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mtxref_ficAuthor's Note: Written for The Dresden Files (book or TV-verse), Malcolm Dresden/Margaret LeFay (or Colm Dresden/Margaret Morningway), how Harry's parents met
The theme for this year's Boston Flower Show was "Spring Carnival" and to go with the riot of flowers and the carousel in the middle, the planners had hired an assortment of buskers, jugglers, dancers and performers to roam among the gardens or to perform on the edges of the show hall. Malcolm was one of the latter, up in a corner beside a playground-like garden and a circus tent surrounded by jonquils. It didn't give him a lot of space, and the crowd tended to ebb and flow as the kids got antsy or bored, depending on their energy level or appetite. But he kept up his patter as performed his simple rounds of tricks. Nothing elaborate, given their accommodations and the limited space he had. Not that his shows were that flashy: he'd be the first to admit he was no Houdini; no chance that the gardens would be upstaged by his card tricks or him linking and unlinking trick rings.
But no matter the size or attention level of the crowd, he spotted her in the back, a tall woman, dark brown hair artfully mussed and coming out of the loose ponytail she'd pulled the side pieces into, grey eyes that sparked with a hint of mischief, her nicely shaped form clad in a wine-red V-neck pullover sweater that showed just enough skin to catch the eye, but not enough to look like she was keeping her goods in the show window. A pentacle pendant hung on a silver chain about her neck, and a smile of teasing amusement quirked her mouth. While she wasn't hanging on his every word, she clearly looked amused by him.
He noticed odd things happening, the moment she showed up. His cards fairly shuffled themselves and the doves in the empty silk hat seemed to multiply from one nippy one to three tame ones. The crowd ooh'ed at this, unaware that the show generally didn't go as smoothly as this, but he thought he saw a small, mysterious smirk playing about the face of the tall woman with the silver pentacle. And while she wasn't exactly hanging on his every word, she clearly found him interesting: perhaps interesting enough to enhance his tricks.
"And, for my last trick, I'll need a volunteer from the audience," he announced. Pointing to the lady with the pentacle with an open hand, he said, "Would the mystical-looking lady at the back care to join me?"
"Long as it doesn't involve saws," she replied, her smirk growing mischievous. "I just did my hair." The audience giggled at her quip, as she made her way through the crowd. She moved with a long stride, but with a mannish sort of grace, like a male dancer he had shared a hotel room with during a stint in Vegas.
The final trick was his take on an old chestnut: cutting a rope in two and seeming to restore it, though he opted to use a long, thick faux silk scarf. He used a gimmick scarf that he stuck back together with toupe tape, but as his lovely assistant handled it, he saw the fabric knit itself back together, as if she had magicked it to mend itself. He almost forgot his patter in the process, and the cheers from the crowd rang with genuine wonder.
She hung around to help him collect his props, and in that moment, he had to keep her close, at least to get to know her better.
"You're... talented," he fumbled. "Have you done that before? Been on stage with a huckster?" he asked.
"Mmmm, let's say I've done some more serious magic," she replied.
"Oh. Are you into witchcraft?" he asked, not wanting to tread on her beliefs.
She chuckled. "It's a lot more involved than that: I don't need to hop around a crockpot on a rock, sky-clad and chirping about the full moon," she said, playfully but free of derision. "I've got my own kind of power at my fingertips."
"I had a feeling you did: you got an air of real magic about you."
She laughed, gently. "Was I that obvious? Not wise to show off too much in front of the mundanes. The powers that be among the magically gifted would not approve." But the lilt of disapproval in her voice suggested that she disapproved of their disapproval.
"So... how about it? Would you like to be my assistant?" he asked.
She shrugged one shoulder gracefully and tilted her head toward that same shoulder. "I'd like it: Been on the road by myself. I could use the company." But under her confidence and good nature, he saw something furtive dart through her eye.
He wasn't much, he certainly wasn't as talented as she, and he had a feeling he could do little to protect her from whatever caused that furtiveness in her eyes, but he could be her companion on her journey. Safety in numbers, and while he could tell she was more than capable of holding her own, she clearly wanted someone to be her home, even while she was on the road...
