Of Pumpkin Painting and Faerie Fruit
Halloween gift for @venetum
The first time Clarke met Bellamy, he painted a strange symbol on her right arm, and she couldn’t move her fingers for three hours. She had been eighteen years old, at a Halloween festival with her friends. While her friends rode the rides that always made her sick, she was losing time at the pumpkin painting station. She had been focused on creating an anatomically correct skeleton—having the head surgeon from her hometown’s hospital demanded nothing less—when he’d shown up at the station. She couldn’t say what it was about him that fascinated her, maybe it was the warm, bronze color of his skin or the mischievous light in his eyes, but when he’d grinned at her across the table she’d been struck by a sense of familiarity, though she knew she’d never laid eyes on him before.
“Your skeleton seems ready to jump off that pumpkin and start walking around,” he’d grinned, eyes riveted on hers, not even looking at what she’d painted.
“I suppose it could happen,” She’d let a tiny smirk slip out, playing along with him. “After all the veil between worlds is supposed to be at its thinnest today.”
“You believe in other worlds then?” He’d raised an eyebrow, his grin widening, but the sharpening of his gaze betrayed how intent he was on her answer.
“I think it’s possible,” Clarke let her smirk grow. “Though I don’t think I’ll be spending tonight hunting ghouls and goblins.”
“Shame,” He moved around the table, picking up a paint brush as he drew closer. Clarke’s whole body could sense him, utterly aware of his tiniest movement. He stretched out his hand, palm upward. She tentatively placed her right hand in his, her inner right arm facing upward. He grinned at her, not breaking her gaze as he touched the tip of the paintbrush to her forearm. She jumped from the cold and his grin grew as he began tracing it across her skin. She held his stare. Stars seemed to dance in his eyes the longer they kept their gazes locked.
He winked and pulled away. “It was nice to meet you,” he said before moving into the crowd, sending glances back at her as moved farther away.
Her right arm began to tingle, and she looked down as a burning sensation began to take form. The boy pulled away, and she looked up at him, betrayal in her gaze. A look of fear and regret overtook his face before he was swallowed up by the crowd.
Clarke searched out her friends, becoming more panicked as the burning sensation faded and she was unable to move the fingers on her right arm. Wells had rushed her to the hospital, the tests turning up no result, feeling returning after three hours precisely. The only thing left from the encounter were Clarke’s memories and the mark. The paint washed away, but the mark remained, paler than the rest of already pale skin, like a scar.
When Clarke was 21, she celebrated Halloween at a bar. Her friends were at their table while she was at the bar, grabbing another round. The bar they were at were selling trays of 3 Halloween-themed shots for $3 a shot, and they were on their fourth round. Clarke’s favorite was the Faerie Fruit shot; a sweet, golden colored shot of fruity liquor and whiskey that burned on the way down. Raven had claimed the Redcap’s Triumph an ungodly concoction of crème de menthe with a layer of cherry vodka dyed an alarming shade of blood red floating on top, that had been far too reminiscent of cold medicine for Clarke’s taste. Wells preferred the Goblin Blood shot, a mix of green apple liquor and Blue Curacao that made Clarke’s whole face pucker.
She leaned against the bar, content to wait as the bartenders flitted among the various witches, ghosts, and ghouls lining the bar. Clarke had opted for a more subtle costume, a High Fae, with pointed ear caps. She had worn dark jeans, a black tank top with a floral embroidery design in shimmering golden thread and tossed on a leather jacket. Her hair was half pulled back to reveal her ears, but she enjoyed the simple costume. Wells had protested, but Clarke had refused to budge—she had to wear this costume. She didn’t know why but this was the right one for tonight.
Wells had been easily distracted by compliments to his own costume. He’d dressed as a vampire, with red contacts, fangs that appeared and disappeared and fake blood on his face and shirt. Raven had opted for a simple costume, coming from work in her usual jeans and tank top, though she’d made it a ‘costume’ by swapping her. Usual red jacket for her official Nasa staff jacket. Wells had grumbled, but one look from Raven had made him stop.
Clarke could see them both laughing at the table and she let a small grin take over her face. Those two had been circling each other for years, and the last few weeks made it seem like they’d finally make that final plunge. Clarke turned back to the bar, glancing down toward where the bartender was taking an order. She froze as she saw the dark-haired boy who had drawn that symbol on her arm. Her hand drifted to where the mark was hidden by her jacket.
His eyes drank her in, his brow crinkling slightly as his gaze saw where her hand was. He began moving toward her through the crowd. She studied him, still unable to move. He moved fluidly, seeming to glide between the bodies massed around the bar. Her eyes moved to his face, taking in the warm brown eyes and catching on his ears. They were pointed. And she knew. These were not ear caps like she wore no—these were real.
He reached her grinning, down at her but making no move to invade her space or touch her. Clarke opened her mouth to speak but her voice caught. His eyes drank in her face.
“It’s nice to see you again,” His honey voice washed over her, and she felt that sense of familiarity flow through her. “Still think it’s possible that other worlds exist?”
She blinked. “So, you’re…”
“Fae.” He held her eyes, not wavering.
Clarke absorbed the information. After it washed through her, Clarke’s fury made a sudden roaring appearance and she scowled. “What the hell was that three years ago? I couldn’t move my arm for hours?”
He looked a bit sheepish. The boy moved even closer and lowered his voice, “That…was an unexpected reaction. That was meant to be some random symbol. My magic reacted to you without me intending it.”
“Does that happen often?”
He blushed and rubbed the back of his neck. “No. Only with you.”
“And disappearing after? You knew something was wrong.”
“We aren’t supposed to share our magic or let humans know we exist,” He glanced around and lowered his voice further. “If one of us was ever captured by humans…”
Clarke knew immediately what he meant. Humans finding out about Fae and magic wouldn’t end well.
“If it was just me that would be one thing,” He continued, “but I had to think of every Fae creature in Faerie.”
Clarke bit her lip. She closed her eyes and sighed. When she opened her eyes, he was watching her nervously. “You’ll try not to let it happen again?”
A look of surprise overtook his face and he nodded slowly.
“Then it’s nice to meet you,” She held out her hand. “I’m Clarke. I have a funny scar on my arm, and I love to paint.”
He grinned and gripped her hand. “It’s lovely to meet you Clarke. My name is Bellamy. I spend most of my time either working or reading in the library.”
“It’s nice to meet you Bellamy,” She didn’t let go of his hand, smiling back at him. “How about I buy you a drink? They have a great one called Faerie Fruit tonight.”
His laugh warmed her, and his grin widened. “I’d like that.”
Happy Halloween @venetum! I hope you have an amazing day!!!!
Prompt from Gail Carson Levine, Writing Magic: Creating Stories that Fly: The first time I saw Stephen, he painted a hex sign on my right arm, and I couldn’t move my fingers for three hours.
Inspiration for Clarke’s costume is from The Cruel Prince!
Shoutout to @slyth-princess for cough medicine line 😊!
