#zackbanes

[vengeancedemon]

@zackbanes replied to your post “[PM] I just heard from Teagan [...] about Arden....”:

[PM] Well, fuck that, I am anyway. I'm bringing food, too, and beer.

​[pm] I don't want you over here. How's that?

[bazzledazzle]

@zackbanes

[pm] How are you feeling today, love? How's your tongue?

[necrosemancy]

Timing: Mid December Location: Rosemary’s Cottage Characters: Zack @zackbanes and Rosemary @necrosemancy Summary: Zack arrives at Rosemary's for a magic lesson! Content warnings: None!

Zack had devoured the journal that Rosemary left for him, reading and rereading the pages she marked, taking notes and going back to read more. It was magic as he had never imagined it – not just some ineffable, organic thing that floated through the ether around them, unknowable. But a set of rules and logic that could be learned and deduced. Not that learning or deductions had ever been Zack’s strong suit, but it at least seemed possible. 

And with someone like Rosemary, who was obviously a genius in all this, it became all the more attainable. So Zack was feeling hopeful in a way he hadn’t for a long time when he showed up on Rosemary’s doorstep. He had the book she had leant him in hand and Zippo, of course, nestled into his shirt pocket, under his jacket. He didn’t quite understand how familiar works, but he knew that his abilities were more focused and more powerful when the fire salamander had been around (he was just glad he was able to get the little guy to unlatch from the mushroom to come along). Did Rosemary have a familiar? At least she probably knew how they worked, Zack figured.

“Hi!” he greeted when the door opened, eager smile already bright on his face. “Again, really, I can’t thank you enough for helping me with this.” Zack held up the journal a little, to indicate what exactly this was. “I promise, I studied like crazy. Harder than I ever studied for school, that’s for sure.”

—

Why the fuck had Rosemary thought she could function as a teacher. 

Not even a teacher- teachers had lesson plans, and quizzes, and tests, and homework assignments, and actual qualifications to teach. Rosemary had none of those things… She barely had ‘assigned reading’. She was a tutor at best. At worst, she was a student who was letting the kid next to her copy her homework before class. 

But thankfully, Rosemary had been specific with what she could try to teach Zack. The basics. The things she could do, even as a little girl. Magic that asked for little to no energy in exchange for her desires to become manifest- having a tea spoon stir her morning coffee, or lighting a candle with a snap. Quick, harmless little bursts of power that took barely any effort to control. And yet she used them so rarely now that she was an adult. Even less, with magic in the town waning like the last sliver of a crescent the night before a new moon. She figured it was better to reserve what energy she had to exchange for magic she might actually need. Necromancy required so much thought, and focus, and yes, energy, that she was practically mundane aside from the moments she flexed her magical muscles to control the dead, or heal a scratch or bruise.

The witch opened the door to a bright smile on her pupil’s face. Fuck- not pupil. Co student. Fellow learner of magic. Not her student. Rosemary smiled and opened the door further, stepping aside to show him in. “Really, it’s no problem. I just hope I’m actually helpful, you know? I don’t really know how to teach, so please bear with me here.” She said, leading her not-student into her kitchen. “You want something to drink? Tea, coffee… Water?”

—

“I know you will be,” Zack reassured. “I mean, I know basically nothing so anything you can give me is going to be a huge help.” Rosemary had already taught him more than he ever knew before, explaining the basic rules of magic and letting him peer into her journal. That had been illuminating. There was so much more to magic than he had ever imagined. For Zack, his abilities had only ever been a thing that was just there. Mostly. Sprouting from his finger tips when he called (and, often enough, when he did not call. And sometimes not coming when he called either…) With no one to tell him otherwise, he had assumed all magic was like that, a natural well inside certain people that burst forth with a mind of its own.

Imagine his surprise when he learned there were laws, there was a whole system, and even a way to work toward making sure it did what you wanted. There were ingredients and incantations and whole curricula and lessons that he could learn. Zack could be better at magic, and it would just be up to his own self-control. His abilities wouldn’t be something that he had to leash and manage all his life, it could actually be an advantage he had. A power he had. And all that had come from Rosemary telling him what she had probably learned before she had lost all his baby teeth.

(If he thought about it too hard or for too long, it made Zack miss his mother so much it ached like a pit through his stomach. So he tried not to think about it, really.)

“Oh, tea would be awesome, if it isn’t too much trouble.” Tea would help calm him some. Not that he was nervous! Just…anxious, maybe. In a good way. Excited, but also a little nervous too. He just didn’t want Rosemary to think he was an idiot. A slight wriggle in his shirt pocket made him look down; Zippo was squirming. “Also, hey. Um. Are you afraid of…lizards? Or salamanders, really?” Zack knew not everyone would be as delighted by Zippo as, say, Ishan had been. And they were in Rosemary’s house, after all. “I kind of have a familiar? He found me, really. But, he’s nice! I promise. If you wanted to…meet him.” Without waiting, Zippo poked his head out of Zack’s pocket, dark shining eyes looking intelligently at the spell-caster before them.

–

“I’m- “ Concerned? Doubtful? Worried? “Flattered, by your confidence in my teaching abilities.” The witch finally settled on. Rosemary knew of a whole slew of scenarios where she could actually be helpful. Healing someone, raising the dead, escaping an attack from a particularly blood thirsty person of the undead persuasion- sure! No problem. Writing obituaries? Directing calls and showing family members where to find their great-grandma who was busy watching Jeopardy? Without a doubt. But teaching the fundamentals of magic? The witch had to hope neither one of the accidentally burnt her house down in the process. 

“No trouble at all!” She said cheerfully, pulling two mugs from her cabinet and setting them on the counter; one was pale green and read fresh out of fucks in swirling pink script, and the other had a cute cartoon frog on it with the words I’m literally just a girl on the bottom. “Take your pick.” She said, going to grab her stash of teas from the cabinet and set them in front of Zack so he could choose from the different flavors she had. She glanced over her shoulder and looked at the stove, still not burning. It couldn’t hurt to flex her muscles a bit, since she was teaching. She flicked her wrist and the gas stove sparked to life, the kettle heading on its way to boiling. Rosemary could barely register the energy it cost her. This magic was so much simpler. It had none of the gravitas or heavy physical toll that necromancy could. It was simply… fun. When was the last time she’d let herself just enjoy being what she was? Her lips pressed together as she tried to hide the little satisfied smile that appeared in her face at the simple spell. 

