I. Welcome to Paradise Ronstadt had gotten all of his freak-out out of his system when he'd turned around in the desert and found himself suddenly standing in a grassy meadow that looked like it had been filmed somewhere in New Zealand. The trek to the Magicademy had given him plenty of time to think. Whatever Side B shenanigans had caused this, even if it had been his overachieving attempt at the Sparkle Party spell ... he wasn't entirely unhappy about it. A place that taught magic was pretty much exactly what he needed.
So he parks himself like the perfect wallflower on the edge of the pie fighting and dummy stabbing, a scrawny blond with hair like electrified linguini in skinny black jeans, checkered Vans, and a well-worn Ramones t-shirt. Anyone who looks at him will get a friendly tip of the head and a little wave.
"Hey, man. What's happenin'?"
II. Fake It Ronstadt figured that his Craydar would be able to warn him if he was buying a wand that did anything particularly nasty, so he concentrated as he stared down at the briefcase, consulting his trusty mental roommate, HeadVox, for advice.
"Beats da hell outta me, mon," Vox said, his Rasta accent full of bewilderment. "Ain't seen magic like dis."
Great. Well, he supposes it's no worse than Shot Roulette night at the Hula Shaker, and new magic is new magic. It wouldn't be the first time he had to learn from his mistakes. He pays the kid and selects a thin, whippy piece of hazel, the handle curved just right to fit his hand. Feels like it's meant for me. That's a good sign, right?
He takes it outside, onto the grounds, just in case, and gives it a perfunctory flick. Whoever's closest may find that their shoelaces have tied themselves together. Whether they find it out the easy way, or the hard way, however ...
III. Deal Me In When someone asked him if he wanted to play cards, Ronstadt had agreed, thinking he was getting roped into poker, maybe blackjack, or, if they were feeling really oldschool, Uno.
The deck that had been crammed into his hands was way beyond him.
"So, uh ... wait. If it says 'instant' I can play it right away, right?"
Whoever's sitting across from him might be in for a long game.
IV. Go Big or Go Home Demonstrating a spell hadn't seemed like a big deal to Ronstadt. He knew he had power - power enough to turn a simple party spell from home into something more like an Aurora Borealis. So it was just a case of learning how to control it. He'd studied his notes extensively, to the point that he was seeing the runes in his sleep. It was a little different than casting with words, the way Hattie had been beginning to teach him, but ... he had a feeling he could still knock it out of the park.
The spell in question was meant to be a simple light spell, and the professor had dimmed the classroom so that students' results - meant to mimic a small candle or lantern - would be easily assessed. Ronstadt put the last few strokes on his rune diagram, blew on the ink so that it would dry, and hovered a hand over the sigil, concentrating on his power, drawing it up through his feet, his legs, his arm, down through to his fingers.
Ronstadt || Ronstadt (podcast)
Ronstadt had gotten all of his freak-out out of his system when he'd turned around in the desert and found himself suddenly standing in a grassy meadow that looked like it had been filmed somewhere in New Zealand. The trek to the Magicademy had given him plenty of time to think. Whatever Side B shenanigans had caused this, even if it had been his overachieving attempt at the Sparkle Party spell ... he wasn't entirely unhappy about it. A place that taught magic was pretty much exactly what he needed.
So he parks himself like the perfect wallflower on the edge of the pie fighting and dummy stabbing, a scrawny blond with hair like electrified linguini in skinny black jeans, checkered Vans, and a well-worn Ramones t-shirt. Anyone who looks at him will get a friendly tip of the head and a little wave.
"Hey, man. What's happenin'?"
II. Fake It
Ronstadt figured that his Craydar would be able to warn him if he was buying a wand that did anything particularly nasty, so he concentrated as he stared down at the briefcase, consulting his trusty mental roommate, HeadVox, for advice.
"Beats da hell outta me, mon," Vox said, his Rasta accent full of bewilderment. "Ain't seen magic like dis."
Great. Well, he supposes it's no worse than Shot Roulette night at the Hula Shaker, and new magic is new magic. It wouldn't be the first time he had to learn from his mistakes. He pays the kid and selects a thin, whippy piece of hazel, the handle curved just right to fit his hand. Feels like it's meant for me. That's a good sign, right?
He takes it outside, onto the grounds, just in case, and gives it a perfunctory flick. Whoever's closest may find that their shoelaces have tied themselves together. Whether they find it out the easy way, or the hard way, however ...
III. Deal Me In
When someone asked him if he wanted to play cards, Ronstadt had agreed, thinking he was getting roped into poker, maybe blackjack, or, if they were feeling really oldschool, Uno.
The deck that had been crammed into his hands was way beyond him.
"So, uh ... wait. If it says 'instant' I can play it right away, right?"
Whoever's sitting across from him might be in for a long game.
IV. Go Big or Go Home
Demonstrating a spell hadn't seemed like a big deal to Ronstadt. He knew he had power - power enough to turn a simple party spell from home into something more like an Aurora Borealis. So it was just a case of learning how to control it. He'd studied his notes extensively, to the point that he was seeing the runes in his sleep. It was a little different than casting with words, the way Hattie had been beginning to teach him, but ... he had a feeling he could still knock it out of the park.
The spell in question was meant to be a simple light spell, and the professor had dimmed the classroom so that students' results - meant to mimic a small candle or lantern - would be easily assessed. Ronstadt put the last few strokes on his rune diagram, blew on the ink so that it would dry, and hovered a hand over the sigil, concentrating on his power, drawing it up through his feet, his legs, his arm, down through to his fingers.
The next thing he knew, the table was on fire.
"Shit--!"