Westbrook Academy for Metahumans: Forums

Miranda was breathing heavily by the time she finally made it up to the third floor, her two large suitcases and duffel bag making the trip a lot harder than it should have been.

Hercules, she recited to herself, setting the suitcases on the ground to give herself a couple seconds to catch her breath, or Taurus to make me stronger. Antlia to lessen the weight. Gemini to share the load. Microscopium to shrink them, or Sculptor to change their shape and distribute the weight better. Her father would sometimes test her in the same way; proposing a problem and having her list off various spells to solve it. When he wasn't around, she continued the game; for the most part because she didn't want to fall out of practice and disappoint him when he got back, but a part of her did enjoy it.

“It doesn't matter if you have the Pact or not yet,” her father said, “this is to get you used to thinking quickly and instinctively about the right spell for the job. In theory, you'll make more Pacts eventually,” he drew the word out condescendingly, and Miranda lowered her eyes, “and when you're in a situation where you don't have time to think – only do – you'll thank me for the practice.”

With the suitcases resting on the floor, her hands were free to fish the slip of paper with her new room number scribbled on it out of her back pocket. 314A. She walked a few steps down the hall until she could see the number on the first door: 301. She sighed, and returned to her bags.

Miranda dragged her fork through the mashed potatoes in front of her, creating a complex interconnected network of hills and valleys spanning the north half of her plate.

“So,” she started, trying to sound casual, “I know that we don't live that far from school, but I was wondering if I could stay there: in the dorms?”

Marie slowly put her fork down, folded her hands together and examined her daughter from across the table. “Was this your father's idea, or yours?” she asked slowly, choosing her words carefully.

Miranda fidgeted, uncomfortable. “No, mum, it was my idea. Well, actually, that's not right," she corrected herself. "I was just chatting with some of the kids I met. At the new school. One of them mentioned that you kind of miss out on the private school experience if you commute, and another invited me to be roomies.”

Marie noticeably relaxed.”In that case, I have no problem with it.” She even smiled. “Less than a week in, and you're already making friends. I told you it wouldn't be so bad.”

Miranda smiled back at her mother: for a moment, she'd thought the answer was going to be no.

As she trudged down the seemingly endless hallway, Miranda spared a fond glance for the case in her right hand, as if she could see through the material and lining to the precious contents.

“Now Miranda, watch carefully. You'll do this for yourself eventually, but until then this will have to do.”

Miranda was excited. It had only been a couple weeks since her father – Robert Collins, Master Warlock – had told her about his abilities, and by extension, her own. Any working of magic had her full attention.

He held his hands a foot above the table, and Miranda could see the Star Dust start to gather. “!” he commanded, and the Dust came together, taking shape quickly. For a second, Miranda could see an object made out of pure starlight glowing between her father's fingers, then the leftover Star Dust scattered like confetti and fell twinkling to the table where it disappeared. Laying on the table was a beautiful bronze telescope.

Miranda reached out to touch it, but pulled her fingers back, looking to her father for permission. When he nodded, she carefully picked it up, examining the scroll work, and looking through the eyepiece. The bronze was intricately carved to depict the twelve signs of the zodiac, twisting around each other in graceful curves. She traced her finger along the delicate lines.

“It's beautiful,” she said.

Robert just nodded, his face unreadable. “We'll get you a stand tomorrow morning. Until then...” he reached down into his briefcase and pulled out a heavy, leather-bound book. Modyrn Astrology was written in fancy script on the cover.

“Homework.”

She hadn't brought Modyrn Astrology with her, having graduated out of that book a while ago and noticeably lacking room in her case alongside all the other texts she'd carted along with her, but the telescope – along with her astrolabe and other tools – were packed carefully in custom-cut packing foam. Her star charts and notebooks were just as carefully stowed in the other suitcase, minus the foam.

Miranda finally reached the door she was looking for, and rested the suitcases on the floor once again. She brought her hand up but paused before actually knocking.

“You're just a novice, Miranda,” Robert said, “so I don't expect much from you. But still, you've made four Pacts so far, and none of them are complete. Even Pyxis.

I mean, the Archer I can see, but a complete Pact with Pyxis and Sagitta should have been well within your abilities at this point. And there's no reason you should have failed to get a Pact with Scutum.”

Miranda looked at her shoes, the tiled floor, the baseboard; anything except her father's disappointed face. He wasn't yelling – he wasn't the kind of person who did in her experience – but his steady monotone was worse.

She hated disappointing him. She thought she was trying as hard as she could, but she always seemed to fall short.

