Let’s be really real this morning before 7 am: if The Get Down was about the (white) history of Rock n Roll in the 70’s and starred white teens, a lot more people would’ve been like “OH THIS IS SO COOL, MUSIC HISTORY” and Netflix would’ve marketed it differently. Tumblr would’ve lost its mind if Dizzee Kipling was a white kid who thinks he’s an alien who is in love with white Thor. Mylene and the Soul Madonnas being an all-girl rock band would’ve been a huge draw. Merch would’ve been everywhere. Coming of age for a moody poet and his reckless and troubled friend trying to make it big with the music they love? They would’ve eaten it up.
this is a story about a sorcerer and a knight. well, a knight-in-training. they go by KiT, a nickname for their title, but a perfectly good name for anyone. kit’s a good squire, for the most part, but they have a knack for getting into trouble.
this time the trouble is they just fuckin decked another knight in the middle of the tavern.
“keep your hands off my friend,” kit tells the shocked personification of grossness, now sitting on his ass on the ground. kit’s pretty sure the message was already sent though the ass-kicking, but it doesn’t hurt to be thorough.
the man splutters for a minute before finding his tongue. “you— you— you piece of shit, you’ll pay for this. i have powerful friends.”
“bring it on,” kit retorts. they’re feeling pretty confident right now.
they’re feeling significantly less confident as two other men step up behind the first guy.
“outside,” the first growls.
“we’re zit and wedge, and we’re going to kick your ass,” the second one clarifies.
zit nods. “but we don’t want to make a mess of you on mal’s floor, since it was just scrubbed and all.”
kit glances at mal, who they rather thought was a friend, to find her nodding appreciatively. “brawlers these days are so polite. out you three go.”
kit wilts. “but… there’s just one of me.”
it’s around this time, when the two other guys are starting to crack their knuckles and look like they’re going to drag kit outside whether they like it or not, that someone else pushes their way through the small crowd that’s forming.
“’scuse me, pardon me. hello. what’s going on here?”
she’s got bright blue hair, of the kind that you get from mucking around with magic too much. everyone immediately reassesses the situation, and watches her warily. a sorcerer can quickly change the way a brawl plays out, if they feel like intervening. kit sincerely hopes she does.
“miss,” zit jumps in before kit can get a word in, “this young… person, here, just brutally attacked my poor friend, and me and wedge think we ought to be able to teach them a lesson in manners.”
the sorcerer studies him for a moment, as if considering his statement, and kit grabs their chance.
“pimple here is completely leaving out the fact that their friend wouldn’t leave my friend alone, after she asked him to go away twice!”
zit bristles, and looks to the sorcerer for her judgment.
she considers for while. “can anyone vouch for this knight’s statement?”
“i was the one getting hit on!” tea shouts from behind kit’s shoulder.
the sorcerer digests the witness’s statement. “hm. i’m inclined to see this as a case of self-defense, through the channel of someone who was not the self being hit on. i would suggest that all the parties involved accept the ruling of “he who gets their ass kicked probably deserves it”, and move on.”
“fat chance,” wedge growls. “the pack sticks together. we have to defend our leader.”
werewolves, kit sighs internally. it just figured.
there’s a dramatic pause, then the sorcerer says cooly, “you try it, and you’ll get your asses kicked too.”
zit and wedge eye her warily. kit eyes all three of them, which is hard with only two eyes.
“i reckon we could take a sorcerer,” wedge hypothesizes— an idea that would be quickly proven false in any laboratory experiment.
but this is a tavern, and the sorcerer has a delayed reaction, only raising her hands when zit charges at her. kit flinches back, sure she’s about to be crushed, but the next moment flames explode in the small space between the sorcerer and zit. there’s a yelp, and mad scrambling back from the sorcerer.
“i have nowhere to be until book club at midnight,” the sorcerer informs them calmly, her hands still out, palms up and ready to summon more flame. kit squints at them. “so i have plenty of time to teach you a lesson.”
apparently rescinding their hypothesis, all three werewolves make a mad dash for the door and disappear into the night.
the sorcerer smiles victoriously, and shakes her bright hair out of her face. kit squints at her scalp as she turns to them. “all good?”
“yes, thank you,” tea says, sounding impressed. “wow… a fire summoner. i didn’t know there were any teenagers powerful enough.”
kit has no other specific places to squint, so they just stare hard at the sorcerer’s face. “yeah… thanks. that was really cool.”
she waves their thanks off with one hand, a few strands of smoke issuing from her sleeves. “all in a day’s work. i’ll be off now.”
kit leaves tea with mal, though they frankly no longer trust her so much, and follows the sorcerer out the door. “hey, wait! you, blue hair magic person. what are you?”
“a masked vigilante,” she says, after a pause. “without the mask, because magic.”
kit blinks at that, before realizing she’s perfectly right. besides the definite ideas that she’s female and blue-haired, kit seems to forget what she looks like one moment to the next. kinda neat, honestly, though disconcerting.
they shake their head. “no, i mean… you’re not a sorcerer. i’ve seen people summon fire, and it comes from a loosely closed fist, not an open hand. also, your hair is dyed, not magically changed.”
she doesn’t answer for a moment, then looks stumped, and continues to not answer.
“well?” kit asks.
“fine,” she admits. “i’m a sorcerer in training, but the fake mask is about the most complicated magic i can do. the hair is so people will take me seriously when i do masked vigilante stuff.”
“and the fire?” kit persists.
after a moment, she shakes out her sleeve, sending a tiny purple dragon tumbling into her other hand. “my helper. my fire aid, if you will. you’re the first person to notice, you know?”
“just logic and being awesome,” kit says with a shrug, feeling pleased. neither are skills they get to show off a lot. they kinda feel like they’ve earned something for it. “hey, can i ask you a question?”
after a pause, the sorcerer in training says, “go for it.”
“why do you wait a second before responding to anything?”
their question is punctuated by a pause before she answers.
then the sorcerer motions kit closer, and tucks her hair behind her ears. the knight-in-training leans in, gaping. there’s a green dragon no longer than the length of one finger perched behind her ear, claws holding onto her piercings for balance. it unwedges one tiny wing to wave at them.
“what the fuck,” kit says, unable to find a reason for this from logic or being awesome.
“what the fuck,” the dragon repeats, pushing its snoot practically inside the sorcerer’s ear.
“this is peep,” she says. “my hearing is shit, so it helps me out. i call it my hearing aid.”
the draconian hearing aid preens under the knight-in-training’s stare.