local good witch is on the right track suggesting that they come up with a new moniker now that they’ve gone through a Gandalf like transformation, but she’s wrong about what that new title should be. They hear it in a never-to-be-forgotten snicker and can perfectly imagine Vega calling them – “Gay wizard. I’m the gay wizard, defender of joy and happiness.” Miro chuckles, sliding forward then rolling onto their back. They spread out their arms and legs, starfishing on the beach. “I feel tired. Night shifts suck.” Whenever their parents had to work overnight at the hospital they always came back cranky and disgruntled. But maybe that was just their usual M.O. exacerbated by exhaustion. “And that last trick really took me out. Being gay is exhausting.”

The ocean is now suspiciously calm, a mirror for the moon and stars. Not even a ripple disturbs the still surface. Miro assumes this is just another one of Bellwick’s quirks, along with the faint melody of what sounds like a hiphop remix of Beethoven's 5th. Or something like that.

“I gotta,” they yawn, arching their back like a cat in the sun, “get on your level. Being a duo and all, gay wizard and the blip witch.” The wry, tired smile immediately gives away their little shittery. And, to be fair, teleportation witch just doesn’t have the same ring to it. (Neither does teleportation girl, that they have tested out in private.) “Gotta start pulling my weight and stop leaving the best of Bellwick's midnights to you. Partners in crime, y'know? Well, stopping crime, I guess, which is way less cool… But I guess some crimes aren’t good. Do you stop good crimes? 'Cause I always look away when I spot someone shoplifting.”

 

[ellarose]

Hidden by some bushes by the bike rack, a clique of three rather stylish chickens cluck quietly at each other. There have been no developments-- no second kiss between Valentine Thorne and Miro Syke. No hug, not even a proper hand-hold. They decide collectively that it's time to go home, their feathered forms melting into their shadows on the sidewalk before skittering down the street.

'Did you hear about Valentine Thorne and that newcomer from Undersky? They've been spending a lot of time together.'

Distractedly, Valentine squints at the bushes the chickens once occupied. She knows they were there, she knows they know she knows as well. She'll need to sit Regina, Gretchen and Karen down to discuss their spying again. There's no hunt they love more than the hunt for hot gossip. It's not the worst thing for them to crave, considering the horrifying nature of their true forms, but even so. The news of Valentine and Miro's first kiss is spreading and spreading fast. At this rate, the whole town will be talking by morning.

All Valentine can do is hope that no one in town informs Miro that everyone she's ever kissed is dead.

With everything they've been through lately, that superstition is a surefire way to make them feel even worse. What if they start picking apart her intentions? What if they wonder if she doomed them with her kiss of death on purpose? It's only a myth born from a string of tragedies, she's only given one deliberate kiss of death in her lifetime-- but Miro's been tricked by someone who claimed they'd help them before.

"You really want to be partners...?" Valentine asks thoughtfully, searching for the moon in the sky. They've mentioned it before, sure, but... She tilts her head and her lips quirk sideways. Unsure. Contemplative. If they end up staying long enough to be considered a true partner, it'd be a miracle. She'd have to see it to believe it. "Honestly, you're more like an apprentice right now. Maybe you can work your way up to partner, if you've got the guts for it."

It's a nice thought. It's not happening.

Sea foam at the rim of calm ocean waves begin to glow in the dark, decorating the shore in strings of bio-luminescent jewels. The music is louder now. Giant, sparkling tentacles unfurl from the water, creating a hedge maze pattern around Valentine and Miro on the beach, and a massive form emerges from the depths. Jimmy is an octopus with the face of a viperfish. The eyes behind his scholarly glasses resemble craft store googly eyes dipped in a universe of stars, ridiculous and glamorous in equal measure. His size and fangs, gleaming criss crosses of silver swords, are his most intimidating features. Rows of neon tentacles part like curtains to make way for a humanlike arm to stretch towards them. A webbed, four-fingered hand opens up invitingly in front of Valentine.

"Jimmy! How've you been, old fella?" Valentine says in Jimmy's language, grinning and dipping into a curtsey before hopping onto the cryptid's palm. He lifts her high into the air, bringing her to his eye level. He responds with a series of clicks and gurgles. They chat like this for a short while, keeping it friendly and brief. Valentine shows Jimmy her notes, the sigils she copied, and after another brief exchange he gingerly lowers her back down onto the beach.

"This is Miro Syke." Valentine says and then offers the photographer an encouraging nod. "Miro, this is Jimmy. He's got a thing for symbols and patterns. Can you show him what you were doing earlier-- writing those symbols in the sand?" Instead of waiting for a demonstration, however, Jimmy has other ideas. He reaches for Miro, lifting them in the air to inspect them closer. "Jimmy! Don't be rude!" Valentine winces. "Don't make me come up there!" He won't hurt Miro. He's just... curious... he might try and stare into their soul a little, but he's harmless! Mostly.

Jimmy turns Miro sideways and gives them a shake like a child with a new toy, just to see their reaction.

 

[starboob]

Math has never been Miro’s strong suit. To be fair, it’s not like it’s anyone’s strong suit. (Those closest to the young photographer know their hot math take is that anything above arithmetic and, maybe, geometry is fake news.) But the equation of Miro + an indiscriminate number of s’mores + being violently (lightly) shaken by a creature with trippy eyes has an obvious answer.

Miro throws up.