Her attention whipped back to Zack at the mention of a salamander. “Oh my god. He is so cute!” Rosemary cooed, leaning in to get a better look at the little creature who’d popped his head out of the caster’s pocket. “Hi honey- what’s his name?” She asked excitedly. 

—

“Well, even if you suck at it, which I don’t think you will, we’ll be muddling through together.” Rosemary might be a novice at teaching someone, but Zack was a novice in all things magic. They were perfectly matched, then, as student and teacher. Besides, he didn’t know Rosemary that well, but she had stepped in to rescue him at the Bizarre when she could have just left him to his own peril. That, to Zack, meant that she would be a kind and compassionate teacher. 

The choice of mugs made Zack laugh and, upon reading the text at the bottom, choice the frog one. He also selected one of her herbal teas and glanced up just in time to see Rosemary’s little flourish of magic. “Whoa.” With a grin, he golf-clapped for her. Simple magic, maybe, but not something he was confident he could pull off. A small flame, sure. But he tended to avoided anything like that around gas in case his control wasn’t as tightly reined as he thought. And besides, he thought Rosemary hadn’t caused the spark so much as she had just turned the stove on – a different kind of magic entirely. “I know that’s probably crazy easy for you and that you do it without thinking. But even just that is pretty foreign to me.” He hoped that confession wouldn’t make Rosemary rethink her agreement to teach him.

He was glad to have the distraction of Zippo, though, in case she was having second thoughts. No matter what Rosemary thought about Zack, she was clearly happy to have the little critter around. “His name is Zippo, which is a really bad joke but it kind of stuck.” Gathering the salamander out of his pocket, he held him gently out toward Rosemary. “You can hold him, if you want. He’s not slimy, I promise. And he’s actually, well, a fire salamander. So he’s really warm.”

—

Rosemary grinned at the reaction the mugs warranted. “Excellent choice.” She nodded in approval as he chose the frog mug. She gave a little half curtsy as Zack applauded the rudimentary use of magic. It wasn’t much, but it was something. And hey, if he wanted to clap for her most basic party trick, who was she to stop him? The flames on the stove licked up around the kettle, and the water started slowly coming up to a boil. “You would think. But I don’t use this sort of magic much, so it’s a bit like getting on a bike for the first time in years. It takes a minute to find your balance, but once you’re moving, you’re good to go.” She explained, dropping an earl grey tea bag into her mug along with a fancy brown sugar cube she kept in a little bowl on the table. She slid the sugar over to her protege in a silent offer as the kettle began to shriek out its proclamation that the water was ready. She decided to grab the kettle the old fashioned way, pouring the water out into both of their mugs. 

The witch’s eyes went wide in recognition as she looked at the little salamander, cupping her hands together and holding them out for the little guy to sit cradled in her hands if he so wished. “Zippo? The Zippo? Of Zippo and Mingus fame?” She asked, grinning down at the salamander. “You are so cute- and you have excellent taste in birds.” Her attention shifted back to her student, her delight morphing into curiosity. “You said he’s your familiar?” She had never found a familiar. She’d thought she had, but then Buttons had turned into a full grown man. The curiosity and delight ebbed a bit at the thought, but she kept the smile firm on her face. 

__

Zack nodded seriously as Rosemary explained about the everyday magic. He knew she was only talking casually, really, but every bit of information was new to him, and therefore useful. And in this case, hearing Rosemary talk about how her magic could get “rusty,” gave him some relief. Maybe that was why it seemed so hard every time he went back to his fire abilities. There was often so much time between his attempts – in large part because of his own fear. It helped to know that it was more like a muscle that required steady engagement. 

As their tea steeped, Zack was more than happy to let Rosemary coo over Zippo. He couldn’t be sure, but it seemed like the fire salamander was preening under the positive attention. “Oh! You know Mingus? And probably Ishan, too, if you’ve heard of their romance.” He wouldn’t have been surprised to learn that the big raven had sought Rosemary out on his own – but only Ishan could have told her about the unconventional union between the bird and his Zippo.

Zack could only shrug in explanation when Rosemary asked about him being his familiar. “I think so, at least? I dunno if there’s some formal…thing to it. He kind of found me, when I was out in Chicago. I didn’t realize what he was until I noticed that I could handle my fire spells a lot better when I had him with me.” A smile sketched across Zack’s face as he looked down at the little creature. “And he seems to like hanging out with me, so I guess it’s a win-win.” He figured Rosemary didn’t have one, as it hadn’t come up in the journal she had given him or in person yet.

—

“I do indeed,” The witch said with a grin. “What can I say, I’m a sucker for love. Congratulations on the pending nuptials. How can a witch score an invite to the crow salamander wedding?” Rosemary cooed down at Zippo. The little creature fascinated her. She’d always wanted a familiar- a constant companion to aid in spell casting. But necromancy didn’t seem like the sort of magic that applied itself to that sort of partnership. Alistair had had Brutus, of course, but the dog had also served as a guide dog for them. And her mentor had always struck her as more of a lone wolf, who made few exceptions to the rule. Still, it would have been nice…

She shrugged free of the thought, choosing to be happy for her student (fuck, she really couldn’t escape that truth anymore, could she?) instead. “Now that sounds like a good partnership.” She tickled the salamanders chin, before shifting her focus back to Zack. “But I think he’s going to function more as your cheerleader today. When I said we were starting with basics, I meant basics.” Rosemary went to the cabinet and pulled out two tea spoons, plunking them down into both of their cups. 

“So, pop quiz time: can you tell me what the law of energy, and the law of difficulty are? Use your own words, textbook definitions are bullshit. No one needs to know definitions full of multisyllabic words in order to grasp a concept.” Rosemary leaned back in her seat, waiting to see how much of the reading had clicked. 

—

“Oh, you’re invited for sure,” Zack said, nodding. “Who else is going to do the flowers and decor?”

Zack felt a sort of anxiety rise in him as Rosemary pivoted to the magic of it all and, more intimidatingly, the teaching. Even if this was mostly informal, he had never performed well under academic pressure. Rosemary was a doll and a delight, but that just meant Zack didn’t want to let her down. Even if she would never punish him or anything for getting something wrong. “Okay, law of difficulty, I definitely know.” He nodded, as if to encourage himself, and tried to explain, “It’s that, the bigger the impact of the spell you’re doing, the more difficult the spell will be. And, probably, the more resources and components and stuff, it will take.” That one was easy, to Zack. It made straight-forward, logical sense to him. 

