i have confidence in you

mirabel madrigal. working to change the world. (very, very slowly.)

[mainlymirabel]

an introduction to mirabel madrigal

or an answer to the question, “how does someone powerless make a difference anyway?”

THE BASICS

name: mirabel madrigal  /  pronouns: she/her  /  gender: cis woman  /  age: 24  /  birthday: may 19  /  orientation: bisexual  /  hometown: elias  /  current residence: still casa madrigal within old elias! (She could not imagine living anywhere else.)  /  occupation: behind-the-scenes humanitarian

height: 5’2”  /  build: slight; strengthened somewhat by some of the physical tasks she assists with  /  hair: black  /  eyes: very dark brown  /  piercings: just the earlobes!  /  tattoos: none (though she always admires others’)  /  personal style: entirely the vibrantly-colored garments she makes and embroiders herself. Lots of floral patterns and unique touches (bell and bishop sleeves, ruffles and ribbons, etcetera). Mirabel loves fun earrings.

positive traits: willfully optimistic, warm, determined  /  negative traits: self-doubting, self-sacrificing, single-minded  /  mbti: estp (the entrepreneur)  /  enneagram: 2w1 (the servant)  /  likes: when efforts become results, dancing, every kind of history  /  dislikes: advertisements, lack of empathy, things that are misleading

A BIOGRAPHY

Mirabel was born into a family of light and love. She was also born into a family of extremely gifted magic users.

From the moment that Mirabel could understand speech, she was obsessed with stories and accounts of the Madrigal family’s—her family’s—wonderful and wondrous influence on the community. The Madrigal family had been serving Elias for generations. Each member was born with a gift that sprang to glorious life on their fifth birthday; each member then used that gift, without asking for or taking anything in return, to truly help people. Mirabel—two, then three, then four—knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that when she too started to transform Elias for the better…it would be something magically her. It would be Mirabel, but the best possible version; Mirabel, but more.

It would be Mirabel the way she saw every single helping hand and hero within old Casa Madrigal—absolutely and entirely perfect.

But she received no gift.

Mirabel didn’t have magic. This was…well, it turned out to be more of a problem for Mirabel than the rest of the Madrigals. To them, Mirabel was great just the way she’d always been; to Mirabel, she was purposeless. The young Madrigal was constantly seeing ways she could’ve helped had she been powerful like the rest—people in the streets of Old Elias who had nothing to smile about, logistical concerns that could make or break things that were very important, even stuff that was wrong with the environment. If Mirabel had had a gift, she would tell herself, she could’ve and would’ve mattered there.

…Except…

…couldn’t she try to make a difference, anyway?

The Madrigals’ sprawling structure of a home, Casa Madrigal, was where ten-year-old Mirabel started to find purpose. Cherishing Casa Madrigal the way she did and sympathizing with every visitor’s plight the way she liked to do, Mirabel started to have hunches about matters within the house’s walls that were always right. She’d know when a visiting family needed to light the lanterns that night to feel good about something secret. She’d know when there was something in the house that needed fixing (because the rest of the house would act up, too), when another child had fallen in love with the place (because candles would flicker a little faster), or even when one of the other Madrigals, exhausted from another full day of work in Elias, could use closed doors and blissful privacy. She knew all these things because she was compassionate. And she knew them because she wanted to help somehow, because she wasn’t satisfied with leaving all the problems to people who could help magically. She’d help physically. She’d help emotionally.

And she’d help warmly…as everyone’s best friend.

Mirabel slowly became the house’s ambassador. Its voice, too; anybody and everybody who got to know Casa Madrigal became a true fan because of Mirabel. The magic of the Madrigals was one side of the equation, but the other was what that magic meant; how could family members be there for people in spirit as well as service, in their hearts and with their hands? Mirabel and Casa Madrigal reminded people what the gifts were all about. And…

…what Elias, at its very best, should be.

What should Elias be? The question roared into relevance when the war did. Suddenly, Mirabel was no longer lingering inside the walls of Casa Madrigal with her eyes and ears open; she was moving covertly throughout the city with her family, providing aid where it was most desperately needed, giving strangers and old friends of the casa alike everything she had. It was here, in the depths of a heavy despair that was becoming citizens’ very way of life, that Mirabel learned how she felt about Elias…what she would do anything to protect.

And that was hope.

The intensity, and the scale, of the war raged on. But Mirabel acted as if her only concern was the person in front of her…as if the way that person felt was the most important thing in Elias. While the other Madrigals healed and helped, Mirabel made certain that everyone they met knew they were not alone; people’s personal concerns throughout the remainder of that war were entirely Mirabel’s to aid, Mirabel’s to alleviate.

And she never stopped…even when the war did.

Casa Madrigal still stands within Old Elias. So do all of the Madrigals; so does their passion for service, their love of the community. The house remains a haven for anyone in need of warmth, in want of affection; and the Madrigals remain committed, whether at home or throughout Elias, to doing whatever empathy and understanding call them to.