It’s a sticky beige mess, reflecting what was once their triumph over magic. “Eugh…” Their cheeks are tinted green, body entirely slack in Jimmy’s firm yet gentle grip. Jimmy doesn’t appear apologetic or concerned about this special viewing into the contents of a human stomach – in fact, the cryptid’s starry, googly eyes twinkle as the giant lowers himself so that his chin touches the sand and he can get a better look at the prize he has procured from human Miro (Valentine’s latest flame, if the rumors are true and to be trusted). He sets Miro down in the same motion that two of his tentacles wave over the vomit with the same precision and tact as a witch over a cauldron, as if there is something to read from this. As if he is not inspecting vomit. Vomit.

“Ggrrgl,” Jimmy says, punctuated by a series of bubble pops and clicks. It sounds positive, but Miro wouldn’t know for sure. Besides, they’re too busy recovering to concern themself with deciphering whether or not this is a positive review of their character. Jimmy continues prattling on – which, to Miro, does sound like an approximation of what “prattle” would sound like if the word were onomatopoeic in nature.

“Hot dog! Valentine Thorne, you have done it again.” If a viperfish head could smile, Jimmy would be beaming. “A finding such as this has not piqued my interest since that Alexander fellow cut through the knot that fastened the oxcart.” Oh the wheels certainly are spinning within the titan’s head, never once taking his eyes from Miro.

“What’s he saying, Val?”

“Val?” Jimmy’s googly eyes widen with scandal. The Valentine Thorne allowing for a nickname? “Have these latter years softened you? I jest, I jest.” He quickly adds before the local good witch can counter. And, just as quick, he nudges Miro with a tentacle. “I’ve had my fun. Now, Miro of the House Syke, show me your symbols.”

Miro stumbles forward a few steps from the nudge, catching themself on one leg while their arms flap like a hummingbird’s for balance. Of course, they don’t get what that nudge is supposed to mean. All the syllables come out as a cross between rapidly boiling rice porridge and cicadas chirping. But when Jimmy taps the sand, understanding that the human cannot comprehend his language, then draws out a smiley face, it clicks.

“Ooh. I get you.” Miro grins and goes for their wizard staff – the end of which is sticky with marshmallow guts. Their tongue pokes from the corner of their mouth as if they need to concentrate. The emblems come out naturally – fire, water, ice, air like ducks in a row.

Jimmy hovers over the gay wizard’s shoulder, his hulking features practically eclipsing Miro. His tentacles twitch, eyes glistening. “By Jove…” One googly eye flicks over to Valentine while the other remains solely and firmly fixed on the sigils. Several neon tentacles bristle, sending vibrations through the beach that somehow do not affect the writings. “The Ancient Ones still speak.”

 

[ellarose]

"The Ancient Ones..." Valentine repeats, Bellwick Springs rousing with a subtle rumble beneath the soles of her feet. She bites her thumbnail. Each mystery they encounter is threaded into the tapestry of this strange, magical town she calls home. Why now is she getting lost in a place that was once so familiar to her? All those years of study-- and she's never once encountered the mention of Hadeon Bellwickson or the Ancient Ones? How can that be possible? "Elaborate, please."

"The language of the Ancient Ones is not learned in the usual way, through flashes of cards or texts of old. That is what makes it so impressive." Jimmy says, absentmindedly nudging Miro in the side with one of his tentacles. "Comprehension of each sign is granted to those who pass a trial related to the sign in question. This ability is earned the way a scout earns badges for surviving the wilderness at night, starting fires or selling cookies." The cryptid blinks once, twice. "Access to these trials was locked away ages ago, when one sought to understand too much of the Ancient Ones language and nearly caused the destruction of all things. The spirit of the springs will only make exceptions for exceptional feats. That is why you know a small collection of these symbols yourself, Valentine Thorne. They were granted to you after your acts of bravery and selflessness, the day you were deemed a worthy guardian of the Seam."

Valentine glances briefly at Miro, wrapping her arms protectively around herself. She knows they can't understand what Jimmy's saying-- but what if Hadeon does?

"I see. The symbols for protection, then..." Valentine muses, understanding at least that. "All along, they came from the language of the Ancient Ones." She often uses them to put protections on the buildings in Bellwick Springs. The Seam granted her with those magic signs to help with her responsibilities-- just as it had bridged the gap between her and the various creatures living within the town by teaching her their languages.

Because Hadeon Bellwickson is an ancient old man, he certainly had access to Bellwick Spring's trials before they were forbidden to everyone. In fact, it's very likely thanks to him that they were forbidden. Valentine may well have possessed the ability to comprehend more of this dead language if not for him. (And perhaps along with it a way to break free of this town...)

Miro comprehends the language because Hadeon can comprehend it-- they see the signs through their eyes and his as well. That, too, makes a good amount of sense. So maybe the magic is weak when Miro calls upon it because they've yet to expreience the same trials for themself. It's not just a matter of being able to read and write the symbols-- it's earning the springs seal of approval to use them to their full potential.

"Exactamundo!" Jimmy chirps. "That is why it is impressive... and highly unusual, I must admit, for your 'friend' here to comprehend so much of the Ancient One's language." The cryptid would be waggling his eyebrows if he had them, using friend in such a way that has connotations, but Valentine is too deep in thought to notice.

"Their case is unusual, Jimmy. Miro can read the symbols of the Ancient Ones, but they don't understand them." Valentine says, "That's why we're here, asking you for help. I know you said they've been locked away, but out of curiosity... is there a way to find out what the trials were?"

