...what? 

John isn't dating anyone (and isn't even sure who he'd date if he could, he's not really prime dating material) and isn't aware of anyone who wants to date him. Certainly not someone who would leave a bouquet of (admittedly pretty) roses on his locker like this. Possibly this is a prank? It's rather elaborate for a prank, and while there are bullies at the school (there are bullies at every school), he isn't normally the target of them, not now that he essentially doesn't have classes with them and most of them have grown up. He looks around, but he stayed after class for 10 minutes to help a fellow student with a math concept they were having trouble with, and the halls have mostly emptied out. No one that remains is giving him all that much attention, no more than usual anyways.

Part of him is curious what the roses might mean specifically, what their colors signify (though whoever put them there could have just not thought about that), but well, the card or note or whatever attached will probably explain what's going on better than Wikipedia can. He carefully takes set of objects off of his locker, pulling the envelope free, and leans the roses and in their paper against an adjacent locker for the moment, before tearing open the envelope to see what's inside. 

Dearest John,

It's so nice to finally write to you! ♡ My name is Rosy. Well, actually it's Euphrosyne, but I think Rosy is so much cuter, don't you?

I've been in love with you since last year. It's hard to say exactly when. You helped me pick up all my stuff when I clipped the corner of a hallway running late to class, and a Blake always pays her debts, so I started keeping an eye out for things I could help you with. It turns out that you spend most of your time being nice to people and the rest of your time being adorable. I've never met someone so thoughtful before in my life.

"Keeping an eye out" became "keeping an eye on", which became my new second favourite hobby, after reading but before practicing my handwriting (do you like it? I'm very proud). At first I was too shy to talk to you, and then I wasn't sure how to explain, and then I was having too much fun to stop, and then I realized I was in love and decided to wait for your next birthday to send this letter. I figured if I fell out of love, as teenage girls sometimes do, then no harm would be done and you'd never have to know, but I didn't and I won't so now here we are.

I hope you don't mind that I've been taking your book recommendations. Mercedes Lackey is great! I'd love a talking horse friend, wouldn't you? Or maybe a bird would be better. Or a cat! There's just so much potential there. I think, though, my favourite of all the authors I picked up from you has got to be Tanya Huff. She writes such beautiful romance! ♡ If I were a slightly different person I'd spend so much time daydreaming about being swept off my feet by a centuries-old vampire with hypnotic eyes and a voice like a warm velvet blanket. As it is, I'd much rather be swept off my feet by a cute nerd who can't stop helping people with their math homework.

That's how I cleared my debt to you, by the way. You tutored Linda Ellsworth while she and Jess Favreau were on the outs, and I made peace between them before Jess could get around to her usual scorched-earth policy, which would've ended badly for you if I hadn't intervened. So I'm writing this as a free agent with no obligation between us. That's going to be important later.

Anyway, the math tutoring is another thing I admire you for. You're not just sweet, you're smart. I'm no slouch in the math department myself, but I think you'd have a lot to teach me and, I hope you don't mind my saying, I find that very attractive. That time I haven't been spending daydreaming about vampires may have been spent in part daydreaming about calculus on the couch. Is that too dorky? Well, too bad. I intend to never be anything other than honest with you, and I am, unequivocally, a huge dork. If that's a problem for you, then I guess I'll just have to content myself with my daydreams. ♡

Please don't worry, by the way, about what I'll think if you reject me. I know this letter is going to be a lot to take in, and I don't need you to answer right away, nor do I expect any particular answer from you. It's okay to be freaked out or confused or not like my style. My style is niche and I know this. I have complete confidence in myself and my choices and I am ready to live life to the fullest even when that means a broken heart. My freezer is stocked with ice cream and my hard drive is stocked with Taylor Swift. I'll be just fine, I promise.

I should tell you more about myself, so you know what you're getting into. I assume you've been here long enough to understand that the Blakes are old blood around here, maybe the oldest—though personally I favour the theory that the Strands were here first, maybe even before European settlers came to Lakeview. I'm the eldest of three, so in the ordinary course of things, it would fall to me to lead the next generation. I don't know if I want that, though. I want to see the world. I want to marry for love and not politics. I want to daydream about being a pop star and write bad romance novels about cute nerds with hypnotic eyes. I don't want my whole life to belong to my ancestors' legacy.

My favourite band is the Spice Girls and my favourite flavour of ice cream is bubblegum. I don't have a favourite colour because I love all my beautiful children equally, though pastels often suit my style best. My favourite book used to be a toss-up between Matilda and Ella Enchanted, but now it's Tanya Huff's Wizard of the Grove duology—I know you've read that one because a glimpse of it is what got me onto her in the first place. Stay tuned, though, my favourite book turnover rate (excluding Matilda which has been competitive since I was three) is about twice a year. Maybe you'll recommend me something I like even better! ♡

I think the most important things in life are to know what you want, know what you're willing to do to get it, and remember that everyone is the star of their own story. I dream about changing the world but I know I don't have the discipline of a Nobel Prize winner even though I have the smarts. I'm excited about magic but I feel stifled by the Veil Laws. Speaking of which, if you haven't clued in already (don't feel bad, I know it takes lots of people a while even at Lakeview High with Jess lighting people's homework on fire in the hallways)—magic is real. I'll prove it to you if you need me to. The Veil Laws are loosely enforced around here to begin with, and you're being courted by a Blake, so even under the strictest interpretation you're exempt.

I should spill all my stalker secrets before we get to the next part. I made a rule for myself early on that I never follow you outside of school: if I hear you're going to be somewhere I don't change my plans, if I hear you have a hobby I don't try to join in, if I run into you I finish what I'm doing and go home. So I know your full class schedule and what you eat for lunch, but I never double-checked if the rumour I heard about dance lessons was true, even though it tested my will to the utmost. I also figured out, from evidence I will not commit to paper, that you might just be in the market for a girl like me with an offer like mine.

Excuse me, I'm feeling very shy about this and the only remedy is going to be ripping off the pink dinosaur band-aid all in one go, otherwise I'd spend another six pages slowly spiraling around the point.

I want to belong to you. I read ahead in my family's library and found a ritual of vassalage that lets one person swear a binding magical oath of loyalty to another, and I want to give you that; I want to give you me, wholly and completely and for as long as you'll have me. I know it's more than a little crazy of me and I have carefully considered whether I would like to be this crazy and my conclusion is that I absolutely would.

I know this isn't the kind of decision you should rush into, and you don't have to rush into it. If you want to take it slow and get to know me first, that's fine. If you want to tear up this letter and never speak to me, that's also fine. If, on the other hand, you want to jump right in with both feet, that's fine too—I've made my preparations and done all the astrological calculations and there should be at least one day a week from now until next fall when I can make the ritual work, though personally I think it's most romantic under a full moon, and the magic seems to agree—you wouldn't believe the kind of nonsense I'd have to get up to in order to compensate for celestial conditions if you wanted to try it tomorrow!

The ritual of vassalage lasts until dissolved by the master, and there's no problem with repeating it afterward, I checked. Dissolving it is easy and I plan to teach you how first thing if you say yes. I leave the decision of when and whether to own me entirely in your hands.

With all my love and heart and soul, I hope to be eternally Yours,
Euphrosyne Angharad Blake

P.S. Please excuse all this, I'm just making sure no one but you can open this letter without regretting it. Nothing here is dangerous to you and you don't have to take any special care in handling or disposing of it.

Well that's. Well that's a lot.

He eventually has to grab his stuff, and the flowers, and go find an empty classroom to sit down and read the entire thing, and process it. And there's a lot of processing going on. 

He appreciates the compliments (he thinks), though the implications (okay, outright admissions) of stalking are... concerning. And the revelation of magic even more so? He supposes that... well, everyone knows that upsetting the Blakes, or the Strands, or especially the Favreaus, is a bad idea, for somewhat unspecified reasons. And that the woods are a dangerous place to go after dark. And that... okay, he hadn't quite put it together before, but the evidence is pretty clear that something is weird in Lakeview. Magic still seems a bit farfetched (though there have been quite a few small fires in school the past few years. That could just be Jess Favreau being a firebug, and getting out of it on her family name, though), but she has promised him evidence. 

The offer she's made to him... 

He can't say he's not intrigued. Or enticed. Whatever evidence she has (from the books he reads, which she has apparently been reading as well? From his internet history? I couldn't be just the books, how much stalking has she been doing?), she does seem to have a... correct picture of the kinds of things that he's into. (Despite having complicated feelings about them...) But that's the sort of thing for storybooks and fantasies (though if magic is real, they're already a third of the way to fantasy already... no, he shouldn't be giving himself excuses), not for real people. 

And as for who she is altogether, well, she's a lot. She's a Blake, which is its own can of worms, but even ignoring her heritage, she's a lot. Extremely... girly, for lack of a better way of putting it? The handwriting and the hearts and the pink (she does she loves all her children equally, which is so much even on its own, but she clearly has a thing for pink) and the overwhelming enthusiasm is pretty clear throughout the entire piece. Is this the kind of person he wants to date (or own, which is a thought that gets him turned on and ashamed all at once), or should he steer clear? The Blakes are the least bad family to get on the bad side of, so everyone knows (and how do they know, really), and despite her assurances he's still a bit wary of upsetting the scion of the Blake family. 

Possibly, instead of trying to figure out who she is from this (admittedly very revealing, but clearly carefully constructed) letter, he should... try talking to her directly? Even if he's still concerned about everything he's read. That might give him a better picture of what's going on, a better idea of what he's getting into. He doesn't remember the incident she's describing (it wouldn't be the first time he's helped someone pick up their books, though it's rare enough), and he doesn't recognize her (unusual, though not that unusual for the Blakes, yet more evidence that something is up with this town) name, in either form, which means she's not in his grade, so he hasn't actually met her. He needs some firsthand experience with her. 

He thinks this over some more after gathering his things up as he bikes his way home, starts his computer, and composes an email. 

Rosy,

He starts, unsure which name to use at first before realizing he should probably pick the one she's chosen for herself, 

I've received your letter. And read it. I'd... like to take you up on that offer of proof you mentioned. I know that there are some odd things going on in this town, but I think I'd like to be certain of magic before anything goes any further. And besides, it might be a good idea for us to meet, and talk, given, well, everything you've said. Where and when works for you? I have homework, but I can probably take some time off to meet you if you have a reasonable time and place in mind. 

John

He dithers for a while, reading and rereading it, before pressing send and trying to take his mind off of it by working on the homework he does need to do. It doesn't work very well. 

Oh I'm so glad!! 💖

My house is probably the best place to do magic without getting in trouble but I'd understand if you're not quite ready to meet my family just yet. How much privacy do you get at your place? Would you be willing to meet there? If not, we could try the park next to the school, after school or on the weekend. It's usually pretty deserted then.

Looking forward to meeting you properly! ✨
🌹 Rosy 🌹

She put rose emoji around her name. This is... going to take some getting used to. 

He's not really comfortable meeting the Blakes (there's some nameless dread just thinking about it, along with visions of her mother sitting him down and telling him all the rules) just yet, if they think he's dating their daughter (which he might end up doing), and while his parents probably won't be home for another hour or so... he isn't sure he wants her visiting him at home either. (The stalking is still a concern, as is the parents coming home and seeing him with a girl and getting the wrong impression. Ugh.) 

(Also she responded fast. She's probably as nervous as he is. Or possibly just excited? He needs to meet her and get a better read on her.)

I think under the circumstances it might be a better idea for us to meet somewhere that isn't our houses. The park near school is fine with me. I can probably get there in like 15 minutes or so if that works for you? If not, tomorrow after school should be fine, once everyone has left for the day. 