But Mirabel, too, stands tall. Hers is a path of humility, of resources delivered in secret and tensions eased with a quiet word; hers is also a path of community. Collecting stories from and before the war and encouraging anyone and everyone to consider their neighbors (including the Madrigals) their family, Mirabel is not just watching as Elias crumbles under the weight of its own shadow. No—Mirabel will work to make Elias exactly what it is inside—exactly what it wants to be.

She, perhaps, does not have the power of her magical family…but Mirabel does have determination.

And that’s what makes all the difference, in the end.

ABOUT MIRABEL

A huge part of making a difference, though it’s often not discussed, is setting your own interests to the side. Mirabel Madrigal could have walked a very different path. The only member of her family without magic, she had every right to be bitter. In fact, Mirabel could have done what many in Elias do, seeking out answers to their deepest questions and trying to fix the unfixable; she could have let her lack of power define her entire life. But she proves, in the end, that she is a true Madrigal through her acceptance and genuine love of the Madrigals’ family mission: to serve others. There are two real roads to belonging somewhere: using your power to make a space for yourself and caring about the place itself. Mirabel brilliantly does the latter; her heart belongs to her ability to help, to Old and New Elias and even the Underland, and so she becomes (almost “magically”, one could say) stronger than any spell and more precious to her community than any gift. Mirabel Madrigal wants everyone to shine, even though she was herself denied a magical opportunity to shine…and because of that conscious choice to give—one she must make every day she welcomes a child to Casa Madrigal or softly places patches over the tears left by the war—Mirabel makes all the difference in the world. Just, some might say, like a Madrigal.

One of the most special things about Mirabel is the way she doesn’t hesitate to act. War is terrifying, and the scars it leaves are formidable; bringing light to the darkness usually means seeing and feeling things that are uncomfortable, that don’t just challenge you but change you. But Mirabel isn’t changed by what she does so much as she is galvanized into further action. Working as tirelessly as she does, she likely understands exactly what she’s up against: fear, grief, and powerful suffering. And…Mirabel probably knows the truth about these ancient evils: that they are very good at what they do. Somebody less compassionate would justify these things’ existence and turn their attentions to easier work. But Mirabel is a different kind of person. She’s loving—to her core, she wants to help. But even more than that, Mirabel Madrigal believes with all she is that people deserve help. Even when no one cares about them. Even when they’re a “lost cause”. And, as is apparent from everything Mirabel does, even when they have nothing to offer in return. Knowing Mirabel means diving deep into the story of someone not just “good”, but who understands the realities of and insists upon doing good. And that’s very, very cool.

CONNECTIONS

See this page!

[pennyhainline]

holiday festivities event starter (00/05)

penelope had wiggled her way toward the front of the crowd at the tree lighting, chin tipped up, eyes wide as the massive evergreen came to life in a wash of golden lights. she let out a low whistle, impressed despite herself. then, with a sly little grin, she nudged the person beside her. “honestly, it’s a tragedy they didn’t hire me to be the angel on top. i mean. look at that tree. look at me. missed opportunity of the century, right?”

[mainlymirabel]

Mirabel took a look at the person beside her to confirm whether or not it was the missed opportunity of the century. And honestly?

“You’re totally right,” Mirabel told the other woman, nodding emphatically. “You are the angel this tree really needs. I get what they were going for…but you can’t fake that…‘it factor’. ‘Star potential’. Don’t worry—I know you could’ve been the tree lighting queen.”

Mirabel grinned. “I actually used to dress up as an angel every Halloween. So—not to brag!—I’m speaking from real angel experience.”

She held out her hand for the other woman to shake. “I’m Mirabel.”

[mainlymirabel]

open event starter

who: mirabel and anyone ( 2 out of 3 taken ) where: ice-skating rink on the riverline when: just after nightfall

Wow! It was exactly as Mirabel had imagined it—as night descended over the ice rink, the glowing runes just…appeared beneath everyone’s feet! She couldn’t wait to take pictures once it really got dark.

Luisa had left the rink early this evening—complaining about how winter made it so easy to “let a workout routine go”. (Being the magically mighty being that she was, Luisa likely didn’t really need to worry about this. But if she was happy doing squats back at Casa Madrigal, then Mirabel was happy, too.) This left Mirabel on her own for the next hour…and in need of a skating buddy.

Unfortunately, “crashing into somebody else while examining one of the runes” was not how Mirabel intended to start talking to the other people there.

“Whoa! So sorry!” Mirabel got out as she lost her balance and fell to the side. Luckily, she was extremely bundled up in colorful winter clothing, which cushioned the fall…but was the other person okay?!

“Are you good?” Mirabel asked them sincerely, propping herself up on an elbow to check.

[violetheroism]

⋆｡𖦹 closed starter for @mainlymirabel

Violet hadn't shaken off the feeling yet. She'd published that article. She'd gotten fired. All at once there was a sense of freedom but also despair — what had she done?

She didn't realise she'd been speedwalking across Old Elias until she felt herself losing breath. Violet slowed down. Not wanting to come up to Mirabel's door sweaty and breathless, she took a moment under a tree to find some calm.

