bristol-korred

[bristol-korred]

I’m a Librarian now 8^)

[bristol-korred]

Just woke up in a cold sweat with the intense urge to log onto a long-dead social networking account and declare how much I love my wife to the depths of the internet. 

I love her a lot.

Magic is weird. 

[bristol-korred]

Was it possible for a cell phone to ring timidly? The call, as luck would have it, happened to be from a certain wingless teenager.

Tracy’s phone was always loud - even for Flora’s call, it was disruptive. He picked it up quickly, shouldering it as he stepped quickly down the long hallway “Hullo?” 

#this actually gave me a frighten because my immediate thought was #Twig????? #TWIG IS THAT YOU????? #and then going through my head to try to remember who picked up a twig rp #and then I went through a mental list of faerie teenagers #there aren't many #and let me tell you Flora is definitely the most pleasant option of the three #there was A Sigh of Relief

[bristol-korred]

tumblr sure is recommending some bizarre blogs nowadays huh

#out of magic #mostly #i laughed #its not an rp blog dont try to rp with that account #i mean #idk who's still around but lmao #for those of u who are #i guess??

[bristol-korred]

“Little bit of both, I think. But that’s enough questions for now, I think. Carry on with your, uhm... gardening.” He cleared his throat lightly, clasping his hands behind his back. He wasn’t as thick as he figured these two must have thought him; he could tell they sensed something was amiss with him, and he had every intention of getting out of dodge before they put two and two together.  

Tracy gave them both a nod, and turned on his heel, ding his very best not to look back at them. Look back and everything would fall to bits. He wasn’t sure why he thought that, but there it was. 

Tracy took a few steps, shoving his hands in his pants pockets and stopped dead, a flash of something unusual catching his eye in the greenery. 

He turned back to them, facing them against his better judgement. “Tell you lot what. Top marks on the, uh... surprise evaluation. Now you, go teach her a proper barrier spell. From... the other side of the doors, mind you. Inspector’s orders, mates,” he nodded smartly.

Tracy held a hand up, hoping to bring the chatter to a halt. “Hold on, hold on. Just a mo. You say you don’t have clearance? For defensive spellwork? That’s the most ludicrous thing I’ve ever heard! Wot kind of - clearance, really?” 

Never mind their bickering, what Tracy was really interested in was the situation surrounding them. A lock down, magical restrictions, Unseelie in the area… it was all a bit much. It made him a bit dizzy just to think about, which wasn’t truly that difficult considering his headache still hadn’t quite subsided yet. 

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yes. Right, of course. Glamours, understood. But - last time I checked, mates, the Citadel had its own defenses. The Queen doesn’t allow glamours inside the walls, the whole place is enchanted up to its ears by the staff, innit? What could possibly have her so spooked that she’s got her gardeners locking the exits?” 

Tracy knew, of course: any threat of the Unseelie came with the Unseelie Queen following close behind. But something, some improbability itched away at the back of his mind. 

“The Unseelie Queen,” he started, deliberately, trying to make sense of it all. “In’t she gone? All her little monsters - shouldn’t be a problem anymore. Why now?” 

#gingerplnk #ARRIVES FIFTEEN HOURS LATE WITH STARBUCKS #YES HI HELLO I AM HERE

[bristol-korred]

Tracy held a hand up, hoping to bring the chatter to a halt. “Hold on, hold on. Just a mo. You say you don’t have clearance? For defensive spellwork? That’s the most ludicrous thing I’ve ever heard! Wot kind of - clearance, really?” 

Never mind their bickering, what Tracy was really interested in was the situation surrounding them. A lock down, magical restrictions, Unseelie in the area... it was all a bit much. It made him a bit dizzy just to think about, which wasn’t truly that difficult considering his headache still hadn’t quite subsided yet. 

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yes. Right, of course. Glamours, understood. But - last time I checked, mates, the Citadel had its own defenses. The Queen doesn’t allow glamours inside the walls, the whole place is enchanted up to its ears by the staff, innit? What could possibly have her so spooked that she’s got her gardeners locking the exits?” 