 

[starboob]

The silver swords in Jimmy’s mouth shiver at the suggestion, filling the air with an eerie tinkling not too unlike windchimes in an otherwise quiet forest. His tentacles bristles, sending waves through the sand. This disrupts the human who had taken to lounging on one of his neon arms like a child on a log. Miro falls face first into the sand, but is unbothered otherwise. “I’m good. Don’t worry about me, guys.”

“If the Seam has not revealed these trials to you, I shan’t tell you more than I already have.” And even that might have been too much, but old Jimmy has a soft spot for Valentine Thorne. It shows in his big watery eyes that yearn to share all he knows, but something larger than even himself forbids him from relinquishing what he knows. At least through traditional means. Heh.

“Besides, do you really believe they are so exceptional as to be an exception?” One googly star eye points towards Miro who is visibly contemplating whether or not to lick the sticky end of their wizard staff. Valentine certainly has interesting taste to say the least. Still, a friend of the local good witch is no enemy of Jimmy. “I doubt they’re even capable of climbing to Bellwick’s highest peak.”

Pure athleticism won’t get anyone close to the top, that Jimmy knows for sure.

“The Mistress Sharona would never show them the proper way.” It’s probably just the moonlight, but his cheeks might be coloring a deep shade of blue, giving the effect of a blush. Though it certainly isn’t over Sharona. Pah! He broke up with her and he is totally over it. Totally. Jimmy has no ragrets. “Even if that should happen, I very much doubt their dance would be satisfactory to the All Watcher.”

The thought of that might strike a chord of jealousy within the cryptid, were he capable of such a lowly feeling. In any case, what does it matter? It’s not actually a dance by the human standard. And if the “dance” is not pleasant, all competition for dear Sharona will be eliminated. (This actually isn’t such a bad plan…)

“It’s not like you could even find Bellwick’s highest peak unless it was the third Wednesday of the month, where the full moon shines.” Jimmy gives a small hrumph (gurgle noises to anyone else). “You’d have to be at the center of town, spinning counterclockwise three times at 11:11PM.”

Anyone who is not worthy of even the climb will never make it to the peak by midnight and will be lost forever. Plenty of opportunities for the competition to be no more. (Never mind that Valentine and Miro are courting. The haze of not-jealousy is far too thick for Jimmy to see through.) “I very doubt the quest is worth the effort. As I said, the trials were sealed and whether or not the Mistress Sharona still has the key is debatable." Oh, she is going to be quite cross with him if she finds out who gave Valentine this idea. "Ah, how is the Mistress Sharona? Out of curiosity, since we’re talking about her and all…”

 

[ellarose]

"Sharona... yeah, well, she's doing just fine." Valentine hums, distracted as she jots the not-instructions in her notebook. On her second read, she underlines and highlights every detail in regards to time and place. (And color codes them, too.) It's imperative that she get this right. They're depending on her. Jimmy mentioned a specific night, a specific time... a deadline, in other words, before she needs to have this puzzle puzzled out. A dance, the highest peak, the center of the town on the night of the flower moon no less. That's three nights before the barn dance. What were they talking about again? Ah, yes. Sharona. "She's been wearing a lot of hats lately, if you know what I mean."

Jimmy's gaze flickers to Miro Syke. He appraises the beanie on their head with a discerning eye.

"You missed her party." Valentine supplies, catching this look as she finishes up and bli-- poofs-- her notebook away. She glances between Jimmy and Miro. What's going on here? "Their beanies fascinate her."

"Is that so." Jimmy harrumphs, restlessly tapping a few tentacles on the beach. He leaves craters in the sand. (He is not jealous. The Mistress Sharona's love for hats is unparalleled.) "As for her party, I can assure you I was there in spirit. I am sure she is wearing her two-thousand nine-hundred and ninety nine years with grace."

"Maybe you'll make it for her three-thousandth?" Valentine offers amiably.

"Perhaps." Jimmy blinks his right eye, then his left, and sinks halfway into the ocean. His cheeks darken with a blush again. "I must take my leave now. If anyone asks, I said nothing." He glances Miro's way... and trying to be sly but instead coming across as rather blunt, pushes them into the ocean with a tentacle before sinking entirely beneath the waves himself. (He's not jealous.) "Good luck, Valentine Thorne."

"Shoot." Valentine winces, reminding herself to speak in a language Miro can understand. "Shoot!" Not that it's going to matter much while they're underwater! She's at their side in a flash, hefting her hands under her arms to help them back up onto their feet. "You okay? Sorry about that. There's some drama with Jimmy and Sharona right now... and he knows she's been hanging out with you lately, so-- ah, he'll get over it." She coughs. "Anyway! I scored some intel and now I've got a super secret mission for you. You think you can handle this?"

 

[starboob]

This is not the first time that Miro has found themself stuck between two quarreling lovers – and now Miro has tons of questions for Sharona when they get back to the inn. It pains them that those questions will have to wait in favor of this “super secret mission.”

“You know…” Miro wrings out their beanie of salt water, then places it back on their head. The fabric doesn’t feel right anymore. “I’m not a child. I might be the same height as most middle schoolers,” they’re shorter, in fact, “but I can handle missions beyond making s’mores.”