It was a small thing. A big thing in Beakfeed, of course, but a small thing in the world. What was Beakfeed anyway, just another website trying to gather clicks and views. What was one article among others? A few inflammatory, inquisitive sentences among stronger voices out there? Voices like The Voice of Elias. Voices like Mirabel's, who had been fighting a good fight long before Violet even considered stepping her toe in — or was allowed to. Her family hadn't even read it yet; she hoped they hadn't.

By the time she'd collected herself and reached Casa Madrigal, Violet felt much more ready to relax. She'd timed it well, unknowingly. Do some anxiety-inducing the day before she did some calming, like hangout with a new friend.

Violet knocked on the door, already breathing in the aromatic scents of food and herbs and all the other things that made Casa Madrigal feel like the cosiest place in the world.

When she thought she heard footsteps coming closer, she called out in a sing-song: "Helloooooo...?" She took out something from her bag. "I brought tribute. A...um...mint coffee blend. It's called Candy Cane Crush, not related to the game. I think."

[mainlymirabel]

Mirabel had been tidying the house for hours in preparation for Violet’s visit. “Hours”, for Mirabel, meant alternating between a household chore and embroidering clothing, which meant that she’d actually spent most of that time embroidering (due to personal preference) and only an hour or so sweeping and mopping. But the house looked good!

Hearing knocking on the door, Mirabel emerged from Casa Madrigal’s front parlor and crossed the front hall. From behind the door, she heard Violet’s greeting and offering of Candy Cane Crush; she turned the knob and heaved the great door open with a huge smile on her face. She’d really liked Violet when she’d been helping her out with that article—and hanging out with her today would be just the thing to make this otherwise unremarkable week special.

“Oh my God, this looks like my new favorite,” Mirabel told Violet as she accepted the mint coffee from her. “I love mint. I’ll have to hide this from my uncle… And actually, if this were related to the game, it would be extremely impressive for a game to have done, I feel like.”

Mirabel pushed the door open wider and said, “Come on in! I have snacks set up in the basement!”

Casa Madrigal was enormous, as was every room in the house. As Mirabel walked across the expansive front hall in her jeans and newly-embroidered white tee, her attention was straight ahead for that reason—there was simply a lot to see in every direction (hanging handicrafts in every hue, the Book of Blessings in the center of the floor, flowers attached to every surface). But she did notice when a candle in her peripheral vision flickered, and when one of the birds in the rafters cooed at the same moment. The house was greeting Violet!

“Oh, the casa is saying hello to you!” Mirabel said, turning back toward Violet and beaming. “It must like your demeanor. Sorry if you didn’t notice that—I’ll try to point out when the house is ‘speaking’, so to speak, next time it happens. This time it was a candle and a bird.”

Mirabel then realized that Violet might think it odd for birds to be in the house.

“My cousin Antonio,” Mirabel began to explain as they passed through the bustling kitchen. Mirabel’s older relations—Ma, Pa, and Tia and Tio—were here preparing for a dinner they’d be hosting in the evening. “He has a gift with animals, he—”

As if on cue, a tapir materialized from an open door at the far end of the kitchen.

“Oh, that is a big one,” Mirabel murmured, proceeding to round the corner toward the basement staircase.

“Sorry. As I was saying. Antonio fills the house with animals, Isabela fills it with flowers, Luisa with exercise equipment…and I fill every room with yarn and thread, because I’m crafting nonstop.”

Halfway down the staircase, Mirabel asked Violet, “Tell me about what your family’s like! I’m always curious about other people’s unique versions of this, if you know what I mean. What’s it like with the Parrs?”

At the bottom of the staircase—revealing a very average-looking carpeted basement, complete with TV, couches, and the polovorosa cookies Mirabel’s mother had made—Mirabel gestured for Violet to go anywhere she’d like.

[thelastvantassel]

the yarrow’s trembling had become a faint, rhythmic pulse beneath katerina’s palm, but it wasn’t what held her attention anymore. mirabel’s words..the spilling of worry, sweetness, and that startling depth of thought threaded into the noise of the flea market until everything around them seemed to dull.

katerina actually inhaled at that, a soft, surprised breath she didn’t quite disguise in time. her gaze flicked up, wide for a heartbeat before she smoothed it with a small faint embarrassed laugh. "i..wise" she paused "that’s… not something people tend to call me." her fingers hovered before finally accepting mirabel’s offered hand. the warmth of it grounded her more effectively than any sigil or charm. she curled her fingers gently around mirabel’s slowly."katerina van tassel," she said, voice steadier now, but softened in a way she didn’t offer often. "i think you may be kinder than your city gives you room to be." the herbs shivered again, as if acknowledging the truth laid bare between them. katerina released mirabel’s hand only when she had to, her touch lingering a half-second longer.. a reflex of reassurance.

her eyes turned back to the bundle. "you saw it clearly," she murmured. "what grief feels like?” her thumb brushed the stem without disturbing it, as though comforting a frightened creature. "some people pretend not to feel things shift under their feet. you… notice." she glanced up again, expression warm and soft. "that’s a kind of wisdom too. even if you don’t call it that."