Tracy knew, of course: any threat of the Unseelie came with the Unseelie Queen following close behind. But something, some improbability itched away at the back of his mind. 

“The Unseelie Queen,” he started, deliberately, trying to make sense of it all. “In’t she gone? All her little monsters - shouldn’t be a problem anymore. Why now?” 

“I told you,” said the yellow-wing. “I bloody told you! Let me do the locks, I said. Just let me finish up on the watering schedule and I can do it in a minute, I said! You know you can’t do locks properly! But noooo, no, Kalanchoe has to do it on her own, Mab forbid anybody suggest she-”

“Oh, come off your high unicorn, you���d have been about your precious schedules for hours, and the doors wouldn’t have been locked at all if you’d had any say in it. I wrote to the Council,” said the purplewing, turning indignantly to Tracy, “I told them that none of us have clearance for this sort of defensive spellwork, you can’t just enforce these things and then not even provide proper training!”

She folded her arms, crossly.

“D’you think I budded yesterday? We don’t know what the threat is, do we? If this was a real Unseelie threat it could look like anything. ‘Be aware- They’re everywhere,’ right?”

#gingerplnk #something's wrong with my chrome its like #hyper refreshing

[bristol-korred]

Well that certainly put a damper on his stroll through the garden. The idea that they were running routine Unseelie Threat lock downs planted an unease in his chest - and the knowledge that he wasn’t there to test them, that he had no part in the operation of the lock down and yet they were in lock down anyway, fed it, letting it grow into a knot of anxiety. 

“Sealed and accounted for?” he asked, stiffly, tearing his attention from the looming, active threat these two were apparently here to patrol against. “Against what, a toddler? Bloody locks came undone with no problems, whatsoever! Simple second tier reversal spell. And no enchantments, from what I could tell. Nothing stopping anyone from... apparating right in here!”

Tracy didn’t like the fact that they had mistaken him for authority on the lock down, but he wasn’t going to pass up the opportunity to understand what in Mab’s name was going on. So long as they thought he was here to check on them, there wouldn’t be a problem. 

“Right. So, you lot. Aloe, and... you. Exactly what kind of Unseelie threat are we faced with in an Onyx Special Alert?” 

The Unseelie were a dark and dangerous threat, and if the Queen was taking this kind of precautions against them, they must have come into the borders, dragged themselves up out of the dark lands below, and for some Fairy-forsaken reason, were trying to infiltrate the Citadel. 

He doubted it, but maybe these two could give him some sort of clue about his court-appointed quest. 

The two groundskeepers looked at Tracy’s card. The purplewing’s perfectly-trimmed eyebrows made a bid to ascend into the perfectly-trimmed topiary over their heads. The other fiddled with his rake, as if he was fairly glad he wasn’t going to have to use it.

They looked at each other.

“So it is a drill,” said the purplewing. She let out a heavy sigh. “Figures.”

“Honestly,” said the other, snappishly. “I don’t know how they expect us to get anything done down here from one day to the next. It feels like every five minutes it’s another drill, or a test, or-“

“Shut up, Aloe,” the purplewing hissed, giving him a sharp prod in the hip with the handle of her wand. “He might be testing us right now.”

“I’m just saying-“

“This is an Onyx Special Alert,” his companion cut in. She spoke directly to Tracy, in a bored monotone which suggested she was repeating the words from rote. “Increased likelihood of an Unseelie attack, but no defined target. Safety cannot be guaranteed, all non-essential civilian areas under lockdown. For us, that means that nobody goes in or out of the Gardens until it’s lifted, and all Garden personnel have to be accompanied by at least one other employee at all times. Plus, all possible points of entry have to be sealed and accounted for.” She glanced back along the pathway. “There’s only two.”

#gingerplnk

[bristol-korred]

Several things about this exchange failed to escape Tracy; for starters, the woman’s tone. It was hardly anything he wasn’t used to by now, but still. Mab alive lady, show a little professionalism.

