Prologue 4: No, This Isn't A Recurring Joke; What Are You Talking About?
The many different tricks the eccentric woman performed were a thing of wonder, and the smooth, perfect way in which she moved across the park's light posts, benches, the walls of the public bathroom, and many more surfaces despite that dress of hers only made her skill more apparent.
That was all that could be said of the mundane, normal tricks. Their minds were clearly focused on the ones that were nothing short of impossible. The swarms of butterflies that she emerged from on different locations; the kiseru which she blew thick, heavy clouds of smoke out of; the lightning that she seemingly conjured out of nowhere.
The many different things she did just to blow their minds really drove in just how out of their depth they were. They all knew the sheer bullshit that people could get up to in this world, but by seeing such things in action, the fact finally sunk in.
Trent nodded and declared, "That was pretty hype."
"Ye," Johan agreed after picking his jaw up off the ground.
Though they were shocked for the most part, their reactions weren't very pronounced and the witch seemed to pout at that. Before she could retort, however, a new sound rang in their ears. Turning to the source, they saw a figure moving through the darkness, away from the light of the lanterns. It didn't take long for it to step into sight as the sounds got louder and they finally made sense of them.
It was a man with completely red hair, not ginger as that would normally imply, but scarlet. He was wearing a pair of jeans and a white T-shirt with a few gold patterns on it and wildly swung his arms to and fro as he tried to keep his balance, screaming loudly about how he was going to fall and hit his face as he sped towards them.
Alphonse felt a certain...kinship and a sense of deja vu as he approached, but as his sympathy and compassion were inversely proportional to the injuries and exhaustion he felt at the moment, he decided to carefully step out of the way instead of helping him.
The Canadian, rather than actually help in any way, moved out the way with his greater AT skill and chuckled to himself. He also felt more than a bit of deja vu at the sight of the young man, but as he considered the state of things, he decided that maybe he was being reminded of something else entirely.
Meanwhile, the American simply looked on in befuddlement as he struggled to stay upright, legs shaking.
Soon enough, with all obstacles out of the way, the redhead unceremoniously impacted against the light pole Alphonse was holding onto only a short while ago. The witch chuckled lightly at the man's groans of pain.
"Now then, how did you find yourself here, Battleeeeeeer?" Beatrice drawled mockingly. "Didn't I tell you to stick to practicing what I already taught you while I went to see what all the fuss was over here?"
The man just replied by whining and clutching his stomach while trying to glare at the woman but failing miserably.
Trent looked down at the poor young man and offered, "If it makes you feel any better, Al here," the blond gestured at the Mexican, "slammed crotch-first into Johan's face." And as he said that he pointed to the final member of their trio.
Alphonse responded by giving the Tim Horton's-loving motherfucker an affectionate smile and flipping the bird. Meanwhile, Johan rolled his eyes and snarked to the Mexican, "Well, I hope it was better for you than it was for me."
The taco lover looked over at the American and blinked. "Dude, are you seriously...no, wait, you definitely are implying that. Fuckin' degenerate."
Johan smirked. "Guilty as charged."
The Canadian laughed, glad for their infighting. It meant that he had the most stable position amongst them.
As the man's cries began to subside, the witch spoke up once more.
"Well then, I haven't heard an answer, Battler. Come on, come on!" she urged him on. "I already know why, but I just want to hear you say it. 'I was practicing but I needed you to hold my hand and help me so I didn't fall on my face'. Something like that, riiiiiiiight?"
"You damn crazy-eyed witch," the red-haired man muttered a weaksauce retort. "One of these days I swear I'll get you back for all of this.
"I'll be looking forward to that day," the woman said mockingly. "It's not going to come any sooner unless you keep practicing, so get on your feet and keep practicing."
She put her kiseru to her mouth once again and gave him a cruel smile. "Or perhaps you'd rather keep kneeling on the floor and kiss my feet?" she added after letting out a cloud of smoke. "Ah, yes. You could always choose to do that instead, couldn't you? It would certainly be much better and easier, wouldn't it?"