“just like this herb. untethered. just waiting for something or someone to steady it again." soft breeze toyed with the edge of her hair as she spoke, gazing lifting. "but grieving things still grow. sometimes stronger. sometimes truer." her lips curved, tender in a way she rarely let surface. "and thank you," she added, quieter. "for the compliment… even if it caught me terribly off guard."

[mainlymirabel]

When the other woman said, That’s not something people tend to call me, Mirabel felt a pang of sorrow that didn’t fade right away. A “people person”—and an empath—to her core, Mirabel often felt for the plights of those she spent time with…but something about the fact that this woman didn’t know she was wise lingered. And hurt.

As they shook hands, Mirabel caught the softness in Katerina’s voice—the huge compliment in her words. “I think you may be kinder than your city gives you room to be.” Mirabel blushed. And she realized, as she stood there clasping Katerina’s hand, that she was speaking to someone like her—someone for whom life hadn’t quite made enough room to live. It was in the other woman’s caution, her prior attention to detail, her humility; and it was in the fact that her handshake lasted—a silent implication that, yes, the little moments mattered. After not getting a magical gift, Mirabel had found solace in the little things when the big things wouldn’t budge for her; she understood.

Katerina brushed a thumb gently over the grieving herbs as Mirabel watched. When she told Mirabel that she, too, possessed a kind of wisdom—and turned such an expression of kindness on her that Mirabel thought she’d never met anyone so compassionate—Mirabel nodded, and gave herself permission to accept the compliment. Katerina was right. Mirabel was aware, and conscientious, and wise. She’d just never seen it that way before.

A breeze swept Mirabel’s hair in front of her eye, and she brushed it back as Katerina continued to talk about grief. When Katerina smiled, and thanked Mirabel for the compliment, Mirabel found herself smiling back—without overthinking the toothy way she always did it.

She said to Katerina, “You’re welcome. I’d compliment you anytime.” Turning her gaze on the bundle of herbs on the table, Mirabel told Katerina, “I usually try not to catch people off guard! Meeting people where they’re at is—well, not ‘my’ thing, but something I’ve always tried to do.

“I may have to risk surprising you again, though, because I’ve got another compliment.”

Mirabel was deeply tempted to try running her own thumb reassuringly over the bundle of herbs, but figured it was better left to Katerina.

“When you said that grieving things still grow, I felt a lot better about my internal question of the day.” Mirabel looked back at Katerina and grinned again. “I think you have a real gift for hope! For making people feel it more—because that’s what I feel right now, is hopeful.”

Mirabel explained:

“I’m part of a family that does work all around the city. The rest of my family, they’re gifted; they have powers! And I…don’t, and what I end up doing is strengthening people where they’re at, just like I said, because empowering people inside of situations rather than saving them from the situations is really my big passion in life.

“But I see a lot of suffering. Sadness. Grief, even… And it’s hard to feel hopeful about grief. It makes me not know what to say when people are really deep inside of it.

“But…now I know what to say.” Mirabel adjusted the bag falling off of her shoulder and smiled. “Now I can tell people that…even in grief, there’s growth. A chance for something more. That’s all people want to hear. That’s…

“...hope.”

Mirabel asked Katerina, “Do you know what the other herbs here are feeling, too? I’m really, really impressed already…but your talent has me so curious!”

[mainlymirabel]

closed starter

who: mirabel and leo ( @leonardoisms ) where: the middle of new elias when: late morning

Mirabel had been shopping for makeup at the mall. With her purchases in a bag in one hand and her cell phone in the other, she’d picked up a call from a number she didn’t recognize on her way out the mall doors; it had been Walt University. (She and her sisters’ alma mater.) The man speaking had wanted to know if, as an alumna, Mirabel had wanted to speak on a panel about “positive changes happening every day in Elias”. …But the subtext had been clear: students were freaking out—Elias didn’t feel as safe as it used to—and the university wanted to boost morale with something feel-good.

It was walking down the street, mulling the offer over, that Mirabel spotted exactly the person she’d have wanted to see at a time like this: Leonardo Hamato.

“Oh my God!” she burst out, raising an arm up and waving. “Leo!!”

She crossed the street at the nearby crosswalk to get to him. It had been a while since they’d caught up.

“Leo, it’s so good to run into you like this,” Mirabel told him, realizing that some part of herself had become resigned to any of her friends going missing. She wanted to ask him his advice on the panel; but first, she was dying to know how he was doing…how his friends and family were.

“I need your help with this opportunity I just got—I don’t know what to do about it—but before anything,” said Mirabel to Leo, “tell me what’s been going on in your world. I want to hear all about it.”

[dreamwondering]

that's not right way. yes, that was a feeling that alice had become all too familiar with - one that felt like it was constantly eating away at the edge of her consciousness, the themes of which seemed to show up in every drawing that filled her notebook. she was so familiar with the theme that she nearly forgotten what anything else felt like. elias did often run amuck in its own unique way, sometimes in ways that were wonderful and other times in ways that were terrible. now, well, she wasn't sure. likely the latter - but something about that figure in the woods didn't feel just terrible, which made it all the more confusing...