It’s a fair tactic, they’ll give Valentine credit where credit is due, and they’re fully capable of being taken seriously. (Never mind that they did wage holy internal war over whether or not to lick the marshmallow gunk off their wizard staff. And extra never mind that the deciding factor was the sand covering the sugary gunk. It’s not important.) “Just give me the deets and I’m on it.”

꧁ ● ꧂​

Miro Syke is not on it. Never in their life have they ever been on it. It was a lie to suggest otherwise, but they doubt that Valentine Thorne is the type to take on a partner – let alone an apprentice – who is not on it. She’s got a whole tome full of notes and Miro would wager a bet that that’s probably volume eleven hundred. They've got to be on it.

Dry, fresh, crisp and clean, they wait patiently for Sharona to finish preening her feathers. Valentine stressed they needed to approach this conversation with the highest level of tact. Sir Chompalot chews quietly on the bed frame. “Sooo…” They start, slow and not suspicious. Sharona boks noncommittally. They take that to mean she’s listening. “Alright, so… What is the day of a chicken like?”

Valentine said to gather intel. To be discreet. They’re pretty sure this isn’t too ‘spicious. Sharona doesn’t take the bait. Well, she boks and clucks an explanation but Miro doesn’t speak chicken. (Not yet, anyway. They’ve got to ask Valentine to teach them – never mind that she’s already explained how she understands everything in Bellwick.) “Okay, okay – that was a bad question. Would you wanna show me? Val–” They stop themself before speaking her full name. “Well, she’s not around. So you can show me what you really get up to. If y’know what I mean.”

Sharona doesn’t budge.

Miro sighs, making a big show of gathering their things. “Well, alright then. Guess I’ll just go and sea what Jimmy is up to. He’s so much fun. Did yo–”

Sharona is up in a second, fluttering down from the bed to nip at Miro’s ankles. She boks rapidly – barely finishing one bok before the next one starts. Somehow, she ends up winding up their torso until she’s got their shoulder gripped in her talons, desperately fluttering forward, hitting Miro’s face with each flap.

‘Hook, line, and sinker.’

꧁ ● ꧂​

The life of a chicken is fairly similar to the life of Miro Syke. If it weren’t for the fact of their matching beanies, Miro would assume that Sharona is just fucking with them but they put on matching beanies so that has to mean something. Has to.

Miro swings their legs as they take another scoop of soft serve, ice cream’s delicious cousin. They lean against the trunk of the tree they’re sitting in. “Status update?”

Sharona squints, then boks low and long.

They nod, taking this to mean the coast is clear. (Long story short: Another run in with Holly Pinkett.) “Finally.” After three hours of being trapped in a tree, they half thought the papergirl wasn’t going to relent until she made good on her promise to kick their shins. “Alright, now it’s your turn – you promised you’d show me something cool.” Not that Miro can actually understand Sharona, but she didn’t protest initially when they asked. They clear their throat. “And if you’re gonna show me something not cool, that wouldn’t be very cool. I’m thinking something like, uh, the highest peak in Bellwick." Quickly, they add, "'Cause I like feeling tall. I'm sure you can relate."

 

[ellarose]

Sharona boks noncommittally, still staring beyond the branches at the street for traces of the resident paper girl. You promised. She blinks once, twice, her pupils swirling around in her eyes like disks before taking the shape of two stars. Slowly, the chicken turns around to face Miro. She squats and flaps her wings out ever so slightly before laying a single egg. (As 'just a chicken' does.) It teeters off the branch they're nestled in and falls down to the sidewalk, cracking on impact.

The yolk of the egg spills out of the broken shell in perfect shape, like a bright yellow sun.

Gazing back at Miro, Sharona struts towards the base of the tree where Valentine's carved initials are. With a grave bok, the chicken taps them thrice with her beak. For a moment, nothing happens. Then the markings glow faintly, sending sparkling shimmers up and down the tree before scattering all over the ground. The egg responds.

The egg whites simmer and solidify before taking the shape of flower petals around the yolk, and suddenly it resembles a daisy more than it does an egg. A stem bursts from the ground and propels the newly formed daisy into the air, twisting around the tree until it reaches Sharona and Miro.

"Am I cool enough?" The egg-- daisy-- speaks to Miro in a childlike voice. The center of the flower-- the yolk-- splits like a mouth in the center, revealing rows of sharp teeth. "I am the tastiest egg in the world. Everything in Bellwick Springs will try to take a bite of me. If you can keep me from harm for the rest of the day, Mistress Sharona will show you the way."

Sharona boks cautiously. Sir Chompalot, true to his name, opens his mouth wide and scampers towards the delicious smelling egg-daisy, preparing to take a big bite--

 

[starboob]

On it. Those words are sure to haunt Miro – are already haunting Miro. They watch, horror stricken, eyes going wider than their own face as Sir Chompalot takes another slow step towards the daisy shaped egg. His little mouth is wide, showing rows of proud needles that glitter through the spots of sun between the leaves. Warped by adrenaline slowed time, the daisy-egg (egg-daisy?) opens her mouth and a low, elongated cry spills out, “Nnnnooooooo!”

Miro leaps from the branch, catching Sir Chompalot just as one tooth grazes the edge of the egg white petal. The tiny bear collides with their chest, arms soon strapping him to their body much like a rugby ball. Teeth bite into Miro’s unfeeling arm as the pair of them fall straight for the ground. Daisy the Egg reaches out with a leaf, catching Miro for a moment. They sink, then vault off the springy cushion, landing chin and chest first into the ground. A grunt escapes them out more from impact than harm. The scrape on their chin already is pushing out debris while new skin stitches itself together; the would-be bruise on their chest blooms and shrivels in seconds.