He again dithers, wondering if he should really be offering to meet her today, but he's nervous enough about this whole thing and wants to resolve it. Somehow. So finally, he leaves it as-is, and hits send, and waits for what is likely to be an immediate response. 

15min works for me. See you soon! 🥰

Well, that's straightforward enough. Time to put his bike helmet back on, and head to the park, and nervously await her arrival (unless she's there already, who knows). 

It's not hard to tell who he's meeting. Rosy is wearing a blue gingham skirt and a light pink cardigan and her shoes are some kind of pastel rainbow situation with more vivid rainbow laces and she's bouncing excitedly even before she spots him and waves, her whole face lighting up like someone seeing their favourite celebrity.

Her outfit is not surprising. The way she waves is also not surprising, (though it is concerning). He waves (much more gently) back, locks his bike to a nearby pole, and walks over to her, doing his best to figure out what he's going to say. In the end, he has no idea. "Hi," he says to her, probably not managing to not look as nervous as he feels. (She is very cute though, though he's trying not to think too hard about that at the moment.) 

"Hi!!" Bounce bounce. "C'mon, this'll work better in the shade."

She visibly dithers over whether to take his hand, first beginning to reach for it and then pulling back, and finally settles on just turning and leading him along a path deeper into the park. She's headed for a stand of trees that does indeed do a good job of sheltering a pair of side-by-side park benches from the afternoon sun.

He feels some complicated feelings about the hand being put out and then pulled back (she's clearly nervous too), but it's probably best for this stage in their relationship (which they very well might have), even if he does want to hold it. He lets her lead him wherever he is being taken, trying not to look like this isn't a lot more than he normally has to deal with. 

When they reach the benches, rather than sit on them normally, she climbs up onto the bench and sits on it with her elbows resting on the back, so she can reach behind it where the shade is deeper.

"Watch my hands," she says, folding them together like she's holding a small and precious egg, and then closing her eyes to concentrate.

Light begins to shine through the cracks between her fingers. It's dim at first, but strengthens gradually until the edges of her fingers are starting to glow like she put her hand in front of a flashlight. When she opens her hands, the ping-pong-ball-sized orb of white light sitting cupped inside them shines a pure and dazzling white.

Then, cracks of colour begin to appear. Red, yellow, orange, green, cyan, blue, violet. The cracks race across the surface, hairline fractures widening into deep crevasses, until the whole thing fractures into pieces; and the pieces are already developing cracks of their own, red coming apart into scarlet and burgundy and rose and maroon, orange into ochre and amber and peach, and each of those shades crumbling further into even more, faster and faster until her hands are full of a glittering pile of tiny flecks of every colour imaginable. Some are deep and vivid; some are so pale they're barely distinguishable from white, or so dark they're barely distinguishable from black. There are greys here too, pale shining moonlight-silver and deep charcoal and everything in between, and all the colours between those and the purest most vivid rainbow hues, at first arranged in a rough circle by hue, but quickly falling apart and melding into a hopless mess as her fingers shift.

She bites her lip, her concentration deepening. The flecks of light rise sparkling out of her hands and into the air, to dance in the shade beneath the trees, a glittering impossible rainbow. The original shining white remains among them, the brightest of all; and there's a perfect black in there somewhere, visible only when it passes in front of a brighter colour, emitting no light of its own.

"You can, touch them, if you want," she says, softly and slowly, her brow creased with the effort of animating all those little sparkles. She takes a deep breath, and cautiously opens her eyes, and gazes up at the show with a smile of pure serene joy on her face, drinking in the beauty of her creation.

That's... beautiful. Also impossible. Also incredibly glorious to behold. For a moment, he lets himself ignore the now rather blatant evidence that magic is real and what that means about the world, and just enjoys the vision of swirling color in front of him. "That's... incredible," he tells her, and reaches out to touch one of the motes, since she said he could. He ends up reaching for one of the reddish ones, unsure if that makes any difference or not. 

The wine-red fleck of light feels faintly warm against his finger. Rosy smiles dreamily, half about him, half about her beautiful colours. Although it's definitely taking a toll on her to keep them going this long, she takes another deep breath as they whirl and dance, and then another, and then she finally lets them go. Immediately they all rush back toward her, a reverse explosion of light, and for a moment all her exposed skin glitters in every colour of the rainbow before the specks are reabsorbed. (The one he was touching hops neatly off his finger rather than go through him; similarly, all the returning flecks dodge her clothes and land on her face and hands and in her hair.)

He takes a moment to admire the end of the spell (spell!) and then flops onto the bench, his worldview sufficiently rattled. "So magic is real," he says, finally, after pausing for several seconds. 

"Magic is real!" she agrees, turning her adoring gaze on him.

Magic is real and also there's a cute girl who wants to use it to make herself into his... he doesn't know what to call it (slave? property?) and isn't about to ask. For the moment. (The way she's looking at him is very much making him want to ask about it, though.) He shifts on the bench, uncomfortably hiding nothing at all, and asks, "so how does it work? Like, what are the rules? What do I need to know?" 

For a moment after he asks the question she's still just looking at him with a beaming smile of love and devotion on her face; then she shakes herself out of it, blushing slightly, and answers.

"There's... a lot of rules, depending on what exactly you're doing and how. A lot of different magical traditions, a lot of different magical beings—my family has some fae blood, but the lightshow isn't quite a fae trick, it's similar to fairy lights but not the same. Things like that, that I can do because of who and what I am, are called innate magic. If I wanted to make a light using ritual magic I'd have to do a lot of boring work researching a spell and figuring out how to adjust it for environmental conditions, and then I'd have a light that worked however it was supposed to work according to the spell, and I couldn't adjust it on the fly like I can with my not-fairy-lights. There's other kinds of magic too but I mostly know things about my own innate magic and some rituals, because rituals are some of the safest magic around if you're careful and patient and know what you're doing, so my family has been letting me learn them for years. Is that the kind of thing you wanted to know?"

"So I could learn... ritual magic if I really wanted to? But not innate, since I'm not part fae." which by the way means fae are real, which, he's really not sure how to respond to anything at the moment. One step at a time. "What can you do with it? Besides make really pretty lightshows, and, um, binding rituals." He says the last part extra quietly and quickly, doing his best not to think about it too deeply. 

She bounces a little when he mentions the binding ritual.

"Lots of things! I know a minor luck ritual that I cast the night before tests, and a bunch of mostly useless rituals that are good for practice, like the one that just floats a small object in the middle of the ritual circle until you dissolve it, or the one that makes your shadow darker for a month—that one's really good for learning lunar cycle calculations," which she says with a teasing smile, just to make sure he remembers where else he has heard about lunar cycle calculations. "It's supposed to be cast on the new moon but you can cast it at plenty of different times if you know what you're doing. I haven't made it work on the full moon yet but I think I'm close. What else, what else... oh, I do know one non-ritual spell, but you probably don't want me to show it to you, because it's a water evocation spell for getting really clean and it only works in the shower. Well, it was invented for baths, but the version I know was adapted to showers and I'd have to adapt it back. The point is I would have to be naked and surrounded by water." She does not sound like she would object to showing him her shower spell while naked and surrounded by water. She does not sound like she would object to that one bit. Though she's definitely blushing.

None of these things she's describing sound particularly like they're good at improving the world (which is a desire that he hadn't really fully realized he had until this moment), though there's probably a lot more going on than has been mentioned. Still, it doesn't seem like the sort of thing where you can wave a magic wand and good things happen. (That was probably far too much optimism.) Though the luck ritual seems... interesting. 

Then she gets to the, water evocation spell, and she's not the only one who's blushing. He should probably learn more about this adorable girl who (wants to get into his pants) (wants to give him her her) (is making him really horny thinking about too much), um, likes him. A lot. 

If only he was sure how to ask the question. 

"So we should, um, probably talk more about the letter," he finally manages. "And the stuff in it." 

"Yes!" she agrees, brightly. "We should definitely talk about that!"

She turns around to sit properly on the bench, gazing adoringly at him yet again.

"So," she says, leaning a little closer and resting her cheek in her hand and her elbow along the back of the bench toward him, "what are your thoughts on owning me?"

"I um..." he stammers, crosses his legs (for no reason) and flails around for words for a moment: "Um. I um. I. Well. Um." 

Eventually he pauses, finds his words, and says. "I think, I think I might like to get to know you some first before um. Before we even think about that?" (He's thinking about it anyways. Images of her naked in the shower are also being thought about.) 

"Are you suuuuure~?" she asks, then giggles and shakes her head. "Okay, okay, I shouldn't keep teasing you. We can hang out like normal people. How do normal people hang out? I guess the park bench isn't a bad start. Hanging out on a park bench and chatting about," she leans a little closer, "how much I want to make you my lord and master—" She pulls back again, blushing harder. "Sorry, sorry. I just, it's hard to stop thinking about it, you know? Ask me about normal things. Or magic. Normal magic. Do you want to go on a date? A normal date? You could take me out to a movie! Are there any good ones on? What kind of movies do you like?"

John blushes and stammers (and surreptitiously crosses and uncrosses his legs) a lot.

"I, I don't know that my parents would be happy if I wasn't home doing homework when they came home," he manages. "Movie probably doesn't work tonight. This weekend, maybe? In the meantime I, um. I don't know, where are you going to college? Or planning to apply, I guess. Or wait, does that not happen, because of the magic thing? Or your family?" 

"The Blakes always send their kids to Stony Lake. I don't even have to apply the normal way, there's an arrangement. Whether I want to go to Stony Lake like my mother and her mother before her is a different question." She sighs. "I mean, I don't know, it's probably fine, I guess? It's a normal university, a normal town slightly bigger than ours, a normal lake slightly smaller than ours, normal woods way less spooky than ours. I could take normal classes and learn normal things. I don't actively object to anything about it. I don't have some kind of burning passion for some specific subject that's taught better at a different school. I just, maybe, want to... be something besides the latest Blake heir. You know?"

"That makes sense, and sounds like it sucks," he consoles her. "You feel like you're not even getting to choose, that you're just stuck doing what you're forced to do, right? That... sucks." He isn't sure what else to say besides that.

She sighs and nods. "Yeah. Yeah it does." Then she smiles tentatively at him. "How about you? Any plans for your future? Any burning passions?" (It's possible that her eyes might flick to his lap when she says 'passions'. Maybe.)

(He picks up on and blushes a little when she looks there. She's so cute and very into him and it would be a very bad idea to do anything about it. Yet.) 

"I'm going to Carnegie Mellon," he tells her. "For math and stuff. It's what I'm good at, as you've, well, noticed, and a lot of fun! And Carnegie Mellon is a pretty good place, I think." 

"Math is fun. How does calculus on the couch rate in your eyes as a Normal Date Activity?"

"I... hadn't considered it one before. Um. I guess if you want to come visit I could tell my parents that I'm tutoring you in math, and they won't think anything of it. It's happened before. As you know. It might even be true, if we're doing calculus. Though um, actually, you said you like it, so you probably don't need any tutoring in it. How do you feel about learning other math, like logic and group theory and sets and things? That's the real fun stuff. Er. I mean, that's the stuff I really like, and am currently leaning about." 

"I would love to learn anything you'd like to teach me." She's gazing adoringly at him again.

He blushes. 

"Okay, um. Sure. How did you get here? I biked, but it's not too far if we need to walk? Though you probably came in a car, didn't you." (The Blakes are rich.) 

"Oh, I just hadn't gone home yet. I would be very happy to walk home with you. Fair warning, I am going to be super obviously in love with you the whole time. I have no idea how to turn it off. Your parents might notice even if you tell them we're just studying."

