Had an interesting dream the other night about an odd couple pairing in a pretty but intriguing world. I wanted to flesh it out with a few sketches and I thought some soft watercolor would do the trick. Here's the story - or at least as much as I got from the dream, it's something I might flesh out further:
The Witch and the Biker
Setting and Characters below the cut:
Magic is like music – beautiful, ephemeral, evocative, capable of bringing people together, able to cross barriers and inspire, able to strike fear and resonate to the core of humanity. It is also ultimately insubstantial, illusory, a thing wondrous and artful, but unable to physically harm. So then, it is the purview of artists and children. Anyone can learn the basics – some flashes of color, some light, and real masters of the craft are able to create work that is moving and beautiful (and profitable) but it is not an art of war or commerce and while it permeates everyone’s everyday lives, it is considered with the same professional disdain the arts are by many. Like music – when children are handed their first plastic focus and taught a basic color spell, it is viewed with the same disdain as the day the plastic recorders are handed out – something that will be loud and annoying and ultimately result in little more than some family footage of the kids at their little recitals tooting ‘hot cross buns’ off key. Bored children sitting through magic lessons with dull proctors are considered a staple of childhood, and magic classes are one of the first things cut from curriculum when the budget is tight along with their musical compatriots.
But, like music, there is value in learning, if nothing but for joy and the ability to create. There is reason to learn magic, anyone can with enough practice, for the way it uplifts and inspires. Certainly some are more naturally proficient than others, but there is no one alive who can’t engage with it in some way. People learn it all the time to enrich themselves and bond over their experiences at magic camp, or performing with others, or playing with it in the garage purely for their four best friends. Little magic schools and private tutors and after school classes are the norm across world in every tradition imaginable and those lucky enough to attend them enjoy enrichment, cultural connection, and artistry their whole lives.
Magic may be purely illusion – like the artist a magician cannot make lead into gold, only make lead appear gold, they cannot prolong life or restore youth, only give the illusion of younger years, they cannot rain down hellfire and death, only give the illusion of the apocalypse. But there is a grand secret both artists and magicians know – if you are skilled enough, if you are clever enough, if you can fudge your way around the rules, if you can instill belief, it doesn’t matter if it’s not real. Not in the way of the charlatan and the salesman, if you are confident enough in the illusion, it will open every door, strip away boundaries, and allow you freedom unknown to all but the most powerfully skilled, trained, and gifted. Perhaps if you can convince every atom in your body that you are in fact still young, you will not age. If you can give lead every property of gold to the observer, perhaps it doesn’t matter if it is not ‘real’ gold. If you can will people into believing they are dying, their bodies will eventually give. But this grand secret is one well kept – that skill and ability is rare, and so often is it derided as frivolous that it protects itself.
Cirri (sîr′ī″ - like multiple cirrus clouds) – Enjoys a comfortable life on what used to be many acres of family farmland, long since re-grown as forest apart from a small clearing where her magic school and humble house stands. Now simply a little day-school, she enjoys the freedom of teaching not under any district or constraint, but purely for love of the craft. Her students are day students, driven to lessons by their parents or brought over by bus from the closest school for group lessons. She is known as a thoughtful and gentle teacher who stands for absolutely zero nonsense and will not tolerate an insolent student (difficult is one thing, she has patience with struggle, mean is another.) She is spoken of fondly by students moved by her teaching, and feared by those who incurred her wrath. She lives her life quietly by herself, and she seems surprisingly familiar with the growth of every old tree on her property, speaking to them like old friends. She styles herself as a ‘white witch’ delicate and feminine, and always in white to match her white hair.
Fuki Inouye – Is a vagabond and a looser with pretty much her bike, her jacket, and whatever is in her saddlebags to her name. Rough, tough, and a hell of a fighter, she’s had her share of nasty jobs from unsavory clients, but she’s always ready to put up her fists and cause trouble at a moment’s notice. Her fourty-two years are starting to show in gray streaks and crows feet, but she’ll still fight god behind the seven eleven for a single corn chip. She has no family, no prospects, and makes do living hand to mouth through her fists, “charm”, and whatever else she can scrape together. She’s never been anyone’s favorite, nor been one to easily accept a hand. Her style seems pretty out of date with leather and chains, slick-backed hair, sunglasses, and too much attitude for her (admittedly strong) frame, but she wears it well. She also wears her heart on her sleeve, and is easily plied with kind eyes and a pretty face.
Fuki is out riding her bike out remote roads, between “jobs” (such as she has) when she sees Cirri high in the branches of an enormous centuries-old camphor tree on her property, looking like a wisp of cloud resting in the branches. Nosy and curious, Fuki has to drive up and introduce herself, and as Cirri floats down like a mote on the wind, it’s unfortunately for both of them (but especially Cirri) – love at first sight. It’s crusty butch for magical femme as they both are drawn into the underbelly of each other’s worlds.
