Magica De Spell (
lifesa_witch) wrote in
happilyeverbeginning2019-10-14 10:27 pm
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So stay away from me / the beast is ugly (scrooge x magica)
The carriage ride was so long that by the time the horses stopped, night had already settled in. It was a full moon, allowing the stone pathway to be illuminated. The rider said nothing, simply taking Scrooge's bags and walking on ahead. With any luck, this wouldn't be a return trip - but luck had died long ago in this place.
In the distance, one could hear the caws of several ravens, far away in the dark forests. It was difficult to see the house in the darkness, but it was certainly large and grand. Definitely belonging to someone of high class and lots of money. After all, it was part of the reason Scrooge was here.
Another servant was at the door, waiting for them.
"Either look her in the eyes," he warned, "or have them stay on the floor. Never anywhere else. Just keep your introduction and qualifications short. it is..." He hesitated, glancing backwards. "Often too easy to stoke her anger. And lastly... never ask questions."
Some of these things had probably been told to Scrooge before - he'd been recommended the job, after all. Granted, the recommendation came with the mysterious woman buying up his shop like it was nothing. Still, it seemed at least the servants wanted this to go well.
Whatever "this" was... it was about to begin, if he was ready to enter.
In the distance, one could hear the caws of several ravens, far away in the dark forests. It was difficult to see the house in the darkness, but it was certainly large and grand. Definitely belonging to someone of high class and lots of money. After all, it was part of the reason Scrooge was here.
Another servant was at the door, waiting for them.
"Either look her in the eyes," he warned, "or have them stay on the floor. Never anywhere else. Just keep your introduction and qualifications short. it is..." He hesitated, glancing backwards. "Often too easy to stoke her anger. And lastly... never ask questions."
Some of these things had probably been told to Scrooge before - he'd been recommended the job, after all. Granted, the recommendation came with the mysterious woman buying up his shop like it was nothing. Still, it seemed at least the servants wanted this to go well.
Whatever "this" was... it was about to begin, if he was ready to enter.
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Scrooge glanced sideways at Clara.
"You don't have to tell me specifically, but were only her hands and feet affected by...whatever happened?"
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"...All of her arms, and all of her legs. But I beg you, never ask any more of this."
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That actually explained a lot. It made sense that she'd want to cover her hands and feet, but the way her arms and legs moved at times didn't look right.
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Still, dinner first and then he'd go see what he was up against. Depending on how much of a disaster the paperwork was, he could just shuttle it all to his room to sort out over meals and before bed.
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For all of the warnings given to him about closed doors, there were surprisingly very few of them. Many open ones were brags about her wealth, useless trinkets made to show off, treasures only bought to be shown off. But there were no portraits of the mistress, all clothing of hers hidden away.
The office was dusty, although there had a been a few efforts to clean it up now and again. It was hollow, dimly lit - not a personal place the mistress visited even when she was normal. The last person assigned to her finances had kept the paperwork in order, at least - but whoever it was had clearly left a long time ago.
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He ended up doing about two hours of sorting before retreating to his room for six hours of sleep, numbers still dancing in his head.
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Again, Magica would be in the library - the entire day would likely be repeated for a while.
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Well, at least within two weeks he was getting a proper breakfast.
He wrote regularly to his family. Nothing about Magica specifically (other than once or twice directly calling her out in the letters to stop being a voyeur since this wasn't what they had agreed upon) but just how he was getting along.
All the while, he gave instructions of where to place investments, what commodities to buy up to sell, etc. Electricity was starting to catch on, and investing in what was required to get it running was already turning quite a profit.
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But day by day, little by little, there was less for her to fight over. Any tiny suggestion made to Clara by Scrooge always seemed to find its way to Magica and thus implemented - better seating for him, stronger candles for light, cloth to clean his spectacles next to his glasses of water.
Things were peaceful, for a time.
And all good things must come to an end.
Six o'clock came, and Scrooge was dismissed to eat and do his other duties. But that night, one of the usually closed doors was left ajar, no doubt by accident. Streaks of moonlight filtered through, as well as the smell of the forest, and the sound of water. The door led to outside, but for what purpose?
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The door being open...it might've been an accident. Or maybe it was him being mute permission to enter now.
