Miricles and Murder (Kurloz X reader)

Part 5

You sit quietly in the library, sipping a cocktail of choice as a fire burns soothingly before you. You know there are duties you have yet to perform tonight, but you find yourself distracted by the memory of the agonized panic on the troll's...no, on Kurloz's bare face. You had left to give him time to pull himself together, certain that such a male would prefer to be alone in times of such emotional distress—despite how much you'd wanted to stay and comfort him. Also, you had wanted to check on the phenomena that had sent you down to his room in the first place, and see if you could discover the source anywhere on the property. You shiver as you recall the malevolence of the presence, wondering just what sort of threat you might have invited to this home in bringing him here...

The door cracks open quietly, but you don't bother to turn around. If they need you they'll ask anyway. A hand lands lightly on your shoulder and you jump at the unexpected contact, looking up into deep indigo eyes. He's replaced the makeup, and for a moment you feel a wave of disappointment that he had covered up his handsome face with the image of a skull. A blush colors your cheeks as you realize how inappropriate your thoughts are to have about an individual you just met—one who might still be deadly.

"Can I help you?" you ask, much more calmly than you feel.

He looks away and shrugs, suddenly unsure why he'd bothered to follow you in the first place. Yet after a moment he pulls the notepad from his pocket and scribbles down a few words, flashing it toward you after he'd finished. I fUcKiNg ApOlOgIzE iF i AlL uP aNd ScArEd YoU eArLiEr. I gUeSs I jUsT...hAd A bAd DrEaM.

"Don't worry about it. I sort of expected that." He gives you a questioning glance. "That...was why I was in the room earlier. I felt a vindictive force intruding into the area. I'm sorry—I would have dispelled it sooner, but the spells, if any were used, weren't familiar to me. And I couldn't track whoever used them, either." He stiffens.

I'd RaThEr YoU dIdN't EvEn MoThErFuCkInG tRy. If It WaS wHo I tHiNk It Is, ThEn He'D kIlL yOu ThE mOmEnT yOu EvEn CaMe ClOsE. I WoUlD aLl Up AnD...rAtHeR tHaT dIdN'T hApPeN. : o(

"Then can I at least give you a warding amulet? To keep it from happening again? I'd prefer if he didn't harass you while you are here." He smiles and nods, and the two of you sit in a comfortable silence for a long moment before he lifts the paper again.

I nEvEr GoT yOuR mOtHeRfUcKiNg NaMe. : o(

"Oh, sorry. My name is ____ ____." You don't offer your hand, though, as you don't know whether or not he'd be willing to allow such contact.

YoUr NaMe Is MoThErFuCkInG wIcKeD, ____. : o)

"Um, thank you, Kurloz. I rather like yours as well." He smiles at you, and you are slightly surprised when he shows no reaction to his stitches pulling at the barely-healed wounds on his lips. Surely they must be painful... You are broken out of your reverie when he climbs over the back of the couch to sit next to you, scribbling a while on the paper in his hands.

If YoU dOn'T mOtHeRfUcKiNg MiNd Me AsKiNg, YoU sAiD sOmEtHiNg EaRlIeR aBoUt UsInG a SpElL oR sOmE wIcKeD sHiT. dOeS tHaT mEaN yOu CaN dO sOmE mOtHeRfUcKiNg MaGiC? oR tHaT yOu KnOw SoMeOnE wHo CaN? : o\

"Yes, I can wield magics. I'm a sorcerer, after all."

I hAvEn'T mOtHeRfUcKiNg HeArD mUcH oF tHeM bEfOrE. iS a SoRcErEr AnY dIfFeReNt ThAn A wIzArD? oR iS iT a GeNdEr-BaSeD rOlE, oR sOmEtHiNg? I kNoW hUmAnS tEnD tO dIfFeReNtIaTe ThInGs LiKe ThAt. : o)

"Well...there actually is no difference between the three except their ability and power. Technically every user of magic is a witch at one point. You see, that's the lowest class of magics, and... I suppose I should start from the beginning, shouldn't I?" He shrugs, motioning for you to continue. "Are you sure you actually want to hear this? It might get pretty boring." He nods, smiling. "Well, alright..." You begin to explain the different classifications of magic user to him, and how you are in the middle of those classes due to the limits of your power, until he interrupts you with a wave of his hand over the minor detail of your lifespan. (1)