The theme for this year's Boston Flower Show was "Spring Carnival" and to go with the riot of flowers and the carousel in the middle, the planners had hired an assortment of buskers, jugglers, dancers and performers to roam among the gardens or to perform on the edges of the show hall. Malcolm was one of the latter, up in a corner beside a playground-like garden and a circus tent surrounded by jonquils. It didn't give him a lot of space, and the crowd tended to ebb and flow as the kids got antsy or bored, depending on their energy level or appetite. But he kept up his patter as performed his simple rounds of tricks. Nothing elaborate, given their accommodations and the limited space he had. Not that his shows were that flashy: he'd be the first to admit he was no Houdini; no chance that the gardens would be upstaged by his card tricks or him linking and unlinking trick rings.
But no matter the size or attention level of the crowd, he spotted her in the back, a tall woman, dark brown hair artfully mussed and coming out of the loose ponytail she'd pulled the side pieces into, grey eyes that sparked with a hint of mischief, her nicely shaped form clad in a wine-red V-neck pullover sweater that showed just enough skin to catch the eye, but not enough to look like she was keeping her goods in the show window. A pentacle pendant hung on a silver chain about her neck, and a smile of teasing amusement quirked her mouth. While she wasn't hanging on his every word, she clearly looked amused by him.
He noticed odd things happening, the moment she showed up. His cards fairly shuffled themselves and the doves in the empty silk hat seemed to multiply from one nippy one to three tame ones. The crowd ooh'ed at this, unaware that the show generally didn't go as smoothly as this, but he thought he saw a small, mysterious smirk playing about the face of the tall woman with the silver pentacle. And while she wasn't exactly hanging on his every word, she clearly found him interesting: perhaps interesting enough to enhance his tricks.
"And, for my last trick, I'll need a volunteer from the audience," he announced. Pointing to the lady with the pentacle with an open hand, he said, "Would the mystical-looking lady at the back care to join me?"
"Long as it doesn't involve saws," she replied, her smirk growing mischievous. "I just did my hair." The audience giggled at her quip, as she made her way through the crowd. She moved with a long stride, but with a mannish sort of grace, like a male dancer he had shared a hotel room with during a stint in Vegas.
The final trick was his take on an old chestnut: cutting a rope in two and seeming to restore it, though he opted to use a long, thick faux silk scarf. He used a gimmick scarf that he stuck back together with toupe tape, but as his lovely assistant handled it, he saw the fabric knit itself back together, as if she had magicked it to mend itself. He almost forgot his patter in the process, and the cheers from the crowd rang with genuine wonder.
She hung around to help him collect his props, and in that moment, he had to keep her close, at least to get to know her better.
"You're... talented," he fumbled. "Have you done that before? Been on stage with a huckster?" he asked.
"Mmmm, let's say I've done some more serious magic," she replied.
"Oh. Are you into witchcraft?" he asked, not wanting to tread on her beliefs.
She chuckled. "It's a lot more involved than that: I don't need to hop around a crockpot on a rock, sky-clad and chirping about the full moon," she said, playfully but free of derision. "I've got my own kind of power at my fingertips."
"I had a feeling you did: you got an air of real magic about you."
She laughed, gently. "Was I that obvious? Not wise to show off too much in front of the mundanes. The powers that be among the magically gifted would not approve." But the lilt of disapproval in her voice suggested that she disapproved of their disapproval.
"So... how about it? Would you like to be my assistant?" he asked.
She shrugged one shoulder gracefully and tilted her head toward that same shoulder. "I'd like it: Been on the road by myself. I could use the company." But under her confidence and good nature, he saw something furtive dart through her eye.
He wasn't much, he certainly wasn't as talented as she, and he had a feeling he could do little to protect her from whatever caused that furtiveness in her eyes, but he could be her companion on her journey. Safety in numbers, and while he could tell she was more than capable of holding her own, she clearly wanted someone to be her home, even while she was on the road...