"Wow, just whipping your fetish out in public, that's some pretty bold play," the blond interjected as he watched the witch bully her reluctant student.
"I dunno, Trent. It's a strong move, considering his reaction," the Mexican replied in a tone like that of a wrestling match commentator. "How is Battler ever going to come back from this!?"
The Canuck thought on that for a moment before remarking, "Given the way she's acting, I think she'd like it more if he was in ropes."
"Maybe even a collar and a leash!" Alphonse added jokingly.
Johan palmed his face with a sigh. "I hope you both know what you're doing, because I'm not trying to get killed by a witch tonight. My path goes to a realm beyond love and hate, not into a ditch because you comedians decided to drag me down with you."
"Oh please, she won't kill us, if only because that would make the kid actually hate her. Besides, she's probably more embarrassed that we've nailed her to a wall by her kinks," Trent refuted, eying the rather annoyed Witch with an amused smile. "The kid too, but he'll never admit it."
Johan gave him a glum look that was rather ruined by the smile he was trying (and failing) to hide. "I suppose your confidence is laudable, even if your choice of targets is absolutely dreadful."
"My choice in targets is impeccable, as I want to be friends with these two…or, the witch at least. She seems like a riot and a half," Blackmore replied, offering the pair of reluctant student and crazed trainer a winning smile. "Isn't this how most people make friends?"
"Yes, by shittalking their fetishes out on the open. Or just shittalking them in general," Alphonse added with a wise nod. "Makes perfect sense to me. This line of logic is one with neither flaw nor any possibility of error!"
The American deadpanned, then shrugged. "Seems legit."
The redhead looked at the three in a mix of confusion, horror and a little anger. "You guys are making so much sense right now and that's honestly creeping the crap out of me."
"Don't cry moon pie, you'll catch up soon enough," the Canadian offered serenely, skating back and forth a bit.
"You're just making it worse!" the newbie yelled with wide gestures.
"I think that's the intent, sonny," Johan remarked, wobbling sideways on his skates, arms out wide to keep his balance.
Trent looked to the American and suggested, "Try pumping your arms, it'll help keep your balance as you move, as well as keep your body going."
"On normal skates, perhaps it would work like that," the witch added with a huff. "One's form when riding AT's is completely different, and for beginners, adding in arm pumps can cause them to wildly lose control if they aren't prepared. I suppose you all certainly could do with some tutoring if nothing else."
"Wait so shittalking actually worked? Huh. Amazing," Alphonse said while blinking before turning to face her and kneeling down. "Please, oh mighty Witch, teach us how to do all the rad stuff you just did!"
After this declaration, he performed a perfect dogeza. Trent, rather than do as Alphonse did, looked at the blonde and declared, "I'm a damn sight better than these two shitlords, but I'd appreciate the help nevertheless."
"Yeah, not falling and viciously crippling myself on Satan's Heelies would be nice," Johan remarked. "If you're willing to teach, I'd be happy to learn."
Puffing out her chest in pride, the woman laughed victoriously.
"Very well! Let us sign a contract then!" she declared. "A verbal agreement, if nothing else! If you wish for my tutelage, then you must acknowledge my existence as a Witch!"
"It shall be done!" Alphonse declared instantly, drawing a wild smile from the blonde.
Eying his overenthusiastic friend, the Canuck sniped, "How's the taste of her feet Al?"
"Exquisite!" the Mexican joked.
"Also, you must not 'shittalk me', as it were!" she added.
"No deal," the man also declared instantly.
Johan chuckled, waving a hand airily. "To ask such a thing...you'd as soon ask a swallow not to soar, or an over-enthusiastic samurai not to attempt to cut down said swallow."
"I'll freely call you whatever sort of magical girl you wanna be, Witchy Woman, but you better be prepared for a chirping with us around," Trent remarked, sliding his hands into his pockets as he stood loosely. "Besides, it's not like you wouldn't try and mock us, so turnabout is fair play."
