Private Tales Swallow Steps

[Santiago Castelle]

Glyphs and wards and the adjudicating syllogisms of the feeble beat staccato against Santiago's skull. Bright light filtered down a cloudless sky, ringing the afternoon high against the taupe and granite streets of Elbion. The day came young enough for the timbre of bustling crowds. The plodding of hooves, hawkers' cries, and the hiss of oil on cold pressed iron. Noise, all of it. Low rise roofs pleated with packed clay or rarer slate made for dissonant views. Off-color, even garish at times.

His lips were pursed, drawn ever lower into a frown as he loped about the college's perimeter. A pulsing at his temples rattled him, and his hands found taut perch on a leatherbound journal at his waist. In easy linens, shirt rolled back to breathe beneath the approaching noon, he moved with rigid nonchalance. Behind him, a crystal bell chimed lecture's end. Only minutes now before the next began.

Sweat glistened on his brow, itched against his back and shoulders. Another step; he retreated from the chime, encroached upon the noise. Tepid...

That described him all too well.

Through gritted teeth, he shook his head. Willed himself forward to a nearby hedge. There, planting palms up to a polished fence, he hoisted himself over. He jumped the last barricade between himself and freedom. And his shoulders slumped with the effort.

He nearly tripped as he righted himself on the other side. One glance. Just one. He peaked back at the school. No one followed him, not even a whisper of regret. Well. He took another step, slightly warmer than the last. Rounded a bend. Sought to lose himself in a nearby crowd. A day off the hook didn't sound so bad.

 

[Shiloh Albright]

There was something about ordinary days that had to become extraordinary. There was nothing special in the air, no crazy weather or strange cloud floating in the sky. The morning began as it usually did, with birdsong (this wasn’t different compared to any other day) and Mr. Sneezy jumping onto her chest. She read her horoscope: “Here’s the thing: you will face resistance and you will face opposition. Not everybody is going to be on board your bright and beautiful ideas at this stage, and that’s okay. You know what you are here to do. Stick to your vision despite the temporary disillusionment. As such, speaking your truth in every situation is also going to be a major theme. Just a reminder: not everybody can read minds.” And then disregarded what she read completely.

Evera Albright had always had the gift for divination and was staunch in her beliefs for horoscopes. Shiloh used to take the red envelope tucked underneath her door and toss it into the bin without opening them. Now, she did open them, only to confirm that her mother was still full of it.

Shiloh didn’t care about the moons and stars speaking to her mother. She didn’t care about the bittersweet smell of herbs and moist poultices that lingered with a strange savoriness. She didn’t care about alchemy (she had failed this class twice in Elbion College before finally dropping out) and the cosmic power of metals or cheap stones. Was sapphire really going to get rid of her anxiety? Was rose quartz really going to bring her lover straight to her?

“Miss Albright,” it was the cook, Julene. She had been the cook for the Albright family for as long as Shiloh could remember. Maybe even before she had ever been born? “Your mother really insists on having breakfast as a family. Even your grandmother is present and—“ Shiloh finished snatching away the apple and bread that would be enough to last her the day. A cloth was taken, completely white except for the insignia of the Albright family.

“I’m going out!” Shiloh was out of the hot kitchen quick enough to pretend she didn’t hear the deep sigh from the woman that had mothered her just as much as her own mother had. She was quick as she went down the halls, grabbing her broom at the entrance and whispered a basic enchantment spell just as she was opening the front door.

A brother called her name but she was already out, swinging a leg over the broomstick and not even looking back to see if Mr. Sneezy was following after her. Mr. Sneezy always had a way of catching up to her. Sometimes she was there before Shiloh realized where she was heading. She was off into the sky in no time. Clad in all black, she very much looked like a witch. But once she got to where the city was, Shiloh knew she would fit right in.

College students wore some of the most atrocious things she had ever laid her dark gaze on. ‘All that self-expression,’ as her mother would say. Shiloh was just happy she could fit in.

