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3 sentence ficathon fills, Magicians edition
Having finished the books today, I decided to check out some prompts for inspiration. These contain spoilers - large ones in the case of the second one. Both are kinda cracky, but, well, see the source material.
13.
Any, any, character(s) meeting their mirror universe counterpart
"Your hair's white," the other Quentin said. "How old are you, anyway?" He reached out to poke at it, because of course he did, which meant Quentin was already in the act of smacking his hand away. His other self looked hurt and slightly petulant.
"Not that much older than you," he said resentfully, though in truth the other Quentin was definitely himself at some earlier point, younger and twitchier and very ... well ... him. Seeing himself from the outside was bringing back Quentin's old self-loathing in a very unpleasant way; he kept wanting to tell himself to stand up straight and brush his hair out of his eyes and stop doing that thing with his hands for God's sake.
Also, Quentin really felt as if he should look taller. Maybe everyone looked shorter from the outside.
14.
Any, Any, Wasn't there a Leonard Cohen song about this?
"Are you fucking kidding me?" Plum demanded. Her hands moved quickly, reinforcing the shield on the door just as something slammed into the other side with a splintery thunk that shook the rafters. "No, there is not a Leonard Cohen song about a town populated entirely by sentient, carnivorous furniture, are you high."
"Regrettably not at the moment, and it has been a pillar of my existence for thirty-one years that there's a Leonard Cohen song for every situation!" Eliot shot back. He liked Plum. He could see why Quentin got along with her so well. She had completely taken it in stride that she was now in a magic fantasy land and most of her peers here were kings and queens and in one case a (three-quarters) demigoddess. He suspected he wouldn't have handled it nearly as well at her age.
Right now they were holed up on the second floor of a large stone house in a town that Eliot was strongly tempted to put down as IKEA on the official Fillorian maps. He took a look out the heavily spelled window and discovered a tower of footstools trying to stack high enough to reach their location, as well as a small and nimble table climbing the wall, spiderlike. A muttered incantation in Ancient Akkadian put a quick stop to that, thank you; the wall turned to ice, and the table scrabbled wildly like a Looney Tunes character before falling into the ascending footstools, sending them all down in a heap of sprawling legs and spilled cushions. Nice one if he did say so himself.
It would have been far easier if he and Plum could have used high-powered defensive spells, or medium-powered, or hell, even a simple firestarting charm. But after their first volley of lightning bolts had set an entire bedroom set aflame, they had decided by mutually unspoken consent that the high squealing sounds of pain that the furniture made as it burned was far too unnerving (he'd extinguished it out of pity and was rewarded by a slightly singed Queen Anne chair kicking him in the kneecap; he was still limping). And anyway, it was conduct unbehooving the High King of Fillory to set his subjects on fire, even if they were trying to eat him.
Exploring the altered landscape was probably something he should be delegating, but YOLO; it was fun. Nu!Fillory, as Janet insisted on calling it (you could even hear the exclamation point, an impressive trick) was just different enough from OG Fillory (Janet again) that you never could be quite sure what you were going to run into. Even places they'd been before were different now, and the maps no longer matched the new geography.
Plum joined him at the window. "Would you call that a divan or a chaise lounge?" she asked as a larger item experimentally risked the wall, only to slide down again.
"Really more of a daybed, I'd say."
The footstools were regrouping. They had gotten a sheet from somewhere and were drawing it tight between them, trampoline style. They seemed brighter than the rest, Eliot thought. Perhaps they had a sort of collective intelligence, like ants. He watched a footstool spring into the middle of the trampoline and tumble wildly past the window. Their aim was terrible, but they seemed to be learning fast.
"I hope Janet gets here soon with those hippogriffs."
13.
Any, any, character(s) meeting their mirror universe counterpart
"Your hair's white," the other Quentin said. "How old are you, anyway?" He reached out to poke at it, because of course he did, which meant Quentin was already in the act of smacking his hand away. His other self looked hurt and slightly petulant.
"Not that much older than you," he said resentfully, though in truth the other Quentin was definitely himself at some earlier point, younger and twitchier and very ... well ... him. Seeing himself from the outside was bringing back Quentin's old self-loathing in a very unpleasant way; he kept wanting to tell himself to stand up straight and brush his hair out of his eyes and stop doing that thing with his hands for God's sake.
Also, Quentin really felt as if he should look taller. Maybe everyone looked shorter from the outside.
14.
Any, Any, Wasn't there a Leonard Cohen song about this?
"Are you fucking kidding me?" Plum demanded. Her hands moved quickly, reinforcing the shield on the door just as something slammed into the other side with a splintery thunk that shook the rafters. "No, there is not a Leonard Cohen song about a town populated entirely by sentient, carnivorous furniture, are you high."
"Regrettably not at the moment, and it has been a pillar of my existence for thirty-one years that there's a Leonard Cohen song for every situation!" Eliot shot back. He liked Plum. He could see why Quentin got along with her so well. She had completely taken it in stride that she was now in a magic fantasy land and most of her peers here were kings and queens and in one case a (three-quarters) demigoddess. He suspected he wouldn't have handled it nearly as well at her age.
Right now they were holed up on the second floor of a large stone house in a town that Eliot was strongly tempted to put down as IKEA on the official Fillorian maps. He took a look out the heavily spelled window and discovered a tower of footstools trying to stack high enough to reach their location, as well as a small and nimble table climbing the wall, spiderlike. A muttered incantation in Ancient Akkadian put a quick stop to that, thank you; the wall turned to ice, and the table scrabbled wildly like a Looney Tunes character before falling into the ascending footstools, sending them all down in a heap of sprawling legs and spilled cushions. Nice one if he did say so himself.
It would have been far easier if he and Plum could have used high-powered defensive spells, or medium-powered, or hell, even a simple firestarting charm. But after their first volley of lightning bolts had set an entire bedroom set aflame, they had decided by mutually unspoken consent that the high squealing sounds of pain that the furniture made as it burned was far too unnerving (he'd extinguished it out of pity and was rewarded by a slightly singed Queen Anne chair kicking him in the kneecap; he was still limping). And anyway, it was conduct unbehooving the High King of Fillory to set his subjects on fire, even if they were trying to eat him.
Exploring the altered landscape was probably something he should be delegating, but YOLO; it was fun. Nu!Fillory, as Janet insisted on calling it (you could even hear the exclamation point, an impressive trick) was just different enough from OG Fillory (Janet again) that you never could be quite sure what you were going to run into. Even places they'd been before were different now, and the maps no longer matched the new geography.
Plum joined him at the window. "Would you call that a divan or a chaise lounge?" she asked as a larger item experimentally risked the wall, only to slide down again.
"Really more of a daybed, I'd say."
The footstools were regrouping. They had gotten a sheet from somewhere and were drawing it tight between them, trampoline style. They seemed brighter than the rest, Eliot thought. Perhaps they had a sort of collective intelligence, like ants. He watched a footstool spring into the middle of the trampoline and tumble wildly past the window. Their aim was terrible, but they seemed to be learning fast.
"I hope Janet gets here soon with those hippogriffs."