Fairy Dust and Starbucks Cups Chapter 7
I don't own Harvest Moon or Starbucks Coffee.
I took some liberties with Witch's living arrangements. This is AU, so I can play a bit.
While Hikari was in the shower that morning, a row of small light bulbs above her bathroom mirror had blown to bits, as if shot by some invisible BB gun.
She had been unable to see the radius of the glass shrapnel, and had simply laid down her towel and walked tentatively over it.
Later, simultaneously sweeping up bits of bulb and wiping blood from her feet off the bathroom floor, she discovered that the space was so small that there was no safe area to walk; the glass had scattered over every tile.
It was another rainy day- visibility was slim, the puddles were deep, the paving was old and bad, and those were the reasons, she told herself, why the beat-up Honda had spun out of downtown traffic and propelled itself at her on her way into work. She had leapt sideways and back over the curb in her adrenaline rush, and fell on her knees in the gutter as she watched the car knock over a young man like a bowling pin and slowly roll to a halt, just slightly kissing a brick wall with its bumper.
A fat lady with curled red hair and unseasonably short pants let loose one long wail and begin to shriek gibberish as the car once again began to move. It came down off the curb and began to glide backwards in Hikari's direction.
The passerby (who didn't want any trouble and who were flowing around the back of the car in an effort to keep moving) dove out of the way.
Again she managed to dodge it, and, wanting very much to put distance between the Honda and herself, she continued on to the florist's, shaking the tingling tension from her legs and calming the blood pulsing in her head.
She got a glimpse of the driver; he seemed to be totally supported by his seatbelt as if he was boneless, his head nearly resting on a sizeable belly. She couldn't see his face. The screaming fat lady had whipped out her cellphone and was speaking to what Hikari assumed to be emergency services in a shaken voice.
Her day continued in a similar pattern of unfortunate accidents and peculiar, dangerous happenings.
Shortly after arriving, she had been cutting ribbon and plastic in the cramped concrete storeroom for an arrangement, and had been totally unable to handle the scissors, slicing through one fingernail and grazing a knuckle. Her interaction with the car that morning had apparently stirred her up more than she thought.
Abandoning this, she emerged from the back room only to discover a plethora of new leaks in the roof.
A very wet cat, its colouring a mix between dirt-black and gray ('raccoon-tabby' Hikari named it), sat at the window and looked in at her, eyeing Cecil and Frederick as they swam among the roots of plants in their respective containers, blamelessly and languidly. She passed it on the way to the storeroom- there were no miscellaneous containers or bowls. There were some of the ugliest pink heart-printed wax-coated large-size paper cups she had ever seen, however, and those had to suffice. She set them under the drips and went back to her post at the cash register.
It was chilly in the store, and damp. Hardly an environment one would care to shop in on a rainy day.
One of the light-panels in the ceiling had taken to flickering every once in a while.
An odd metallic blue fly rose fatly from an orchid, a new variety they had just had shipped in.
It seemed to be only a weight supported by its wings, compared to the speedy, streamlined beetles and smaller bugs that trailed in in the warmer months.
It flew along, dopey, and reached the counter. Hikari grabbed yesterday's water-soaked tabloid, formed it into a taut cone, and took careful aim. She hesitated, thinking of the awful crunch it would undoubtedly make upon contact.
The fly took off again, suddenly much faster and louder, and landed much too near her face, twitching about and buzzing terribly at her.
She grew frantic and began flapping her hand around, trying to get it Off Of Her, but she only succeeded in disturbing the bug. It sank its mouthparts into her skin and allowed itself to be crushed.
Hikari picked the little corpse off her shoulder and tossed it away in disgust. It had indeed made a crunch when she smacked it, much to her chagrin. She rubbed at the bite thoughtlessly, and, spying an interesting excerpt on the rolled-up tabloid, unfolded the paper and began to read.
She thought nothing of the bite or the bug once it had been soundly vanquished.
No customers came in that day.
While this outwardly unremarkable event was taking place in the florist's a few stores down, Wizard was buying a whole blackberry pie in a popular, hip bakery, an establishment frequented by Witch.
Wizard only wanted to get out of there Fast. He hadn't slept well the previous night, he wasn't particularly enamored with blackberries or pie, and he wasn't especially fond of wasting so much money on something just so he could kiss up to the Witch. And the store was crowded, with a long line of frowny hipsters who scowled snottily at him as he made to leave.