"i know what you mean."

alice took a sharp, deep breath in through her nose, trying to recenter herself on the present moment and give a little bit more mind to what was going on in the present moment. a potentially missing person. potentially. she had to repeat the word a few times, trying not to let her anxiety drive her into certainty, though it seemed like the other was gungho on it.

which, well, she understood. it was hard not to go there with everything that was happening. maybe even it was naive or silly not to go there. it was a line that was hard to find, when it was her anxiety driving her or when it was the actual external environment that indicated something. what was it now? she didn't know. maybe it was better than, to listen to the other woman and where she was driven toward, functioning on the assumption that she wasn't so riddled with the same cognitive ailments.

"oh?" as she half-way introduced herself, some familiarity came to mind. alice had lived in elias just long enough to know of some of the major families and figures, but not quite long enough that she actually personally knew them. "of course. i've heard of them, yeah. i'm sure that your word with them would go along way," she encouraged with a small nod of her head, smile lightening her features.

"i have, yes," she said, giving a slight pause and debating how much to say. "donald duck is a close mentor of mine. perhaps we could see if he's available, and talk to him directly. i know that he would take your concerns seriously." if there was anyone that she could trust, it was him.

that was an interesting question though, that she was less sure about. "i don't know. maybe? it might be worth seeing if the workers here might offer it, especially if you explain what your concern is. i think most reasonable people would understand and it might be a bit faster than going to the council to try and track it all down." it wouldn't hurt to try all the resources available for that, surely, but alice remained uncertain.

[mainlymirabel]

The way that the other woman said, “I know what you mean,” was a kind combination of thoughtfulness and solidarity. Mirabel took another glance at her; it was obvious, now that Mirabel was really looking, that the woman was exhausted (and might have been for a while)—but she was the sort of person to be helping Mirabel through this situation anyway.

The sort that Mirabel had always admired—and tried to become more like.

When she said that she’d heard of the Madrigals, Mirabel beamed. “Oh, that’s encouraging—and nice of you to say,” Mirabel replied to the woman’s assurance that Mirabel’s word would go a long way. “Sometimes I feel like I’m just in this town, not really part of it…but that makes me feel better about being able to handle this situation. Thank you.”

Donald Duck is a close mentor of mine.

This was somebody Mirabel could trust. (Possibly with her life. Mirabel thought Donald’s judgment was as good as gold.)

The fact that this woman, whom Mirabel had met on the street, was offering to take her to talk to Donald Duck was an instant relief to her. She felt her shoulders relax, the tension leave her posture, her hands stop barely shaking; calmer now, she listened as the woman continued to respond to Mirabel’s plan. She thought that the workers might offer the address, which was a fair suggestion (especially since they were here right now and could just go in and ask); but the longer that Mirabel stood there, the more her intuition…deepened.

She didn’t want to take the time to check, or to confirm, anymore. Something in her gut—which had never steered her wrong—was telling her that the guide really was one of the missing people…and that she needed to act before it was too late.

“I just know she’s missing,” Mirabel whispered, loud enough for the other woman to hear. She sighed. “My—my hunch, it’s getting a little stronger,” she said. “And you’re right—it’s better to be sure about these things, and it’s better to have proof when you do something about them…

“But what I really want to do now—and I know it would be on me if I were wrong—is to go to the council building with you like you were offering, and bring this to Donald Duck if he’s there.

“I wanted to be sure, but I am sure. And I wanted to be more than just myself when going there, but…well, you’d be coming too, right? So it’d be you and me, and that has to count for something.

“Would you come with me now to the council building?” she asked the other woman, looking her in the eye and smiling faintly. “Even if this ends up being…nothing at all?”

[scattereddrcams]

[ ♛ ]  ° •  closed starter for  »  ... @mainlymirabel

The  late  afternoon  sun  cast  soft  golden  light  over  the  cobblestones,  painting  Elias  in  hues  of  warmth  and  quiet  magic.  People  milled  about  the  square,  artists  packing  up  their  booths,  kids  chasing  each  other  through  flowerbeds,  shopkeepers  waving  down  friends  for  one  last  chat  before  the  end  of  the  day.

And  there,  weaving  through  it  all  with  his  usual  bounce  in  his  step  was  Sora.  He  wasn’t  looking  for  anything  in  particular;  just  someone.  It  had  been  a  while  since  he’d  been  able  to  slow  down  and  today  felt  like  a  day  for  reconnecting.  For  familiar  voices  and  bright  energy.  Then  he  saw  her.

“Mirabel!”

The  name  left  his  lips  before  he  could  stop  it  joyful  and  loud  as  he  waved  both  arms  high  in  the  air.  He  practically  leapt  the  last  few  feet  to  reach  her.  On  his  face  was  a  grin  that  came  from  someone  who  had  seen  too  many  battles,  too  many  broken  places  and  was  still  unbelievably  happy  to  see  someone  he  cared  about.