Sir Chompalot wriggles in Miro’s steadfast grip, but his arms are stubby and short making his efforts insignificant. He tries biting, but Miro has already moved their arms, holding him over his torso and forehead.

“Bad, Sir Chompalot. Bad,” Miro scolds. “We don’t eat Daisy the Egg. She’s too cool for digestion.”

“Thank you. I am indeed too cool for that.”

Sir Chompalot snaps his teeth, then stills. Placated for the time being, Miro cautiously lets the stuffed bear go, eyeing him as he does his best to dust himself off though everyone knows his arms are far too stubby to be useful.

Sharona glides down from the tree, leaving a rainbow trail behind her. She flaps her wings to soften her landing, taking the spot in front of Miro’s feet. She pecks their shoes. Miro scratches under her chin. “I did good, huh?”

Before she can answer, a shadow creeps over the motley crew. Daisy’s giant gooey mouth spits into a smile much like a creepy sun instead of an egg or a daisy (or egg-daisy, daisy-egg). “Do you hear the chants? From far and wide?” Daisy asks, some of her yolk dripping like saliva onto Miro’s cheek. “The breakfast club is coming, forks and knives ready; avocado toast assembled.”

And there in the distance, the faint melody of How D’Ya Like Your Eggs In The Morning weaves its way through the brush and the trees. Sir Chompalot stiffens, taking a sidelong glance at Daisy. He bounces from foot to foot. Sharona tucks her head beneath her wing, unbothered. Miro sweeps themself up to their feet, spreading their arms out protectively in front of Daisy. “Not on my watch.”

So begins the adventures of Miro and the daisy-egg.

It starts with a deal. Miro promises Sir Chompalot a pile of their dirty clothes, ripe for chewing so long as he assists them in protecting Daisy. It’s a tenuous alliance at best; the hunger in his beady eyes cannot be masked or mistaken for what it is, but the clown bear is smart enough to do the calculus and knows what will happen if he does not help. There is no Daisy Dinner without this alliance, for the breakfast club has already broken over the horizon. They come carrying a giant piece of avocado toast like pallbearers while the rest of the twenty-something mob wields forks and knives of various sizes. Some brandish salt and pepper shakers, others come with bottles of ketchup. (Gross.)

“Hehe, I am just so tasty and irresistible.” Daisy’s cheeks darken, raising two leaves to cover herself. “Help me, Sir Chompalot of Beary Grove and Miro of House Syke! You’re my only hope.”

Sir Chompalot races like Road Runner. His jaw hits the ground, creating a drag in the dirt, a trail to follow. The breakfast club hasn’t a moment to react. Ankles are bitten, shoes disappear. Those who escape Sir Chompalot, are taken care of by Miro.

“Go team! Go team!” Daisy chants, clapping her leaves.

Miro tackles the incoming assailants, giving them a mean look. The afternoon sun glitters off the gold in their eye, more searing than they realize. But it’s all to protect Daisy, because they said they’d be on it and they are. "Stay down," they hiss, looking up for the next target. Who just so happens to be Talen. "You cannot pass!"

 

[ellarose]

"Nothing." Valentine releases all the air from her lungs in a big sigh and presses her eyes shut. They're aching. She hasn't slept since their meeting with Jimmy, hasn't even tried to, having hunkered down hours ago in a secluded corner of Mable's Fables. She's scoured every book she could find for traces of the Ancient Ones or the Bellwicksons. (As if she hasn't pored over all the books in Bellwick Springs at least thrice already in search of a way out.) Yet she didn't know then what she knows now. She must have missed something. If these things are embedded in the town's history, then surely there must be a record of them somewhere!

Unless someone burnt every piece of evidence the Ancient Ones ever existed when their language and quests were forbidden. Is she doing all of this for nothing?

Resigned, Valentine glances down at the puppet in her lap. Jutting her lower lip out, she huffs and sews the rest of its eye into place. Once she's satisfied with that, she consults her town map, which has been neatly marked according to Jimmy's instructions. The center of town. That'd be the heart of the gardens in the main square. There's no visible peak there, it's true, and it sounds as though a ritual must be performed in order to summon it.

It's an anomaly. It's there and yet it's not. Just like the Ancient Ones. (...And like her, in a way, outside the bounds of Bellwick Springs. Disappearing from the minds of those who knew her.) There's a pattern there. What is she missing?

Valentine tugs restlessly at her locket. She won't fail. She can't. Miro's depending on her. Everyone is. As much as she dreads it, as much as she wanted to avoid it, she may have to make contact with the Seam. After all, it's why she is the way she is. It could be risky, but... "I need answers."

"You doing all right there dearie? I'm leaving the shop for a moment. It's time to join the breakfast club." Mabel says, waving as she pushes the door open and lets a beam of sunlight into the dark shop. Valentine squints and shields her eyes. Wait a second. Is she holding a giant spork? "Toodaloo! I'll be back!"

Valentine raises an eyebrow.

༻✧༺​

"Sorry my dude, eggs are on the menu today!" Talen shrugs, narrowly ducking out of the way to dodge Miro's advance. "It's nothing personal!" They produce a top hat and swirl their hand over it three times. Three angry cottontails emerge from the depths of the hat and charge for Miro's ankles while Talen tries to worm their way past them. "Valentine brings me eggs all the time! We're buds. She won't mind."