"That's..." he pauses. His parents will probably be happy to see him dating someone. (Possibly less so if that someone is a Blake? Not sure, honestly, the big (magical, apparently!) families in Lakeview (how many of them actually are there?) are families to be wary around, but their favor is also coveted, so...) "...we'll deal with that if that happens. I think. I'm not sure if I want my parents to know that I'm dating you, yet? I don't entirely know if I plan to be." (He wants to be, oh how he wants to be. He just isn't sure it's a good idea.) "But... it will probably be okay?" 

"Well, I think you should date me," (she bites her lip to stifle a comment about what else she thinks he should do with her), "but I am a known biased source. We can do normal lowkey datelike activities while you figure it out."

"That... makes sense," he tells her. He stands. "We can go to my house and um, learn math in the meantime? Since you suggested that as a date activity. My bike is over there." 

"Yes, I remember where you put it."

She does the reaching-for-his-hand-and-then-no bit again as she stands up to follow him.

That... definitely makes his heart quicken for a moment; part of him wants her to actually hold his hand and part knows it's a bad idea. (Other parts want other parts of them to touch.) 

He leads her to his bike, unlocking it from the pole. "So... how many magic families are there in this town, actually?" he asks, as he prepares to leave with her. Then pauses, and looks around. "Or wait," he whispers, "should I not be talking about that out where anyone can hear? I'll be more careful, sorry!" 

"What you said there was pretty fine but it's a good idea to start developing that kind of caution anyway. To answer your question without fully answering your question, I'm sure you've heard of the Blakes, Favreaus, and Strands. The... lesser major names, let's say... are Ellsworth, Van Allen, Carpenter, Hedlund, and Payne. Do I need to explain all the politics there or have you picked up on it since the Linda incident?"

He's pretty sure she didn't mean that as a negative comment on his ability to understand what's going on around him (it doesn't fit her character or mannerisms at all, or the way she's talking about it) but he still feels a bit slighted by it before he catches himself. "Some of it?" he tells her. "I definitely know that the Favreaus and Strands are... at odds, and the Blakes are generally in the middle, I think? And I think the Carpenters tend to side with the Blakes, and the Hedlunds with the Faveaus, right? I'm less certain about the others. Knowing there's magic involved... puts a different sort of perspective on it all, and knowing the names involved lets me at least make certain guesses. I certainly would never could have possibly guessed that that helping Linda Ellsworth would have gotten my stuff lit on fire, thanks for that by the way." 

"You're welcome! Yeah, the thing about Linda and Jess is a headache for everybody. They've been on-again off-again besties since elementary school and every time they're off again Jess starts hounding anyone who gives Linda the time of day until they make up, and of course the Ellsworths aren't keen on Linda crossing the divide because they're a Strand family—them and the Van Allens, and you're right about Carpenter and Hedlund, and the Paynes are with the Favreaus too." She lowers her voice a little. "Um, by the way, the Paynes are pretty bad news and you should probably just stay away from them." Back to more normal tones, "Sorry, I grew up with all this stuff, I have no idea what a normal amount of understanding Lakeview politics would even look like. I feel like that lady with the banana—you know the meme, 'what could it cost, ten dollars'—wildly out of touch with how most people live their lives."

"That's fair," he tells her, "we've only been here for six years or so, mom moved here for work -- she works at the Lakeview Hospital now -- so I don't have a full perspective on everything, just what I've picked up from well, living here." He lowers his voice a little too. "I'll um, keep in mind what you said about the Paynes, thanks." There aren't any in his grade, he's pretty sure, so he's not sure where he'll run into one, but he'll keep that in mind. He doesn't have any good reason to distrust the magical (part fae?) girl who is telling him all of these facts about magic in the town he lives in. (This is not how he expected his birthday to go. Cake and ice cream and presents are much more normal surprises. A girl who belongs to a magical family and wants to literally belong to him via some magical ritual is a different class of surprise altogether.) 

"Oh, your mom's a—doctor? Nurse? Oddly specific janitor? Neat! I wonder if hospitals do need special janitors. They might. You'd probably need more biohazard-related training than a regular janitor," she muses.

"I don't know if they need special janitors. I could ask if you want? They do probably need some sort of special training now that you mention it. And mom is a doctor, not a nurse or a janitor. Not that there's anything wrong with either of those!" He wrinkles his nose in thought. "Other than being magic, and well, rich, what do your parents do? If anything, being magic and rich is possibly all one really needs, isn't it." 

"You're not wrong about that. My dad restores old paintings but I think that's less of a job and more of a hobby for rich people, at least the way he does it. He's really good at it though. —oh, uh—Blakes always have daughters so the men always marry in, but that's specific to us."

"It... huh. How does that work? Like, what makes you only have daughters and no sons, and why is that specific to you?" 

"That's a great question that I can't really answer. As far as I know, nobody really knows what started it. It's definitely been happening for as many generations of Blakes as my mom had me memorize when I was a kid. She won't tell me if we're using magic to keep it up or not at this point; she says it's none of my business unless I decide to have kids. I do know it tracks something about the household or the town or whatever else I'm heir to, because again, memorizing generations of Blakes. We have distant cousins whose ancestors moved out of town ages ago and they seem to be having children normally these days."

"That's..." huh. "Well, that sounds like magic, to be honest," he tells her. "But clearly, it is. Okay then. Are there any other strange facts about your family I should know?" Probably a lot, now that he thinks of it, but too late to take back the question. And he's learning! 

"I mean, I'm sure there are plenty, the question is which ones."

Crap. "Um. Anything that might affect me? Or our relationship, if we have one? Those seem the most important, probably." 

"Things that might affect our relationship... well, good news on at least one front, my mom is very supportive of me abdicating to Kallisto—she's my sister, did I mention her?—so you won't have to worry about her being mad if you decide to go through with owning me. Um, we have our own calendar of holidays that doesn't have a whole lot to do with any you would've heard of, so if you start dating me seriously I'll be inviting you to family events at seemingly random times, unless you decide you don't want to meet them. Or if you make me your vassal and command me to cut off all contact with my family and move across the country with you or something like that," she says, way too cheerfully.

"...I feel like your mother might be mad at me if I, um, own you for other reasons, not just family inheritance related ones. Why are you so okay with um, stuff like this, though. Um. If you don't mind me asking. Regardless I'm not going to make you cut off contact with your family though, not unless it's something you'd actually want me to do and it's good for you? And also maybe I'd want to make really sure of it first." That is just, way more power than he wants to have. (For certain definitions of want. The thought of it is... appealing.) 

"I did tell you," she reminds him, "that I considered very carefully whether I would like to be this crazy. That includes thinking through the possible consequences. Making me cut off my family and run away with you is honestly pretty tame as those go. And what else would Mom be mad about? I'm not planning to let her think for a second you coerced me into it, if that's what you're worried about."

"...even if she's not worried that I coerced you into it" and whatever Rosy is sure about, he sure isn't, but they can get to that later "I feel like she might have a problem with someone being able to control her daughter and um, do whatever he, um, wants with her." John blushes a little. "If you know what I mean." She knows what he means, he can tell. 

"Right, but she's not going to blame you for that, she's going to know perfectly well that this harebrained scheme was all mine and all you did was agree to it." She is grinning the grin of someone who is finding it so, so difficult not to tease him with details of what owning her might entail.

"...even if that's true," and he has trouble believing that she won't be blaming him at all, "she still... loves you and wants you to be free of mind control? Right? Wouldn't she take, um, magical action to free you from my vile clutches? So to speak?" 

"No, why would she? If she did I'd just go right back. Anyway, your clutches are hardly vile. Hypothetically speaking."

Possibly there's something she's missing here. (Or he is?) "Possibly your mother is different from most mothers," he says, "but I feel like most mothers would stop at nothing, including logic, to keep their daughters especially free of, well, mind control. Being enslaved to someone else's will. That sort of thing." He's going to get turned on if he keeps thinking about this and doesn't really want to be at the moment... "Even if it is consensual I feel like that's not a nuance that mothers are prone to believe or understand, especially since I could make you do anything I want? I actually have no idea what the mechanisms of this ritual are, now that I think about it." 

"...what kind of mothers have you met?"

"...the normal kind?" 

"You know what, that's fair. Well, Ishtar Blake is anything but normal. The ritual of vassalage isn't in our library out of pure academic interest; Blakes have used it, when the circumstances called for it. And, not that people don't do this all the time, but it'd be just a little hypocritical of us to be willing to use it on others but call it vile slavery when we use it on ourselves, you know? Also the ritual genuinely doesn't work without the consent of the vassal. It... can admittedly be a little coerced... like, you can give someone the choice between vassalage and death, and if they choose vassalage it'll take... but fundamentally they do have to be choosing it, with their own will. And my mother is not a hypocrite, and also she's met me."

"...I can totally imagine a rich entitled family like yours -- no offense -- being hypocritical about something like that," he says. "I... suppose I can believe that your mother might not be like that, but it's stretching the bounds of credibility a bit. If I walk into your house and be like 'hi, nice to meet you, I mind controlled your daughter, she said it was okay,' I have trouble imagining a warm welcome in response to that. Even if the ritual is consensual -- which, good to know, by the way." 

"You could absolutely walk into the house and say that and she would laugh and ask you about your favourite foods or something. But it's fair that you don't want to take my word for it. Maybe I can invite you over for dinner and then tell Mom I want you to own me and you can see what she says."

"...possibly let's start smaller than telling her that. Much smaller. I don't want her to kill me, and given that apparently magic is real, she totally could. Honestly, without magic she could probably kill me and get away with it anyways, she's rich and practically in charge of the town. Possibly we could just... not tell her. Also wouldn't this, um, require, um, your mom to know what you're into?" He shudders a little at that. 

"Technically just wanting you to own me doesn't necessarily mean anything about what I'm into. I could just be doing it symbolically because I think it's romantic. And in fact I do think it's romantic! So there's absolutely no need to speculate about what other reasons I might have for wanting to be bound to your service. Or about what you and I might get up to once you have me at your mercy." She's blushing but she's also grinning; she can't help it, teasing him with her desires is just so much fun.

"I feel like the implications are really obvious!" he half-shouts, embarrassed and blushing himself. "But possibly that's just from my perspective, I guess? It seems a little sudden to do something like that just for romance. I guess it seems a little sudden to do something like that regardless at the start of any relationship, but I guess your mother just knows you're like that?" It's... rather guessable that she's just like that. 

"My mother has known me all my life and is deeply, keenly aware that I am like that."

"...I can see how she would figure that out." 

"I'm really not subtle about how me I am. You've surely noticed."

"...I think I might have, yes." He remembers the note, and all of the her that it was. "Okay. I still feel like your mother would probably want to kill me anyways because mothers are like that, but I am willing to maybe tentatively test the waters in some non-deadly-to-me fashion. We should try that, at some point, if I do want to date you and also we can figure out how exactly to do that." 

"I think that sounds like a great idea! She really definitely isn't going to kill you, though. Even if you did somehow mind-control me without my express repeated invitation and she was mad at you about it, she would not jump straight to murder. And it is at this point kind of impossible for you to do that since I keep nearly begging you to mind-control me."

"...you do do that," he says, blushing a little again. "So how exactly does this operate, anyways? We do some sort of ritual, and then... how does the, um, mind control operate? What happens to you? And me?" This is purely intellectual interest (mostly) and not anything else (lies), not anything else at all.  

She steers a little closer to him on the sidewalk and lowers her voice. So they won't be overheard. Also to tease him some more.

