NOW YOU DON'T
WINTERMINCH
A/N: Hola everyone! winterminch here. For those returning, I changed my username. For those who are just joining, it's nice to meet you.
I do not own Now You See Me, but I was so intrigued by the idea, that I had to post something.
I know making an OC Insert is quite overused already, but I said fuck it, I want in.
So how about that summary too? Idk, guys, pretty proud of it.
I thought, "better jump on when the gun is still hot."
That being said.
Sit back and:
Enjoy.
PROLOGUE: MAD AS A HATTER
"Hey lady! Aren't you the Mad Hatter?"
Truth is, I really don't like performing to children anymore.
Especially at this age.
10 - the gracious year where they begin to question the warped reality we all grew up in. Where toy cars are no longer acceptable play things because the real thing is so much better and Barbie's made us little girls self-conscious because we'd never look like them without slimming out and spraying on twenty good pounds of makeup and hair gel. 10 years old is when they begin to use their brains - as tiny and undeveloped as they are for the wrong things.
At least, when you're 20, 30, 50, you look past that silliness and just enjoy what's being done right before your eyes.
It's the crossing point where all children start to question me and my life's work in the most literal way.
Is it really magic? They'll beg, pulling on my jeans with their grubby little fingers. They'll ruin it verbally, and ruin your entire act in a blink of an eye because they can't believe for 5 seconds that the rabbit I just pulled by the ears out of the hat wasn't hidden down in there 30 seconds before. It's a loss of revenue, really. It's a sad, sad moment for all magicians alike - for anyone trying to install a little more happiness in a young mind.
Quite honestly, I was sick of it.
Raising my eyebrows down at the little tyke, I felt myself sigh and toss the lit cigarette I'd just began to smoke over the side of the bridge. This river was already polluted up the wall; not like I would be doing anything to it that would throw off the balance of the universe, much less the ecosystem. Besides, with his mom standing by, probably wouldn't be completely desired to infect her son in the same smoke and addiction that shaved a few years off of my life already.
"Alright kid," I adjusted the black baseball cap on my head, fixing the ponytail I'd woven through it as I hopped down from my spot on the concrete ledge. I could feel the sun baking into my back through the black tank top I'd pulled on this morning.
True to the name, the reason I stick to this spot, is simply because I've got the stage home here on the south wall of the bridge: Mad Hatter. People like it. Why? Don't ask me. My real name is Margaret Hart, and I've never told anyone otherwise. And still?
"- pick a card, any card. I'm at your service."
The child pursed his lips in thought when from the back pocket of the dark jeans I wore, in between my fingers I spread out a good half a deck of playing cards. After a giggle from his mother and a shift from foot to foot from me, I already was attracting a bit of a crowd. A tourist couple came over with a Nikon camera and snapped a shot. An old man hobbled this way, leaning against his cane. Some guy in a hoodie found himself leering close by, arms crossed over his chest. I ignored them all, and instead, focused.
"This one." He said proudly, sticking his hand out to grab the upside down card. Not a shock to me. Therefore, I completely turned around on the balls of my feet with a sort-of smile. After all. Still don't like kids.
"Okay, look at the card." He said that he was. "Show it to your mom." She giggled again and said it was done. Throwing my arm back, I held out my hand. "Put it here." He did.
Turning back to face the audience, it had grown in size. There was a decent amount of people, a dozen or more, waiting to see what I was going to do. Ah, good old American curiosity. Nothing like it, was there?
"Alright, this card?" I looked down at it, noticing it was the Queen of Hearts. The corner was bent a little. Not on purpose, probably just from the shape of my pocket. But hey, not a bad thing either. Shrugging both shoulders, I tossed it over my back too without a second thought and felt a couple of people gasp. The playing piece probably was on it's way down into the river, floating next to my fallen unlit smoke I regret getting rid of already. "Don't need it anymore."
"Why?" The child cried, brown owl eyes from behind his glasses growing double in size. I pointed at his jacket pocket, leaning back to rest against the concrete wall I had been seated against before. He buried his fingers deep down into the sides, feeling around on my command.
"I've got a spare hidden away in there somewhere. I'm gonna need it back now."
Wait for it -
"Woah, cool mom! Look! It's in my pocket!"
That's the one. That's the reaction I was looking for.
"How did you do that?"
And that was the question I hated.
"You know, a magician never reveals his, or in my situation, her tricks." I held my fingers out again for the card, and he reluctantly handed it over with a frown. Poor lad. But hey, this was a free show, and come on, not everything was cheap. No souvenirs this time around. So, for my final act, taking it in between both thumbs, a slight of hand and a slight of mind later, the boy squealed in shock. The card was on fire, a pretty blue flame, and then, it was gone, smoke and ash whisked away by the sea breeze that came in from the coast.
A moderate amount of clapping ensured. Some people left, some stuck around just in case there was more, but I was more concerned about the little boy who grabbed my hand and looked upon it, as if for some kind of answer to all this madness.
Madness. Huh. How ironic. Maybe I get the name after all.
"How did you do that?" The mom whispered too, a hand on her collarbone, the other on her son's shoulder to gently take him back a few steps. I didn't blame her very much - any sort of pyro next to your child is a dangerous mix. Or so I'd think. For my own sake, I retracted my fingers from the small child's, back into my pockets, and allowed myself to give her the tiniest smile I could manage.
"One word."
She said nothing.
"Magic."
When in reality, luck. Logic. After all, he was caring a book that was called: The Magic Touch all day, and after hearing that he was looking for me because his best friend had seen my side street work, when I passed them on the street for a second time while getting a hot dog around noon, it wasn't too difficult to drop the card down into his pocket when he wasn't looking. It was only a matter of time before he found me, and the rest was history.
His awestruck expression was all I needed to be satisfied, however, it wasn't until I returned back to my spot, waiting to watch the sun go down like I always did that I noticed that down in my pocket, where the missing Queen of Hearts card should be, it stuck out of the deck like a sore thumb, poking my hip in an unusual way.
Dragging the playing piece out that wasn't mine, I frowned, and gazed upon the tarot card of Justice. The strange art of a queen on a thrown with a double edge sword so true was peculiar enough already, but the words on the back were even more perplexing. So strange, I found myself waking up in the middle of the night later that evening just to read it all over again.
MARCH 29TH
4:44 PM
45 EAST EVAN ST
NY, NY