The law of energy was a little more nebulous. “Energy is that like… Magic doesn’t come from nothing. And it doesn’t come from us, the spell-casters, right? It has an energy that exists in the…” He had had to look up the word when he read it in Rosemary’s journal (and even that hadn’t shed too much light on things). “Ether!” He snapped his fingers, beaming at his success. “In the astral planes, right? So doing magic is basically like pulling that energy out of the ether and shaping it into whatever spell you’re doing.” 

Zack was actually pretty proud of himself. Remembering and being able to explain things had always been hard for him, but Rosemary’s journal had been easy to understand for the most part, and he had pored over it, reading and rereading the parts that had eluded him at first. More than just being about to explain the laws back to Rosemary, he really felt like he did understand them. Even if he did have one question. “This is probably a stupid question but… Are the astral planes a real place? I keep picturing, like, outer space.” 

Maybe that was what they were after all. Who was to say magic didn’t come from the depths of the universe? (And why could Zack not stop thinking about the way the world felt when he was in Netherville?)

—

“You picked the perfect woman for the job. I’ll cut wildflowers from my garden. Or the crocuses on the lawn.”

The witch grinned, nodding in approval. So he had studied up. She’d expected nothing less. Rosemary knew what it was like to be hungry for knowledge. She’d never had issues wielding magic, but even then she’d found herself in need of guidance. Necromancy didn’t come naturally to anyone, so she’d found herself in the same predicament as Zack- hunting down someone who had the answers who could try and teach her. 

“Correct. Casters aren’t magic. We can just tune into the frequency, as it were. Or think of it like a musical instrument- if you drop a violin in front of someone and tell them to play something, you’re either going to have someone who has no fucking clue what their doing hurting everyone’s eardrums, or they’re going to know how to play it, or be able to figure it out. We know how to play magic. We have the magic equivalent of natural musical talent. So learning the violin in this analogy would come more naturally to us.” Rosemary explained. 

“Not the best analogy, but it also allows me to point out that practice is necessary. You’re not going to be fucking Harry Houdini overnight.” The witch opened the cookie jar on the table and handed a chocolate chip cookie to her student. “Good job. And yes, magic is exchange based. To make something happen, it costs energy. It will take some of your own energy to control it. But little things though, like what we’re focusing on today, won’t cost much.” She cocked her head to the side at his question. “No such thing as a stupid question. Honestly, I don’t know. We can research it. I don’t have much knowledge regarding astral planes. But probably. My thought is sort of like an extra dimension. Like a layer on top of this one that’s more cerebral in nature. But who knows.” 

Rosemary pointed at the spoon she’d placed in Zack’s cup. “So I know you said fire seemed to be more your thing, but I figured we’d start super basic. I’m going to teach you to do this.” The witch reached out, tuning into the gentler hum of magic that she associated with the natural world. She twirled her finger in the air, and watched as the spoon in her mug stirred itself clockwise. “Work for you?”

—

The smile and nod from Rosemary went a long way to soothe the anxiety that had drifted over Zack a moment ago. He had done well – and Rosemary affirmed that, expanding on his answers and helping him to understand the concepts even better. In particular, he appreciated the information on casters and the well of magic. He had been thinking of casters as their own kind of magic, but the way Rosemary explained it made more sense. 

“That’s really helpful.” If Zack appreciated the positive reinforcement, he imagined his teacher might as well. “I think I was thinking of us, casters, as a kind of magic ourselves. But it definitely makes more sense as a kind of…sixth sense, or a natural ability toward something.” Like art, even. A smile came to his face as he considered that metaphor further – Zack had always had a bit of a natural talent for art, but it was the practice and fine-tuning that had made him into the artist that he had been able to become. Magic could be just like that for him. 

The physical existence of the ether still eluded him somewhat. But it seemed like that might not matter so much, if Rosemary didn’t have a much better grasp on it. He pictures a sort of extra layer around the world, like the Earth’s atmosphere. “I think I’m just more of a visual learner,” Zack explained with a rueful smile. “The abstract stuff comes less easily.” As he happily bit into the cookie, he made a note to maybe research some of that himself.

“Definitely works for me.” Zack was watching the spoon move with delight in his eyes. He would prefer to start with the basics, if he was honest. There was so much that he knew he didn’t know. He wanted to get to it all.

__

“If we were magic, I’d imagine these blackouts would be a hell of a lot worse for us.” Rosemary offered Zack a crooked smile. “You’ve noticed them, right? I don’t know how it is for you, but for me, if I think about it, I’m almost always vaguely aware of magic. It feels like that static you could feel on the surface of televisions, back before everything went LED. Just kind of always… humming. And there. Until the blackouts, and it’s just not. Nothing to grab onto. Like, circling back to my analogy, if I was a concert violinist, and I was about to perform, and someone just yanked my instrument from my hands.” It was an isolating feeling, but she knew she had it much better than most of her friends. 

The witch bobbed her head in a nod. “Okay,” she said, drawing out the syllables as she tried to think of a way to help him understand. She got up and grabbed a pen and a piece of paper, and sketched a spoon, and a bunch of dotted lines coming off it. “So, the only real visual you’re going to have is going to be me, and the spoon, so I’m going to try to draw what you should be able to sense. At least, this is how it is for me. I’ve heard everyone explain it a little differently. But everything, and I mean everything has an energy to it. It’s own signature. It feels different. So today you’re looking for what feels like a spoon. Think about what it feels like to have a spoon in your hand. What the metal feels like… if it’s cold, or warm from the liquid in the cup. If it’s heavy. And you reach out for something that feels like that.” Rosemary held her hand out in front of her, hand grasping at the open air as she looked for why she was describing. She could find it easily, the trick coming to her as naturally as breathing. “And when you’ve found it, I sort of just. Grab it. And then give it a stir.” She pinched her fingers together, before twirling her pointer finger in a clockwise motion, sending the spoon spinning along the rim of the cup. “Tada!”

—

Zack hummed thoughtfully as Rosemary spoke about the blackouts. That was true. And he supposed that was why the blackouts affected Kieran and other fae as they did. The faun’s glamour and his own abilities were actually magic, so they ceased to exist during the blackouts. Even though Rosemary was talking about a terrible, scary experience, he couldn’t help but feel warmed. She understood. She felt it like he did. All his life, even his previous time in Wicked’s Rest, Zack had never known another spell-caster. To hear someone talk about something he had felt, exactly, was comforting. “That’s exactly what it’s like,” he answered, gentle smile still unfurled over his face. “It’s like when your air-conditioning has been on all day, and then it suddenly clicks off. The silence is so heavy it’s like you can hear it.” Like you could hear the loss of sound. 