"I swear my loyalty to you, and the ritual binds it in place. After that—well, it all depends on you. I can argue with you, if you let me; I can do things you asked me not to, or not do things you asked me to, if you let me; I can have a perfectly normal relationship of equals with you, if you let me. But I can't betray you, I can't harm you without your clear consent, I can't disobey your orders in a context where it's clear you mean them to be obeyed. And 'can't betray you' is very broad; I am, essentially, bound to be truly and genuinely loyal to the person you are and not the person I imagine you to be, bound to never deceive myself about what you want or what would be good for you, bound to never interpret your orders antagonistically—that's not the same thing as never looking for loopholes but it's not far off. I have to serve your true and genuine will to the extent I can tell what it is. The spell doesn't affect you directly; all the big magic is on me, you're just, so to speak, holding the leash."

She steers closer still.

"But, say, if you wanted to make me your sex slave? I'd have no choice. If you wanted to make me your slave and not even let me have sex with you? No choice. Make me look up spells for you so you could mind-control me in even more interesting ways? As long as it's what you want, I'd be bound to give it to you."

The initial descriptions are enough to... get him interested, despite his best efforts in resisting that impulse. (It's also really reassuring that she'll have the ability to argue and do things other than commanded, as long as he lets her (and he plans to let her)). But then she steers closer to him, practically whispering in his ear (or at least it feels like that), and says... the things she says, and any ability to hold back goes out the window. 

"Ex..excuse me, I need a moment," he says. stopping his bike and standing there for a moment, doing his best to not look anywhere near the feeling of hardness between his thighs. He takes several deep breaths and tries to calm down. (This does not entirely work.) "That's... really enticing," he manages after a while. "Es...especially that last, um, bit, about making you look up more and more powerful mind control. That said I um, I'm not going to do that to you, I will probably be more like the first thing you said. Letting you argue and stuff." Even if parts of him (very hard parts of him, ugh) desire otherwise. 

"Awww," she says, grinning. "I wouldn't mind, you know. Well, I guess the question of what I'd mind is a little complicated. But just more mind control? If it was safe or at least reversible? If you were going to enjoy it? By all means please do. Hypothetically. If you take me up on my offer in the first place."

"I would probably want to be extra careful, or, something," he says, his thoughts a little muddled at the moment. (It's getting less and less likely that he's going to not take her up on this offer, regardless of if that's a good idea or not. He should probably be worried about this.) "Even though this um, does play into my, um, fantasies." He blushes, from embarrassment (and other things). And then pauses. In a much lower voice, he asks, "how do you know what, um, I like, anyways? You said you didn't want to write it down. But clearly you um, know something?" 

"I have glimpsed your phone screen on occasion when there were things on it you probably didn't want anyone else seeing. Also there's the matter of all the Tanya Huff. She really has some very specific interests, as a writer."

He winces. "Fuck." And then winces at the curse. "I didn't think anyone noticed that. What... what have you seen?" He winces again. "And yes, Tanya Huff is... well, yes. But that doesn't necessarily mean..." he trails off. 

"Doesn't necessarily mean that you have an interest in her interests? Well. Maybe not. But given the sites you visit, and certain things I may have seen happening in a quiet corner somewhere, I drew some conclusions."

"...a quiet corner in the library?" 

"That's the one!"

"Fuck." He winces, and winces some more. "I um. I guess I'm glad you noticed me, um, doing that and no one else? Probably? Fuck, shit, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have been doing that." Hopefully she just caught him the one time? He's never doing that again. Or looking at... websites at school, even if they're text ones. Fuck. 

"Don't worry, I'm pretty sure absolutely no one at school has ever watched you as closely as I do. And I didn't mind a bit."

"It was still really stupid," he says, "I'm... glad you don't mind. It was still really dumb, though." It really, really was. "...I guess that explains how you know things though." He starts walking again. Maybe when they get to his place he'll have calmed down? He hopes. 

She follows, bouncing adorably at his side.

"I will concede that it was a terrible idea but who am I to judge anyone else for their terrible ideas while I'm out here begging you to mind-control me?"

"'...I see what you're saying, but I still feel like I was caught doing something embarrassing." Because he was! "Maybe we should try talking about something else."

"You could tell me about your taste in movies," she suggests. "Or your taste in mind control. Either one."

"I like sci-fi and fantasy, mostly," he says, ignoring the second question (though one could argue it at least partly answers it, though that wasn't really what she's asking). "I just find that sort of thing more fun, more interesting, you know? Though I do enjoy a good action flick, if you know what I mean?" She does, right? "What about you?" 

"My favourite movie is Matilda again and then you have to go through a lot of Disney before you reach anything made for grown-ups. I'll never turn down a good fantasy, my opinions on sci-fi are a little more mixed, and you will have to teach me the virtues of action flicks because I've never seen the appeal."

"I haven't seen Matilda in a while, but I remember it was pretty good," he tells her. "I liked the book a lot when I was younger, though. I could try showing you some good action movies, maybe? I just find them compelling, I guess. Easy to watch, and get caught up in."

"See, I have never found that! But maybe I can learn to appreciate your perspective on watching people punch each other."

"Sometimes they're shooting each other! Sometimes they're shooting each other with lasers or using magical powers and stuff. I suppose I do find them more fun with fantastical elements included."

"Most things are," she agrees. "It's just - why are they shooting at each other, you know? Have they tried diplomacy? What are the personal and political considerations? Is anyone having feelings about it? And, most importantly of all, do they understand the gravity of violence and put appropriate thought into the consequences of their actions?"

"The reasons vary from film to film, I suppose," he says. "Most of the time it's because the bad guys are going to do bad things like threaten people with a diamond-powered space laser or something like that" he's thinking of Bond movies at the moment "so I'm not sure that diplomacy is really an option. I think. Not sure what you mean about the 'gravity of violence', exactly?"

"Violence is significant, you know? It kills people! It can kill whoever started it if they're incautious or unlucky! If you're going to start a fight you should approach it like a ritual casting: think through the circumstances and their implications, be prepared, understand what can go wrong and how, know what you're trying to accomplish and what resources you're putting into it. People in action movies mostly do not do this."

"...I think if action movies put that much thought into it, they would be a lot less appealing. Like, I guess if you're thinking about it that way, most movies try to make it as black and white as possible so it's clear the main characters are in the right. Or the main characters aren't the ones starting the fight in the first place, they're trapped by the bad guys in some way and have to fight, and don't have any time to plan. Or something like that?"

"If an action movie plot happened to me, I would still approach it with that mindset no matter how cornered or pressed for time I was, but I admit I'm hardly the sort of person who gets cast in action movies. Or, I suppose more to the point, who has action movies written about them. Would it really be worse for your purposes, though, if the characters put thought into things? Why?"

"...I don't know if it would be worse for my purposes. Sometimes it would be interesting to see people think through stuff like contingencies and such, but that's more for heist movies, or other stuff like that. But other times you just want mindless explosions, without having to think too hard about that stuff, you know?" John's mind draws a sudden analogy between this discussion and the kinds porn he likes/is in the mood for sometimes, and he blushes a little, but isn't going to bring it up at the moment. 

She spies his blush and bumps his shoulder gently with hers, grinning. "Something on your mind?"

....fuck. "I, um, maybe?" he stammers. No matter how enthusiastic (and pretty) she is, talking about the porn he likes is a bad idea. Even if he wants to. Even if she's encouraging him to. It's just sometimes hard to think of exactly why. 

"And you're so intriguingly flustered about it! Do go on."

Fuck. "Well, I mean, it's related to your earlier question, I guess. Just, like, much like movies, sometimes you want to read things where the ethics of things are discussed, and characters have emotional conflicts about what they're doing and justifying it to themselves and the relationships and stuff. But sometimes" often in his case "you just want to read things where someone just breaks someone, and you get to watch them break, and see, um, what happens after." He blushes a lot as he stammers through all this.

"Do you now."

"Y-y-yeah, I think, I mean, if you know what I mean, you know, right? That sort of thing."

"Well, I think I know what you mean. But you could always explain in more detail, just to make sure."

Aaaaaaahhhh. "I mean, you know, you read the stuff I do, right?" She really might not. "Like, someone taking a girl, and her struggling and failing, or just, not even having a chance to struggle. Or something like that? And then she's just, completely broken and will do, um, whatever he wants, say whatever he wants to say, think and act in ways that he tells her to, and is, completely, his?" He's being turned on just thinking about this and would really rather that not be happening right now. (It's also making it harder to walk his bike.)

"The stuff I read and the stuff you read are not exactly the same but there is definitely some thematic overlap." She smiles at him, or perhaps a better word would be 'smirks'. "Maybe you could give me some recommendations."

"W-w, well what do you read, then?" He asks, side stepping (probably only for the moment, she's clearly not one to let things go) the idea of giving her recommendations for the porn he reads. (She might read it and hate it and him! Or worse, like it!)

"Mostly a lot of fanfiction. People will write the most fascinating things about familiar and much-beloved characters having terrible things happen to them. One of my recent favourites had a younger woman and an older man with complicated allegiances in a covert magical war so that, for contrived circumstantial reasons, he had to save her from the depredations of his comrades by claiming her for himself, using an irreversible magical bonding ritual that he excused as an interrogation method, so that they ended up having to conceal their relationship from her side while pretending to his side that he was just using her for her body and her intel, and meanwhile he's torn between remorse at what he had to do to her and the undeniable attraction of the magical bond, and she falls in love with him because he's trying so hard to be kind and respectful in the midst of an objectively horrifying situation, and then they spend the next hundred chapters having enormous amounts of very emotionally complicated mind control sex."

Huh. "I haven't really read any fanfiction," he says. "Is it really all that good?" It certainly sounds interesting, from what she's describing, (though not really what he's looking for when he's in a, um, mood, though possibly good for other times,) but it's fanfiction, so...

"I mean, like any form of media, you do have to sort the gems from the duds. But there are such gems if you know where to find them."

"That makes sense, I suppose. And this one is one of the better ones?" 

"Mhm! Also it's finished, which a lot of fanfic isn't and some never will be." She sighs theatrically. "One of my favourite writers has a work in progress that hasn't been updated in months about a girl who visits a haunted house only to find that it's run by a very real demon who likes to seduce people for their very real souls."

"I'm not sure how I'd be able to deal with an unfinished book like that, just stopping in the middle," he says. "Also, that's fictional, right, it's not something I'd need to worry about at all?"

"The story is fictional. Demons are real but I haven't heard of one running a haunted house as a soul trap. You'd need some awfully specific circumstances for that to work, at least as far as I know—I'm no expert on demons."

"Alright, good." Not that the idea isn't, um, appealing, but he doesn't want to accidentally lose his soul. "Is there anything like that I should be wary of? Like, things that magic people know to be on their guard against but most humans don't?" 

"Um, hmm... I'm not sure, I don't want to terrify you by giving you the full rundown of all the safety advice I grew up on as the heir of a major family, but there are probably some things that even someone relatively ordinary would benefit from knowing. In general it is a bad idea to make deals you don't understand the terms of, or agree to things you might not be able to fulfill. The power of names has been diluted a lot since the old days but full names still carry some magical weight, if you have a middle name it's a bad idea to go handing it out carelessly and if you don't it's a good idea to keep that to yourself. If someone seems sketchy and wants something from you, it's a bad idea to agree to it—a lot of sketchy things work much better on an at least arguably willing subject. There aren't any full-blooded vampires in town that I know of, but you might still want to cultivate a habit of only inviting people into your house if you're sure you want them there. All of this is stuff that's really unlikely to come up for someone like you, to be clear. It's even pretty unlikely to come up for me, it's just for someone in my position it's better to be aware of it all."