Miranda clenched her fist – digging her nails into her palm – inches from the door. A mote of Star Dust lazily floated across her vision, passing through her hand. Sure, I can look flashy, she thought to herself, but I've barely managed the most basic Pacts. The kids here have been nice so far, but their abilities are so far beyond mine: would they still want to associate with me if they knew how much of a failure...

She shook her head and knocked at the door quickly, before she continued along that train of thought and changed her mind.

There was a loud sound from behind the door, offering its self back to her knocking; the surprised startle of something solid falling to the floor, with the clutter of smaller items pouring across and over each other, when after a beat the distinct sound of someone giving in to a frustrated laugh came to the door.

Cassandra opened it from the other side, with a cracked space only enough to stick her head out with a short, soft smile under a wrinkled brow. “Hold on,” she said, before pulling her head back inside and shutting the door behind her.

Miranda didn't move. She stood for a moment, staring to where Cassandra had been, while she waited to decide how she was going to take that as an introduction. If she had not brought all those bags, up all those stairs, and it did not mean she would have to take them all back, down all those stairs, she may have walked away. Maybe. Or maybe Cassandra would be back soon. Yeah, she would. She would.

Maybe.

Instead she stood in the hall, unmoved, looking down the long walk back to all those stairs while waiting for someone to make the decision for her, until the door swung back open, with Cassandra standing in a casual lean against it, one arm wrapped to the other side to support herself there. She was calm, none flustered, and almost looked as if she had woke up restful from a nap. That or she faked it well.

“Oh, Stardust! I forgot that you were coming today … I wasn't cleaning or anything.” She contented with the same smile as before, but held longer. She faked it real well. Moving out of the doorway, she motioned her free arm in a wide spread across the room, inviting Miranda in and offering her a mocked tour at the same time.

Miranda, still, stood still. Her feet did not want to move, weighed down still in indecision; there was a little smile coming across her mouth, though she lowered her eyes trying to hide it. Cassandra's smile moved from soft to supportive, reaching out to grab one of the bags left at the doorstep. Miranda unconsciously reached her suddenly-free hand out, ready to warn the other witch to be careful with the case. Cassandra, however, took the motion as an invitation, taking Miranda's wrist in her other, tossing a few motes of Star Dust into an indolent dance on the draft.

“Nothing ventured nothing gained, right?” She asked with a wink, and ushered her inside.

Miranda's little smile was ever growing to see the room. "Oh, wow," she breathed before she could stop herself. Those tall bookshelves filled with esoteric works, with a few novels shoved between them, the pile of stones in the corner, the desk cluttered atop with spell workings and components; a mortar and pestle still dusted with a course film from use, a toppled over hermetic vase, something foreign made from clay with a circumpunt etched at is center that did who knew what, and all the hemp stringed bags and cork topped jars of herbs and sands in between. Even if it all spelled out a witch, it was still magical; and this time, that wasn't a metaphor.

Cassandra set the bag down on the vacant bed, on the other, vacant side of the room, watching Miranda while she reached for another, giving a laugh as an aside to herself.

“No, Stardust. This one is your side."

Miranda blushed, turning to face Cassandra. “Sorry, it's just that, I've never really had much experience with other types of magic. It all looks so...” she paused, looking for the right word, “...complicated.” she eventually managed.

Cassandra smirked. “I'm complicated all over.”

Miranda walked over to the recently-emptied side of the room, lifting the case Cassandra hadn't taken onto the bed beside its twin.

“Thank you,” Miranda blurted, turning her head slightly so she could see Cassandra, but still not looking at her directly. “I'm, ah, not so comfortable around new people.”

“I hadn't noticed,” Cassandra joked.

“Yeah... exactly,” Miranda acknowledged the good-natured sarcasm. “I'm not usually such a ditz.” she allowed herself a small smile at her own expense.

“Just, you know, new school, new people...” she trailed off, took a deep breath and continued. “It probably would have taken a while for me to get up the courage to start making friends, so I wanted to say thank you, you know, for forcing the issue.”

Cassandra held her hand out in front of her and making a shallow bow, smirking all the while. “You can always count on me to force the issue.”

Miranda blinked, not sure how to respond to that. In the end she decided that it didn't need an answer, and turned her attention to the suitcases. She reached for the one that Cassandra had placed on the bed. The latches popped open with a loud Snap!, and she slowly lifted the lid, almost not noticing the way the other girl looked over her shoulder, curious.