It wasn’t the time, but Rosemary’s explanation made him wonder if she might understand how he felt about Netherville. The strange pull of the magic there, and how it felt different than the cozy layer of magic that existed above ground. 

The lesson made sense – not just because Rosemary proved to be a good teacher, but because Zack did have some experience with magic making. What she described was, more or less, how had always brought his fire to life. Just feeling something like fire and pulling it toward him, like the fire had been there the whole time and he was just uncovering it. “Okay, got it.” He focused, hard, on what a spoon was. Hard and solid, cool to touch but warm where it was submerged in the tea. He wanted to close his eyes but it felt easier to have the object to look at there. To see not only what it was, but where it was in space.

Reaching out as Rosemary had instructed, Zack nudged at the feeling of what he thought was the spoon. The whole mug bounced clumsily, skirting on its edge sloshed some tea out before it settled back into place. “Oops.” His expression was sheepish. Okay. So that had been the mug he felt, not the spoon. “Hang on, I got it.” He shifted his attention, his consciousness, just a little. Lighter than the mug. Not quite as solid. More delicate.

When he reached out again this time, the spoon twirled in his tea. It wasn’t as smooth as Rosemary had moved it, but it was the correct object and the correct motion. Zack counted that as a win, darting his eyes to his teacher to see her assessment.

—

“Yes!” Rosemary hadn’t ever spoken with another caster about the blackouts. Business in the Bizzare was always just that- business. And Alistair had left town before the blackouts had started in earnest. She could talk to them about it, but they didn’t understand what it was like to have something so ever present just spontaneously vanish. “Yes, exactly like that.” The witch agreed. She was so used to going it alone, that she’d forgotten how nice it was to be understood- to have community. 

The witch watched, leaning back in her seat as she watched Zack set to work. She knew it was a bit of an abstract thing. She’d remembered how silly she’d felt as a little girl, trying to figure out the basics. Grabbing at things that weren’t visible but were innately there felt insane. But for her, she’d been raised on the acceptance of the simple truth that they were there- that magic was real, and that it could be used, if you were willing to try. Rosemary grabbed a napkin as the tea spilled over the lip of the mug and onto the table, an easy smile still on her face. “You’ve got this, Zack.” She hoped the gentle encouragement would urge him along. He was doing remarkably well for his first time. She’d stared at the spoon for well over an hour, trying to figure out what it felt like to be a spoon before she’d ever gotten it to budge.

Just a few moments later, the spoon made a jerky, but complete rotation around the cup. A wide grin broke across the woman’s face as she clapped.”Yes! Exactly like that.” Rosemary grabbed another chocolate chip cookie out of the jar, and handed it across to Zack. Was she pavloving him? Maybe. But she was pretty sure positive reinforcement was a thing for teaching, and cookies were always readily available in her house. “The more you practice it the smoother it’ll get.”

__

This was the feeling that he had ached for since Levi had first told him what he was. Community. Would he have had access to that kind of understanding had he not been pulled from his mother at such a young age? It was impossible to tell. Though he had no memories to support this theory, Zack had become certain that his mother was a spellcaster. He had wondered whether it wasn’t an inability to control her magic, a lack of knowledge just like his, that had led her to substance use. Was it all just a cycle?

Whatever that status of his mother might be, Zack had never had anyone who understood what he was and what he could do. Until now. And judging by Rosemary’s intense reaction, she had been without that community as well.

Zack had never been a great student, but Rosemary’s warm encouragement after his fuck-up went a long way to soothe that anxiety. It was okay that he had gotten it wrong. It wasn’t the end of the world, or even the end of the lesson. He could try again, and Rosemary believed in him. And with that balm on his anxiety, he was able to pull through on his next attempt. Once again, his teacher had only kind words for his less-than-stellar execution, reassuring him that he would get better with more practice. “You explained it really well,” Zack said, certain that had helped him to complete the task. This was something he could practice on his own, he thought, daily. Until it became like second nature, as it clearly was for Rosemary.

“Is the concept different for more complicated magic?” Zack imagined it would have to be. Weaving together different components and many strands of magic… That had to take more than just closing your eyes and feeling for something that felt like a spoon. Even if it was more of the same, he knew it would take time before he was fully comfortable attempting that kind of magic.

— 

Rosemary let out a little hum as she thought about the question. “Full and fair disclosure, I don’t know. I know what it’s like for people who practice other kinds of magic. I would imagine, fundamentally, on all levels, it’s vaguely similar.” She’d never really let herself think about what learning other magic would have been like. If she’d find herself drawn to the icy elemental spells those Kanes that hadn’t been the golden first born sons practiced. Or else, maybe she’d fall into her mother’s practices; providing protections and wards for her loved ones, casting hexes and curses toward those who meant them harm. What could she have been, if not this? The frown was gone before it had even finished forming on her face. 

“I know, for me, necromancy is similar. I think of it like threads. Tiny little strings of magic that trail off the dead. Maybe it’s whatever magic is innately in everything just looking for someplace to go after the heart’s stopped beating. I don’t really know… but I know what they feel like. I know how to grab hold of them. And from there, it’s kind of like the spoon.” Rosemary glanced over to where skeledog sat, frozen in death in the corner. “ I’ll use incantations to help it along sometimes- desine, for example, if I want something to stop moving. To halt. I use Latin, but I know people who use Gaelic… I tend to think it’s more about the intent than it is about the language, anyway. Words are fickle. Stop could be a bunch of different commands- stop moving, stop approaching, stop existing, stop breathing, stop attacking- my intention, and how I’m manipulating the threads are more important. They fill in the blanks.” She reached out for her companion, and the skeleton rattled to life. Bones clicked and rattled together as the dog chased its bony tail in a circle, before sitting obediently at her feet. “See?”

–

Right. Because there were kinds of magic. The fact that Zack tended toward controlling fire with his magic was some random, innate preference. (It came to his mind unbidden, as it so often did, wondering whether his mother had practiced the same magic. Had she had the same abilities? Had she struggled like he had with them?) He focused on Rosemary’s explanation, and thought about intent. That’s all he had ever really used, at first. Before he knew anything about other kinds of magic, or spell components, or incantations. He had just thought about fire, willed there to be fire, and then there was. At least, when he was in control of things.

The rattle of bones startled Zack and he gave a little jump. Zippo, curled around the warmth of his mug, skittered across the table to hide in his pocket again. Once he saw what had made the noise, though, the macabre sight of the little dog chasing its tail, he had to laugh. It was cute, almost sweet, in a strange way. Different, he could tell, from just moving the bones around, as he had swirled the spoon. This was…life in death. The thought should chill him but instead Zack could only think of the potential. Of all that was possible with magic.