---

Especially when it meant she could lurk around Elbion College and see if she could find that one recipe for a super sick buff when it came to frog racing. A professor here was known as a notorious frog-racing gambler. The rumor was that he was the one to make the elixir to help him come out from debt. Whether or not this was true, what wasn’t true was that Professor McClellan didn’t have the recipe.

Shiloh was out of the College faster than she had entered, boom in hand. The halls were filled with spells that kept her from flying on it and perhaps crashing out of a window— something she sure had to be fixed after the last time— and so all she had were her two feet to carry her as far as they could. The students milling about were a good way to dodge the two hall masters following close behind her.

It wasn’t long before she was running out of the gates, turning away from oncoming traffic and then proceeded to keep running down the path, pushing pedestrians out of the way. The thrill of running away kept Shiloh on the ground, even if it would have been better to go airborn.

“I don’t think they’re following you.” Mr. Sneezy said, running besides Shiloh.

“You found me.”

“You were always supposed to be here.”

“Right.” Shiloh hated the way Mr. Sneezy spoke. She slowed down her sprint (alright, it was more of a jog but she was used to flying around!) and bent over, catching her breath. Hands on her knees, Shiloh felt the sweat on her brow and under her arms. She wanted to go and sit under the shade. The park was behind her. She stood up, pivoted on her heel and crashed right into the poor fool safely walking behind.

Santiago Castelle

 

[Santiago Castelle]

Chest met chin; Santiago staggered, an arm uplifted against the sudden force centrifuging against him. He lurched, slinking back a pace before catching composure on an absent blink. Words escaped him. In the open eerie, stillness slipped past his lips. Noises gurgled forth, compounded to a sluggish slurry of thought.

Perfunctory gestures settled him. He tidied his shirt, flipping back the collar and righting it about his frame. It took some moments to collect some measure of dignity.

"Excuse me," he said, voice ringing deep with the toll of incredulity. In the streets of Elbion no less.

The gentle crowd parted around them. Few spared but idle glances back; curiosity lingered for some, irritation for others. Little heed was paid to the passage of passersby.

"Who...?"

A stirring tug sounded against his sleeve.

 

[Shiloh Albright]

She dropped her broom on the impact and she could hear the wooden handle clatter against the stone beneath her feet. She felt the heat of bodies give them space and when Shiloh looked up at the man— boy? There was something incredibly youthful about his face that didn’t match his eyes which reminded her of limpid blue glaciers (the sort she saw in paintings about the Erejetva Tundra) that withstood time and the sun— and tried not to glower.

It was her fault for bumping into him, she knew it was. Didn’t mean his chest had to be so dang hard against her face. Shiloh supposed that wasn’t his fault either, unless he was purposely skipping meals to have his sternum feel like a thin piece of steel. A hand went up to rub at her nose, making sure it wasn’t broken.

“Sorry.” Shiloh huffed, bending over to pick up her broom. Mr. Sneezy rubbed her face against Shiloh’s calf, using the edge of her boot to scratch just right underneath her furry cheek. “I didn’t see you.” She looked behind the man and her dark eyes widened. She saw the colorful hat of a hall master. They were still chasing her? Even this far from the College? “Oh, shit—“

“Halt!” It was a fuzzy voice, dissonant with rebounding echoes. The crowd really parted away from the two of them and the cat, everyone looking away and still managing to look all at once. “You two, halt.” Shiloh took hold of the pretty boy’s wrist.

“How fast can you run?” She was already pulling him with her, planning on taking a long confusing detour to the park behind them. If this man was dead weight, well, at least Shiloh could use that to her advantage to make her escape all that much easier. If the man ran as fast as she could? Better to keep him along for the ride.

Santiago Castelle

 

[Santiago Castelle]

A slurry of words met Santiago and found him wanting. His arm assailed, his countenance challenged, his legs kicked into motion. A frenetic pace, reckless in flight; as if it could be else in such circumstance.

