A/N: Alright, Chapter 1 is a go! Thanks for all the follows and faves on the prologue, but I'd like at least one review next time. It could just be what you liked/what you didn't like. Something to keep me going while I'm writing. Before I begin this chapter, though I'd just like to say that I'm new to making up spells, but I did my best to rhyme them like in Descendants and Descendants 2. Hope you guys like the chapter!
XOXO, Infiniginity
Chapter One: My Friends, The Shadows
The sun beats down heavily on my back, I wiped a trickle of sweat from my brow, and not for the first time did I wish that I could just stay inside. Why anyone would choose to live here...well I can understand the motivation to: magic. But that still didn't change the fact that it was hotter than Hell here in the Valley. Being a valley, we were surrounded by mountains on most of our sides, and wanna know what that means? Very little wind or rain reaches us. That's what that means. Fucking stupid mountains. I slam a stack of cleaned up wood in front of my mentor in frustration as I take shelter from the heat in the shop, which also doubles as her house/my current place of residency. Before that, I had a nice little tent sheltered by some trees.
"Rough day, Kitt?" Birdie teases from behind the worktable. She scrunches her nose as she focuses on her current job: fixing a broken clock.
"No, not really," I sigh, hopping up onto the stool next to the old woman. "Just repetitive, I guess. Miss Uma kept going over the same spells and potions that we've been going over all week. And Oddie made us run laps outside." Papa Oddie was High School of the Lost's strict yet eccentric Phys Ed teacher, whose last name was technically spelled with one less "D".
Oh yeah, almost everything here in the Valley of the Lost has "of the Lost" attached at the end. Don't ask why; it just does.
Birdie turns to me, crystal blue eyes aged with wisdom. "Why don't you clean up, then help me with these windups?" She suggests, gesturing towards small figures delicately laid out on the counter behind her. Knowing it's not a request, but a command, I head across the room and down a long, old, wooden staircase to the basement where I keep my things.
The basement is sad. It's small, dark, and dusty. There aren't any windows to combat the shadows. I nearly trip on the splintered wood of the third step; almost a year and a half living here hasn't made Birdie's house too familiar yet. I pause, then mumble, "The shadows are as dark as night, give me a hand, give me some light." The lamp near my bed at the bottom flickers to life, illuminating the stairs and room below me.
My basement, although small and dark, is not empty. A twin-sized rests in the corner farthest from the stairs, next to it a wooden nightstand that doubles as my dresser, on top of the nightstand sits an analog clock, a stack of beaten books, and a lamp, though the lamp doesn't run on electricity, simply on the power of the spell. Hanging above the nightstand is cracked mirror that I shattered in one of my moments. Across from the bed is an even smaller closet that holds just my shirts, a few dresses, and even fewer skirts. I hate skirts. To the right of the bed is a two-drawer desk and a chair. Inside the one drawers are notebooks brimming with stories I've written, sketchbooks of models and inventions, and a very special book that holds my darkest secrets close. The other drawer contains mostly paints, brushes, pencils and pens.
Quickly I change out of my school clothes- a light, plain blue, flowy top, equally flowy mint pants that cinch at the ankles, black, fingerless gloves to keep my skin away from others'- and into clothes more appropriate for tinkering-sturdy jeans, combat boots and a white tank top, my silver highlighted brown frizz tied back messily in a ponytail. Loose pieces of hair still fall into my face, and jagged humps stick out, but that's fine. It's just Birdie and I here. I keep my gloves on.
I slide onto a stool diagonally across from Birdie, and casually toss my backpack onto the table beside me. Homework later, I think with a giddy smile, taking one of the small wind-ups- a human-like ballerina- into my hand. She's been disfigured and disassembled to the point where I can barely recognize what her original design actually was, but the tutu and pointe shoes gives it away. One half of her face is broken, her cheek is missing and the paint is so chipped that I'll have to just repaint her. The wind-up toy soldier laying besides her is no better; his toy sword is eroded with age and now barely a stub. His hat has been crushed and cracks decorate his face obscenely. Looking up at Birdie, I ask, "Where did you find them?"