Sir Chompalot, seeing the ambush, comes running to their rescue on his stubby legs. He stumbles over a rock, rolls, and miraculously manages to knock two of the three cottontails over like bowling pins. Dizzily, his big head lolls from side to side as he tries to blink the stars from his eyes-- which widen, as much as beady eyes can, when he notices the cottaintail who got away nibbling busily at Daisy's stem. The flower-egg drapes a leaf dramatically over her face and shrieks. Sir Chompalot pats his cheeks with his nubs and struggles back up onto his feet.

"I call dibs on the first bite!" At that moment, none other than Holly Pinkett bursts from the bushes behind Daisy. Hunger burns in her eyes and the ketchup bottle in her hands is as menacing as a machine gun. She takes aim at Miro and fires. "This is totally personal!"

 

[starboob]

“Hey, now l –”

Thick bright red ketchup waggles through the air towards them. ‘Shitskis.’ They skirt right, left, and back watching the papergirl carefully, predicting her next move before she makes it. She feigns right, and Miro goes with it, catching her glance left. The stream of ketchup splats right onto the cottontail nibbling on the flower stem. The cottontail jumps back and, by this time, Miro has helped Sir Chompalot right himself. The stuffed bear scampers towards the rabbit, jumps on top of its back, and grabs onto the ears like reigns. Miro winces in sympathy, but has little more time to react, let alone scold Sir Chompalot, as Holly Pinkett tosses the empty ketchup bottle and pulls another from her bandolier.

It’s the wild west out here in Bellwick Springs.

Holly Pinkett stares down the intruder creep, slinging an enormous bottle of ketchup onto her shoulder like it's a rocket launcher. "You're going down, creep."

“Aw, c’mon – Can’t we just be friends?”

The answer is an obvious no. Miro ducks, twists, and dives from the determined cables of ketchup. Holly Pinkett keeps the nozzle trained on the outsider, following them with precision and an unquenchable vengeance. “YOU’LL NEVER STOP ME!!” The preteen shrieks, pitching the now empty bottle towards Miro. They leap over it while she grabs two new canisters. "MUAHAHAHAHA!"

They fall into the dirt and, soon, red smacks their vision then the rest of them. The blast sends them backwards until they hit Daisy's stem. She giggles, “Ooh hoo hoo, that tickles!”

Holly Pinkett steps onto Miro’s head, using it as the step to grab onto Daisy’s lowest leaf. “I told you the first bite would be mine!” Her sneaker slides against Miro’s cheek as she lifts off to scale the egg flower. Sir Chompalot, still on his cottontail steed and surrounded by the bodies of felled Bellwickians, watches in abject horror. He wiggles in protest, bucking himself off the cottontail and falling on his oversized head. But none of that matters. The papergirl is halfway to the coveted prize, Bellwick's most delicious fried egg!

“Winner winner chicken dinner!” Daisy sways, tossing confetti with her leaf appendages. Her head spins on the tip of the stem like a plate spinning on a stick. Her stem stretches as she winds her way down until she is face to face with the papergirl. Her gooey smile widens, showing off her rows of sharp teeth. “Golly, aren't you going to be delicious!”

“Hold up—” Miro’s eyes pop out through the layer of ketchup. They struggle to find purchase, slipping on the ketchup multiple times before they're up. “I thought you said the citizens of Bellwick were going to eat you.”

“Yes, and?” Daisy tilts back, avoiding Holly Pinkett’s gnashing teeth. Vines split off from the main stem, leaping towards the papergirl’s ankles. “Seeing their hunger made me hungry. Why should they be the only ones to eat?"

Miro ignores that, inching up to the papergirl before she's turned to shreds.

“Don’t you dare touch me!” Holly Pinkett shrieks, kicking Miro square in the chin, apparently more perturbed by their help than the daisy-egg, egg-daisy actively trying to eat her. “Get away from me, creep – I can handle this.”

Holly Pinkett cannot handle this and Miro Syke, knowing this, reaches for the grubby shirt with Valentine's name printed across the chest.

 

[ellarose]

"You starting a new club, Syke?" Valentine asks, her leaden tongue softening what could have been sharpness. Leaning against a nearby tree, she takes in the scene between drowsy-slow blinks. It's too damned early for this... but the town's abnormalities have been creeping outside their midnight boundaries since Miro Syke arrived. There's no conceivable pattern to it, no way to organize her sleep schedule to accommodate for the recent chaos. Makes her right fussy, it does. No one can function on espresso shots forever, not even Valentine Thorne, but hell if she isn't going to try. "The whole town showed. Impressive."

Everyone Valentine's ever needed to fight for is right in front of her, reminding her what she needs to fight for. Look at them. Not one of them has their wits about them.

'Gotta start pulling my weight and stop leaving the best of Bellwick's midnights to you. Partners in crime, y'know?' ...It would be real swell to have a partner in crime. It's a swell thought. A swell sentiment. She could use the help-- if only for her sanity's sake. The unfortunate truth is that not everyone is cut out for it.

Languidly, Valentine runs her finger down the red gunk on Miro's arm. She examines it for a moment, her nose twitches, and she rubs it off on their sleeve. Ketchup. Not blood, thank goodness. They're covered in it, head to foot, and she sees them trying. They might not be cut out for this, but at least they're trying. That knowledge presses against the door to her heart, it endeavors to slip past her defenses, and she has to tear her gaze away in order to keep her wits about her. Of all the folk in this town, she's the one who needs to keep it together. She'll need those wits of hers if she's going to pull this off.

