forum A Magical RP (More of an Interactive Story) (CLOSED)

Started December 21, 2019 by Deleted user

tune

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“Yes,” she answered, shutting him down entirely. He opened his eyes to squint at her, noting that she was now in front of him, suspiciously before closing them once more. “Now, who are you?”

There was really nothing he could think to say. He stayed silent.

“Let me make this easier for you. What are three ways you could think to describe yourself?”

“Right now? Uh… a bit bored, I guess, and frustrated, and, um, tired.”

“Tired? Is there any particular reason why?”

(Tell the truth/don’t answer/make an excuse)

(Unfortunately, there’s a point I’d like to get to tonight before stopping and waiting for the morning, so I’ll pick this one and you can have the next. Izzy can join us again whenever she’s free—and to Izzy, I hope you’re alright with the story so far!)

(Choice picked—don’t answer)

She clicked her tongue. “Very well, Mister Valentine. Even though you’re being stubborn, I feel like I‘m still getting to know who you are as an individual. You’re quite the interesting character, you know. Most kids that come in my room can not wait to get their Reading performed. Some have even cried with joy. It’s not unusual that one is nervous, but you don’t even seem pleased to be here. Is it possibly that Ravesson’s isn’t the right fit for you? This University’s tuition is not cheap. Isn’t it a waste to have your family’s money be spent in a place that you don’t enjoy?”

“You don’t know anything about my family,” he replied, anger bubbling through his body before settling into cool, gritty indifference.

“Mister Valentine, I did not mean to offend you. The purpose of a student’s Reading is to help them better understand themselves. It wasn’t my intention to interrupt that process.” Something patted his knee; it was her hand. “You are right. I do not know your family. I know vague things about your father, and… well, let’s not go into that. This isn’t about your family, after all. It’s about you. Relax, Mister Valentine, please, and take a couple of breaths.”

He took her advice and breathed in slowly. The smell of burning candles wafted through the air, bringing him peace.

”Now, tell me what you want at this moment.”

(“I want this to be over.”/“I want to be left alone.”/“I want to feel better.”/“I want to paint.”)

For a woman who seemingly always had something to say, Mistress Frida was suddenly quiet. Cecil shifted around nervously. A bead of sweat slid down the back of his neck. He was sure he was doing something wrong, and yet he’d done exactly as she’d said.

“Mister Valentine, I… your answer overwhelmed me, I am sorry. You see, my ability is rather rare. It allows me to have a very strong sense of one’s feelings and traits. That’s why I perform Readings and not any of the other professors. Sometimes, however, I wish I could do something more. I wish I could help you students out. I wish I was able to make you feel better.”

“It’s alright.” And it was. He’d had lows worse than how he was at the moment; he could take it.

There was a shuffling across from him, and then the room fell quiet. The only sounds in it were the crackling of the candles and the sounds of their breathing.

“Your ability is shining through. I can see that now. Are you ready to find out what it is?”

“I think so.”

“Mister Valentine, you have the ability to (manipulate light or darkness/turn invisible/heal/summon weapons).”

His brow immediately creased. She surely was joking. Both his father and his grandfather had the ability to summon weapons. The only person he knew out of everyone he’d met over the years that could manipulate lightness or darkness was his mother, and she barely even used her ability. Besides, it wasn’t as if he needed to be reminded of her anymore than he already was. Wasn’t looking in the mirror every morning enough? Could he not get by with just the occasional bad dream? Now he had to have her power, too?

All of the contents of his stomach threatened to come up at once, but he forced them to stay down. Rivers of sweat trickled down his back in much greater quantities than before, and, unlike earlier on the lawn, he suddenly couldn’t get warm enough.

He opened his eyes. Mistress Frida was there, looking concerned, with something in her hand. Blearily, he blinked. She was holding a handkerchief out to him. He took it, wiped his face, and laughed bitterly under his breath.

“Can I go now? Please?”

“Of course.”

Without looking back, he got up and made for the door, her handkerchief dropping from his grip and drifting to the floor. He ran so fast through the fancy, stuffy halls that he was sure people would talk badly of him, but he didn’t care. There was no way he’d stop until he got somewhere quiet.

The moment he sat down behind one of the hedges, he heard footsteps. Naturally, he ignored them. His heart rate was too fast to be worried about whoever was passing by.

The footsteps didn’t go away, not even after five minutes. They led right up to him. He finally looked up at whoever it was and found (Naomi/new kid) staring right at him.”

The student was tall and slim with sepia skin, hair the color of coffee, and dark freckles galore. Cecil couldn’t decide what was stranger: the crooked grin he wore or his actual outfit, which consisted of a loose shirt, brown pants that were just a bit too big, and a ragged, pale yellow cloak that he had tied around his neck.

“Making friends with th’ hedges, are we?” His accent was extremely strange. There was a weird lilt to it, a sort of sound that made some of his words blur together.

To his question Cecil couldn’t even manage a reply. He had no idea who the kid was, and he didn’t plan to answer him.

“Ay, don’t worry. I won’t tell anybody. Much like these,” he patted the leaves of one bush with admiration clear in his face, “I’m great at keeping secrets.”

Great, Cecil thought, watching as the kid threw himself down beside him. Clearly he wasn’t going to leave anytime soon.

(Say nothing/“Who are you?”)