"Hah, take that, Beato!" the redhead mocked while pointing at her like an attorney. "Not everyone is going to fall for your tricks."
The Aryan's eyes flashed over to him, as he grimly intoned, "Who says you'd get any sort of break, bitch boy?"
"Ah, took the words right out of my mouth. Verbatim, even." The Mexican's eyes did much the same as he smiled just as wildly as the Witch had only a short while ago. "Think you could escape us, fuck boy?"
"Meanwhile, I'm more interested in learning the way of a Warlock from someone whose power clearly outstrips my own by a fair margin," Johan commented with a lopsided grin.
"Well, I suppose if you helped me make Battler realize his place, keeping you around wouldn't be a bad thing," the Witch mused. "Very well! I shall teach you how to Ride! You'd best be prepared for many grueling trials, many tests of skill and determination! Hear now! I am Beatrice, The Golden and The Endless! By this name and these titles granted to me, I solemnly swear I will transform you lot into respectable and powerful Stormriders!"
"I see, well, it's nice to meet you, I'm "Punished" Trent Blackmore, a man denied his Tim Horton's," the Aryan Canadian replied, sketching a quick bow.
"I, Alphonse Crane, He Who Endlessly Craves Tacos, accept this contract!" the Mexican declared solemnly.
Johan pressed an open hand to his face, and let out a cackle, unleashing his shackled chunnibyo for the first time in a great while. "Truly, the prospect of this contract fills me with jubilation! I am Johan, Scribe of the Cosmos, Caretaker of the Garden of Eyes, and He Who Records That Which Should Be Forgotten! This humble Poet of the Great Ones accepts your contract with vigor and glee!"
The Witch chortled as well, looking very pleased with the long, eloquent, eighth-grader-tier response the American gave.
"Wonderful! This is well and truly wonderful!" Beatrice exclaimed in delight. "There is no greater pupil than the one earnest in the pursuit of his goals! I shall mold and teach you to the best of my abilities!"
The serious-slash-pompous mood was quickly shot in the balls as Alphonse spoke up quietly, yet loudly enough to be heard by everyone as he glanced as the redhead while he was struggling to get on his feet once more.
"By the way Battler, I'll need to measure your neck later to get the collar."
At those words, the man fell on his ass—painfully, if the cursing was anything to go by. Meanwhile the Witch turned to face him so quickly it was a surprise she didn't outright snap her own neck, her countenance and that of Battler's morphed into a rictus of utter shock and horror, as though they'd just been forced to watch someone slowly eat a clump of glue with leaves and cat hairs stuck on it.
"Isn't that Beatrice's job?" Trent, having suspected that Johan would act as such, merely looked past the declaration and wondered quietly. "I mean, she's his mistress."
"Are you implying that someone as dignified and respectable as Lady Beatrice must do something as mundane and unbecoming of her as going out to buy something? How presumptuous," he snarked with a smile before making a thoughtful face. "Though now that I think about it, I am the one who is too presumptuous, assuming that she does not already have a perfect fit or that I could ever hope to acquire one to match her tastes. My sincerest apologies."
"Battler's her gimp, dude. It's not our business to buy the collars, the whips, and chains for their play," the blond asserted, scowling at the Mexican.
"Of course, my mistake," he ceded the Timmy's-lover the point.
Johan pouted, a decidedly disturbing expression on the face of a fully grown man. He'd come up with that off the cuff, and those fucking traitors ignored it. Truly, their actions had gone loco on his kokoro and made it brokero.
Meanwhile Battler and Beatrice were looking at the two madlads in perturbation. The first to react, however, was the man, who managed to get on his feet after numerous attempts that got interrupted over and over by the two's comments. He glanced at the Witch with a determined expression.
"No take-backs!" he said loudly. "Your weird contract thingy is sealed, so no take-backs!"
"My word is unshakable," she proclaimed with a haunted voice, "and yet I wish it were not so. I may have made a mistake that will cost us both dearly, Battler."