In a flash, Valentine is ten feet above the ground, standing on a sturdy branch of the nearby tree. Swinging her arms to and fro for some extra momentum, she jumps directly onto the daisy-egg's stem, pinning the creature down. Holly Pinkett is released from it's leafy clutches and goes flying through the air with a shrill cry. With a trademark blip, Valentine appears behind the papergirl to catch her in midair.

"You all right, doll?" Valentine asks gently as they land. "Look at me." She sets the papergirl on her feet, presses her hands on the girl's shoulders to steady her and dips down ever so slightly to look her in the eye. When the town witch brings her fingertips to the girl's temples, the angry fog slowly clears from her eyes. "Are you okay?" A lively pink blush spreads over the papergirl's cheeks as she returns to herself and realizes her proximity to Valentine Thorne.

"Uh, I, ah..." Holly Pinkett stammers. Her gaze pans across the breakfast battlefield. When she catches sight of Miro Syke, her cheeks turn even redder than the ketchup she used as ammunition. "This is all their fault! That creep had a hand in this mess, I just know it--" A finger appears at her lips before she can continue to hurl accusations at the photographer.

"Mind your tongue, Miss Pinkett. They saved you." Valentine says, lecturing the pre-teen in her nurturing, tough-love kind of way. "I won't hear you speaking that way about Miro Syke, understood? You ought to be thanking them."

"Don't tell me..." Holly is horrified, glancing between Valentine and Miro. She's no stranger to town gossip-- she's the hecking papergirl! She gets around. Now she's doing the math and the answers aren't to her liking. Not one bit. "I couldn't-- I didn't want to believe it, but... are the rumors true!?"

"Go home, Holly." Valentine says, her voice steeling. When the witch's cold eyes flash, something in Holly's change. The girl goes silent, she nods solemnly and marches herself down the sidewalk towards home.

"This seems to be some kind of mass hypnosis situation. They're going to be violent, but try not to hurt them." Valentine says, turning her attention towards Mabel and that giant spork of hers. She grabs the utensil in the middle, attempting to wrestle it away before the old woman can use it to spear the daisy-egg. Speaking of, the unsettling creature has been writhing and giggling on the ground ever since she knocked it down. "What's this thing's deal? Should I kill it?"

 

[starboob]

The wannabe hero could weep when Valentine Thorne arrives. It goes without saying that they may have been a wee bit in over their head trying to solve this without the help of the local good witch. (They should have called her sooner.)

It’s also not missed on Miro that Valentine looks as though she hasn’t seen a bed in weeks. They recognize it immediately in the way she carries herself, actions more languid than usual. Still precise and calculated, but lacking the same flair of the Valentine Thorne they met on their second night in Bellwick Springs. It reminds them of Vega, the way she’d work herself to the bone on a new project, often pulling caffeine and substance fueled all-nighters to meet a deadline.

The overlapping past and present tugs at Miro, because while they could not help their friend with her impossible job, they promised to help Valentine with her impossible job. And now look at what they’ve done. ‘I can’t even keep myself out of trouble for a second.’

Even as that thought crosses their mind, they don’t miss a beat as they grunt out, “Roger that,” struggling to keep Mrs. Mulberry in the half-nelson lock they’ve got her in.

“Let me at ‘em, let me at ‘em,” she cries, flailing her arms.

She’s shockingly strong for a woman that looks as old as time itself and Miro has to use all of their strength to heave her to the side, their face red from the effort. They then rush the woman before she can steady herself, knocking her down like a bowling pin. The innkeep goes flying into a bush – just like Miro planned! (It was dumb luck, per the usual.)

“Oh, Daisy?” Miro asks, now facing off against Mist Terry. Her muscles flex. They gulp. “I think she’s Sharona’s child?”

Sharona boks from the boulder she’s taken refuge on. She gives a half flap like a shrug.

“Daisy promised that if I kept her safe, Sharona would show me the way.” It is only now that they suspect the chicken might be fucking with them, betraying the sacred pact of matchy-matchy. “So, uh, no killing?”

Best to play it safe. Sharona still is the only chicken who knows how to unlock–

A rock collides with Miro’s cheek. Their neck snaps to the left. They stumble over, just barely catching themself before Mist collides with their middle, bringing them to the ground. Air and blood fly from their mouth; though aside from the impact of the punch (not rock) and tackle, they’re fine.

Well, no. Not fine.

Mist Terry has the advantage. Her knee is square on their chest, one hand planted firmly on their shoulder. “Kehlani,” she barks, “Forward!”

The barmaid springs from her position, bounding towards Daisy as she rolls back and forth in the grass, giggling maniacally. “Yes, yes – come eat me!” As Kehlani approaches, the Daisy snaps up, two glaring red dots opening over her crescent mouth. Her tone darkens and drops by several octaves. “JUST KIDDING. I AM GOING TO ANNIHILATE YOU, FOOLISH BARMAID.”

“Shitskis!” Miro paws at Mist’s wrist, but the bartender is unrelenting. Her gaze is fixed firmly on the outsider. Her lip curls and, for a second, Miro swears they see two sets of teeth in her mouth, but they don’t dwell on that for long. They pound their fist against her thigh, pointing frantically behind her. “Dude, your girlfriend-wife-coworker is about to get eaten!”

