The Dollmaker's Apprentice (Closed; for Peeker)

[Bad Coffee]

The Magic World; Year of the Crown, Month of the Sword

Olivia Maria Bellabianca had just put the finishing touches on her outfit when she noticed her reflection was teasing her again. She sighed in annoyance. It had been so well behaved until now, too. Physically, the mirror-girl might as well have been her twin sister--and she was lucky there, she knew. Poor cousin Beatrix could never get her reflection to stop showing up with green hair. Olivia the reflection possessed the same wavy black hair with its faint blue tint, the furthest curls coming within a hair's breadth of her backside. She had the same rounded face, and sparkling cobalt eyes. Olivia the very real and rather annoyed was quite certain, however, that she never smirked like that.

Inside the mirror, her reflection endlessly fiddled with the collar of her wine-colored mantel, and smoothed down the front of the matching, ankle-length robe she wore underneath. Checking to make sure Olivia was still watching, she knelt and began polishing the toes of her boots with the lace at the robe's hemline. The entire act was an outrageous parody of Olivia's own anxious preparations, and she was getting just a little bit sick of it. Today was the day she journeyed to the human world to begin her apprenticeship. It was only natural she'd be a little nervous. How dare her reflection make fun of her for that?

Scowling, she held out one hand and called for her staff. A roughly carved length of dark oak even taller than she was rattled in the corner. The knob at the top had been whittled into the shape of a thick crescent moon, which now rose slowly into the air as she opened and closed her hand, drawing it towards her. With a sudden surge, it flew across the dressing room, and into her hand. The little stool wobbled as Olivia swept the staff back in a double-handed grip, preparing to swing. Mirror-Olivia's eyes widened, and the reflection wobbled and warped like a fun-house mirror, before snapping into an identical pose, staff included. Both Olivias tapped the floor with the base of the staff and gave a tiny, satisfied snort.

It was a bluff, of course. Even on a special day like today, Mama wouldn't hesitate to spank her if she went around smashing mirrors just because her reflection was being disobedient. But the girl in the mirror was nothing more than an echo of her personality, and not truly intelligent.

"Mari, hurry up!" Mama's voice vibrated through the door. "If you keep dawdling, you'll miss your chance!"

"Coming, mama!" Olivia shouted back.

A snap of her fingers, and the witch hat--her witch hat--leapt into the air, spinning like a top as it crossed the empty room and landed gently on her head. It was the same purplish red as her robes, with a floppy point. Perhaps a bit too large for her, but it would have to last for the next year after all. The eleven year-old look a last look in the mirror, puffed out her chest, and leapt off the stool, running out the door as fast as her little legs could carry her. Minor annoyances done with, the long-suppressed excitement was starting to bubble up out of her chest. She was going to study at the knee of a powerful wizard, and in the human world no less! Oooh, she couldn't wait to begin! Olivia was grinning broadly as she climbed remaining steps and burst through into the cool night air.

The Gate had been a volcano once, or so they said, but that was long, long ago. Now the caldera was filled with a glassy smooth lake of ever-shifting color. It glimmered under the stars, casting an aurora above the mountain that was visible for miles. Mama was waiting for her at the edge of the precipice, silhouetted against the glow beyond. Sophia Bellabianca was a taller, straight-haired version of her daughter, dressed all in black. A pair of gold-rimmed spectacles perched on the bridge of nose, forever slipping off if she wasn't careful. She smiled warmly as Olivia approached, and knelt down, resting her ruby-tipped staff across her knees.

"I was getting worried, Mari."

"I didn't miss it, did I? Did I?" She skidded to a halt at the edge, and leaned over, the light from the Gate casting her face in rainbows.

"No, little one. You've still got a few minutes." Sophia rested a warm hand on her back. "Turn around, let me get a look at you..."

"Ma~ma..." But Olivia endured her mother's inspection without further complaint.

At last, she appeared to be satisfied. "You look beautiful, honey. Any mage would be proud to have an apprentice like you. I just wish your father was here to see you..."

Olivia tugged on the brim of her hat with both hands, trying to hide her eyes, but a traitorous blush still peeked out underneath. "You said I shouldn't dawdle, mama..." she mumbled. "Don't wanna miss it..."