That sounds pretty scary on the face of it, but in theory these are mostly things he probably should be doing anyways. (Besides the name thing, but the name thing should be easy enough.) "So wait, vampires are real?" he asks, once he's processed some of what she's said. "I suppose that's not that surprising if fae are real, but... what other magical creatures are there? Are there like werewolfs and zombies and, I don't know, mermaids and stuff?"

"Werewolves yes, mermaids yes, zombies are a sort of complicated subject I don't know much about but I don't think they come in traditional zombie plague if that's what you're asking..."

"I was mostly just naming magical creatures that everyone knows about from fiction. Though I guess zombies are more sci-fi these days? Regardless it's probably a good thing zombies don't come in the infectious kinds. What else is there, besides those? Is it just... everything? Goblins and elves and trolls and unicorns and stuff?" 

"Unicorns are nearly extinct these days. I think the last recorded sighting was in the 80s. Goblins and elves and trolls, though, yep. Well—there's a lot of things you could call 'elves', and several of them are real. Same with goblins, but less so. Trolls I've only heard of one kind. And in general, yes, there's just a lot."

John frowns slightly when he hears that the unicorns are practically extinct, if not fully. "Well, okay then," he says, at the end. "That's... a lot then," echoing her. "How do they manage to keep things secret, then, with so very much going on? Your letter said something about veil laws?"

"The Veil Laws are... their own entire story... but the short version is that some very powerful people on all sides of some very old conflicts are invested, for various reasons, in making sure that people who don't already know about magic never find out. The penalties can be pretty harsh, if somebody slips up badly enough to threaten the status quo. There are a handful of exceptions but one of the big ones is for romantic partners, because a lot of the old magical families like mine have to marry mundanes to avoid bloodwarp—um, that's when your kids come out with totally different innate magic from either of their parents because different magical heritages mix in weird ways."

"I'm glad there's an exception, then," he says. "And it won't be a problem if we um, break up or decide not to date or anything?" She hasn't essentially forced him into a relationship with her, right? That doesn't seem like the sort of thing she'd do, but he still is concerned now. 

"You're still being courted as of me telling you, even if you decline later. It's fine. Just don't start spreading the news or I'll be in big trouble, and if you keep doing it so will you."

"...noted." Don't tell anyone, on pain of... pain of what actually? "What kind of trouble, exactly? Not that I intend to go around telling people! I just want to know what I need to be afraid of."

"It'll be my problem before it's yours," she says, which is not exactly an answer.

It is not really an answer at all. "I'd still like to know? It'd still be my fault, and I don't want bad things to happen to you, or me!" 

She considers this.

"I will let you know if it's becoming a problem and I will let you know how strongly I feel about the problem it's becoming, and if you're on the road to experiencing consequences in your own right I'll tell you what they are. I think that's pretty fair."

He dithers for a moment. "...I can stop asking if you want. But the fact that you don't want to tell me, or aren't telling me, or whatever is going on, is making me more concerned, not less? But I can stop asking about this if you want."

"I know it's making you concerned but I still don't want to tell you."

"...okay then. I guess I should probably stop asking." He walks his bike towards his home, trying to digest this and everything else Rosy has told him today. 

After a few steps, she says, "Quick, come up with a normal topic of conversation because I can only think of one thing to say and it's terrible."

He wants to ask what that thing is, but he also doesn't want to press her about things at the moment (it worked so very well the last time). The obvious topics of conversation are (sex) what, more stuff about magic, but that feels slightly sore at the moment, so he should try... "you said you have sisters, right?" Oh wait this was a bad idea. "Would it be a good idea to ask what your family is like?" Nope, terrible idea. This was a mistake. 

"I have two sisters. Kallisto is a year younger and utterly terrifying, she'll handle the Blake legacy just fine. Tiamat is still in middle school and we love her ferociously. Besides that, there's my parents, my aunt Ereshkigal and her kids, and Grandma Vicky."

"...sorry, hold on, Vicky? What is that short for, exactly? The rest of you, um. Seem to have more interesting names than that." 

"Her mother named her Nike. She got tired of people making reference to shoes every time she introduced herself, so she translated it, and then it got shortened as names do."

"Translated it..." John pauses for a moment until the half-remembered Greek mythology clicks into place. "Oh, victory. That works out! And I can see how she would be annoyed by that and want to change it. Imagine going around named 'pepsi' or something." 

"Exactly."

"...so wait, you like your sisters? And they like you? It's not like, vicious infighting over who gets to rule the family when your mother dies, or something?" That does sound stupid when he says it out loud, doesn't it. 

She giggles. "No, why would we do that? I don't even want to rule the family. And Kallisto will be better at it."

"That's just... what you're supposed to expect from magical families with inheritance. Or something." he says, by inadequate way of explanation. "I may have been, um, pulling too much from stories. But this isn't a story, it's real." 

"Very real," she agrees, and holds herself back from reminding him of some real features of this situation.

Something about the way she says it makes him think of just what is real -- a cute and enthusiastic girl offering herself to be his the way he couldn't have remotely ever thought possible. He blushes a little and walks on, not saying anything, doing his best to dispel the (very fun and very bad) images from his mind. 

Oh, no, he noticed. Well then. "Fun thoughts?"

John still has complicated feelings about revealing his fantasies in mixed (okay, any) company, despite just how open (and enthusiastic!) Rosy seems about the prospect. (It's probably fine, but also she caught him and he still feels bad about that.) "Maybe a little," he manages finally. 

"You could tell me about them," she says, walking a little closer and lowering her voice. "If you want. I promise I wouldn't mind." More than not minding, she yearns for it.

He can sense her yearning (and he yearns too, despite his many, many misgivings.) "I..." he tries to search for something more... tame than what he was just thinking of. (Is there anything more tame than what he was thinking of?) (If it's tame then why did just thinking about it make him aroused, wanting it?) 

The problem with trying to think of other sexy fantasies is that you do. They're not any more tame. "I... I thought about once the ritual being complete and you saying... so... that I... tell you to kneel and you smile and do it," he says, blushing, feeling himself get obviously turned on (and trying to walk with his legs closer together to hide it) and steeling himself for the inevitable spite and disgust. 

How about this dreamy sigh? It's a very passionate dreamy sigh. There doesn't seem to be the slightest hint of spite or disgust involved. She's just happy and wistful and amused and endeared and maybe a little aroused herself.

"That's... okay?" he asks her, slightly taken aback (in a good way! mostly) by her response. 

"...John. John, my beloved. I wrote you a letter offering you my soul on a platter. I explicitly pointed out that if you take me up on it you could make me your sex slave, and I would sort of complicatedly not entirely mind if you did. Why would you expect me to be anything less than delighted by you liking the thought of me kneeling to you?"

"...you could have had a different image in mind of what that meant and been disgusted by what I wanted to do? Or not really wanted it" okay are you serious you've met her for 10 minutes and know better "and when faced with the reality of it realized it was a horrible idea? That one might be a bit silly though. I don't know, I don't expect anyone to like me for these sorts of things, they aren't good things to want!" 

"I promise you I've thought about it. I dare say I've thought about it a lot more than you have. I promise you there is literally nothing you could decide to do with me that would shock me out of wanting to be yours."

"Nothing at all? I mean, what if I turn out to be secretly evil?" He's honestly afraid of that himself, given unfettered access to... whatever he wants. He's a little afraid of what he might do with the opportunity. "I could hurt you, I could make you do embarrassing things, I could... I don't know, do all sorts of awful things to you! There's all kinds of things I could do that wouldn't be ok!" 

"I know," she says. "Believe me, I know. But—I still want it. If I swear myself to you and you kill me or torture me or make me go to school naked, well, that's not the outcome I was hoping for, but it's not a shock, it's not—I don't need that to be impossible. I am fine with that being possible. I know how bad an idea this is, and I'm going to do it anyway." Her passionate voice softens a little when she adds, "If you'll have me."

"I don't want to do any of those things," he reassures her. (It's mostly true. He's pretty sure.) "I just... I don't know if there's going to be too much temptation to do things anyways. I don't know how I feel about all this. An hour ago I was giving someone help with math and now there's a girl telling me magic is real and offering me her soul forever and ever." He's not entirely sure if the soul is metaphorical or not. "I don't know how to deal with all this. I don't know why I deserve anything like this. You're very very cute and extremely enticing" boy how enticing "but it's just... so very much." 

"...that's fair. I know it's a lot. I know I'm a lot. But—please don't hold back because you're afraid of what I'll think of you. What I think of you is that I'm in love and I want you to own me, and nothing you could say to me will change that. There are things you could do, once you have me, that I'm sure would eventually inspire me to regret—but if I looked into the future right now and saw them, it wouldn't change my decision at all."

"I... I don't know if I could ever do something like that. I don't know if I know how not to hold back either." If he wasn't holding back... he'd kiss her, or yell at her, or something, she's inspired quite a lot of emotion in him over the last hour. "I can try? But it's still hard to believe that you just... want that with me. And even though I still don't know if I want it" lies "I keep being afraid of losing it, I guess? I don't know. Maybe things will make more sense in a few days. Or weeks."

"John, I promise, you're not going to lose me." She pats his elbow comfortingly. "Take your time. You can have me whenever you want. I'm not going anywhere."

"Okay. Okay. Okay." He takes a breath. (Also her hand is soft and comforting.) "We can go to my house, and I can teach you math, and my mom and dad can see you and whisper to each other with obvious grins on their faces and offer you snacks or something" (he has no idea if they're going to do that but it seems likely) "and possibly freak out a little when they find out you're a Blake? And we can see where we go from there?" 

"That sounds just fine to me."

"Well, ok. Good. Home isn't too much further away -- at least I think so, I'm not used to walking my bike, just riding it -- but it feels like it shouldn't be much longer now. It's just up this hill and back down it. And then we can sit down and do math."

"And then math!" she says, bouncing excitedly.

He grins at her excitement, despite himself. Then frowns, predicting in more detail about her interactions with his parents. "Um." he says. "Just in case it wasn't clear, you probably don't want to talk about...... sex things around my parents. Even hinting it? I don't think they'd like it, and I really, really, really don't want them to know what I'm into." The warning is probably unnecessary but she hasn't stopped bringing it up (or pointing it out in him for fucks sake) and he really wants to be sure. 

"I... will try my very best," she says.

...Oh. 

He stops short with his bike for a few moments, then starts walking again. "Please do?" he pleads. "I don't want my parents" well it wouldn't be a wrong impression would it "to get, um, a certain impression. I don't know what would happen. I really don't want to find out, it's probably not anything good."

"Hmm. Give me a minute?" she says, tugging on his sleeve to slow him down and then stopping and closing her eyes.

Okay. There's already a lot of things she can't mention in front of John's parents, like the ritual of vassalage itself. So in theory she can just... fold the whole subject of sex in under the same umbrella, temporarily. The whole subject of sex and also the concept of belonging to him. Which leaves her with which parts of the world, again? John being incredibly cute, and her being incredibly in love with him, and the way they met, and saving him from Jess Favreau's indiscriminate wrath, and all the stalking, though put a pin in that one because it occurs to her that he may prefer she not mention the stalking, and then she sent him a love letter and asked to meet him in the park and he's still thinking through whether he wants to date her but she keeps bowling him over with her enthusiasm because, you see, she is incredibly in love.

She opens her eyes. "Do you also want me to not mention the year I spent stalking you?"

"...I think it might be a good idea if that didn't come up, yes." What is he getting himself into? 

"Okay. I think I can do that," she says, sounding much more confident than she did before.

A knot in his stomach he didn't realize was there unknots. Phew. "Okay, good," he says. He gestures towards the top of the hill, still a decent distance away. "Should we keep going?" 

"Yeah." She starts walking again.