Mist isn’t moved until she hears Kehlani’s unmistakable scream. Her head whips around, eyes going wide. The fog clears from her eyes in an instant and the second her wits are back, she’s propelling herself off of Miro and Miro is scrabbling after her to help the barmaid as Daisy's roots wrap around her.

The egg's once gentle petals turn to sharp points. Her head spins again, this time giving the impression of weed wacker. "DEATH TO THE BREAKFAST CLUB AND THOSE WHO COME TO VANQUISH DAISY THE GREAT!"

Okay, so maybe they do need to kill the thing.

 

[ellarose]

The roots around Kehlani's waist creak under Mist's fists, but they hold strong and do not break. The daisy-egg spits a mass of vines that wrap around the woman's wrists. While she's quick to tear them off of her, leaving them in green shreds at her feet, they stalled her just long enough for more roots to shoot up from the earth and loop around her middle as well. The creature's roots continue to grow out from there, snapping up anyone they can reach and creating a chain of breakfast club victims. Soon enough, half the population of Bellwick Springs is trapped on this leafy conveyor belt of doom as the daisy-egg tugs them towards its salivating mouth.

Valentine lowers her fingers from Mabel's temples, having just confiscated her giant spork, and sends the confused old woman on her way back to her shop. She curses when she registers the scale of the unfolding danger. Daisy-egg's razor sharp teeth are a hair away from the top of Kehlani's head when desperate times call for desperate measures.

"Stop."

The good witch throws her arms over her head, shaking and straining as if lifting an invisible crate of enormous weight. The daisy-egg levitates and snaps from its roots. All at once, the townsfolk of Bellwick Springs are released, the roots falling away without a leader to command them. Mist is quick to wrap Kehlani in her arms, checking her over for injuries. That was too close. But it's not over yet.

The monster's razor edges continue to spin like a wheel of death in the sky. With her head lowered, Valentine opens her eyes and catches sight of her reflection in Mabel’s abandoned spork. An unnerving shade of red gleams back at her from the pools of her eyes. She presses them shut before anyone can see.

“The breakfast club has been disbanded!" Valentine announces. Her voice sounds like ten voices layered on top of each other, otherworldly echoes rippling through time. The whole world flickers like electrical lights on the fritz. One moment they're standing on the beach in the middle of the night, the next they're in the supermarket, and the next they're in the park at sunrise. All of Bellwick Springs phases in and out around them until a mysterious force pulses out from the witch at the center of it all, imprinting her demand on the gathered townsfolk. "Go home." They forget their hunger, their fear, their desire. They drop their utensils and condiments. They turn to leave the scene without protest, just as Holly Pinkett did, and go home.

"Bok!" Sharona's feathers are ruffled. The strange sparkles have disappeared from her eyes, which now only shine with concern for her mistress. Her plan has gone awry. Something interferred.

A soft whimper escapes Valentine's lips as she collapses to the ground, drained.

The daisy-egg drops down in a pin-straight line from the sky, twisting so it's open mouth faces the ground, and smashes on top of Valentine-- effectively swallowing her whole.

 

[starboob]

Miro waits for a moment and then another, expecting Valentine to emerge from Daisy like Hercules from the hydra. ‘Any second now…’

A second becomes a minute and then Miro starts to panic.

Their back foot drags into the grass as they lurch forward, pumping their legs so fiercely that insects and critters scatter in their wake. Clumsily, they fall on top of the demonic flower, throwing their arms around her thick stem as they heave, straining every muscle in their body to pull the massive plant off of Valentine Thorne.

“C’mon,” they groan, face red with effort. Sweat pours from the top of their head, slipping down their spine. They squint as grime slides down into their eyes. “C’mon! Get off, you stupid weed!”

Sharona is right there beside Miro, pecking frantically at her disaster demon child. She flutters from one end to another, hitting specific points until — poof! The demonic egg explodes in a burst of confetti shaped like sunny side up eggs.

It comes suddenly, causing Miro to lose their balance. Their arms circle, but it does nothing to stop them from falling onto their ass as paper rains over them, sticking to their sweat slick skin. It hardly registers. As soon as they can, they’re flipping themself up and scrambling over to Valentine’s limp form.

“Val – ?” They hover, waving their hand over her face like that might rouse her. But the local good witch doesn’t even so much as stir. “Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuckity, fuck!”

Sharona flutters up to Miro’s shoulder, perching like a parrot on a pirate. Somehow, this helps. The panic that crawls up their throat is quickly swallowed, remembering that this is the Valentine Thorne and she would not panic. She’s always got a plan and while planning might be Miro’s kryptonite, it’s on the gay wizard to step up and do their part. This mess is theirs. These are the consequences.

With a shuddered breath, they slip their arms beneath Valentine’s shoulders and knees, pulling her first into their lap before they spring up using their legs. It’s a feat that would be easier if they had her strength, but the witch is light enough that they’re able to carry her the few yards it takes to bring her under the shade of the tree. ‘Not just a sidekick. I got this.’

They set her down gently, keeping her upright and propped against the tree. Sharona nips at Miro’s ear and they take that to mean they must be doing good; it feels encouraging, at least. From their shirt pocket, they pull out a pen and draw the symbol for water on the tip of their bandaged index finger. Holding their hand like a gun, they activate the symbol, shooting a weak spurt of water at the local good witch’s face. 'That ought to do it.'