"A gnome traveling from Gnorta had them in her wagon. Said she couldn't sell them to nobody so broken like that. I saw 'em and took 'em off her hands for her. Jokes on her, though, I've got an apprentice who'll fix the pair up faster and better than magic could ever." Birdie, usually very articulate, only slips into her former dialect when she's extremely happy or pleased, I've noticed. Not once does Birdie look up from the clock that seems to fix itself underneath her fingers.
Although magic was perfectly legal in the Borderlands, there were certain rules we had to follow. For instance, you couldn't bring a dead relative back to life. That fell across a voodoo line that not even ancient Mama Odie would dare cross. We also couldn't change our physical features using magic, the only exception was that we could use magic to alter hair color or length, but that was it. The thing most frowned upon, and almost never thought of, here was attacking Auradon itself. I mean, one: that would be wrong, and two: they already think we're monsters for using magic. The Borderlands have existed for forty or so years without a problem with Auradon, and I'm pretty sure they've all but forgotten us.
I know what I'm doing when I open my sketchbook and begin looking at all the pieces of Ballerina. I put them together, trying my best to get the picture of what she looked like whole. And then I carefully but quickly begin sketching a model of how she should look, with a few personal touches that are so human, magic couldn't replicate them. Once I'm finished with the sketch, I start working on Ballerina. Her mechanics need to be fixed first and foremost. I start by testing the wind-up key; it gets jammed before even half a crank. Reaching under the work table, I locate the tools I'll be needing, and get to work.
Birdie and I work well into the afternoon; she's finished the clock and I'm almost done with the ballerina wind-up; she just needs magic and a bit of paint. Carefully I mix the colors. Mostly it's just pink and shades of red. The wind up is painted in a way that is so human that it couldn't have possibly been magic. Magic can't replicate humanity.
I stand Ballerina up to let her dry; she's maybe two or three inches tall. Birdie comes over to inspect my work. "Brilliant," she compliments. I smile proudly. "I learned from the best." She pats me on the shoulder and I flinch, muscles tensing back to default from a year ago, before I realize she doesn't mean any harm. But memories still rush through me like a stream. Or more like a tide.
I stand up, pulling my backpack off the table, "I'm going to take a break and do my homework. I have a History of Auradon, the Isle, and the Borderlands test tomorrow. Some more studying won't hurt." As I'm darting back down into my sanctuary, I here Birdie call, "Dinner's at half past five!" I just mumble something in acknowledgement.
Down in the basement, I mutter the Light Spell once more, and the darkness vanishes. I practically tear open my backpack to get my textbooks and paper out onto my desk. Anything to stop the memory of- NO! I won't think about it. I flip open my AP Magic Spells and Magic Spells: Grade 10 textbooks and quickly flip to the page that Mrs Astrine assigned for homework and begin memorizing, practicing, and writing down spells (in my DIYed tie dyed spellbook) that I'll surely be quizzed on tomorrow. After twenty or so minutes I switch to studying HAIB (History of Auradon, the Isle, and the Borderlands) because I actually do have a test to study for. I take another twenty minutes to study for that before working on Honors Potions 301 and reviewing my notes for Magical Beings 101. I barely even glance at Mathematics and AP Language Arts tonight.
When I look at the clock next to my cot, bad thoughts completely vanished, it reads six forty-six and counting. I had worked on homework for a little over two hours. Birdie will be mad at me for skipping dinner again, but I want to work on the soldier and ballerina before I go to bed. With any luck, maybe I'll finish. I pack my notebooks, textbooks and pencil case back into my backpack and leave it by the stairs. At the top of the stairs, I open the door and say, "The shadows are my friends, turn the light off once again."