"Of course." Sophia stood up, and withdrew a roll of vellum from the pocket of her cloak. A seal of red wax held it closed, embossed with the crest of Ariadne Academy. She handed it to Olivia, who immediately turned it about between her hands until she found the name of her future tutor

"Malcolm Faireponte..."

The name didn't ring any bells, but the rituals that determined each witch or wizard's tutor in the human world were ancient and well-tested. This Malcolm was no doubt a mage of great ability! Olivia slipped the scroll into her little bag of belongings, making sure to bury it deep. She would have to present it to her tutor in order to finalize the contract, and the seal needed to stay in place until then. Taking up her staff in one hand, and her bag in the other, Olivia strode back to the edge of the crater, steeling herself for the jump. At the last second, Sophia's silent, smiling presence caused her to take one final look back.

Sophia said nothing, merely holding one arm apart from her body. Olivia's staff and travel back clattered on the edge of the cliff as she threw herself willingly into a bonecrushing hug. "It'll be alright, Mari," she said over the muffled sobs. "Your tutor will take good care of you, and we'll write each other every week." Olivia sniffled out something that might have been a 'yes.' "You've been looking forward to this for years, there's just one more step..."

As if in response, the beams of light from the gate flickered and began to dim. Olivia tore her face away from the warm embrace and rubbed furiously at her damp eyes. "I love you," said Mama, giving her a pat on the rear to get her moving. "Now, go! Quickly!"

Olivia ran all-out towards the lip of the crater, her robe flapping around her ankles as her boots pounded over the black stone. Without stopping, she snatched her bag off the ground and hurled herself over the edge. The full expanse of the primastic lake was spread out beneath her, the brilliant streaks and whorls of color now starting to visibly fade. For a second, it felt like she would hang in the air until the Gate closed for another year, and she'd have to go back to the Academy with her tail between her legs, and everyone would laugh and point...

WHAP.

Her palm blossomed with dull pain as her staff smacked into her open hand. She clutched her fingers tightly around it, and fell. As she plummeted towards the Gate, Mama's shouted a last warning from on high.

"Remember! Don't open your eyes until you're all the way through!"

And then her world was nothing but the wind buffeting her face, and roaring in her ears as the dazzling light of the Gate rushed up to meet her. Knowing that hundreds of little wizards and witches had made the same journey before her was nothing but puny abstract fact. This was the true, terrifying reality getting closer every second. Why had Mama even bothered saying that? Olivia didn't think she'd be able to open her eyes without a crowbar! On the other hand, maybe it would be easier to deal with if she wasn't looking right down at it? Waving her arms and legs about, she finally managed to get herself turned over on her back. Now, just one last look at the stars of her home, and then--

Utter silence, utter darkness, utter stillness consumed her.

--and then she was falling again, wisps of the cloud she had fallen out of streaming up into the sky above her. As she descended, the cloud shrank in her field of vision, and she could see the moon and stars again. But not her moon and stars. It was earlier in the evening here, she could see, the sunset just now giving way to full night. Time must flow differently in the human world. Or maybe the Gate had taken her to a different part of it? Then again, the Academy teachers said it was a round planet, and that meant different spots on the planet experienced different times. Or something. Olivia thought it was all very confusing.

Slowly it dawned on her though, as the clouds rushed past, that whatever time differences might exist, falling apparently still worked the same way....

"Stop! Stopstopstopstopstopstoppppp!"

Her staff gradually slowed, then halted in mid-air with Olivia dangling from it with one hand. She closed her eyes, trying very hard not to think about how far beneath her the ground was, and steadied her breathing, calling on the spirits of Air. Thankfully, this high up, there were plenty of them around and they responded quickly, buoying her back up. They set her down on top of her staff, sitting sidesaddle, and Olivia finally allowed herself to open her eyes again. The lights below glittered like tiny diamonds on a sheet of black velvet.

So this was the human world... And those lights below, that must be the city where the great wizard Malcolm lived! Terror quickly faded to be replaced by the same surge of anticipation that had been keeping her up at night for a week. Olivia smiled, and with a thought, directed the staff to carry her to the location on her contract. The wood angled itself downwards, automatically securing her in place with tendrils of enchantment as it began to vibrate. Olivia was so caught up in picturing how much fun she'd have as an apprentice that she did not realize she had forgotten to include directions on speed with her mental command.

