THIS MAGIC SHIT IS EASIER THAN I THOUGHT
Seymour "Mo" Whittaker
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He remembers it so vividly. The first time his perhaps a bit too loud and bit too eccentric uncle pulled a coin from behind his ear. And then the other ear. And then from his nose. Coins, coins, coming from everywhere, all in the end to make up three pounds all for Mo, which at the time was enough to buy himself quite a few boxes of Maltesers.
Oh, and how he tried, for months even, to replicate this simple trick. His hands felt too small and certainly not dexterous enough for such a skill, but he continued to practice feverishly, dreaming of the day he could do the same and conjure up tenpence from anywhere he pleased.
He was about twelve when he finally figured it out and realized you actually needed a tenpence to do the trick—but he'd succeeded! Even today, he can still convincingly pull a coin from your ear with ease.
It's the only sleight of hand he ever perfected really, everything else once again feels clumsy and inadequate—thankfully, there was more than such tricks in the realm of magic.
While it would have been lovely to be even a fraction as good as Alexander Hermann, with his precise card throwing and raucous parlor tricks, it seemed Mo—Supernatural Seymour or Seymour the Sorcerer as he's often billed—was destined to follow in the footsteps of another great magician; The Great Houdini himself.
Now Mo would never, ever say he was great. It all sort of...happened to him. Trying out the feats of other, better magicians, only to find that he managed quite well in the art of escaping.
It didn't feel much like magic at first, more like a spectacle. He wasn't conjuring anything from thin air or making something disappear. No, all the locks and rope and jackets and what have you, they're all still there in the end, just no longer wrapped around him.
And yet he failed. Every time. Sort of.
He tried them to see if he could do them successfully. And every time he tried, he'd manage to muck it up. Run out of air or drop the key he hid on his persons. The threat of failure is high for such acts, especially when things like being underwater or suspended in air come into play—those bits didn't come until later when, after so many failures, he still managed to get out.
Mo couldn't tell you how, exactly. There was no secondary key to free him, no perfect angle he discovered that allowed him to wriggle free from padlocks and chains. Not even a glimmer of some great epiphany that allowed him to understand physics perfectly and devise some convoluted escape—nothing.
Locks seemed to unclick by themselves when he struggled against them. Ropes loosened, once one even snapped in two when he pressed. In a grand underwater escape, the water actually started to seep out through the earlier bolted crevices.
Oh, it's all good fun for the audience, who already had some sense on how he might escape only for the whole thing to seemingly fall apart, leaving Mo at its center, looking all the world more confused than them. The public ate it up. Reporters coined it comedy magic, as if he had done anything funny at all.
He could have died. He nearly did half the time. It's not funny, he insists in every interview and every email correspondence and yet! And yet they persist! Comedy Magic at it's finest.
Hometown: Scunthorpe, Lincolnshire, England Birth Date: April 4, 1994 Orientation: Heterosexual Height: 5'6"