quackity and schlatt in the scholomance
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Alex isn't stupid. He knows how the world works. He gets taught as a kid that whatever the enclaver kids are into, you pretend to be into it too, you spend your free time learning as much as you can so that it looks to them like you're effortlessly good, and then a year later when they make fun of it you make fun of it with them. You don't get attached to your siblings, not when they're probably going to die. He sees it at the public school, too; mundanes aren't any better, always choosing the weak kids to push around.

He feels bad for them, but there isn't much he can do. Not without power.

(He tries, sometimes. He knows it's stupid, but it's hard to not. So maybe he's a little sentimental. Sue him.)

It's better when they're a little older; he starts dealing drugs on the side when he's twelve, partly for money but mostly for connections. He's going to miss it, in the scholomance. It's a good role for being on everybody's good side.

His affinity is long-range divination. It's-- not bad, if he lives it'll be great. The problem is living long enough for it to become relevant. His parents pull in favors, convince people he's an investment rather than a liability. He'll be doing the same thing, once he's in.

He's small for his age, which is good. More weight allotment. He's using almost all of it on extra resources for Mexico City. He'll be working for them for a year, too. It's not a bad trade, all things considered; people would kill to be in his spot. Possibly have, in the past.

He works hard, once he's in. Studies and carries things and helps with projects. Mostly reserves his help for people he wants the favor of, people stronger or smarter or better-connected, people who have something he wants, but he's still the same bleeding-heart who snuck his little sister extra dessert and sometimes he'll do math homework for the obviously-doomed. He keeps track religiously of who's good at what, who needs what, what terms everyone is on, the complex web of alliances and enemies, friends and lovers. And it's easy, then, to be the person who everyone goes to, the middleman, the matchmaker. Even finds some alchemy-track kids who make drugs. Some things aren't so different.

And he flirts, because he's cute, and that's a resource too. People who have a crush on you will try harder to earn your favor; dating can be stronger than an alliance, if you stop tracking debt with each other.

(And maybe also a little bit because he likes it, likes the attention, the showing off. Likes having that little bit of power. Likes, despite his better judgement, the people, because despite everything he can't help it.)

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Schlatt's probably going to die.

Well, all the other magic teenagers are probably going to die too. But he's probably going to die even more than that.

He's lucky to be British; no one would waste a spot on him otherwise. If he were an enclaver, maybe. He gets out of breath just walking, he can't run or swim, all because his heart doesn't fucking work like it's supposed to. So what. Life isn't fair.

(He doesn't tell anyone. None of their fucking business.)

His affinity is on his side, at least. He can make drugs, kind of, approximately. Well enough that he's not definitely going to die. There's a chance he'll make it. He's made it a year inside, now, which is more than some people have to say for themselves.

But, you know. Probably.

Doesn't mean he shouldn't live while he can, though. "Nice ass," he says, a little bit because he's been flirting with Alex for months but mostly because he's never believed in having a brain-to-mouth filter.

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Alex laughs a little in shock. "Excuse me?"

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"You heard me. I was complimenting your fat ass. --What, you want chocolates and flowers? 'Cause I'm not gonna lie to you, those are kind of hard to come by in here."

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"Nah nah nah, no chocolate and flowers, just the potions. You did bring them, right?"

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"'Course I did. Anything for you, honeysuckle." He slings his backpack off one shoulder, combs through it, hands over the goods.

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"You're such a sap. Honeysuckle, is that a new one?"

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"Depends, do you want new ones, because I can do new ones. Pumpkin spice. Sugarplum. Sweet pea. Cupcake--"

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"Stop it," Alex says, but he's laughing, firmly inside Schlatt's personal space. "People will think."

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"Think what? That my honey bear's off the market?"

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"Something like that, something like that." 

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"What should I do, then, huh? 'Cause chocolate and flowers are off the table, I mean."

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"Wait, you're--you're actually serious."

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"Sure. Why wouldn't I be?"

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"I dunno, you just caught me off guard, you know." He laughs. "You know what, sure! Sure! You figure out a date, I'll go on it, okay? I'll, I'll give you a chance, how's that sound."

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"Y'know, I love that a whole lot."

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The date is… surprisingly nice. They go to the vending machine and use up their collective tokens for the week (a bag of pretzels that looks actually new—a Rice Krispie treat that looks edible—a tin of coq au vin that looks decidedly not—a single gumball—a dubious-looking muffin—and an expired bottle of ramune) and then head to Alex’s room to eat. 

Alex was kind of expecting they would have sex—he’s met guys like Schlatt before, and they usually expect you to put out—but they don’t, they just sit around talking and eating until Schlatt has to leave.

(Alex does kiss him, though. Hard to not, when Schlatt says I’m not hungry, you can eat more of it and presses the Rice Krispie treat into Alex’s hand.)

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And a couple days later, at the library, he can be approached by a very serious freshman with a British accent. "Hello. I'm Wilbur Soot, Brighton. --You don't have to introduce yourself, I know who you are. I've been told you're a good person to talk to if I want to do some advertising?"

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"I can be, I can be. What do you want to advertise?"

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"A group. Well, more of an idea, really. --You're an indie, right?"

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"I am."

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"So you know what it's like, to be dragging yourself through this school with no alliance, nothing you didn't work for, while they sit high and pretty, acting like they're better because they were born into a power-sharer.

Do you have any siblings, Alex?"

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Wow this kid is bold. "I do, yeah."

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"Older or younger? --Nevermind, it doesn't matter. Indies with older siblings do better than indies without, you know that, yeah? The older ones can pass down, y'know, books, materials, words of advice. But it's not just that. The older ones can protect the younger ones. The amount of mana a senior has, compared to the amount of mana a freshman has--it's barely comparable, it's like comparing a teaspoon to a lake. But indie groups are mostly just--within a year, y'know, it's who you're graduating with, 'cause if all you have is a teaspoon then you can't be very useful, you can't justify it, especially 'cause you can't, you know, you can't make a real alliance out of it.

But if we could get enough indies to join, across years, if we could make it so indies coming in freshman year had seniors on their side, it could be a big deal, it could be good for everyone. It'll be a cost at first, I know, but--imagine what we could do. If you have any younger siblings, maybe they're coming in, maybe you see some of the benefit.

I want to start with, with other British indies, because we're not competing with each other for spots, right, we're all guaranteed to be in, us and all our families, and we all start out with a common language, a common geographical tie, we don't have power-sharers per se but we could share mana, resources, spells-- more people would live."

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"I see your vision." Alex sits back. "Let me guess, you're asking me because all the other people you asked said no?"

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"Well. We're still--"

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