Although to be fair, this wasn’t exactly a shining moment for him, either. He hated to admit to these two that he didn’t exactly know why he was here. But he was here on official business, and that was enough a reason for him to be there - at least, in his head it was. They might take a little convincing. 

“Ah - believe me, mates, that’s what I said! But--” he flashed the shimmering seal of the Royal Court that was printed on the card. “Her Majesty seems to have other ideas. Straight from the Cabbots themselves! No higher authority. Certainly not compared to a pair of groundskeepers.” he said smartly.

“But, ah--” he cleared his throat, tucking the card away again. “Let’s say I didn’t know about the lockdown. Exactly what sort of lockdown are we looking at?”  

Both Fae started, whipping round. The purplewing went for the wand in the belt of her heavy leather groundskeeper’s apron, the other- a harassed-looking yellow-wing- clutched at his only available weapon, a flimsy garden rake. Seeing only Tracy, they lowered their weapons a little and glared at him.

“The Gardens are closed,” said one, smoothing her ruffled cilia. The tone of her voice added a silent postscript; to you.

“Haven’t you heard about the lockdown?” The other straightened, giving Tracy a look at once snotty and officious. Parking his rake in the gravel like a spear, he waved irritably towards the distant towers of the Citadel, the spires rising through the sunset clouds beyond the walls.

“So what if it’s just another drill, you can’t just go waltzing in wherever you like. What’re you doing in here anyway? You’re Admin, aren’t you? Shouldn’t you be filing something?”

#i am very tired i apologize in advance for this reply #gingerplnk

[bristol-korred]

[sneaks up behind you and jumps on your back] hi boo!

OoF!!

Well!!

Hullo there Mrs. Aberdeen! Long time no see, eh? 

#ladychraelix

[bristol-korred]

Leaves crunched beneath his feet, old dried twigs and debris littering the paved pathway he walked. He moved slowly and uncertainly - he’d made it to the garden, and now he was out of options. The card hadn’t said what to do in the Gardens; he’d mostly assumed he was meant to meet someone there. But the garden was, it seemed, abandoned. 

This put him at a disadvantage. He didn’t know what the Queen wanted from him. How was he supposed to find her, with no one about in the Gardens to clue him in? The card hadn’t been too terribly useful; as far as he could tell, he was on his own now, and that was never something that ended well around him, it seemed. 

He froze, half turned around one of the big braided trunks that stretched up into the canopy; he could hear a voice.

“I don’t know, can’t you... enchant a vine, or something? If creepers from Tia Dorche can hold a plain old Faerie...” 

Maybe not as abandoned as Tracy had thought. 

His hands trembled a bit as he pulled the card from his vest pocket again; whoever they were, they sounded very official with all their talk of secured gates and arrests. He didn’t want to be caught on the wrong end of a misunderstanding when they found a Caseworker Faerie in the Queen’s gardens.

“Do you really thing any plain old creepers would hold a Faerie from Tia Dorche?” 

“I suppose not...”

“Hullo!” 

It was loud and sudden and about a half an octave higher than he’d meant for it to come out, but there it was. More of a proper meeting than he’d had all day. 

Thick ivy hung in curtains across the arches on the other side of the gallery. Uncertainly, Fern stepped across the narrow and dusty floor, stifling a sneeze that jarred her sore head.

“How long since anyone was up here?” She reached out and parted the branches, fought their interlocked bristles apart, coarse as horsehair under her hands.

Here was the sky that had dyed the rotunda such a deep rich rose, an evening sky burning with brilliant colors. Fern gazed, bewildered, out over a sculpted expanse of ornamental gardens, lawns, hedges clipped into intricate shapes, sundials, high rose-strung walls. The side of her head stabbed at her, and she blinked a few times, hard.

“Where am-”

The voices again, sudden and almost immediately below. She ducked, dropping the branches back into place. Part of her upbraided the rest for being so silly- wasn’t she lost? Shouldn’t she go down there, ask for help?- but an unknown queasy panic held her fast, and instead she crouched with her wings flattened against her back, listening. 

“-who knows, but we’ve secured the gates.” The first voice was male, deep and a little jittery. “Just keep your eyes peeled. Anyone here who shouldn’t be.”

