Disclaimer: Hah! If I owned Buffy, would I be doing this now? No.
A/N: This did not come to me from watching any of those new magician-y type movies. No resemblance is intentional because I haven't watched them. Look up the name Elita and you'll find out why I named her that. Even better, review and tell everybody else. Don't look up Alistair, I only used it because my family has a sentimental attachment to it. Magic vs. Magick is my NaNoWriMo for my English class. If you don't know what-the-hey I just wrote, don't worry, you're not missing much. My word count goal is 15000.
On with the show
Alistair took one look in the mirror and snorted out a laugh. He looked so unlike himself, his own mother wouldn't even recognize him. Black and red velvet, shiny saddle shoes and an Abe Lincoln-esque top hat was not his style. Why did magicians have to wear capes anyway? Was that a fake carnation on the hat brim? He was going for cheap, not ridiculous.
"Never thought I'd sink this low," Alistair murmured to himself. Nobody would hear him, he might as well have screamed. His girlfriend had left a few months ago, thinking (correctly) that he was a failure. Alistair frowned at his reflection clothed in secondhand….patheticness. Moving on was the best thing to do with his life.
At least he had a job today. A gig at an orphanage was one of the easiest of shows. It was a pity he couldn't throw in some true magick, but difficult questions were always possible even with kids. Maybe something simple would pass - not that he could do anything else.
The magician stepped away from his bathroom mirror. How he was going to sneak down the apartment complex stairs was something Alistair didn't want to think about. Neighbors kept giving his top hat and tails funny looks. Sprinting was probably the best option, if the elevator was on the blink. Again.
Alistair made it to his car, his pride and joy, which technically was the only thing in his life which was in decent shape. One last check in the mirror; Alistair was well aware of his vanity. Smooth black hair in a low, short pony tail, trim goatee and not one hair out of place. "All good." He really had to stop talking to himself or it would become a habit. Eh, go with the flow. "Come on, get me to my paying customer," the magician pleaded his car, which didn't need it, but couldn't hurt.
It was amazing how many people thought leaving their kids somewhere in California would instantly make them movie stars. Miles from any big city like LA and kids were still abandoned. Almost all ended up in bad hands and lucky ones went to homes or orphanages. This particular orphanage was in better shape than their entertainer's apartment building and the tenants were nicer, too. Alistair could see that the instant he pulled into the drive. A middle-aged woman bustled up to him as soon as he got out of the car. She must have had very bad eyesight because she was continually squinting.
"Amazing Alistair, correct? Excellent, excellent. Let me help with your equipment."
She had picked the trunks up before he had time to grimace at his totally unoriginal stage name.
"It's heavy, I should carry it," he protested. The woman had hastened away with her back ramrod straight and no effort shown in her task. When Alistair called, she stopped in her tracks and gave a squinty-eyed glare over her shoulder and then continued on, looking determined. The magician shrugged and carried his remaining bag inside.
There weren't many rooms inside the home, but there was a decent-sized party area in the attic. Large wood beams crossed the plastered ceiling and a low stage was set up for Alistair. It didn't stop him from noticing that it looked surprisingly like a whitewashed hayloft.
The woman had taken his bags up the stairs and into this space without word. Alistair was startled when she began speaking.
"The house was built in 1967 and was refurbished in the 90s. We take great pride in this excellent building and the children like to see people perform up here very often." The woman, perhaps the matron, spoke like she had swallowed a tour guide. Some human expression entered her voice when she continued, "Please, don't perform anything unsuitable for our younger children. Nightmares are not needed here." The matron straightened her already over-strained back and reverted back to her inner tour guide. "If you should require anything else before your excellent little show don't hesitate to ask. How much time do you require to assemble your equipment?" She kept on squinting, though she was directly in front of Alistair.
"About half an hour should work," Alistair said with as professional a voice as he could manage. He hoped the matron didn't notice his attempts at copying her perfect posture.
"Excellent. They will be here in thirty-two and a half minutes prompt," she declared without a glance at her watch. Her gaze softened and the woman wished him good luck before she departed, leaving a magician who felt stupidly honored to be wished luck by her.
Alistair turned towards his stage and set up his show in twenty-nine minutes and inflated balloons for exactly three and a half. Then the kids entered. They were all shapes and sizes, the oldest maybe fifteen and the youngest about three. Happily, the youngest grabbed balloons and sat cross-legged in front of the stage. Alistair felt a tingling at the back of his neck. He was probably the worst magician in California, but he had at least dabbled in true magick enough to recognize power when he felt it. It was one of the kids.
Alistair had never been particularly good at thinking on his feet. This was an emergency, though, so he had to do his best. While making a rabbit pop out of his hat, he noted that this was a kid's untrained, raw power that could either be misused or deadly if it literally imploded inside. A likely possibility if it was left undisciplined. While twisting a balloon into a crown, the magician figured he ought to find this kid and train him/her as best he could. Adoption was the only way for this person to be trained, Alistair supposed, whether he could afford to or not.
Halfway through his program, it came to the card tricks. He held out the fanned trick deck to a young girl about eight years old. The girl took one look at the deck and picked the ace of clubs. As her hand drew away Alistair could feel her ebb and flow of enormous power.
"Now, don't show me, let everybody else look." She turned and obeyed. "What's your name?" He leaned in to catch her answer.
"Elita," she said quietly. Alistair smiled to her.
'Hello, Elita, my daughter. I'll do my very best to protect you.'
A/N: I'll give you a present if you review to say what an ace of clubs means. If you're having trouble picturing Alistair, think of a shorter (like he could be taller) Numair Salmalin, if you've read Tamora Pierce's Immortals trilogy. If that doesn't work google 'Belbin and Agosto' and find Ben Agosto's picts from last season, ex: anything from the Olympics. The similarities are scary. Buffy and co will be present next chapter. I think I'll throw in Bartimaeus later on. Ideas on what to do with his footnotes, anybody?
Review pretty please and share your thoughts and feelings.