Strapped to the top of the case were the less delicate of Miranda's tools, mostly to keep them from sliding all over during transit. Right in the center was the tripod she used for her telescope. The black metal legs were contracted, to save space. On the right was a relatively small, clear plastic box containing a small wrench, a couple of allen keys, and some spare nuts and screws: they were obviously part of a set, and the smaller pieces were the same black-painted metal as those already on the tripod. Various mathematical implements – rulers, protractors, t-squares – filled the available space.

The contents in the bottom half of the case were hidden for the moment by packing foam; Miranda stuck her fingers in between the side of the case and the foam, and lifted carefully, checking that none of the objects inside were stuck into the top half of the foam.

Her bronze telescope took up the most room. It traveled disassembled; separated into three pieces. A bronze compass sat to the left and a bronze navigational sextant to the right. All three tools were intricately carved with various celestial symbols.

Next to the sextant was an astrolabe – also of bronze – but noticeably different from the other tools: its carvings weren't as detailed and it was showing signs of wear and age as opposed to the others which looked brand new.

Miranda ran her hand fondly over the body of the telescope.

“Looks... complicated,” Cassandra said, mimicking Miranda's earlier sentiment about her own magical apparatus. She helped herself to the second suitcase, popping it open, revealing the contents. Giving in to her desire to snoop, she grabbed the first thing that came to hand. She unrolled the poster, holding it up in front of her with both hands. After a second, she turned it around so that it was right-side-up. The tiny writing and odd – almost rune-like – symbols didn't make much more sense than it had upside down. “Remind me again what it is you do?”

Miranda tried to remember how her father had explained her magic to her: theory and practice were two separate things, and though using her magic was no longer a strange and foreign sensation, putting it into words was another matter entirely.

“Basically,” she said slowly, choosing her words carefully, “I'm a magical generator and battery. Just constantly creating magical energy and storing it. Warlocks can store a lot of magic: from what my dad says, no Warlock has ever hit capacity.

The problem is, I can't do anything with my magic except release it: give it to other beings. Normal people feel it like a rush of adrenaline; other magic users feel it like, well, magic. I don't actually have the control to shape it into anything useful.

There are,” she continued, “magical beings who are aware of this... ability. Elementals, Celestials... Demons: all sorts of magical beings who are more than willing to share their spells in exchange for some magical time share.

So, I make contracts – Pacts – with Celestial beings: they draw on my magic, and I get to use their spells.”

Cassandra shrugged a little, half listening to the other girl and half intent to figure out what these shapes where to represent on this star map. “ … That sounds wicked,” she laughed in good nature, while squinting and pulling the poster closer to herself. She finally, eventually, put the map back down over the case it had come from, tapping one of the symbols. “This one I know. Venus!”

Miranda leaned over the bags and cases on the bed; careful not to knock them about or down to the floor; to see the star map herself. Seeing the symbol under the girl's finger, she gave a retrained laugh, letting slip a little comment even if under a hushed breath. “That makes sense.”

Cassandra watched her, returning with a curious smirk under a turned brow. “What does that mean?”

She stalled. What did that mean? Was this girl going to hear every stupid little comment that slipped out of her mouth?

Cassandra waited a while for the answer, but as she watched Miranda painfully pull away from the question in a shy fluster the longer the silence took, she gave another laughed and walked on from it, toward her side of the room.

“So, here...” she traced a line with her finger across the room, “is the dividing line.” It was much more than half of the room on her side. She stood for a moment, tapping the same finger to her bottom lip, before taking a step back, and traced a second line. “Here.” With a smile, and a final nod, she continued. “Now, so you know, there are a few rules.”

She took her finger to point at the desk of her own spell workings. “Don't touch those,” then drawing her indication to the bag of components tied around her belt, “never touch these,” then last to the pendant that hung at her neck, “and never, ever, this. Otherwise!” She clapped her hands together, with the same smile, pulling them into her chest to rest her chin over clasped fingers. “Your free to snoop, poke, and pry to your starry-eyed content. Just tell me if you stole some of my clothes to wear, so if I ever want to sometime, I know where they are.”

She snapped in another comment, one after the other. “Oh! Tacks to hang that poster.” She turned on her heel, and made her way to the poster board over the study desk at the end of the room.

Tip-toed over the computer screens to reach, pulling free a couple tacks, she told her. “Don't worry about fitting in here. We are magic users. We are not going to fit in with anyone other than ourselves.” She looked over her shoulder to her, with a softer smile than before, a couple tacks caught between her lips that slurred her speech some. “I'm going to be the best friend you have at Westbrook.”