A second voice, female, irate. “Oh, yeah? And what are we supposed to do if it’s her? Citizen’s arrest? Because I don’t know about you, but I’m only authorized for Level Two horticultural enchantments and I don’t think that’d stop her, do you?”

Anyone here who shouldn’t be? 

Fern swallowed. She really, really didn’t like the sound of that.

#gingerplnk

[bristol-korred]

Tracy’s headache hadn’t subsided, but the fog had lifted somewhat, leaving him functioning enough to at least put pieces together. He had enough sense about him to understand what the letter wanted from him. 

He’d gotten lost along the way. It wasn’t very often that he visited the gardens - he wasn’t the sort meant to be down here.The path had him all turned around, and it took him longer than he would have liked to admit to find the gardens at all. 

The card had been tucked away inside his vest, burning against his chest. The Queen in the Garden. It had been the last line of the card, and by far the most confusing. It hadn’t made sense, at first; but what else could he do but head to the Gardens? It was the closest thing he had resembling a plan of action, after all. 

He came to a stop outside the great doors leading to the garden, feeling the warmth just behind. It wasn’t a great wonder that they kept this locked. By all rights, it was the Queen’s garden. Folk like him weren’t strictly allowed inside, but he figured this was an exception if nothing else. He plucked his wand from his hip, running it along the length of the door, just between the two great golden handles. 

With a click, it unlocked, and Tracy pushed himself through easily. 

The Allegiance of Dana, a plaque on the outer door read, in curling, graven script. Fern traced it with her hand as she pushed the door cautiously open, stepping from the rotunda into a long, dark marble hall. The floor was checkered, the checkers twisting in sweeping curves. Her small footsteps echoed as she made her way further from the reddish slant of light spilling from the door she’d left.

The high ceiling was deep in shadow, turning the golden plaster a deep shimmery black. Reaching the far end of the hall, Fern met with her first problem. The door, heavier and taller than the one she’d come from, was locked. She turned, biting her lip. There had been no other doors out of the rotunda…

A high gallery ran the length of the hall, perhaps twenty feet above the floor. The parapet was sturdy stone, the columns widely-spaced and strong. Fern judged the distance, glanced back at the rosy door, then hopped into the air and flitted up to the balcony. 

She could hear voices, somewhere nearby.

#gingerplnk

[bristol-korred]

That’s right. See? Old as dirt, I am. Shame. 

Now listen here, luv, you’re absolutely fine. None of that “acting like a REAL adult” nonsense. You’re doing perfectly fine. Adulthood is a lot more than just being on your own, you know. Plus, home’s important! No sense abandoning it completely, just to be “an adult.” 

Posh, listen to me going on! You’re doing brilliantly, luv, that’s what I’m trying to say! What are you going to college for, anyway? Sounds a bit like that high school thing you did way back when. 

We don’t have Faerie College, no. We’ve got the academy, which offers basic education and tooth faerie training, and afterwards we’ve got apprenticeships. Sort of like, how you’d learn a specific trade, just instead of going to school for it, you learn one on one! 

:0 TRACY UR ALIVE!! i missed u

Last time I checked, yes! Was I gone long? Sorry luv, been busy like you wouldn’t believe up here in Fairyland! 

It’s so good to see - er… hear from you, luv! How’ve you been?? Besides apparently mourning ol muggins here, heh. 

[bristol-korred]

Thank you, come again. Don't forget to tell all your fairy friends to come on down to Uncle Whispy the Elf's Fairy Depot where me & my employees and staff have all of your fairy needs from wands, outfits, crowns and jewelry to magic powder, wing polish, & more. Uncle Whispy the Elf's Fairy Depot. "Where quality & magic count for we help because we care." Our stores nearest to you are located in 264 Tinsel Drive at the Sugarplum Plaza & 732 Lollipop Lane on Exit 5.

“Great. How’d I get caught up in product placement!?”

#wh #wot did I just read

[bristol-korred]

Oi, grandma!! Don’t you have better things to be doing in class besides talking to me?