“That makes a lot of sense,” he said finally, nodding. The laws that he had learned seemed rigid in a lot of ways, but magic itself wasn’t so strict. Which made it all the more dangerous, of course. As Rosemary had pointed out, one miscommunication could bring about disaster. Maybe that was the safest way to think of it – magic was its own living thing, moving through the world, and spellcaster were making a deal with it, to do as they asked of it. The words, the components, the intent, their own magic, all that helped to nudge the partnership in the right direction. 

“I don’t know how to tell you just how much you’ve helped. Really.” Before meeting Rosemary, Zack had more or less been fumbling in the dark, trying to learn all he could but coming up against too much information and no idea where to start. Not to mention a wealth of dis- and misinformation. Barely one hour in Rosemary’s kitchen and already he felt like he was on firmer ground than he ever had been before.

—

Skeledog was, as always, a very good boy. Rosemary grinned at the laugh that emerged once the surprise of seeing a skeletal dog playing in the kitchen gave way. It was a reminder to herself that necromancy didn’t have to be a bad thing. It could heal. It could protect. It could reanimate a skeleton to be her friend and companion. A flick of her pinky and Skeledog was wagging his tail, empty eye sockets looking up at her with his head cocked to the side. She let the spell drop, and the dog remained seated. 

Zack’s genuine gratitude curled up, soft and warm in her chest like the little salamander that had scurried into the man’s pocket. “Happy to be of use.” The witch grinned. She pushed back from her seat, grabbing an unlit candle and heading for the kitchen door to head to the back yard. “Grab your coat- I’m gonna teach you how to light a candle without a match.” The witch grinned, heading out into the snow. Maybe being a magic teacher would be better than she’d thought.

[mortemoppetere]

@zackbanes from here:

This that bartender you told me about?

That's the one.

[ohwynne]

@zackbanes from here

[PM] I'm fine. Dehydrated, apparently, but fine. She's okay, but they took her to get checked out too.

​[pm] Me too. And lot of blood loss, but that's fine now. Is she in a different room than you?

[rn-zane]

@zackbanes replied to your post “What is the most afraid you've ever been?”:

Yeah. First one is always rough.

​How old were you when you left home?

[mortemoppetere]

@zackbanes from here:

Sorry....you don't eat pizza????

No. I eat whatever I have at home.

[incatsclothing]

TIMING: recent. LOCATION: the thrift store. PARTIES: @zackbanes & @incatsclothing. SUMMARY: while hunting for deals at the thrift store, zack meets rory, who has some suggestions for his style. CONTENT WARNINGS: wrspice (jokes).

Ever since he had left his home with his adoptive family, Zack had more or less struggled with money. He had certainly learned a lot since that first year on his own and so his situation wasn’t quite as dire. In fact, he had been rather successful in his freelancing while in Chicago and even managed to amass a small savings. Nothing too impressive, but enough that he could safely feel as though he was no longer living paycheck to paycheck. 

When he moved back to Wicked’s Rest, he had chosen Worm Row just because it was familiar to him. And he had hoped his old friends might still be around the neighborhood. That was true of Emilio, but no one else, really. And every month that passed, he realized that he could probably afford better. Zack wasn’t quite ready to move from his current apartment, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t upgrade other parts of his life. Just in little ways – like his wardrobe.

He wasn’t, like, rich, though, and even if he were, there were still plenty of great clothes to be thrifted. It was the easier option, too, as he didn’t exactly know what his “personal style” was. Maybe some people didn’t have one? Growing up, he had just followed whatever his adoptive brother had worn, or his other friends in school. Whatever was bought for him, really. And once he left home, he was just happy to have any clothes. 

The bundle of hangers he had collected were certainly…ecclectic. Some loud, flashy prints, some out-of-the-box textures, some incredibly boring neutrals. Enough variety that Zack could find his own style from the mess. At least, that’s what he hoped. He edged out of one aisle, arms laden with clothes, and craned his head to look for a fitting room. 

—

Rory was no stranger to used clothes. As a child, growing up the youngest of seven, she hadn’t owned a single outfit that wasn’t a hand-me-down until she was a teenager, always clad in something one of her siblings had worn just enough for it to remain in a condition her parents couldn’t justify throwing out. She’d never had much of a problem with it. What she wore didn’t matter as much to Rory as it had seemed to to other kids her age, and she and her sister had styles similar enough that most of the clothes Rory got from her were ones she’d have picked out for herself, anyway. Privately, she sort of preferred hand-me-downs; they made her feel a little more like she belonged, like she was a part of something.

All this to say, she liked the thrift store. Even if she could have afforded to buy her clothes new — which she probably could have if she’d cancelled a subscription she never used or stopped buying quite so much soda — she probably would have felt drawn to places like this, anyway. She liked that every outfit on the hangers seemed to come with some kind of story behind it, liked that everything felt lived in in a way new items never really did. 

But, more than anything, she liked the weird shit you could find in a thrift store that you couldn’t find anywhere else. She’d already made note of a lifesize puppet whose original design she couldn’t pin down (some kind of a goblin, maybe?) and plastic, sparkly platform heels so high that they were really more stilts than shoes. The clothing aisle would promise some loud patterns and odd designs. And, better still, people browsing those loud patterns and odd designs!

Rory spotted someone doing just that. He looked like he was probably in his thirties, clothes piled on his arms. Rory raised a brow, glancing down at the items he held with a snort. “Dude,” she said flatly, “you’re really going with that shirt? It’s so… boring.” She spun around to the rack behind her, grabbing something at random. When she pulled it out, she was met with a neon green button up sporting an ugly orange flame pattern across the front and back. She grinned. “This is way more your style.”

—

Zack was actually the type to strike up a conversation with a stranger while out shopping. He loved complimenting people on their choices, or asking someone where they found something. Anything to get a little hit of social interaction and connection. It didn’t often lead to a longer conversation (unless he was specifically trying to hit on the person…) but it was good for a smile, usually. It just wasn’t too common that the roles were reversed, with someone else going out of their way to interact with him.

That’s precisely what seemed to be happening, though, as a younger woman (maybe even a teenager?) strode right up to him and started critiquing his choices. Not his favorite opener, but… He didn’t really have the best sense of style, did he? And younger people tended to be more ‘on trend’ – at least, he thought so. “I thought I had a lot of variety…” Zack looked down at the pile in his arms once more. Yes, some of his choices certainly were boring but there were a few flashier designs too! Nothing close to as flashy as the shirt that the woman was holding up, though. For a split second, he wondered if she was trying to tell him something with the pattern. Trying to let him know that she somehow knew what he was. But that was impossible. And it would have been a little weird to do so with the ugliest shirt Zack had ever seen. 

