THE WITCH AND HIS FAMILIAR [TINCAN AU]

CHAPTER 1

Plan Rathavit was not a good witch.

Not good as in good versus evil, light versus dark, hero versus villain. But good as in Plan couldn't perform a simple levitating spell to save his life. And his potions, more often than not, came out resembling a sludgy, toxic, tar-like substance, no matter what he was trying to make.

He didn't have Gun's instincts, nor his friend's ability to formulate brand-new spells simply by feeling. And he certainly didn't have Mark's natural inclination towards nature and his ability to speak to plants and feel their emotions.

And don't even try to compare him to Perth - there was no comparison, as far as Plan was concerned. Perth's abilities went above and beyond any witch, Plan had ever met, including his parents and school teachers. He was especially adept at love potions and charms.

Combined with a natural charm and grace Plan could only dream of, Perth's innate magic was so powerful that he could achieve anything he set his mind to, whether it be potion-making or fortune-telling or dueling or spell-casting or even a human profession like modeling or business or medicine.

Perth could do it.

And Plan could not.

But that's not to say Plan wasn't happy - on the contrary, he was very happy with what he was. He was surrounded by friends who were much more skilled than him, and they helped pick up the slack. What Plan lacked in magical ability, Mark and Gun made up for in spades.

So Plan kept to his easy, non-magical tasks for the most part. He was responsible for cleaning and cooking and gathering ingredients for Mark, usually with the help of Mark's familiar, Violet. The airheaded Maine Coone was often too distracted by shiny objects and making friends with mice help her partner, so that's where Plan stepped in.

Today—a bright, sunny summer day—Plan tended to the garden. It was a lovely sprawling space in the backyard of the old cottage the three friends called home. Gun had chopped the wood for the garden fence himself, securing the poles in place with a binding spell he'd learned from his father. Mark contributed by communicating with the plants—all eighteen varieties of fruits, vegetables, flowers, herbs, and some strange roots—to make sure they were happy and healthy.

Plan kneeled in the soft dirt and carefully picked the prickly weeds growing in between rows of cucumber vines and nightshade.

Using the back of his arm, he wiped the sweat from his brow and looked around. He needed to grab another empty garbage bag as his current one was getting too full, and he could also use a drink of water.

For the eleventh time that day, Plan cursed softly to himself. If only he had his own familiar to assist him, life would be so much easier.

"Violet? Vi! You there?" Plan called out, hoping the cat was nearby. "Wolfie? Anyone around?" He tried calling Gun's massive shaggy grey wolf named Wolf (because Gun was shit at naming things) to see if he was around to help.

He listened and waited silently for a moment, but no response came.

"Fuck," Plan swore again to himself, the joints in his knees cracking and popping as he rose to his feet.

Not too far away, a large pink and white bird perched on the white eavestrough of the small cottage. It squawked loudly at Plan to get his attention.

Plan eyed the bird suspiciously before slowly making his way over, never taking his sight off its beady black eyes.

"BAD WORD," the cockatiel suddenly screeched, and Plan startled backward. "BAD WORD BAD WORD."

Plan pulled off one of his yellow and green gardening gloves and chucked it at the bird, missing but only barely.