This trip definitely takes longer walking than it does biking, but they're nearly at the top of the hill. He gives it a few moments for them to crest it, and then points. "That one is mine, down there." It's a reasonably standard (as far as he knows) house for the small town suburubs-ish that they're in, two stories, painted a pale unobtrusive green, with a driveway and garage. It's visible just around the bend in the road as the hill flattens out. It's probably not nearly as good as what Rosy is used to, but he has a feeling (he's met her) that she isn't going to mind. 

Indeed, she bounces. "Aww, it's cute! I like the green."

He smiles once more at her joy. "I didn't really have anything to do with it," he tells her. "But I'm glad you like it."

"Oh, no," she says, amused, "you didn't personally paint your entire house? Shock. Betrayal. I will never look at it the same way again."

He laughs for a moment, a little more tension releasing from as he does so. "I meant more I didn't choose the color," he says, "my parents did that. But no I didn't paint it either."

"Well, then, your parents picked a great colour. Honestly I expected it to have been like that when you moved in. It's still a nice shade of green."

"Fair! It is a good color. And they did some minor renovations and stuff when we moved in, and they painted the house then too."

"Neat! What kind of renovations?"

"I don't remember everything, they tore up all the carpets and left the hardwood floors, and the kitchen was tiny and the dining room huge, so they moved the wall over so they were much more reasonable sizes. We don't really use the dining room as a dining room anyways, except for when we have holidays and things."

"Sensible!"

"Yeah, pretty much. It mostly gets used as a flat surface, especially when I'm helping people with their schoolwork. So you'll probably see plenty of it today, if we can ever get there." Going down the hill walking a bike is mildly frustrating, it would have taken him seconds to ride down. But they're getting closer. 

Happy bounces.

He smiles despite himself. She really is excited. He isn't sure what she's going to think of the book he wants to show her... hm. "What do you actually like about calculus, actually?" he asks.

"It's not specifically calculus, it's just that calculus is math I haven't learned yet. The thing I like about math is that... all the pieces are already there? It's a game where all you need in order to play it is your thoughts and something to keep track of them with. I don't know, does that make sense? I've never tried to explain it before."

...well okay then. "Then I have book to show you, when we get home," he tells her. "It might start a little slow, but the initial stuff is useful to read and helps you get deeper in. We can work on it together." 

She claps her hands delightedly and bounces some more.

"Okay, let's get there first, and then I'll show you."

There's not too much further to go. Walking the bike has definitely made him slightly winded, though, and thirsty in the warm spring air. He's looking forward to having water soon. 

Rosy, meanwhile, is looking forward to math. She's walking very bouncily about it.

It's very adorable. She's extremely cute and very herself. He's excited to show her, and scared she might not actually like it, and a whole host of other feelings. (Arousal, amazement, concern, desire, worry...)

It doesn't take them too much longer to reach the driveway. He parks his bike at the end of it, near the garage, and leads her over to the front door, unlocking it to let them both in.

Follow follow bounce bounce.

(Help, she's very cute and his parents are going to know immediately that she look likes him and he has no idea what that's going to mean.)

The house is clean and well-kept, with hardwood floors and antique carpets and shelves with various knickknacks and books visible upon entry. John takes off his shoes and slides off his backpack, then makes a beeline to the kitchen, grabs a glass, fills it at the tap, and drinks nearly the whole thing down over the course of several seconds. Then, feeling slightly embarrassed at his behavior, asks, "Um. Do you want anything to drink?" 

"I would not say no to a glass of water," she says.

Still feeling foolish, he grabs another glass, fills it, and hands it to her, before refilling his own and taking another few gulps from it.

Is she gazing adoringly at him while sipping her water? She's totally gazing adoringly at him while sipping her water.

He's having a whole bunch of feelings about that, and not entirely sure what to do about them! (And is still concerned about what his parents will think.) 

"We should head into the dining room and sit at the table," he says. "I, um," taking her to his bedroom at the moment seems a grave error for reasons that are difficult to articulate (and even ignoring that, it's a mess right now) "you can put your stuff down there and I'll go run upstairs and grab the book and come back."

"Sounds good to me!"

The dining room has a large wooden table in leaf-sections, and up against the walls are china cabinets filled with various dishes and serving bowls. John pays no attention to the aesthetics, he's seen it all before, every day, and has other more pressing things on his mind. "Wait here," he tells her, once she's taken a seat, and pelts up the stairs to grab the book from his mess of a room. He knows where it is. Probably. 

She sits at the table and sips her water and looks around at all the things.

It doesn't take him long to find it amidst the rest of his books and papers. He grabs it and rushes back downstairs, handing Rosy a slightly dog-eared white paperback book, with a geometric design on the cover, made to look as though it has been drawn and erased and redrawn and reerased many times. "How To Prove It" the cover says, and "A Structured Approach" in smaller letters underneath. "Here," he says as he hands it to her. 

"Oh," she says, petting the cover enchantedly. "It looks like a dust bunny! A big grumpy dust bunny!"

He raises an eyebrow and looks. "I suppose it does at that," he admits. Not at all how he sees it, though. "I think it's supposed to be like, someone trying to prove something, or something like that." 

"Well, they tried to prove something so hard they accidentally made an adorable cloud."

He snorts. "Fair. Anyways, open it up, to the intro, and we can get started?" He pulls up a chair, next to her, so they can both read. (Just as near as he is with those he tutors, sometimes, and yet it still feels far nearer than he should be. It's all in his head though. He brushes the feelings aside.)

Gosh. Proximity. She bumps her knee against his knee and then wiggles excitedly about it.

Right yes book. Book? Book. She opens the book.

The book intro starts off discussing the nature of mathematics, and the role of deductive reasoning, then quickly transitions into showing some example conjectures and eventually a proof about prime numbers, as examples of what's in store for the rest of the book. None of this is new to John, he's read this several times before, but it's probably new to Rosy, and so he keeps most of his attention on her, to see how she's reading and understanding and if she's interested or turned off by it. (Hopefully it's not too dense or confusing or too much too fast or things.)

For the first little while, bouncing intensity increases as book proceeds; then she gets into the parts that are dense enough she has to concentrate, and the bouncing becomes mostly background noise to her focus on the math.

He does the exercises at the same time as  her (it's good practice and helps him have a deeper understanding of the content) and helps her out and discusses bits if she needs it (which also helps his understanding of the content), but she's clearly a quick and clever study (and he had little to worry about, even if he's worrying anyways).

When he's working through another exercise side by side with her, a few minutes later, he hears the sound of the garage opening, and feels an overwhelming nervousness and an urge to hide everything quickly and pull out his school math textbook so they can be working on that math instead. 

She instinctively gives him a soft shoulderbump and only then realizes that perhaps it won't be as much of a comfort as she intended.

It's... something. The amount of comfort it is is complicated. 

The familiar sounds continue as the car pulls into the garage, the engine noise stops, and the garage door begins to descend. "We... should probably go say hi?" he says, voice uncertain. "Or I should?" 

"Don't look at me to decide, I'm not the local expert here."

"We can probably wait for him to come here, but then he might see that we're studying the book he got for me and not, like, the school textbook, and so he'll come to accurate conclusions?" He should probably make a decision sooner rather than later or it will be made for him. Unfortunately, he isn't sure what to do. 

"I feel like accurate conclusions are going to radiate from me like the light of the sun, but, up to you."

Aaaaaaaaaah. He is not keeping his cool at all. Why is he so worried about this? "That's probably fair. I could go greet him and then he could decide not to come see you at all and then not make any accurate conclusions?" This is silly and his choice is about to be taken from him. The door is opening anyways. "We can stay here, I'm sure it will be fine." He's not sure at all. 

Gentle shoulderbump.

"Hey dad!" he calls out as he hears the door open and his father come in. "I'm in the dining room with someone, we're working math together!" There, that's like, not a lie but maybe he'll draw the wrong conclusions, right? (Why is he so worried?)

His father comes in through the doorway, and looks at the both of them. He looks as he normally does when he comes home from work, wearing a polo shirt and khaki slacks.

"Hi!" she says, with a little wave. She may not quite be radiating accurate conclusions but she sure is much happier than most people normally are about math.

John is also somewhat happier than normal about math, so it's not like his Dad hasn't seen that before, probably? Still, he does look at them with a bit of amused suspicion in his eyes. (Oh fuck he knows.) "Another fellow student needing help with math? Nice to meet you, young lady," he says, extending his hand to shake hers.

"Nice to meet you too! I'm Rosy." She shakes his hand and then returns her attention to the book. Listen, it's a very good book.

John would perhaps prefer his Dad's attention not be drawn to the book by Rosy's gaze, but, well, too late now. "...that's not a school textbook, is it?" his dad says, still smiling in that annoyingly clever-looking way. 

"No, Dad," he says, doing his best not to roll his eyes or sigh with frustration. 

"My memory might be failing me in my old age, but I think I remember buying you that book, once upon a time?" 

"Yes, Dad," he says, unable to keep himself from sighing this time. 

"Interesting," he says. "Well, you two let me know if you need anything. You can stay for dinner if you'd like, Mom texted to stay she has to stay late again, so it's just the two of us, unless Rosy wants to join." He's still smiling and John wishes he would stop. 

"I think I'd better leave that up to John."

"...I'll get back to you," John tells him. "I think we're fine for now, you don't need to worry about us." 

"What is there to worry about? I'll be upstairs for a while to shower, so feel free to keep studying math until then." John's dad heads off, whistling tunelessly to himself. 

When he's gone, John sighs and drops his head to rest on the table. "Ugh. He totally knows." 

"Is that a bad thing? He didn't seem upset."

"He's not upset, he's delighted. And he's going to ask me all sorts of questions, and be insufferable, and probably embarrass me in front of you. Ugh. And he's going to tell mom about it, and she's going to want to know everything too. What do I even tell them about how we met, I can't tell them about the note or the fact that you apparently stalked me for more than a year or the fact that um, things I'm not supposed to talk about. And I still don't know how they're going to respond to you being a Blake..." This is a nightmare. 

"I think it will probably be okay," she says, patting his arm.

(Her hands are soft and nice.) "I hope so," he tells her. "I don't think so, but I hope so." His head is still on the table. 

...tentative headpats?

In theory his father could see the headpats and continue to draw Conclusions but he made a clear and obvious point about how he's going upstairs to shower (thus leaving them alone for an extended period of time, which is just, so much, dad), so there is no one around to see. He will accept the headpats. 

Headpat success! ✨

Well at least one of them is happy. 

He does start to feel a bit silly after a bit of this, though. His dad knows. He was always going to know. John knew this was going to happen as soon as he took her home with him (why did he end up doing that again?), and there's no point in despairing about it now. 

He eventually picks up his head, and sighs, and says, "back to the book?" 

"Yes please!"

The book is good, and seeing her enjoy herself is even better (and comes with its own set of complicated emotions, she has a pretty smile and the way she looks when she's concentrating) but they're still in the sections of that he's done before and so the math (and her face) is not enough to distract him from his thoughts. 

After the umpteenth time imagining how dinner with Rosy and Dad will go from start to finish, thinking through every bit of possible conversation and acute embarrassment, he puts the pencil down. "Do you actually want to stay here and have dinner? It's probably going to just be leftovers, I think probably the hamburger casserole from two nights ago, unless he decides your presence is unusual enough to get takeout for, which isn't entirely unlikely especially if you say you don't like casserole" what even are her food likes and dislikes. Bubblegum ice cream, but besides that? "but he'll ask you and me a bunch of questions probably and I don't know if you want that." He also doesn't know if he wants that. 

"I would love to stay and have dinner. Do you want me to stay for dinner, though? Because if you don't, then I should go home."