“Ah. I think that’s a little too…adventurous for me, actually.” He still offered a smile to the girl. He appreciated her input, even if she hadn’t quite struck the nail on the head. “Do you have anything that might be a compromise? Not as boring as my pick, but not as adventurous as yours?” He had come to the thrift shop in the hope of finding his own unique style – maybe some direction from a stranger would lead him to something he would have never otherwise considered.

—

The guy was a good sport, at least. Rory had half expected him to huff and stomp away (something plenty of people did when a stranger marched up to them in a thrift store to insult their choice in clothes, for some reason), but that didn’t seem to be the kind of vibe he was going for here. He didn’t accept her suggestion that he wear the shirt — kind of a bummer, really, because that would have been fucking hilarious — but he did offer her something few people wouldn’t have: an opportunity to take things further.

“Not ready for the future of fashion, I guess,” she replied, feigning disappointment and hiding the spark of mischief behind her eyes. He wanted something in between the boring pile of safe, dull clothing gathered in his arms and the hideous but exciting flame shirt; Rory had no intention of giving him that. The joy of thrift stores was always in finding the weirdest thing there and showing it off to someone else. Most of the time, that someone else was whoever you’d gone to the store with. Since Rory was here alone, shirt guy would have to fill that slot. Whether he knew it or not.

Turning back to the rack, she browsed a little more, coming back with a new option: a pair of jean shorts so short they could only really be referred to as a banana hammock made of denim. “Now this,” she said, holding it up in front of his crotch, “this is you. Why don’t you take it into the dressing room with you and try it on?”

—

“No,” Zack agreed, smile still firmly in place. “I think I’m more of a ‘present tense of fashion’ kind of guy.” He wasn’t exactly sure where this was going. The girl was obviously far too young to be trying to flirt with him – and if she was trying to flirt, she was going to have to learn that negging was no longer an acceptable method. But for now, it was just an interesting little devolution from an errand he had actually been a little nervous about. The weight of picking out his whole personal style had sharpened him to an edge. This girl was sanding that down.

At her next suggestion, Zack couldn’t stop the burst of helpless laughter that blurted out of him. “Oh, yeah. Totally.” He shook his head, but was still grinning. What could he say, he admired the girl’s guts. He half-wondered if this was the beginning of some scheme to get him jumped or something. Or maybe this girl was just a chaotic entity come to life. “Do you know, if that wasn’t made of denim, it might have had a shot.” Zack wasn’t exactly shy about his physique and showing it off. He had actually worn something of a similar style and cut while in Greece with Levi those few years back. But to have that made out of denim was just... horrendous. “You have to consider the chafing.” He wondered if that joke was maybe a bit too far for a young, female stranger. But then again, she had pulled the denim briefs out and started the whole bit.

—

“Wow, do you get off on being boring? Is it a fetish thing for you? Like, a kink?” Rory bit back a laugh at her own words. The best way to get people off guard was to talk about sex. She’d learned that a long time ago, when she and her peers were all teenagers only just beginning to understand what sex was. Most people were repressed. This guy didn’t look like he was, but… well, the only way to know for certain was to test it. And when it came to testing people, Rory had always believed in a trial by fire. 

He laughed at the denim banana hammock, which brought a grin to Rory’s face. In all honesty, it didn’t matter if he was scandalized or delighted by the suggestion — either way, Rory would have a good time. “You should at least try it on,” she insisted, pushing the hanger towards him. “I mean, for all you know, it has patented anti-chafing technology. This might be the future of denim. You can’t let it leave you behind.” She wondered what the odds were of her actually being able to convince this stranger to wear the denim nightmare. Low, probably, but nothing ventured nothing gained, right?

—

“I normally wait until I at least know someone’s name before I start trading kink lists. I’m Zack.” That…actually was incredibly untrue, but this girl didn’t have to know that. “But haven’t you ever heard that you shouldn’t kinkshame? Maybe I do get off on being boring. Human sexuality is a beautiful spectrum, you know?” While Zack did earnestly believe that, he was teasing in this instance, and it was obvious by the way he was laughing through every word. 

“Patented anti-chafing technology, huh? Are you one of their sales associates or something?” Zack had to admit, he was enjoying the conversation with the stranger. It was entertaining to say that least and it was clear that she wasn’t trying to harm him in any way. If he had to venture a guess, he would say that she was just bored and looking for a way to kill some time in the thrift shop. Maybe she had a friend or family member that she came with who was taking too long. Either way, Zack decided to throw her a bone. “Hey, I’ll make you a deal. I’ll try that on, but only if you try on one piece of clothing that I get to choose.” Obviously, it would be in a different…genre from a denim speedo. Zack was thinking of some of the more outrageously colored and patterned items he’d seen on the racks.

—

“Rory,” she replied, “and don’t think I didn’t notice that you did not deny having a kink for being boring. I’ve heard that you shouldn’t kinkshame, sure. And I’ve ignored it, ‘cause some people deserve to be shamed. Human sexuality is a beautiful spectrum, so you should really be getting freakier with it. At least buy a pair of fuzzy handcuffs.” She grinned, a mischievous spark in her eye. She didn’t mind Zack, really; anyone who could roll with the punches like this was all right in her books. (Really, she was incapable of befriending anyone who couldn’t roll with the punches; Rory threw a lot of punches.)

“I am, actually,” she lied. “I should fully introduce myself: Aurora B. Denim. I actually invented denim. Specifically this denim.” She gestured with the banana hammock once more, feigning a serious expression that was a pretty obvious front. She couldn’t keep up the expression when Zack continued, though, making her an offer tempting enough to light up Rory’s face with a grin. “Oh, you are so on,” she said, sounding delighted as she pushed the speedo against his chest. “Give me your worst. Don’t hold back, dude.”

—

God, if you only knew, Zack thought to himself with a smirk. But he wasn’t about to get into that conversation with a strange woman who looked a good deal younger than himself. He settled for just a grin and a wink, commenting, “Don’t worry, my own spectrum is plenty colorful and not boring at all.” And it included a set of handcuffs that were heavy-duty leather, rather than anything fuzzy and novelty. 