“You  didn’t  think  I  forgot  you,  did  you?”  he  teased  lightly,  offering  a  little  spin  before  striking  a  dramatic,  heroic  pose  with  one  hand  on  his  chest.  “Because  this  keyblade  wielder  never  forgets  his  favorite  miracle-maker.”  He  softened  almost  instantly  once  she  was  in  front  of  him.  “Seriously.  It’s  good  to  see  you.”

[mainlymirabel]

Mirabel had been headed home for the day. The light was streaming, golden and lovely, through the streets of Elias as Mirabel walked with her empty knit bag and backpack (she could never have too many “spaces to place” things); she was almost sure she’d make it home before Luisa or Isabela before the shout of her name happily proved her wrong.

It was Sora!!

His arms were in the air, and she put her own in the air, too. “Sora, this makes my day!” she replied loudly, beaming.

As Sora approached, Mirabel reached to unzip her backpack and pull out something special—a box of Main Street Bakery macarons.

You didn’t think I forgot you, did you? Sora said to her. She was about to deny it—absolutely not, she knew Sora was, as her younger and cooler friends would’ve said, “a real one”—but Sora’s following statement was so kind it made her blush.

Miracle-maker.

She sincerely hoped she was. A little bit stronger of one every day, a more magical one (if only in effect) with every problem she solved…but, then, the Sora she remembered wouldn’t care about her being better. He’d liked her the way she was already.

When Sora told her it was good to see her, therefore, she made sure to voice her gratitude: “Sora. With everything I have in me…I think you are the mood-maker to my miracle-maker. It’s impossible not to smile when you’re around. It’s good to see you, too; and…thanks for not forgetting.”

She smiled at him, happy to be seeing his face for the first time in who knew how long. “Tell me how you’ve been.”

And she held out the box of macarons and added, “You get first pick!”

[thelastvantassel]

⋆⋅ ｗａｒｄｍａｋｅｒ ａｔ ｔｈｅ ｆｌｅａ ｍａｒｋｅｔ | open: 0/4⋅⋆

the flea market buzzed with noise. vendors shouted prices, children wove between tables, and the clatter of old trinkets and antique metal clinked together. it was all too much movement, too loud with the shouts, and there were too many items that stirred memories...

katrina stood beneath a sun-faded canopy, her fingers drifting over a crate of dried herbs and half-forgotten talismans. someone had clearly mixed mundane stock with magical remnants, and the wards inked along her forearms began to hum in response. it was a low, uneasy vibration beneath her skin, but it was clear that something there was wrong. not dangerous, not yet-..just mourning, in one way or another. she kept her eyes focused on a bundle of dried yarrow, its stem trembling minutely despite the still air. this was a sign only she would notice, and the type only she would understand.

footsteps stopped beside her as someone reached out, curious and unaware. without turning, katrina’s voice slipped into the space between them, soft as a draft. “don’t touch that,” she murmured, her hand hovering over the herb bundle, but not quite touching it. “it’s… grieving.” only then did she look up, eyes calm but undeniably knowing. “its lost its owner recently,” she added quietly. “and it hasn’t decided who it belongs to next…”

[mainlymirabel]

Half of her was still in the flower shop where it had happened. The other half was actively looking at flowers. Both wished for something that, to Mirabel’s dismay, would never exist.

Mirabel had come from a minor mishap behind Minnie’s Flower Shop. One of the workers had been on a ladder and slipped, getting nothing more than what would be a nasty bruise but emerging from the incident a little shaken. A friend to the community, Mirabel (who had been at the neighboring store and overheard commotion) had rushed to the employee’s side and listened to his worries; “what if I’m not as stable as I think with something more serious?” he’d told her as she’d helped him fertilize new arrivals. “What if the world collapses under me?”

The worry was valid, was real. Mirabel had let it chase her all the way to the flea market, where she hoped to pick up unique new fabrics to turn into skirts and hair ties. In a daze, she’d ended up letting her emotions lead the way…and was currently doing nothing more than looking at more flowers (because flowers were the imagery inside all her thoughts as she ruminated).

Mirabel would’ve traded anything for a magic that would grant stability. A magic that made people feel as if they could truly be secure somewhere—and do whatever they wanted within that place; a magic that felt like honest confidence.

But security—stability—was hard to come by. Mirabel moved from the flower stall to a stall filled with trinkets and herbs, and she idly thought, Maybe stability can be built, as she reached to run her hands over a random herb bundle.

Don’t touch that.

Mirabel was surprised, but grateful. She drew her hands back and snapped into reality—wow, the flea market was loud today—and she listened as the stranger explained the truth behind these innocuous-seeming dried herbs.

Grieving.

“Maybe that’s just like Elias,” Mirabel found herself murmuring.

Making eye contact with the woman, she quickly explained: “I mean, what you’re saying about the herbs—that’s what I’ve been thinking about our community’s lack of stability all afternoon. We lost our leader, right? And now we don’t know where we belong, what we are, how to behave. Without stability—something solid beneath your feet—it’s hard to not be afraid. Or, in this case…”

Mirabel looked back at the herbs, which, though seemingly normal to her untrained eye, had won her sympathy.

“...just…feel bad. Just grieve.”

