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okaywolfWritten to the prompt by make-up-a-wizard — wizard whose familiar is just a regular guy
Originally posted on cohost on April 29th, 2024.
“Hey now, both the steward and the secretary said he could sit in.”
There was a crackle of energy as more and more people—wizards, they were all wizards—paid attention to the situation, an assorted mix of anxiety, annoyance, and avoidance made manifest because so many wizards did a shitty job at managing their emotions—or their emotions’ connection to their powers. Some of the many wizards were turning to watch.
Dave heaved his entire lung capacity into a sigh, in part to calm himself from the literal charge of the room. He put a hand on his wizard’s shoulder, entirely ignoring the couple of pedantic shitheels at this point trying to cause a scene. “It’s fine, I’ll go to the lounge, you can come get me later.”
Dave’s wizard Betula—Birch, to Dave—turned to level her dark eyes at his. “No. They said you could sit in. This is the _third_ AGM since— I’m not having you sit with all the other familiars for who even knows how long.” Betula was short, with long black hair hiding a very impossible peekaboo dye of a swirl of celestial bodies (Dave had explained that space photos were colourized with infrared spectrum data but Betula didn’t care), and wore the wizard robe version of an outfit that would clock her as trans at the queer all-ages powerviolence shows Dave took her to (she had the not-wizard-robe version of those outfits that she wore instead, thanks to Dave knowing where and how to shop).
In work jeans and a flannel, with a scruff of facial hair (Betula had insisted Dave didn’t have to put effort in his appearance for a measly AGM of all things and had disappeared his razor before he could sneak in a shave) Dave was just a guy. Easily clocked as blue collar, he also gave the impression that he knew how to chop wood, fix a garden gate, and drink even the most miserable instant coffee.
In ten minutes, Dave is drinking the most miserable instant coffee. He pulls a face and studies the disposable cup. “You’d think they’d at least get like, an urn thing from a franchise place.”
Not quite ‘standing’ next to him at the table of refreshments, the many segments of something Dave would describe as an oversized house centipede chittered.
“I know, I know, miracle there’s even anything in here. Last year was better though.”
Last year’s Wizard Annual General Meeting took place in the sort of hotel with conference rooms and half decent coffee. Apparently that wasn’t in the budget this year. Instead, this was the sort of hotel with a small exhibition space they packed full of folding chairs and a “lounge”. The lounge was packed with familiars in a sort of coat check policy of the AGM.
Dave finds a seat between a melanated barn owl and a hive of dripping moss standing on a gnarled narrow tree trunk before catching sight of a shifting orb of velvet malachite. “Terry! You’re here! Does this mean your wizard finally escaped their pocket dimension?”
The doors to the lounge burst open two hours later, because Birch will never open a door as intended—Dave spent a lot of time rehanging doors. She scans the assortment of creatures and not creatures big, bigger and not big until she spots Dave standing up looking confused at her. “We’re leaving.”
“Already?” He checks his wristwatch. “It’s only been—“
“AGM’s cancelled,” she announces to the lounge. “Reconvening next year.”
Various familiars skitter, shake, melt, and or look— as confused as Dave.
Dave who’s now stepping cautiously through the crowd to the doors he’s pretty sure slammed through the safety stops and have their handles imbedded in the walls—he’s pretty sure they’re not having the AGM here again. “Birch, what did you do?”
She turns around and he follows her out. No one’s in the hall and there’s shouting from the exhibition space. “Now they’re all my familiars.”
Originally posted on cohost on April 29th, 2024.
“Hey now, both the steward and the secretary said he could sit in.”
There was a crackle of energy as more and more people—wizards, they were all wizards—paid attention to the situation, an assorted mix of anxiety, annoyance, and avoidance made manifest because so many wizards did a shitty job at managing their emotions—or their emotions’ connection to their powers. Some of the many wizards were turning to watch.
Dave heaved his entire lung capacity into a sigh, in part to calm himself from the literal charge of the room. He put a hand on his wizard’s shoulder, entirely ignoring the couple of pedantic shitheels at this point trying to cause a scene. “It’s fine, I’ll go to the lounge, you can come get me later.”
Dave’s wizard Betula—Birch, to Dave—turned to level her dark eyes at his. “No. They said you could sit in. This is the _third_ AGM since— I’m not having you sit with all the other familiars for who even knows how long.” Betula was short, with long black hair hiding a very impossible peekaboo dye of a swirl of celestial bodies (Dave had explained that space photos were colourized with infrared spectrum data but Betula didn’t care), and wore the wizard robe version of an outfit that would clock her as trans at the queer all-ages powerviolence shows Dave took her to (she had the not-wizard-robe version of those outfits that she wore instead, thanks to Dave knowing where and how to shop).
In work jeans and a flannel, with a scruff of facial hair (Betula had insisted Dave didn’t have to put effort in his appearance for a measly AGM of all things and had disappeared his razor before he could sneak in a shave) Dave was just a guy. Easily clocked as blue collar, he also gave the impression that he knew how to chop wood, fix a garden gate, and drink even the most miserable instant coffee.
In ten minutes, Dave is drinking the most miserable instant coffee. He pulls a face and studies the disposable cup. “You’d think they’d at least get like, an urn thing from a franchise place.”
Not quite ‘standing’ next to him at the table of refreshments, the many segments of something Dave would describe as an oversized house centipede chittered.
“I know, I know, miracle there’s even anything in here. Last year was better though.”
Last year’s Wizard Annual General Meeting took place in the sort of hotel with conference rooms and half decent coffee. Apparently that wasn’t in the budget this year. Instead, this was the sort of hotel with a small exhibition space they packed full of folding chairs and a “lounge”. The lounge was packed with familiars in a sort of coat check policy of the AGM.
Dave finds a seat between a melanated barn owl and a hive of dripping moss standing on a gnarled narrow tree trunk before catching sight of a shifting orb of velvet malachite. “Terry! You’re here! Does this mean your wizard finally escaped their pocket dimension?”
~~~
The doors to the lounge burst open two hours later, because Birch will never open a door as intended—Dave spent a lot of time rehanging doors. She scans the assortment of creatures and not creatures big, bigger and not big until she spots Dave standing up looking confused at her. “We’re leaving.”
“Already?” He checks his wristwatch. “It’s only been—“
“AGM’s cancelled,” she announces to the lounge. “Reconvening next year.”
Various familiars skitter, shake, melt, and or look— as confused as Dave.
Dave who’s now stepping cautiously through the crowd to the doors he’s pretty sure slammed through the safety stops and have their handles imbedded in the walls—he’s pretty sure they’re not having the AGM here again. “Birch, what did you do?”
She turns around and he follows her out. No one’s in the hall and there’s shouting from the exhibition space. “Now they’re all my familiars.”