“Wow,” he played along with a mock look of great respect. “Ms Denim, it’s an honor, I assure you. Since I have you here, though. Who hurt you enough to create such a garment?” It was all fun for a gag, but Zack would never actually wear a denim bathing suit. Even if it did claim to have some kind of patented anti-chafing technology.

He knew immediately what his choice for Rory to wear was going to be. He had paged past it earlier, when considering buying a new winter coat: a full ski suit with a patchwork pattern all in the brightest of neon colors – it looked like something straight out of the worst of the eighties. “Right this way.” He led Rory along to the aisle where he had seen the outfit. No doubt it would still be there – no one was buying that anytime soon. Unless, of course he managed to convince Rory it was her new signature look. “Here we are!” Zack brandished the ski suit out from the line of clothes. Even better than he remembered, it had, for some reason, a faux fur hood-lining with a leopard print. And attached mittens! It made no sense, with the loud, geometric colors, but then no design element made sense on its own, either. He had made the questionable fashion choice here and there before, but nothing this absurd. “What do you think? Can you make this look good?” Rory was, he knew, getting off easy between the two of them, but that was okay. Zack wasn’t actually looking to win whatever little game they were playing – he was just having a good time.

—

“Hmmm…” Rory looked him over thoughtfully, then nodded. “Yeah, I guess I buy that. You don’t look like the boring type.” In all fairness, she figured ‘the boring type’ would have been scandalized at the mere implication of the existence of sex, and this guy certainly wasn’t that. He was probably cool. If nothing else, he was definitely fun to mess with.

Especially because he was willing to roll with whatever punches Rory threw his way. He took the ‘Aurora B. Denim’ joke in stride, and Rory took an opportunity to act haughty and scandalized as he questioned the denim banana hammock. “How dare you, sir!” She huffed, hiding a grin. “This design was one my grandfather came up with on his deathbed! His dying wish was for me to make it a reality, so it’s very disrespectful of you to say that.” Her grandfather lived in Tampa. 

She was actually pretty excited to see what he might find for her on the racks. Thrift stores presented a whole world of opportunity within them; you never knew what you might find. And whatever he picked would say a lot about him, too, she figured. What item did he find the most outrageous? She hoped it was something weird. It’d be pretty anticlimactic if he showed up with something as simple as a neon tube top. (The thrift store was full of neon tube tops. All thrift stores were. Rory didn’t really know why, but it was a universal constant she’d made note of years ago.) She followed Zack down the aisles, unable to keep the grin off her face when he introduced his pick. Way better than a neon tube top. “I can make this look great,” she assured him, pulling it off the rack and holding it against her body. It looked… roughly her size. In the ballpark, at least. “Okay!” She tossed the suit over her shoulder, letting it rest on top of her for easy transport. There were carts available, but Rory was not going to be the person using a cart in a thrift store. “Shall we?”

—

Zack had to admit, it was nice to hear that some cool Gen Z-er didn’t consider him boring. Even if that was only based on his supposed list of kinks… Maybe it wasn’t so nice, on second thought. Still, he busted up laughing as Rory continued her little Aurora B Denim charade. “Oh my god, dude. I just imagined some ninety year old wearing these.” He wagged the hanger that held the swim jorts, still trailing laughter. “Or is that considered kinkshaming too?” While the image had actually popped into his mind, he had mostly announced it just to get a rise out of Rory. 

He wasn’t sure whether he should be pleased or dismayed by Rory’s game reaction to his pick. On the one hand, he hadn’t wanted to actually make her feel uncomfortable or embarrassed. On the other hand, he didn’t want it to be too easy. But, the choice had been made, so Zack did his best to prematurely accept defeat and headed for the fitting rooms. 

In this particular thrift store, said fitting rooms were little more than cheap cloth dividers, propped up into two areas roughly the shape and size of back-to-back closets. Depositing the rest of his armload to the chair inside, Zack set about undressing. Suddenly, the swimsuit seemed much smaller than it first had… But he wasn’t all that modest, anyway, and it was meant to be a laugh. Once he had it on, though, he did poke his head out of the door first. Checking that the coast was clear (and that Rory wasn’t waiting with her phone already recording. “Are you ready to see your grandfather’s dying wish come true, Miss B Denim?”

—

“My grandfather wore these every single day of his life,” Rory insisted, choking on the laugh she was trying valiantly to contain. The mental image of a ninety-year old man wearing the terrible denim bathing suit was a terrible one, actually, but she liked dragging out the act a little more, liked drawing a reaction out of Zack. Luckily, that feeling seemed to be a mutual one; Zack was giving just as good as he got, which only made it all that much more entertaining. Rory was glad she’d approached him instead of someone else in the thrift store. Anyone else would have been way more boring.

The fitting rooms were rickety things that looked like they might fall at any moment; were Rory someone more worried about the possibility of someone seeing her in a state of undress, she might have felt a little self conscious about changing in them. But as a shifter, Rory had been naked in front of more people than she could really count. It was a silly thing to feel self conscious about, in her shoes. Zack seemed to have no problem using them, either, which was a good thing. She’d hate for shitty fitting rooms to be the needle that popped this particular bubble.

Once inside the fitting room, Rory stripped out of her top layer of clothing. The ski suit was something that could easily slip on over her tights and tank top, which was probably for the best; there was really no telling who had worn it last, and the scent left a lot to be desired. Rory stepped into it, pulling it up and zipping it up to her chin, even going as far as to flip the hood up. The faux fur fell down over her eyes, and she snorted. Zack’s voice sounded out, and Rory, straightened the front and flipped on the mittens. “Oh, it would be my greatest pleasure!” She replied. “We can both step out on three?”

—

“Yeah, yeah that sounds good.” And once again, Zack would just have to hope that Rory had upheld her part of the deal. He thought she would, though. She had been too game, too clearly delighted, throughout this whole process for it all to have been some elaborate prank. At least, he hoped. A quick countdown and then he was opening the door to his fitting room and stepping out for judgement.

He had definitely gotten the short end of the stick in this game, that was for certain. But Rory did look pretty ridiculous in the ski suit. Or, maybe it was just that the ski suit looked ridiculous around her. Whatever the configuration, Zack couldn’t help but laugh at the sight. “Damn. Somehow it’s worse on someone and off the hanger.” The neon was definitely more dizzing – and the matchup with the animal print faux fur was even more baffling. But Rory, to her credit, almost looked cute inside of it. If they were at some hip chalet in the mountains, Zack might even think she was pulling off some ultra-modern trend he was just too square to be aware of. “But, you know what. I think you’re right. I think you do make it look great.”