Mirabel tried to chuckle, to lift the mood she’d darkened. “But I’m somebody who overthinks all the city’s problems—big and small. This all started because somebody got a bruise.”

She extended her hand to the woman, smiling. “Thanks for helping me out there,” she told her; “I’m Mirabel Madrigal. You’re so…wise.”

[huntcrashes]

Hunter hadn’t meant to overhear. Really, he hadn’t. He’d been out on one of those errands that didn’t quite have a name, the kind that started with “help Flapjack find twine for the nest” and ended with “somehow wind up three blocks from where you meant to go.” That kind of day. That kind of autumn.

So when the girl bumped into him, he muttered an automatic “Sorry,” but something about her didn’t move on like the others did. His hand twitched slightly at his side as he listened to her, not toward a weapon, but like he was resisting the urge to move. To do something.

“If they are missing, and it’s connected to the stuff that’s been happening…” His jaw tightened. “Then alerting the whole city could get them hurt. Or make them harder to find.” He hesitated, gaze flicking to the gardens she’d just left, then back to her face.

Flapjack fluttered down from somewhere overhead and landed on his shoulder, puffing up like he sensed the tension too. “If you want help,” he said, softer now, “I’ll come with you. Council building’s a mess right now, but I’ve got people there. And if it’s not that, if it’s something deeper? I’ve been tracking it too.” He offered a hand. “I’m Hunter. And I think we both want the same thing. So let’s do this right.”

[mainlymirabel]

Mirabel, before this stranger had transformed the situation entirely, had sensed within her what her immediate and extended family would’ve lovingly called “Mirabel’s fire”. (That was why she’d wanted to talk to the press.) “Mirabel’s fire” meant that Mirabel would not just take on a problem—she would plunge into it headfirst and find the solution as quickly, and as powerfully, as possible. “Mirabel’s fire” was the opposite of wise. But it was effective.

When the stranger started to speak to her with calm, collected insight, however…Mirabel felt her fire start to ease. He was right, and this was a missing person they were talking about. Alerting the whole city could get them hurt, or create more drama around the problem than…well, than what this conversation was—a reasoned attempt to just help.

So she nodded, and, as his gaze moved to the botanical garden, she murmured, “I see.” Her tense posture, already prepared to carry her straight to the closest people that would listen, relaxed somewhat. She was, now, ready to be clear-sighted…to get this right.

The stranger who was giving her such good advice was someone to take seriously. At least six feet tall, with a pet(?) of some variety alighting on his shoulder and puffing up, he was the sort of individual you didn’t forget about easily—the kind that exuded “important” energy (or was that her imagination?).

It wasn’t. Talking again, the man was saying he “had people at the council building”. (And that was a very good thing, for the task before them.) He was offering his assistance, with whatever the mission may be; and he was holding out his hand.

Mirabel—very conscious of her hot pink, ruffled, maxi skirt completely unsuited to the importance of this moment—took it and shook.

I think we both want the same thing. So let’s do this right. Precisely—and fortunately, when fortune didn’t always favor Mirabel—what she’d wanted to hear.

“Mirabel Madrigal,” she told Hunter, making eye contact and offering a somber half-smile. “I’m from the Madrigal family in Old Elias—we’re community helpers, and I’m very used to problems that are tangible, problems that have roots you can see.”

She looked back at the botanical garden, where…wait, was that…

“Oh, my God, is that the guide?” Mirabel said with palpable happiness. (This was, actually, too good to be true; but Mirabel was letting her hope take precedence over her own ominous hunch.) “Let me go over and see if she’s okay real quick. I may be wrong, and this could just be her replacement…but there’s a good chance that this was just a false alarm.”

Two minutes later, though, after Mirabel had felt all that palpable happiness drain right out of her, it was clear that it was not a false alarm.

This was another guide. And this woman had been trying and trying to get in touch with the person who’d been supposed to have been on the job all morning…to absolutely no reply.

“Which is odd, because she’s never not answered a text to either of her phones within five minutes…”

Mirabel headed back toward the sidewalk.

“She’s really missing,” Mirabel said without looking up, praying that Hunter was still there. “I don’t need to confirm it anymore—I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that she’s gone.”

She felt her hands begin to shake. Why was this happening to people?!

“If your offer to come with me to the council building still stands,” Mirabel said to Hunter, as she hoped that it did, “then I would be extremely grateful for your help. Thank you so much, Hunter.”

[dreamwondering]

alice looked rough. she supposed that there was no other way to look in a time like this, people going missing day by day and that strange figure that she had seen on the edge of the enchanted forest... she felt like she was being watched and needed to be watching in the same breath, unsure what to do with all of the information that she was rapidly attempting to process in her head. it was overwhelming. it was made worse by the fact that she hadn't gotten a good night of sleep in a worse, visible with the dark bags underneath her eyes, the slightly dazed expression that she seemed to be carrying with her everywhere.

the gardens were meant to be a place that she could try and reset her mind, ground herself with being surrounded by nature. it's different this time of year than it was in the summer, but it was still generally a place that was peaceful, quiet, and beautiful. the exact kind of distraction that she needed. or at least, the distraction that she thought she needed.

unable to help but overhear what was going on, alice quickly realized that was not the kind of day that she was about to get. she felt the anxiety spike inside of her chest, heart beating faster than what was necessary to try and quell her emotions. it was a losing battle. it always was. but it hadn't stopped her from slipping out of the gardens and following mirabel, unsure why or what she was doing.