"Probably yes, probably no. I'd say the odds of you enjoying our presence are at an even 50/50 right now," Alphonse added enthusiastically before looking over at the redhead. "Wait, now that I think about it, you're the only one who hasn't introduced himself at this point, yeah? What's your name, kiddo?"
"Well, I don't think the odds are as high as you'd give them credit for, but I might as well just go for it." The man sighed helplessly. "I'm Battler Utsunomiya, twenty-two," he declared before giving the witch the stink eye. "I'm trying to figure out just how the hell this crazy witch does all the things that she does."
Johan piped up immediately, leaning in conspiratorially (and nearly falling on his face). "Isn't it obvious?" The redhead looked over at the American in confusion and interest, awaiting his response.
"Maaagic," Johan warbled with a smug grin, wiggling his fingers in a flamboyant display of jazz hands.
"Bullshit!" Battler rebuked almost angrily. "Listen up! Magic isn't real! She's using some sort of gadget or device to do this."
Johan chuckled, a dark gleam in his eye. "Oh, you sweet summer child. Heed the words of the Bard. 'There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.' Reality is what you make of it, young Battler."
"I mean, technically, yes, she is using a device to achieve what she's doing with her ATs. That device is her ATs, as with sufficient skill and experience you can reach absurd levels of atmospheric control," Trent explained, casually debunking some of Beatrice's mystique. "Although, that also takes a frankly absurd amount of control and skill. My compliments, miss Witch."
The Witch in question looked very cross at the casual destruction of her mystery, looking like she wanted to chastise him but not managing to get a single word out. Alphonse cringed at Trent's action, knowing full well that doing that wasn't exactly the wisest of ideas.
"So I was right!" Battler declared victoriously. "I can't explain how those gadgets work but even the blondie agrees! That pipe is probably laced with some strange drugs to fool our sight too, I bet!"
"That's not how drugs work." Alphonse said with a raised eyebrow. "I mean, I think. Probably. That aside, I doubt Beatrice is in regular contact with Snoop Dog; she doesn't strike me as the type."
Johan looked over at the Mexican with a snort. "Firstly, Snoop Dog? What is this, the eighties? Second, I'm preeeetty sure you're right about it not being drugs; I'm sure airborne hallucinogens exist, but to make numerous people with different brain chemistry hallucinate the same stuff? That's a bit of a stretch."
"Another matter, carrot top, is that you're the one who needs miss Beatrice to hold your hands as she walks you down the street, so stop trying to talk smack," the Canadian advised Battler with just a hint of annoyance.
"Dammit, one second you're helping me push the fact that she's not using magic and the next you're slapping me down?" the redhead replied with a wince. "That's cold, whose side are you on?"
"The third side that's not yours or Beatrice's, the shitpost side," Alphonse pointed out as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. And to anyone who'd spent an appreciable amount of time interacting with the Aryan, it was. "Also, maybe that blondie remark was a bit too premature, mate. Try again in a hundred thousand years. Or never. Either or."
"He can try again when he doesn't need to hide behind Beatrice's skirts," Trent declared dispassionately.
Johan looked on with amusement at this byplay between the three, then glanced back at the Witch. She appeared to be struggling to hold back an amused smile, her irritation at Trent warring with amusement at Battler being shat upon no doubt.
A thought occurred to the American, and he cleared his throat. "So, miss Witch. I just remembered that an...energetic associate of ours was also interested in learning the ways of the Air; do you think you'd have room in your class for another?" Johan gave an amused smile. "The man's not lacking for confidence; after all, he called Behemoth a 'pack of unruly children'."
Beatrice's expression underwent several changes in the span of a single second, going from mild curiosity, to delight, to horror, to a mix of that, amusement and distress. She was about to reply, when the Mad Dog of Shimano himself strode out of a nearby bathroom, ATs on his feet and a manic gleam in his eye as he cheered, "All righ', now how d'I use these suckers?"