But Mab alive, if you’re old then that makes me positively ancient! College, eh? Goodness, seems like yesterday you were a wee thing, just barely old enough to fly. 

Well.

Metaphorically, I mean.

Anyway! College! Brilliant! Wonderful! Wot sort of things do humans do in college, then?  

:0 TRACY UR ALIVE!! i missed u

Last time I checked, yes! Was I gone long? Sorry luv, been busy like you wouldn’t believe up here in Fairyland! 

It’s so good to see - er… hear from you, luv! How’ve you been?? Besides apparently mourning ol muggins here, heh. 

[bristol-korred]

:0 TRACY UR ALIVE!! i missed u

Last time I checked, yes! Was I gone long? Sorry luv, been busy like you wouldn’t believe up here in Fairyland! 

It’s so good to see - er... hear from you, luv! How’ve you been?? Besides apparently mourning ol muggins here, heh. 

#elizuhspookler

[bristol-korred]

Nervous fingers tugged at the cuffs of his sleeves, adjusting them once before moving to straightened out the creases in his vest, running over the material as though he were trying to brush himself off of dust. Satisfied, he tugged at his cuffs again, then straightened his tie.

He took a deep breath.

This was nothing to worry about, he tried to convince himself as he slowly felt his calculating and calm demeanor slipping. The gilded halls of the Citadel were spacious, but suddenly felt remarkably claustrophobic in that moment. Fae buzzed about, paying him no mind as they went about their duties around the brilliant and ancient stronghold. He was caught in a sea of pastel pinks and blues and butter yellows, and it almost made his head spin as he tried to keep his train of thought.

It was the Age of Gold in Arcadia; golden reign, golden peace, gilded white marble walls stretching further than the eye could see as the twisting, winding interior of the Citadel glittered. Halls upon halls, all bustling with life. Fae of all walks of life, winged and wingless, shone like a rainbow inside the pristine stronghold. And at the helm of it all was the Queen.

She was a poise and regal Faerie if there ever were one. She was a Faerie of her years, with an air befitting a queen; but for all her grace, Tracy couldn’t help but feel like she was making one monstrous mistake. He’d read the card over and over again, but could barely make sense of the words. He understood it well enough, of course, but it was so far removed from reason that it may as well have been gibberish to him. 

He’d not gotten the chance to ask the Cabbots anything regarding the hand he’d been dealt, but he knew that he was terribly unequipped for the task that she had assigned him. It was an impossible task - his colleagues knew it, and his superiors knew it, and that’s why, ultimately, the responsibility had fallen on his shoulders. There was no way - it was too vast, too impossible, too out of his reach. 

The Queen, in all her well-meaning, had placed the fate of Faekind directly into Tracy’s hands, worn with a thousand tiny white scars from a thousand tiny papercuts born of a lifetime of filing papers. Certainly, he was the last person qualified for work of this nature.

Somewhere beyond the white marble walls of the great stronghold lurked a threat to the Seelie Queendom of Arcadia, to the very nature of Faekind itself, and The Quen had, in no uncertain terms, painted a very grim picture of what would happen were he to fail.

With a steadying breath that only made his head rush, Tracy stepped out of the great doors of the Citadel, into the ethereal sunlight that bathed Arcadia in a warm golden glow through the lingering clouds.

There was a cool, pleasant breeze, but Tracy couldn’t help but shiver, unable to keep but from feeling like the very world they resided in could feel that a great unrest had taken place, and that something was very, very wrong.

She was out there somewhere.

Fern opened her eyes into a blaze of color, and immediately squeezed them shut, moaning. There was a throbbing point of pressure behind her eyes, a knot of pain in her left temple, like a pulsing cluster of thorns.

The surface against her cheek was wonderfully cold. She felt it, blindly, found a hard, sleek curve and a falling-away. She could hear the sound of water, close by.