"oh, um..." an overwhelming question, but a fair one. what would she do? panic briefly, then... well, probably notify donald directly. he would know what to do from there. but her train of thought is distracted with the next bit.

"i don't know. i mean, i guess it would depend on how i knew they were missing... do you think the guide is missing?" other possibilities roamed through her mind, but it's hard not to fixate on that one. "i'd probably tell the council. but i guess the press isn't a bad idea, either... i'd just want to be sure before i told anyone."

[mainlymirabel]

Oh! This woman had been inside the botanical garden, too—had been close by when Mirabel had heard the gardener’s words regarding the guide’s absence. She’d come outside with Mirabel.

Mirabel nodded at the woman’s statement that, when notifying anyone about a disappearance, how you knew they were missing was a deciding factor.

Mirabel let her gaze rest on a flowerbed just across the street (really, New Elias was beautiful, no matter where you were) as she collected her thoughts. “Yeah, something’s telling me—I mean, in the ‘that’s not right’ way, the ‘I know too much about how Elias usually runs’ way—that that guide didn’t just get sick and not tell anyone.” She sighed. “The gardener said—what did they say? That usually there’s someone else to fill in?”

Mirabel weighed what the woman was telling her, that she would go to the Council. Really, that was the most trustworthy option. (The most productive option, too—in the long run.) If there was something to be changed about the situation, the Council would take care of it—and would do it with the characteristic Elias respect and compassion. The only problem was when they’d take care of it.

The Council had a lot on its plate. This Mirabel knew; with people going missing practically every week, if not day, they were truly under a lot of pressure to move with decisiveness, strength, and speed. That meant that anything that wasn’t the core effort to save citizens was probably off the menu. That meant that the left-behind affairs of a lone person who’d gone missing…

…might take a back burner?

Leaving their family and friends confused or—worse—thinking that something concretely scary had happened to them?

But this woman’s confidence in the Council gave Mirabel confidence, too. And she was right—Mirabel needed to be absolutely certain that the guide had gone missing.

“Okay,” Mirabel said, then took a deep breath. “I think I’m going to go to the council building, then. I’m from the Madrigal family—we’re…community helpers, based in Old Elias usually, but I do work here sometimes, too. My ma and pa have been to see the council before…but I’ve never actually stepped foot on the premises. I’m…more behind-the-scenes with my efforts, you could say.

“Elias is huge, and as much as I wish I could say I know everyone and how to get in contact with them…I definitely don’t.

“What I want to know from you is… Have you ever been to the council building before?

“And do you think they’d let me get the address of the guide—so I could take the afternoon to visit her house myself, see if something else happened? …I’d want to be able to contact her family, too, in the event that she isn’t there.

“Provided that what I have a hunch happened, happened, and the guide has disappeared… I’d go back to the council building at the end of the day and let them know the bad news in person.”

[mainlymirabel]

open starter

who: mirabel and anyone ( 2 out of 3 taken ) where: elias botanical garden, exterior when: noon

It was rare that Mirabel got an opportunity to explore New Elias. Most of her days off (read: half-days off—her efforts were never not needed), Mirabel would enjoy everything that Old Elias had to offer—the bakery, the record store, the animal shelter. But the morning’s meeting with an activist group to better coordinate the Madrigal family’s visits to New Elias had left Mirabel beside the botanical garden…and hugely curious about what lay inside its walls.

Unfortunately, the guide that Mirabel had expected to be waiting there was…missing.

“She didn’t show up this morning,” one of the gardeners explained as they watered a flowerbed. “Usually they have somebody else fill in, though…”

Mirabel, disconcerted (was this her first real encounter with one of the missing people cases?), left the botanical garden in a daze. Somebody walking down the sidewalk bumped into her—hard—and she barely noticed.

This was more than scary. This was more than chilling. This was…well, how would Mirabel have phrased it to one of her sisters? “Absolutely uncalled for”? “The kind of thing you would hope never happens to someone you love”?

It was like the war all over again. It was like those days when you couldn’t be sure you would see someone in the morning.

A person was lingering on the sidewalk—they’d probably seen Mirabel and that other person collide with each other and wanted to know if she was okay. Or they saw the look on her face—fear, and the beginnings of a plan. Her eyes were wide, but her jaw was set.

Mirabel turned to the person and asked them, “What’s the first thing you would do if…if you thought you’d found out someone was missing?” She swallowed. But she also felt a rush of determination—Mirabel would handle this right.

“Would you go straight to the council building and try to let them know directly? Send an email? Or…”

Mirabel closed her eyes. “Would you do what I think I’m going to do, and would you notify the press?”

There was no faster way to get the word out to friends and family than that.