He would probably just get chewed out for bringing a whole pie, in retrospect, as Witch would likely believe he considered her fat and order him out of her house.
He emerged from the somber afternoon drizzle and removed his boots in the narrow front hall of her top-floor apartment.
She was in her bedroom, listening to ancient classical chamber music (with extra-squealy violin) and painting her nails a bright, bloody red. Looking up from her work, and with no great fanfare, she ushered him in. He made sure to step in box-first, and Very carefully wove around the clutter to a pink pinstriped armchair. Her room was packed with valuables and trinkets, magic items, treasure, papers, posters, junk.
There was an antique brass gramophone in one corner, nearly swallowed up by a black feather boa. An unfolded oriental fan was resting against an unbalanced, small umbrella stand, supported by a stack of ornate hatboxes. Bookshelves packed with the jewel-toned spines of thick lexicons and slim spiral-bound notebooks made up two walls, and the other two were completely glass, overlooking the city.
A tortoiseshell cigarette holder that seemed to be from the twenties acted as a forgotten stir-stick in a long-abandoned cooking pot of congealed orange liquid.
Witch sat on the bed and eyed him balefully, lifting a pinch of pie from the box and gulping it down, staining her little white fingers and their fresh crimson nails. Had the little crease between her brows deepened?
"If you brought it, you can't have any. It's all mine." She put no real venom behind her statement, and seemed lifelessly tired.
"... Why'd I want that slop?"
She cut him off before he could get childish, though she was usually spoiling for a fight, a good argument.
"What do you want, anyway? My time's valuable, y'know."
He let out a long sigh and let his fist drop onto a side table with a heavy thud. He opened his fingers and let the crumpled notes spill out.
She looked over with a little more interest and let out a breathy scoff. "My, got some fan mail?"
"...You ought to know. Where's the other two?" He was already irritated by her games, and she had yet to really get into them.
"Never seen 'em."
He said nothing, but gazed at her, expectant but unimpressed.
"Hey, listen. I've been out all night following around harvest sprites. I really have no idea what the hell those are or where they're from."
She sank from her sitting position on the bed and rolled over on her belly, tracing a modern geometric pattern in purple on the bedspread that vaguely suggested a flower.
He slid the notes back into their proper sequence with his index finger.
"…Familiar at all?"
"I keep telling you it's not." Witch had turned her head to face him, and reached for a butter knife from a plastic jar adorned with orange stick-on rhinestones on a side table.
The bags under her eyes had lightened as her annoyed frown grew. She cut a fresh slice of pie and set it on a plate she had pulled from thin air.
"...Well, do you know what could be missing? Who sent these?"
"It wasn't me. I don't know, give em here."
Witch reached down, grabbed the table leg and dragged it closer to the bed, examining the notes.
"Geez, that's nowhere even close to my signature. And I never write in pink ink."
She swept the papers onto the floor and shrugged.
"So... You have any idea who could've sent this? Why'd they do it?"
"Is that... really what we should be focusing on right now? The part about the injury... Did you hear anything about that?"
He folded his fingers in his lap, crossed his legs and stared up at the ceiling, noticing the perfect constellations she had made with star stickers. He was, in a way, dreading the answer. If it was true, the scenarios he had modeled in his head would come to light and heat up very quickly. They needed to react, and to react they needed plans. And to plan, they needed information.
"Nothing. Suppose it's a hint or something? Maybe one of us should go visit her."
The cutting look in her eyes told him it wouldn't be her.
Wizard frowned. Hospital-duty was gross, and although the Goddess was apologetic, embarrassed of her dependence, it was still a great deal of bother. And if there was indeed someone targeting her, it'd be twice as troublesome. He hadn't had to duel anyone since before he'd left his Master's castle.
"...Alright."
"Oh, right. I meant to tell you. The sprites think one of the other Association members are in on the power struggle. Like, mainly, you and me. They think we're after the goods once she cashes in the chips, if you know what I mean."
Just lovely.
He sighed again through his nose and let his head tip back fully, resting it on the high back of the hideous armchair.
"If you're about done getting comfortable, I have to touch up my nails. Hurry up and get out. Also, what the hell were you thinking, bringing a whole pie? I'm a lady and I'm not fat-"
He got up and walked out on her rant. Outside, the rain had nearly stopped, and the air was cool and fresh. How long had Wizard been in there? That was of no matter, though.
He had things to do.
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