"Wait--" She began, as the staff began to visibly shake.

A passing flock of geese squawked in annoyance as a large, totally un-aerodynamic projectile went streaking across their flight path, emitting a continuous high-pitched shriek. But geese are easily annoyed, after all, so this was nothing new.

[Peeker]

It was like a turtle, somehow: its round shape moved not quite in bursts, but with a consistency that was anything but smooth. Like a turtle putting its feet down, it had a gait of its own which was both disconcerting and a great relief. The spokes of the large wooden machine turned, one after another, letting a pleasant band of shadow cross across the room with the same cadence that everything here worked in. The stream bubbled and pushed the little waterwheel, which turned sluggishly outside the window now, as it always did. It wasn't the most efficient way to keep things going, but Malcolm had never minded needing to break up the ice now and then, or even having to encourage the wheel with a little force: the stream was useful, the extra power was free, and it was better for the community in general. Besides, the soft creaking of the wood was almost musical. It was more than just pleasant, it was calming - and timing his copy of VonHoffenshire's second Cantata in B minor to play with the paddlewheel's creaks as an additional accompaniment was a pleasant time-waster to clear his head before getting back to work. The recently acquired record was carefully cradled atop the rack of his Maesterzinger brand Symphonographicaurial, which hummed ever so softly beneath the sound of the composition, as powered by the waterwheel as the rest of the room was.

Two walls were lined with sturdily mounted crafts. Marionettes and babydolls, handpuppets and mannequins, all intricately carved and most cunningly painted, as well. The large, dry space was both showroom and workroom, the perfume of sawdust mingling uniquely with the pungent scent of paints, softly insulated by the fabric and lace of miniature costumes which reminded of the perfumes that were nowhere to be found. This was not a display case - it was a workshop. Everything here worked in diachotomoies - one was either clean and prepared for work, or cluttered with shavings, tools, and half-finished projects, a still-life all its own. The third wall was home to the window, the waterwheel, and one of the workbenches - the fourth claimed nothing but workspace for itself, and was quite happy to be so productive.

Malcolm Faireponte hummed softly as he picked up his corkscrew, and began to bore into the neck of what would soon be Miss Helga's birthday present. Her mother was a wonderful cook, and the offer of bevys of tasty treats in the future was most certainly a fair trade-off for relaxing his usually firm prices. Madame Jaiilson was a kind lady, after all.

The man's home sat on the base of a hillock, one wall pressed up into the cut earth. The aforementioned stream ran along the side, and there was a tiny footbridge one had to cross to get to the front door - and there, smack dab on the left-hand side of the house's front wall, was the nervous little waterwheel. His house had a red roof, creamy yellow walls, and sturdy, oak trim around the windows and doors so dark it was nearly black. There was always a fire lit for the forest's edge was not so far away that he couldn't keep himself steadily supplied with firewood and materials, while all the same was far enough away that he wasn't overrun with foxes, weasles, and the like. Rooks were a bit of a constant, as were starlings, but Malcolm liked both - rooks could appreciate the shine of buttons and needles and polish and art as much as he could, and something about a flock of starlings in flight was more freeing than anything else Malcolm had ever known in the world.

Malcolm Justinian Faireponte put down the corkscrew, reached into his apron for a single, heavy leather glove, and with it to shield his spare hand, took up an extremely dangerous knife - sharpened it on the strop that laid against the worktable - and began to work on the more defining features of little hand, fingers, feet, and toes. The second movement of VonHoffenshire had not yet begun, and all was right in the world. The air was frosty and the winter was closing in as relentlessly as ever. A few trees stubbornly displayed points of fire and glory in their branches, but that too would change soon enough.

The busy season would be coming soon, with the winter holidays. Showmen would need new wonders, travelers replacements, and children presents. Just as well.

What had to be the last flock of geese was loudly honking its way across the sky - it sounded as though something had disturbed them, but Faireponte could barely pay that any heed - not with the music that filled the room, and the delicate curve of this doll's thumb which needed to be attended to.

...what was that? The man stood, and peered out his window. ....something wasn't quite right all of a sudden, but he surely didn't know what.