Spellcatcher - Dreamnotfound

Cloak

If you were curious— No, waking up caged in metal wasn't exactly what George would have preferred to happen on this dewy Sunday morning. 

George's magic flared beneath his skin in his sudden panic, shooting towards the chains locking his ankle to the box. But he hadn't much been exposed to the moon recently, and from the constant tiresome efforts he'd been through in just— what, a few hours?— the sparks merely fizzled for a moment before fading. 

The Magic groaned softly, slumping back to the cold stone floor as he felt fatigue claw at his limbs, begging him to fall asleep despite having just been completely passed out. George shifted so the chain went taut, testing to see how far from the metal bars he could get. 

It wasn't far, but it was enough to shed scraps of gentle shadows over the brunet— To his relief. 

In the meantime, George examined his surroundings. Aside from the clasp around his ankle, there were a few other unused chains— Either for other prisoners, which he doubted there would be— or for his own limbs if, George assumed, he became too much of an issue. 

The hall outside of the cage was lit neatly by assorted lamps and lanterns— George could easily tell they didn't exactly care much about decoration here— Accompanied by large metal doors with padlocks on each. He couldn't see any other cells, though— Which the Magic took as a compliment, it meant he was an important catch.

George snickered lowly at the thought. 

"Ooh, welcome back to consciousness!" That was an odd greeting. George was already annoyed with whoever was speaking. "I've been excited to meet the famous moon Magic we caught!" 

The 'famous moon Magic' ignored the voice and determinedly stared at the wall instead of the bars, where he could assume whoever was speaking was. 

There was a tapping on the metal. George rolled his eyes. 

"Don't you know not to tap on an animal's glass? It disturbs them." He scolded dryly, despite his sore, raw throat. 

"You weren't answering." 

"Well, excuse me for not wanting to talk to an asshole." George let his eyes wander to the bars, to the hall outside, and finally to rest on a lightly shadowed figure that leaned against the metal, arms crossed. 

"You're not so great yourself." Said shadowed figure responded, twisting slightly to let more light wash over him in smooth pools.

George simply huffed. "I don't see why you'd expect me to be, the service in this 'hotel' is shit." 

"Language." The other scolded sarcastically. The Magic cast another quick glance over, trusting the shadows he lingered in to hide himself. 

'Shadowed Figure' was not, in fact, a shadowed figure— Instead, he had sandy hair underneath a dark green hoodie, that fluttered breezily in swift wisps around eyes that George wasn't able to see. At his hip was a short, smooth sword that the Magic could easily tell was an assassin's blade— meant for quick and silent kills. He hummed.

"You're an assassin?" 

"Sort of—" He seemed to fumble for words. "Got myself kicked out, like, ten minutes ago." 

"Ooh, nice job." George snorted sarcastically, shifting in his place and cringing at the scrape of metal on concrete. 

Shadowed Figure clicked his tongue in light disinterest. "You know, you're really not the nicest person." 

"Did you ever come up with— And hear me out here, this might be hard to follow— But did you ever think that I really don't want to talk to you?" George asked dryly. 

Shadowed Figure snorted, and George could nearly see his eye roll as he leaned more heavily against the bars, arms dropping to his sides. "What's your name, anyway, Magic?" 

"Shouldn't you know?"

"I'm being polite."

"You didn't seem to care about that much earlier."

Shadowed Figure groans in defeat, to George's delight. "If I tell you my name, will you tell me yours?" 

The Magic fidgets absently with the cuff on his ankle, crossing his fingers discreetly. "Sure."

"Dream."

"Wh— The fuck?" George scoffs loudly. 

Shadowed Figure— or, Dream— snorts. "Now, your name?"

"No, no, no, that— Dream? Seriously?" George questions incredulously, fingers uncrossing in his disbelief.

Dream rolls his eyes— Or at least, George thinks he does? He can't be sure with that hood.

"Yes, Dream, now give me your name." The blonde is beginning to sound exasperated, and George knows well enough he really shouldn't tick off a guard on the first day captured— Though he supposes it's a bit too late for that now.

The Magic delicately picks at now scabbed cuts from the glass at the cafe. "George."

"Ooh, lame."

"Okay, your name is Dream and I didn't call that lame!" George exhales in exasperation, slumping back against the concrete wall, that clawed annoyingly at his back.

"I mean, you kind of did—" Dream fires back. "Meaning I can do the same to you!"

George rolls his eyes, hugging himself with a slightly dark look in his eyes as memory after memory crashed over him, with a rhythm akin to the gentle waves of an ocean— Yet these were so painfully far from gentle. 

"Just let me sleep."

✾☾✾

It's cold. 

Actually, no, if you were to ask George— Who's cloak had apparently been taken away from him— It was freezing. 

The kind of freezing that makes your hands shake, painting your nose with delicate brushstrokes of rosy pink— The kind of freezing that chills you to your very bones.

Whatever jail George had found himself in that morning was far more eerie at such a late hour. 

Or maybe it was an early hour? The fatigue ridden Magic couldn't figure it out, nor did he bother. Without being in the moonlight, he was unable to even think of using his magic without his head aching— Though that may have simply been his longing for rest.

But it seemed rest would be impossible with a George's uncontrollably shaking frame and growling stomach, or the dull throb in his head where he assumed he had been hit. Or maybe what was keeping him from sleeping was the stinging pain where some of the cuts had been reopened from scratching at them—

Or maybe, maybe it was the nightmares he knew would plague him the moment his eyes fluttered delicately shut, eyelashes dusted over his cheeks and hair spilling in swift, breezy wisps over his forehead.

As dusk turned to dawn and moonlight turned to sunlight, George didn't bother trying to get any sleep. He didn't bother testing his magic, either, he knew it was long faded.

Nor did he bother to question the long, dark cloak that had somehow found its way into George's cage at some point during that first, painful night.

✾☾✾

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Word count: 1118

hi 

:] 

I don't have any jokes for you I'm sorry what do you want from me I'm just an unfunny author please—

Have a wonderful day! <3

-Melli-