At the work table, I notice a piece of paper on the work table, illuminated by the lonely overhead light. It's written in Birdie's scratchy handwriting next to a plastic wrapped plate. Kitt, the note reads, you didn't come up for dinner, and I thought I should let you breathe. Here's dinner. Don't stay up too late. -The Birds
The Birds. A nickname younger people have given Birdie. I smile a little, taking the plate of grilled chicken, mashed potatoes and green beans. Thankfully when founding the Borderlands, the included the part of the rules that allows food not native to the area to be grown in carefully maintained greenhouses. Otherwise mashed potatoes, the food of legends, would have never come to me today.
"Make what's not, hot." I say, gesturing to the plate. I take a fork to the mash potatoes a try a bit. "Ow, ow, ow. Too hot!" I exclaim, "Too hot, it burns, make it warm." I try it again. Perfect. I sit on a stool and try to at least eat a little, but I only eat half of the chicken, a bit of the green beans and all of the potatoes. I find a plastic container and put what I didn't eat in for later, then put my dirty dishes in the bucket by the window.
At last I get to work on the soldier. He needs a lot more work than Ballerina, but I should be done with Soldier by the end of the night. With all the tools needed and my sketchbook, I get started.
Two more hours pass, and I've got Soldier all ready. Standing side-by-side, you can tell that they were a pair. Soldier is less than half an inch taller than Ballerina, and their original inner workings had been quite similar, as well as what I could piece together of their paint jobs. Both have dark brown hair. I hold my breath as I wind up Ballerina, placing her on the table at an angle so she won't tumble off. Her arms mechanically move up-and down while her leg slides up her thigh and stretches back out in what appears to be a ballet move. I wouldn't know because I'm not a dance expert, or even a dance rookie. When her leg touches the table, her mechanics twirl her around so she spins and faces the opposite way. It's so flawless that I wonder why anybody would wreck such amazing art. Carefully I unwind Ballerina and place her next to Soldier, who I wind up. He struts around mechanically, arms moving slowly up and down waving his gun and head turning. Once again, I'm impressed. I set him down next to his lady friend and I think for a moment.
Okay, really quick: What if I brought them to life? It's a little bit out there, but I could do it.
A part of my brain says this is a very bad idea.
But a part of my brain says "ok let's do it".
So I got get my AP Magic Spells and Potions 301 textbooks, and I grin wildly as I look for the page.
"Lifeless days and dreamless nights, brings these things right to life."
Okay, I wasn't thinking half an hour ago as I put ingredients into the cauldron and spoke the magic spell.
Nor was I paying attention to the deep red text that warned that the spell should be performed by a professional or under the supervision of one.
Now I'm paying for it dearly as a little wind-up soldier tugs on my pant leg for attention. He was running around like crazy and fell off the table, but oddly didn't break. I pick up Soldier, he gestures to Ballerina, who has somehow managed to climb up the dish bucket, and I pick her up and bring her to the table as well. For a minute they seem to consult each other in a foreign language, before Ballerina scuttles over to the Magic Spells textbook. I'm confused at their sudden change from silly to serious.
"What are you looking for, Ballerina?" I ask, feeling stupid as I do it. She looks to me, then point to the book. I come over and lift it up, she climbs up my arm and sits on my shoulder to read (can she read?). "Okay, now what?" Ballerina points again to the textbook, then makes a motion like back. Oh, she wants me to turn a few pages back. I do, and she makes a motion. Come on, or hurry up. I reach the Table of Contents and she puts her hand out. Stop. She jumps down, and Soldier comes to stand next to her. Together they lift the pages, looking for something. Ballerina looks up at me with, big, brown, eyes, then comes over and pinches my arm, "Ouch!" I complain, swatting her away. Soldier points to the chapter I had already been on, and then a section. I read the title, eyes widening. "Oh no, I am not doing that!"
Chapter 13, Section 3.b: Giving Your New Animated Object a Voice.