He thinks about dinner with Rosy there, revisiting the scenes that have been playing through his head for the last half hour. 

He thinks about dinner without Rosy here. 

"...I don't know what I want," he tells her. "On the one hand, you staying would probably give him the wrong impression this time, at least when it comes to my feelings on the matter?" Though those are quickly changing. "On the other hand.... I might want backup?"

"I can be backup! Or at least moral support?"

"I might want that. I might want that but I don't know if it's a good idea."

"...can I hug you," she asks.

"...maybe."

"Okay, yes."

She snugs her arm around his shoulders and squeezes gently.

Her arm feels nice.

"I'm getting overly worked up about this, aren't I?" He asks, half-knowing the answer. 

"Yes, but that's okay." Squeeze. "So! What's our plan of attack?"

Oh. Plan of attack. Fuck. They can't really tell the full truth, can they. (And even the partial truth, the note on the locker, is far too much.) (Also he should do something with that note, it has details in there that shouldn't be shared but he doesn't have the heart to destroy it.) What can he say that would be believed, that would explain how he suddenly found himself with a prospective girlfriend. "Lie and tell him that I got you pregnant and we're getting married?" he says glibly. "Sorry, no, it just feels easier to make up something than try and tell him a palatable" and unembarrasing "story with at least some truth in it. Like, how did we even meet?"

"I saw you helping someone with math and thought you were really cute but I was too shy to say anything for a few weeks until today I gathered up the courage to ask you out, and we decided on Math Date because we're both dorks, and because you're not sure what you think of me yet and don't want to commit to anything more exciting?"

That... actually makes a lot of sense. And gets most of the (relevant) picture across. Minus the stalking, and the magic, but besides that is... essentially true, and won't give any wrong impressions. "...that works," he tells her. "That works pretty well, actually."

"I'm pretty good at plans of attack."

"I'm starting to get that impression," he tells her. "Are there any other things you think we need to coordinate on before he starts asking more penetrating questions? I suppose lying about your last name wouldn't help much." He has no idea how his parents are going to respond to that. 

"It could get awkward later and also I don't want to."

"Yeah that's pretty fair. It would get awkward." Better to deal with whatever fallout now. "Anything else? Or should we get back to math?"

"I think, given that this is a social situation and not a military campaign, we are a reasonable level of prepared. Back to math."

He winces and blushes a little at the implied rebuke (though he's reasonably sure she didn't mean it any more than mild teasing), and returns to math with her, as best he can. 

✨ math ✨

It is very cute how delighted she is. (He really is starting to like her. Still confused on the actual owning her question.) 

Eventually, the shower turns off, and his dad calls down "I'm coming downstairs, just so you know!" and then after a minute or two, actually descends the stairs. 

"So, what's the verdict," he asks them. "Is she staying for dinner?" 

John looks at Rosy to confirm before nodding. "Yes, she's staying for dinner." 

"Sounds good to me," his dad says. "Rosy, is hamburger casserole ok? Do you have any allergies or anything I need to worry about?" 

She shakes her head. "I have no idea what you mean by hamburger casserole but I am ready for adventure!"

"I like her attitude," John's dad says to him. "She seems great. You locked the doors, so she can't run off, right?" He winks. 

"Daaaad," John says, dropping his head onto the table again. "He's kidding, Rosy." 

His dad chuckles, and John continues to be embarrassed. "I'll go nuke the casserole, we can meet in the kitchen for dinner in say, 10 minutes? Is that good for everyone? Or are you in the middle of some harrowing math problems?" 

"Ten minutes is fine by me."

"Excellent. I'll let you know when it's ready. Enjoy your mathematics!" And he heads off into the kitchen.

"I'm sorry about him," John says, head still on the table, still feeling embarrassed. (He's pretty sure Rosy somehow doesn't mind, but that doesn't change how he's feeling at the moment.) 

"Why? He's great."

"He expressed his like of you by suggesting that I lock the doors so that you can't get away." (Which, by the way, is ironic or something, in context. Not funny at the moment, but possibly Rosy finds it hilarious.) "Facetiously, to be clear. But still. He's just like that."  

"Yes, like I said, he's great!"

"You two are going to get along great while I sit at the table with my head in my food waiting for the embarrassing jokes to end, aren't you." This was not an outcome he had predicted. He should have. Is it too late to rescind the offer of dinner? (It is, and also he doesn't really want to rescind it.) 

She puts her hand over his and gently squeezes it. "Hey. I'm here for you first."

Oh.

"I... appreciate that." He sighs, and lifts up his head. "It feels really weird, having someone be sweet to me like this." 

"If all goes well I plan to keep doing it until it feels totally normal."

"It make take some time." He suddenly has a thought to ask about magical life extension (her family clearly ages and dies (right? someone would have noticed if they didn't?) so maybe they don't have any?) but now is very much not the best time. He sighs. "We could try doing some math for eight and a half more minutes? Or something else? I have no idea what else we would want to do though." 

"I could hug you but it seems like if I hugged you for eight and a half minutes you might implode, so let's do math."

He sputters for a moment and laughs a little, and then, math. 

And then: "Soup's on! It's not actually soup by the way, it's more of a meaty cheesy pasta mishmash, but sometimes we just have to say colloquialisms. Come and get it while it's still hot. Unless you prefer it cold, in which case you may need to wait a while longer." 

John sighs. "He's not normally this bad, I promise. Come on, we should go eat." 

"No, I'm delighted. Lead on."

Of course she is. (This is probably a good thing?)

There's a wooden table in the kitchen, with three chairs at it. John sits in his usual seat, and indicates for Rosy to sit in the one his mom uses, since she's not here to be using it now. The casserole is in a large white casserole dish, and is, more or less as described, a mixture of elbow macaroni and ground beef, mixed with tomato sauce and yellow cheese, which is slightly bubbling from its trip to the microwave. There's also a dish with green beans and potatoes, which have been warmed up as well. "Serve yourself," his dad says, and gestures to Rosy to put food on her plate first. "Also, would you like anything to drink?" 

"Water?" she suggests, taking an aggressive helping of adventure.

"Water we can do," he says, heading off to fill a glass with it. John fills his plate with food as well when Rosy is done serving herself. His dad comes back with the glass of water, then sits down and serves himself. 

For a little while, there's nothing but chewing, but once Rosy has had a couple bites, John's dad says, "So, how's your adventure? Is it everything you've ever dreamed of?" 

"My adventure is wonderful," she says. Is she talking about the food or the boy or both? Truly, who can say?

John's dad misses the fact that she could be talking about John (and so does John, for that matter), and simply replies with an "excellent." 

Then after another bite of food, he says, "so, tell me about yourself. John's never mentioned you before, I assume because he had other more important things on his mind."

"No, it's because I was going around pining from afar until today when I finally gathered up the courage to ask him out."

"Really? Pining over that one there?" He gestures at John with the back end of his fork. "Are you sure you're not mistaking him for someone else? Someone better looking and better dressed?" 

"Daaad" John says, trying to make it clear to Rosy with his tone of voice that his dad is joking. 

"Absolutely not," she says, smiling sunnily. "I have found the dork of my dreams."

John shrinks into his chair and blushes and tries to hide. He's not really necessary for this conversation at this point, is he. 

"A lady of discerning taste, I see," his dad says, grinning. "Not necessarily good, but certainly discerning. Then what brought you to this refined conclusion, that John is the slightly bruised and misshapen apple of your eye?" 

"...have you met him?? He's so sweet! And smart! And cute!" She notices John attempting to depart this plane of existence and pats his arm. "Okay, I'll stop."

"Don't stop on my account," John's dad says. "I'm curious to see if he'll make it to the floor." 

John groans and pulls himself up into a more reasonable sitting position, then takes a big bite of casserole so he doesn't need to talk. 

"So, what, you chased him down in school today, and professed your undying love, and browbeat him into having a date with you? Doing math, of all things, no less? That certainly was a clever strategy."

"I wouldn't say browbeat. More encouraged. Enticed? Suggested?"

"Some amount of convincing was required, though. Thought so. Well, hopefully John is enjoying his unexpected birthday present. Oh, did you know it was his birthday?"

"I did know that! That's part of how I convinced myself to finally say something."

"Aha. He must have slipped up somehow, then, John usually doesn't make that much of a big deal out of his birthday."

"It's not that important! It's not like I deserve anything special just for it being some number of days after I was born," John says.

"And that's why your mom and I bought cupcakes for just the two of us and didn't get any for you. We knew you wouldn't want any. Oh, Rosy, you're welcome to a cupcake or two if you want, though I'd recommend you finish dinner first." 

John sighs. This is not surprising. (Embarrassing in front of Rosy though.) "Could I have a cupcake, dad? Since it is my birthday? And I know that's why you really got them." 

"I don't know, Rosy, what do you think? Do you think he should get a cupcake?"

"Hmm, I don't know. Is the custom around here to make people earn their cupcakes? How? Riddle games? Trial by combat?" She laughs and shakes her head. "Give him a cupcake, he does too deserve it."

"You're lucky she's here to vouch for you, John, or else you might have gone cupcakeless. And on your birthday, no less! Very well, you can have one cupcake, once you finish your dinner."

John rolls his eyes and sighs. As though any other outcome was actually going to happen. "Thanks, dad."

"Only one?"

"A second one! Goodness gracious. Two entire cupcakes, John. That much tasty dessert should only be for special occasions, but John doesn't really want to celebrate his birthday, so I think--" 

"You can celebrate this birthday if you want, dad," John says, defeated. "I'll be happy to have a second cupcake." 

"Really? It's not making too much of a big deal out of an unimportant arbitrarily chosen anniversary or something like that?" 

"It's fine dad, I promise," John says. 

"Well, if you say so. Two cupcakes then. Once you're done eating." 

"Yes, dad. I'm very sorry about him, but he's just like this sometimes," he adds, to Rosy. 

"Clearly being charmingly goofy runs in the family."

"If you say so," says John, taking another bite of casserole.

They continue to have friendly conversation (and Dad continues to make fun of him while Rosy is amused, he's glad she's amused but wishes he would stop), until everyone is done and it is time for cupcakes. 

They are chocolate cupcakes with chocolate frosting, with rainbow sprinkles (of course they are), and clearly bought for him (as though there was any doubt, which there wasn't). John takes one, and when he goes to take a second his dad pulls it away slightly. "Hold on a moment, if this second cupcake is in celebration of your birthday I think you need to have Happy Birthday sung to you first. Don't you agree, Rosy?" 

"...my instinct is to say 'absolutely' but first I should ascertain whether this course of action will lead to John praying to be swallowed by the earth."

"That hasn't entirely stopped you before," he says with a wry grin. "It'll probably be fine. I hope." 

"In that case, prepare to be serenaded!"

Happy Birthday is not anybody's idea of a magnificent musical experience but Rosy does have a nice voice and a decent idea of how to use it.

The earth does not come up to swallow him, and he only mostly wish it to be so. (Her voice is nice, though.) "Thanks, I think," he says, taking the second cupcake, and waiting for everyone else to serve themselves. Once they are, he eats his cupcake. If Rosy is paying close enough attention to him (she probably is, she is constantly staring adoringly at him), she'll notice he eats his cupcakes almost from the bottom up, tearing off the part that hasn't spilled over the paper and eating that first, before eating the frosting-covered top. 

She is so endeared by this strange and wonderful boy. (Her own cupcake consumption involves trying to be fair to the cake and frosting and sprinkles by not imbalancing too badly how much she has eaten of each. This occasionally leads to an overambitious bite.)