He walked to the door to peek inside, not wanting to cross the threshold without express permission. One didn't want to piss off a sorceress.
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Maybe the outside bath had been built when she was swimming in riches and needed dramatic touches everywhere - or perhaps it was a necessity of her new body. The hot water was surrounded by rocks, the entire design another nod to the Orient. But it was very possible Scrooge wasn't noticing that.
After all, Magica was naked.
Granted, her back was to him, and her long hair was covering anything scandalous. But of course, these weren't of great importance compared to what the spell had done to her.
Her arms were black raven wings, feathers long and rigid, a sheer miracle her shoulders had survived. Her legs were thin with sharp talons on the end, one "foot" in the water to test the temperature. It was like taking in the image of the vicious harpies from Greek mythology.
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But simultaneously he had to admit that the features gave her a dark and deadly beauty. He wondered what had happened to cause such a transformation even as it explained some of the things he'd been reading to her.
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Which meant she had to turn around and... see him.
Shock came on her face first, then horror, grief, and anger, all smashing together into one awful batch.
"GET OUT!" She screamed, one hard claw stomping into the open ground. "GET OUT AND NEVER RETURN! GET OUT, GET OUT, GET OUT!" Each scream came with a stomp, clawing at the ground, tears building up in her eyes.
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Idiot. Idiot! Standing there like a slack-jawed idiot...!
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Disgusting. Monster. Pitiful. Pathetic. Why hadn't the spell just killed her? It was a better alternative than being... this.
In the morning, there was no Clara and no breakfast. The message was clear - get out.
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She was throwing him out, and he needed to get as much done as possible before he was forced out the door.
There he'd stayed the entire night, bent over the desk as he put the finishing touches on the grand financial scheme he'd put into place. It would've been better to have had a bit more time to work out the finer details, but the groundwork he'd already laid would ensure that other than having smaller than anticipated rewards, the bounty would ensure that she wouldn't have to so much as think about using the Midas Touch for at least a decade. The trends he'd foreseen were already starting to pick up, and Golden Raven Investments (the company name he'd chosen weeks ago for his own amusement that he'd forgotten to mention to Magica herself) was perched above fertile fields that would produce rich harvests for years to come.
The sun was rising as he finished the last task he'd assigned himself. He read it over carefully before signing his name and sealing it with the red wax that announced that the envelope's contents were of great importance. He pressed his own seal into the cooling wax so she would know precisely whom had left it for her.
'If she throws it out, that's her business.'
He gave the letter to one of the maids -- Miss Jessie -- and went to his rooms to collect his things.
And when Magica opened the letter, she would find this message:
Miss De Spell --
I beg your forgiveness for my uncouth behavior of last night. When I found the door ajar, I should have left it alone. You had given me express orders not to enter any room whose door was closed to me, and I had passed by that closed door many times. I should have realized that it being partially open was a mistake and I should have treated it as if it were closed, but I foolishly allowed my curiosity to lead me into the temptation of taking a peek.
Please understand that I had no idea that the door led to an outdoor bath. I saw little aside from your back and the features you sought to keep covered, but I fully acknowledge that that does not excuse my staring. However, pray forgive my impertinence when I say that your current situation is far from repulsive though I understand just why you should keep them covered. Likely it is for your own protection from other witches and wizards who might see your abilities as hampered and might think to harm you. Still, it is quite unfortunate. While many would compare you to the Grecian harpies, I found your form more akin to that of the Egyptian goddesses Nekhbet, protector of the pharaohs, or Isis who -- among other things -- was the goddess of magic.
I pray you also forgive a foolish man his thoughts of fancy, for I fear that in choosing to wait until near-dawn to write this letter that my exhaustion is allowing my thoughts to wander. My things were packed within an hour of you ordering me gone, but I had much to finish with your financials before I went. As per our agreement, I've managed to arrange you a regular income of a generous sum so that you will not need the Midas Touch for a significant amount of time.
Thank you for your past generosity,
Scrooge McDuck
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When Scrooge returned to the bookstore, it was still owned by Magica, but Scrooge's job was secure. He could work there as long as he wanted. As far as it appeared, this was the end of the story.
Until two weeks passed, and late afternoon at the bookstore was a familiar but still unusual customer - Miss Clara.
"Mister McDuck? Are you in here?"
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