Ballerina glares at me, tapping her foot impatiently. "Fine," I huff.
The section lists two spells that give an animated object a voice, one being a slightly outdated spell that the tips and tricks column to the side warns may be faulty or result in strange side effects. The other was written less than twenty years ago by Baroness Uma; a reversal to her mother's curse on Ariel all those years ago. Naturally I pick this spell, even if it was written by the daughter of a villain. Just because her mother was horrible, and Baroness herself had done some things she wasn't too proud to admit, doesn't make her a bad person. People can change.
Anyway, the spell. I clean my throat, which also gives me a second to stall. Soldier looks at me impatiently. I recite: "Given no choice, without a voice, with sound the goal, bless these poor unfortunate souls." A gesture to the wind-ups and a spark of green magic trails to the pair and down their throats. They're mouths open and close like fish out of water, and for a moment I think I've fucked up. But then:
"You really ought've done that sooner, Hon." That comes from Ballerina.
"Really, we were just walking around. You could've save so much time by casting the voice spell first." That's from Soldier.
I slam the textbook closed, "A simple 'thank you' would suffice."
"Thank you… for finally deciding to be a decent person for once," Ballerina snips loudly.
"Shut it, Ballerina. Keep it down, or I can take you out just as quickly as I brought you to life." I point to the closed textbook to emphasize my point.
"Girls, girls, you're both pretty," Soldier says, stepping between Ballerina on the table and me standing next to it. "I think it would be in the best interest if we all got along, now."
"Thank you, Soldier," I say.
"No, thank you…" He trails off.
"Kitt," I supply.
"No, thank you, Kitt, for giving us the chance to live a full life." He steps forward, and with his free hand, he holds it out for me to shake. I give him my index finger, and he grasps it surely. "Cal Fullbright, at your service."
"Hello, Cal. Pleased to meet you," I say formally. I turn to Ballerina, "And your name is..?"
She scowls, but a look from Cal softens her up. "Vivienne Fullbright, I'm sorry I was rude. Thank you."
"Not a problem."
We fall into a silence, and it's then that I realize Birdie will be pissed if she finds out that I brought the wind-ups to life. "Listen," I say, "My mentor probably won't be happy if she sees I brought you guys to life. Would you mind keeping it low-key in my bedroom? I'll set you up a little space on my desk where you could sleep and stuff."
"That would be lovely," Vivienne says softly. With the addition of voices, the pair seem calmer now.
"Okay, hold on a sec." I rush around the room, first grabbing a plastic tupperware container, then a clean sponge, and finally a soft rag. When I return to the pair, I tell them to get up on my shoulder, and then I take them downstairs, bringing the objects and my textbook from the kitchen area with me, and using magic to shut off the light. At the top of the stair, I use the spell to turn on my light and head downstairs with a purpose.
I set the objects down on a clear part of my desk, Cal and Vivienne hop down from my shoulder, then rearrange the sponge so it fits snugly, and then the rag as a mag-shift blanket. It's then I realize I have nothing for a pillow for the couple. My eyes scan my room until they fall back on the desk. I open the draw and find my older sponge brush, it's not as good as the newer one I have, but it's exactly what I need. I rip the handle out and set it next to the tiny bed, then place the paint sponge on top of the kitchen sponge. Spongeception. I pull the rag up, making the bed.
"There you go," I say it like "ta-da!"
"Thank you very much," Cal says.
"Oh please, you don't have to thank me for everything I do for you. Some things I have to do, otherwise, if I don't, I'm breaking the law!" I joke.
The pair climb into bed, and I look at my clock. Somehow it's well past ten, and I should go to bed. With guests now staying in my room, I can't change, so I untie my hair and shake my boots off my feet. I leave them at the side of the bed. I fall back onto my pillows.
"Goodnight Vivienne. Goodnight, Cal."
In almost perfect unison: "Goodnight Kitt!"
"The shadows are my friends, turn the light off once again."