"What?"

Before thought, the word slipped from his lips. He became a passerby in his own day. Yet he ran. Kept pace, an eye on the hand laid pillory against his wrist. He fell into easy step, boots making a steady click on cobble.

A breath a breadth apart from breathlessness. Two. The voice had crowed the weight of accusation against him.

"Left at the end of the street. Bridge. Might lose him."

 

[Shiloh Albright]

Well, it looked like Pretty Boy could keep up with her after all. Shiloh wasn’t sure if she liked it yet or not as her plan to leave him to take the brunt of the heat quickly disappeared almost as fast as the world was passing them by. Shiloh was panting hard as her black leather boots kept pounding against the ground. She was in the lead, using her free hand still clutched around her broom to help push people out of their way.

Kress, she was out of shape. From this moment on she would walk more, no, not just walk, but run a little in the mornings! She’d stop relying on her broom so much to get to places. She felt her ankle wiggle and Shiloh almost lost her balance. It was by holding onto Pretty Boy’s wrist that she was able to steady herself and not sprain her skinny ankle.

She looked back at him, a brief glance of gratitude that was hidden by her blunt bangs. Mr. Sneezy was managing to run without issue between their two pairs of feet. Her black coat seemed to suck in any light around them.

“He’s right.” Mr. Sneezy said, her voice reaching both ears. “The bridge to lose them.” Shiloh nodded her head, turning left as they came to the end of the street.

“What do we do? Hide underneath it?” She question Pretty Boy.

Santiago Castelle

 

[Santiago Castelle]

Startlement caught him by the shoulders, and Santiago kept himself upright by the heel of a boot. A noise. A resonance. The voice tumbled between his ears, drew him to ragged pace.

He shook free of it.

"The crowd," he said, managing a measured tone. "We can eclipse him in the crowd."

After a moment:

"Most people would go across. We'll head along the path below."

It was on sight; the myriad press of bodies at the end of the road, the spiraling mass of people meandering amidst the afternoon's bickering glow. The bridge perched atop one of Elbion's many canals, trickling in a constant stream with the tributaries that flowed about the city proper.

He overtook the shackling grip atop his wrist, propelled by long strides that nudged him in the lead. He pointed at the bridge, at a glimpsed railing that pathed the rim of its upper walkway. There.

 

[Shiloh Albright]

He broke her pace, easily using his legs to his advantage and to then lead her closer and closer to the bridge. Shiloh looked over her shoulder, curious if she would see the hall masters. She thought she may have caught a glimpse of one but it was hard to tell with the colorful crowd. She faced the front, centering her gaze on the stone bridge ahead of them.

It was one of the bridges that had to be rebuilt after Drakomir’s destruction upon Elbion. The stone was white and shown easily underneath the sun. It had yet to be sullied by time and weather, and the path underneath it was new as well.

Pretty Boy was right. Underneath the bridge among the path that followed the canal, it would be the best place to lose them. Mr. Sneezy seemed to rush on ahead and people stepped aside, allowing the two of them to have the perfect opening to get closer to the canal.

“Right!” Mr. Sneezy said.

“Right?” Shiloh questioned.

“Or go left and see what happens.” Shiloh had learned not to take Mr. Sneezy’s advice before, and the cat was always rather mad whenever she wasn’t taken seriously.

“Head to the right and—“ Shiloh’s dark gaze went to the right, seeing small cypress trees that were cut into interesting round and swirling shapes. Ah, a good hiding place, especially when there was a family that had seemingly set up a food cart and was busy making roasted chestnuts.

Toska

 

[Santiago Castelle]

Sharp inhalation caught at the pit of Santiago's throat. Time stirred in isolated inertia around them. Step by lurching step they drew further from the bespoke robes behind; a croon and cry of midafternoon greeted them, day laborers and passersby abound. The jerk of a chin caught his eye, and he noted the cart a breath later.