He held out his arms, waiting for her assessment of his look. Out in the open, he could admit that he felt more than a little bare, in just the denim speedo. And it definitely was not comfortable, even if it really had been some denim baron’s dying wish of a design (which, of course, it hadn’t). And wearing a swimsuit this revealing on Mykonos was definitely different than wearing one in the glaring fluorescent lights of a thrift shop in the middle of a Maine winter. Fighting the urge to cover himself, Zack pointed out, “It looks like we’re off to extremely opposite vacations, doesn’t it?” Her for the snowy slopes and him for some sun-soaked beach.

At least that vacation would be fitting to Zack’s style, even if denim banana hammocks weren’t entirely. Something about Rory gave him the idea that skiing, or maybe snowboarding, would be up her alley as well. She seemed like the type for extreme sports and adrenaline and no helmet.

—

The countdown was quick, and that was a good thing. Not only did Rory have very little patience, but… the ski suit was also kind of warm. If she was forced to stand in it for too long, she was going to start to sweat, and she’d hate to learn that this thrift store had a “you sweat in it, you buy it” policy. 

Once she’d finished counting down, she stepped out at the same time as Zack, bursting into immediate laughter at the sight of him. She must have looked pretty stupid, too, based on his laughter; the mirror in the makeshift dressing room had been dirty and dingy, and to be honest, Rory got the feeling that the colors on the snow suit were more muted for her than they might have been for someone else. Zack’s laughter indicated that it was pretty stupid, but it was hard to feel stupid when he was wearing… what he was wearing. “I can’t believe someone made this on purpose,” she snorted, gesturing to the suit. “Who would ever buy it?” 

Still, she thought Zack had lost this particular standoff. He didn’t look bad in the banana hammock, so to speak; he had a good body, and he didn’t seem particularly self conscious about it. The problem, of course, was that even if Zack didn’t look bad, no one could possibly look good in something like this. Her eyes were not drawn to his abs or his arms, but to the terrible way the denim hung off him. It wasn’t a particularly forgiving material, especially when there was so little of it. It was too stiff to fit like a proper bathing suit; Rory didn’t even want to imagine it wet. 

“It really does,” she agreed, laughing again at his assessment. “Definitely two ends of a really terrible spectrum here. Do you think anyone would actually swim in that thing, or is it strictly decorative?” 

—

“What happened to your great-grandfather’s vision? His dying wish?” Zack asked between trails of laughter. Of the two of them, Rory definitely won out. She did actually look cute in the suit, enough that he could see some snowbunny asking for her number. Not to mention her outfit had to be a lot more comfortable than his. The denim did chafe, as he had thought and there was no way it wouldn’t be a thousand times worse when wet. And then covered in sand? Forget about  it. He did, however, plan to take a few terrible mirror selfies once he was back in the stall. Who said you couldn’t do a comedy thirst trap?

He made a face as he imagined swimming in these things. “I have to hope no one ever would.” But he had seen all kinds of swimsuits around Europe and even some of the beaches he’d been to at home. Someone, somewhere, would love these things and wear them incredibly unironically. “I can confirm, the discomfort is not worth the decoration.” 

Shifting a little, he passed Rory a smile. “Okay, so you obviously win. Can we change back into our normal clothes now? This was really fun, but I did actually come here on a mission.”

—

“He was pretty senile towards the end there,” Rory replied, feigning a solemn tone. “I guess this just serves as more proof that he’d totally lost it.” She could only hold onto the fake seriousness for a few minutes before the laughter rose up once more, chasing away her attempts to explain her lack of respect for her imagined grandfather’s dream of denim banana hammocks. Whoever was responsible for the monstrosity Zack wore really ought to be ashamed of themselves for bringing such a thing into the world, though Rory had a feeling they’d probably suffered enough financial loss to convince them never to try such a thing again. There was no version of reality in which the denim swimsuit had sold particularly well.

She had to agree with Zack’s hope that no one would ever wear the outfit to the beach… but she’d seen enough odd fashion choices to know that someone, somewhere probably would. One should never underestimate the sorts of people who existed somewhere out in the world. “Really? They’re not the most comfortable thing you’ve ever worn? Bummer.” 

Grinning at her victory, Rory gave a satisfied nod. “Yeah, yeah,” she agreed. “We can get changed back into our normal clothes. And if you want, I can help you out on your mission. It kind of feels like the least I could do, considering…” She trailed off, giving a pointed look to the banana hammock.

—

It was nice, laughing with a near-stranger over something ridiculous. Sometimes Zack’s interactions with people out in the world went sour, and sometimes they were nice but only lasted a few passing seconds. He was glad that his conversation with Rory had gone so well, had earned him more than a few laughs (and a brand new picture to add to a few profiles). Even if he would be so very glad to get out of the jean prison as soon as possible – and he certainly would not be purchasing that piece.

“Hey, that would be great,” Zack answered, genuine. Joke outfits aside, Rory was bound to have better style than he did. Most people were bound to have better style than him, really. And the anxiety of the task would feel a lot less with someone helping. Especially if that someone was as funny as Rory had proved to be. “It really is the least you can do.”

Jerking a thumb over his shoulder, Zack indicated the changing rooms. “I’ll get back to my clothes, say a prayer that I never encounter these things again, and then we can do a lap looking for some things that are a little more normal?” Seemed like a solid deal. To sweeten the pot, he added, “And then bubble tea or something, my treat.”

—

She was a little surprised when Zack agreed to her offer, if only because she was always a little surprised when someone willingly wanted to hang around her. She hid it well, of course. Rory had decades of practice in being a thing no one really wanted around; the youngest sister who tagged along with siblings she didn’t quite fit in with, the teenaged outcast who was a little too human to fit in with any other shifters she sniffed out but a little too wild to fit in with humanity, the rebellious twenty-something who had not yet managed to find her place in the world. She expected rejection, but she still knew how to handle acceptance with quiet relief instead of making it obvious. 

Grinning, she shrugged. “Only if you don’t want to finish out your shopping experience in that,” she teased, raising her brows as if she was surprised he was changing out of the terrible excuse for an article of clothing. “If you’re changing, I’m changing. I’d sweat my ass off in this thing.” And it was way more color than she typically wore. “But… yeah. We’ll find you something nice and normal, and then go for tea.”

And with that, Rory ducked back into the changing room, something quiet thrumming in her chest. She’d had worse experiences at the thrift store, all in all. This one, she’d mark down as a success, in spite of the snowsuit. 

(She was definitely going to try to convince Zack to go home with something stupid, though. That was a given.)