She sat up, slowly,  easing her crumpled wings and pressing a small hand into her left eye. Risking a squint through the other, she made out a dazzling glitter of glass and light, the softer shadows of leaves. The marble beneath her was pale and beautifully carved, stained here and there with spots of red that looked ruby-pink in the light around her- the trembling, stained-glass light. There was more red smeared on her palm when she took it from her eye. She explored upwards with shaky fingers, into the tangled curls of her hair, and found a place that felt slippery and crusted at the edges. Just one touch sent a bolt of pain backwards into her skull. She made a small noise of pain, and put her hands down, looking dizzily about her.

“What… happened?”

She seemed to be in a small conservatory-garden, a rotunda beneath a ceiling of glass. Water ran between the pillars in two clear streams to a shallow pool, feeding banks of plants and moss piled against the frescoed walls. She stared at the forms and figures without comprehension, then looked up at the structure above her. From the cupped marble palms that held her, graceful arms and regal, gently inclined face, the statue of a woman in simple robes stooped to the water, her wings folded behind her.

A small trail of debris, for want of a better word, lay scattered in the bowl of the carved hands around her and over the marble floor. A pink highlighter, a hagstone, a mess of wrappers and bits of string, a conker on a tangled thong, scraps of plastic and paper. Her pockets- her pockets?- seemed to have exploded, turned themselves inside out across the room.

Fern slid painfully from the polished palms and found her feet, wobbling a bit as she followed the trail, scooping up the mess as she went and piling it back into the pockets of her dress. At the water’s edge, with the edge of her sleeve and a very careful touch, she dabbled the blood from her face and explored the edges of the wound on her temple. Her reflection, freckled and pale and very worried-looking, swam in and out of focus as she disturbed the water.

The statue bothered her the most. It looked like someone very important. You’d have to be, to have a statue made of you, especially one as big as that, one big enough to catch a small Fae in its cupped palms. 

The problem was, she had no idea who it was supposed to be.

#gingerplnk

[bristol-korred]

The fluorescent lights hurt. They were impossibly bright, impossibly strong. He groaned, pushing his glasses up and rubbing at his eyes. His head hurt something awful. The power nap seemed to have done more harm than help, if this was his reward. But Mab alive, he was exhausted. He felt like he could sleep for another decade, at least, but the moment he came to, he could hear the phones in the office across the hall, and the smell of ink and starch white paperwork hit him with the full force of a speeding wyvern. 

He had work to do. 

Groggily, Tracy picked his head up, still barely able to see straight as clumsy fingers began to pull papers from the neatly organized bins at the front of his desk. There were more than than was entirely reasonable - more than he remembered letting accumulate - but his head was still cloudy and not much but a few words on the document made any sense. 

Blearily, he signed the appropriate fields and placed it in the out basket. 

He reached again, the process repetitive and redundant, mechanical work as his head began to clear, and what his spindly fingers pulled from the bin. He heard footsteps, the click of heels on marble outside his office door, and the click of the lock as someone entered unannounced. 

“Yes, hullo mate, very busy - so if you don’t mind, just leaving the papers and-” 

“Mr. Aberdeen.” A curt, feminine voice cut him off, and he looked up. Before him were a pair of twins, prim and proper and regally dressed in darker tones than anything any Tooth Faerie would wear. He sat rigid immediately, fully awake now. “I do hope we’re not interrupting anything too important.”

Tracy sat dumbfounded in his seat, staring up with no small amount of embarrassment as the Queen of Arcadia’s most trusted advisers stood before him. Samantha and Clarence Cabbot, each the top of their field and the most trusted Fae of Mab’s private court. 

Her brother reached into the front of his suit coat, pulling forth a folded card, who’s face was dolloped with a striking gold foil. “For our most... esteemed, caseworker.”

“But you lot are Mab’s Tutors.” he started, plucking the card from Clarence’s hand. 

“We’re very well aware of who we are, sir. Now please. The Queen has a great task for you, Mr. Aberdeen.” 

Tracy looked down at the card, reading the glittering text scrawled in gold on the card, barely able to believe the words that were written in brilliance in front of him. He looked up quickly, a thousand questions at the forefront of his mind and none of them answered. 

The Cabbots were gone. 

#gingerplnk