John takes a quick glance at her at breaking point in his chocolatey feast, and giggles. "You have chocolate on your nose," he tells her. (Some small part of him thinks about licking it off, but that is an incredibly bad idea for many reasons. Why is he thinking about things like this.) 

She touches the end of her nose and inspects her fingertip. "Hmm, so I do." Shrug. Smile. "Chocolate on your nose is how you tell you're enjoying your cake."

"I can see that. I'm glad you're enjoying your cake." He is. She enjoys a lot of things, and enjoys them very strongly, and for some reason he enjoys watching her enjoy things. It's looking more and more likely that this relationship will... progress. (He still doesn't know how he feels about the, the, the bit where she wants to give herself to him though.)

She takes another bite without bothering to get the chocolate off her nose. Om nom happybounce.

(Aaaaah help. Yep. Cute. Fuck. He likes her, doesn't he. He likes her quite a bit.) He watches her and takes another bite of his cupcake and smiles. 

Only after she finishes her cupcake does she pick up a napkin and de-chocolate her nose.

He is very endeared. And finishes his own with a smile on his face not entirely chocolate-sourced. (Okay, mostly not chocolate sourced. There's some chocolate in there though.) 

"When do you need to be heading back home, Rosy?" John's dad asks. "Feel free to stay later, though someone should get his actual homework done, so it may be a good idea to head home soon. I can give you a lift, if you need?" 

"That would be very kind of you! My house is the big one by the woods, at the far end of Main Street past where it turns into Silver Maple Drive."

"...by the... your last name wouldn't happen to be Blake, would it?" John's dad asks, something between amusement and concern on his face. 

"It would!"

"Huh." He looks back and forth between the two of them, clearly assessing something. "Is your family aware of this, this..." he's at a bit of a loss for words. "About your designs on my son, let's say," he finally finishes.

"Should they be? Why? My mom trusts me to make my own choices."

"Even about boys?" John's dad looks slightly incredulous. 

"Of course! Anyway, I don't think she'd have much grounds to complain, she met my dad in college and married him before she graduated and went to her last year of classes wearing me on her back. I'd have to try really hard to make wilder romantic decisions than that."

(And yet, somehow, she's succeeding, isn't she. Thankfully, his dad is oblivious to the possibility of her binding her soul to his in some sort of arcane ceremony.)

"Well, we'll see what tomorrow brings, then," John's dad says, noncommittaly, but at least partially assuaged. "Should I be getting us a security camera also, in case anyone takes umbrage with something your mother or grandmother has done and decides that your beau's home is a valid target when planning their retaliatory pranks."

(That seems like valid precaution... wait, could the camera catch something that would get Rosy in trouble? They had to have some way to deal with cameras, right?) He looks at her, concern suddenly showing on his face. 

"That sort of thing is much rarer than it used to be, but do what makes you comfortable, of course."

"Well, worst comes to worst we might catch ourselves a package thief. Or take up birdwatching! Regardless, would you like a ride back now, or in a couple hours?" his dad asks. 

"What do you think, John? Tired of me yet?"

That's a question with a whole host of complicated answers. (She's cute and he wants to keep hanging out with her. She's a lot and he needs some time to process. He wants to learn more about magic. He really needs to get his homework done.) 

It's the last one that decides it. "I'm not tired of you, but I should probably spend some time on homework." And not on you, he leaves unsaid. 

"That's fair," she says agreeably. "See you later, then!"

Wait, how is he supposed to respond to this now? (No need to kiss her yet, right? He's not even totally sure he wants to kiss her yet.) Does he hug goodbye? Wave? Show he regrets how he's feeling? Not show any regret? 

"See you later," he says in response, before spending too long trying to think through the best possible response and coming out looking like he has no idea what he's doing. (Not that saying that helped, did it.) He smiles a little and waves. 

She waves back and turns to follow John's dad to the mysterious lair of the car.

John watches them go, and then concentrates on his homework as best he can (not very well). Not only does he have a (prospective) girlfriend all of a sudden, but also magic is real and also she wants to.... to fulfill his fantasies. (Which she knows, and he has so many feelings about that...) What does he do here? How can he concentrate on schoolwork at a time like this?! 

Unfortunately, his classwork does not care about any of that, and the due dates stay the same. He still has to do it. His dad mostly leaves him alone as he works (besides cracking a few awful jokes, but that's nothing new) and the next morning after a fitful sleep, he heads to school. (His mother is thankfully asleep so he doesn't need to get interrogated by her, yet.)

He hasn't gotten a message from Rosy, yet. And she's not in any of his classes. Should he message her? What should he say? (He's not supposed to message the girl right after the first date, right? Supposed to wait a while? Why is that the advice? Does it even hold in a situation like this?) 

He checks his phone when he won't get in trouble, (and occasionally very quickly when he could, though thankfully the teachers don't notice,) waiting for a message from her. 

I have been doing Research.

How would you like to go see a movie this weekend? What are your thoughts on The Hunger Games? There's also The Secret World of Arrietty which I've already seen and adore very much, and John Carter which I know nothing about except that it's based on some really old quasi-sci-fi, and I suppose the semidemicentennial rerelease of Titanic if you like that sort of thing which I doubt you do. Those are my best candidates so far but feel free to make alternate suggestions.

Alternately we could stay in and watch a movie, if you have anything in your collection you especially want to show me, or are willing to brave the spooky woods and my spooky mother to come to my house and watch old children's movies.

A message! He's weirdly elated, and nervous, even though there's nothing to be nervous about. 

Of those, the Hunger Games seems like the obviously best choice. But seeing children's movies with her sounds considerably more cozy and fun. But on the other hand, meeting her family. He isn't scared of the woods with Rosy around (much) (mostly) (look a year after they moved here some hiker died and then another one did three years later and everyone knows not to go into the woods after dark), but she has a lot of family and her family is scary. And as for on his own end, one encounter with a parent was enough, having it when both of them could be home (mom might still be working, her schedule is subject to change quite a lot, but she could be) is not something he wants to experience at the moment. He's already dreading the conversation probably tonight with her. 

I'm not sure I'm quite up for meeting the Blake family yet, even if children's movies with you sounds fun. I've heard good things about the Hunger Games, we could do that, and maybe get a bite to eat somewhere afterwards? 

Sounds good to me! What time? We could do tonight, or tomorrow afternoon or evening, or even Sunday?

Tomorrow afternoon might be best, I should tell my parents beforehand and I should leave Sunday for things I don't get done because I'm too busy having a good time with you. 

Is that too forward? It's probably not too forward, she's the one literally giving herself to him. It still feels too forward. He dithers, but sends it anyways. 

Sure thing! I'll look up showtimes and get us tickets.

Sounds good to me! Let me know!

Part of him wants to suggest that they meet up after school, at least for a bit (he wants to see her!), another part of him suggests to take it slow and safe. And that he still needs time to think. (And do homework. There is always the homework.) So he doesn't add anything else. 

That same afternoon, about an hour after the end of school, she emails him a ticket receipt with a Saturday 3pm showtime.

Thanks! See you then!

he starts his message to her, but then realizes there is slightly more logistics involved then that. So he revises his message:

Thanks! Do you want to get food before or after? If after, do you want to meet at the theatre, or elsewhere? You could pick me up at my place (I don't have a car, I assume you probably do) if you want, since if we're meeting at the theatre my travel options afterwards are somewhat limited (I don't have a car, just a bike), but there are plenty of places to eat nearby. Looking forward to seeing you!

He's not keen on admitting he doesn't have a car, or asking for a ride from her, and he's concerned that assuming she has a car might be a problem if it turns out she doesn't (she's a Blake, they can certainly afford it, but that doesn't make it a certainty). But he sends it anyways, slightly nervous about her response. 

Oh, I'll be rollerskating to the theater, I don't have a car either. I could borrow my mom's but I usually don't because skating is more fun.

Let's meet at the theatre and then get dinner afterward? There's this really cute burger place just a little ways away from the theatre that serves the most marvelous ice cream sundaes. Or if you're not into that we'll have other options.

...well that was unexpected. Works though! (It's also weirdly adorable. So many things about her are adorable. He suspects this may be a constant refrain.) (Also he was worried about assuming incorrectly and he did that and everything turned out fine. He's very glad everything turned out fine.) 

Sounds good to me, see you then! 

See you then!! 💖

Come Saturday afternoon, John arrives at the theatre, about 25 minutes before the actual movie is supposed to begin. (He knows he's going to be early, but he would very much rather not be late, so this is how it must be.) His parents have given him advice (some of it humorous, thanks Dad) of varying quality (just because that's how it worked 20 years ago doesn't mean it works that way now) and pocket money to buy popcorn and dinner, since Rosy is providing the tickets (he suspects she could pay for all of it but wants to pay for some himself, and while he has some money on hand... he is grateful to his parents for this. Annoyingly). He locks his bike, walks the extra half-block to the theatre, and looks around to check and see if, somehow, Rosy has arrived more early than he has. 

Rosy arrives a mere 15 minutes early, sparkling up the street in holo-silver rollerskates with translucent blue wheels. She waves excitedly when she sees him.

He had not expected the sparkly nature of the roller skates (he had assumed something more in the pink variety) but this still completely fits her to a tee. He smiles and waves back, and waits for her to close the distance, admiring her as she moves. 

"Hi John!" she says as soon as she's within reasonable speaking distance. "Right, let me just reconfigure—"

She sits herself down on the edge of an ornamental planter in front of the movie theatre, pulls off her skates and her elbow and knee pads (also sparkly) and helmet (likewise), packs it all away in her backpack (except the helmet which hangs off the outside), and extracts in return a pair of purple sneakers with blue accents.

"There. I am now permitted to venture indoors."

(Reconfigure <3 . Help, she's adorable.) 

"It would be a bit difficult for us to watch the movie otherwise. Let's go get our seats, and then I can get us popcorn and anything else you might want if you want something else from the concession stand, if that sounds good to you?" He wants to take her arm in arm (or hand in hand, even), but that still feels too forward (despite the fact that John has made it clear to himself that "too forward" is a bit of a strange concept in a relationship that starts with the other person offering to be your slave. Still, though), and so he simply smiles and gestures towards the entrance. 

"Concession stand snacks are a sin but if you want to get them for me anyway I won't mind."

"Wait, why are they a sin?" 

"The theatre creates a situation of artificial scarcity by not allowing outside food in so you have to buy their absurdly overpriced candy, so letting them get away with it is giving in to extortion. I realize most people do not think like this."

"...so that's fair, but..." 

He pauses for several moments. 

"I like having popcorn, I guess? And also I'm supposed to buy you popcorn on a date. Especially since you got the tickets." His parents said so, and even if they hadn't he'd want to independently. Does want to. It's the right thing to do. 

"I said I wouldn't mind! Buy me all the overpriced candy you want!"

"Alright then, I will! What kind of overpriced candy would you like? We could stop by the concession stand on the way in. To see what they have, we should still get our seats first. At least, if you'd like. Like to see the concession stand, that is." He is being far too overly awkward, damnit. 

She boops his nose. "You're adorable. Yes, let's head inside, glance over the selection, get our seats, and then send you on a supply run."

(Yup, she just booped his nose and he wants to blush and melt. Well, not much to do about it except soldier on. Unfortunately. With hopefully a minimal amount of blushing.) 

"Sounds, sounds good to me!" 

They check in, and head for the concession stand. What do they have available, and, more importantly, what does Rosy want from what they have available? (And, he supposes, though much less important, what do they have that he wants?) 

They have so, so much candy. Rosy's eye is caught by the peanut M&Ms and chocolate-covered raisins.

Well, John's more interested in the Junior Mints, but is happy to get all three, as well as some popcorn, once they are all settled with their seats first.