His feet clopped along by rote. Blood echoes pounded in his ears. The rush of it kept his chest heavy, his breath labored.

"Right," he said in chorus, a stagger catching at his knee. He cut for the small cypress grove, skipping a jump off the cobbled path with that thin hand still clutched about his wrist. Heads swiveled at their approach. Hapless folk in little rows turned to face the pair.

"Just a little further." Santiago barely managed the words. They drizzled between his teeth, gummy in sudden exhaustion. His ankles hitched, but the path was in sight. Beyond the cart, past the idle picnickers. A split in the bend, a stepped swirl of road.

He felt himself slow.

 

[Shiloh Albright]

Pretty Boy was at his limit and Shiloh would be lying if she said she wasn’t at her limit, too. She tried to remind herself that there was a fate worse than running if she stopped and so she continued onward, not quite motivated by Pretty Boy’s words but by the fact that she couldn’t get in trouble at Elbion College again.

There was another push, purely from adrenaline than any actually energy, and into the artistic circlet of cypress trees they went, behind the cart of roasted chestnut vendors and Shiloh fell to the ground. Her heart beat faster than her labored breathing, and Mr. Sneezy lowered herself next to Shiloh’s broom.

“Lay… low….” She gasped.

Santiago Castelle

 

[Santiago Castelle]

The words hit Santiago with a weight that tangled his ankles. He fell flat, knees on grass and elbows braced against the onrushing ground. Ragged breaths caught in his throat, pushed the air from lungs that gulped hungrily for more.

He might have nodded, might have said something, but it was lost in the cadence of his gasps. His throat was dry. His vision blurred. Nausea rose from his stomach.

Steady.

He sucked in a breath and slurred out a word:

"Why?"

It took several blinks to compose proper dignity into his voice.

"Why are we running?"

Shiloh Albright

 

[Shiloh Albright]

“Because we were being chased.” Shiloh responded fast, inhaling deeply soon after.

“She was being chased.” Mr. Sneezy corrected. “You were just dumb enough to get caught up in it.” The cat shared a silent exchange with Shiloh. Elbion’s greatest delinquent huffed and turned her head from the cat. Mr. Sneezy always won their arguments that needed only their eyes instead of words.

A hush went over them as the sound of the hall master flying past them, a clink of arcane cogs followed by the smell of aether.

“It would have stopped chasing you once it examined you.” Mr. Sneezy continued to clarify to the man beside them.

“Don’t tell him that!” Shiloh hissed as if she were the cat instead of Mr. Sneezy.

Santiago Castelle

 

[Santiago Castelle]

"I've seldom professed myself other than a fool," Santiago said, propping himself up on his side. Finding his rhythm, he kept his breath even, easy. He sucked a last heavy gasp before the pair finally registered before his gaze.

"A, familiar?"

He stumbled on, letting speech tip slow from his tongue:

"Fine. Why were you being chased?"

Shiloh Albright

 

[Shiloh Albright]

Mr. Sneezy purred as compliment. She was proud of the man’s assessment. Usually everyone thought she was a pet. And a male. She didn’t have the time to explain to everyone that Shiloh was foolish and stubborn. They often would find out for themselves soon enough.

“Because….” Shiloh trailed off. Where to begin? At the beginning? The middle? The end? She should keep things short and sweet, shouldn’t she? That felt right, or at the very least, right enough. “Because I was snooping around the College looking for a frog racing enchantment. I wanted to go gamble.” Shiloh was many things, but she was often not a liar.

Unless you asked her mother, then Shiloh was always a liar.

“My name’s Shiloh.” She stuck out her hand. “What’s your name, Pretty Boy?”

Santiago Castelle

 

[Santiago Castelle]

Santiago found his gaze drawn to that hand. Curiosity tinged his brow.

The words rushed faster than his prior breaths, yet he did find himself nodding along. Perhaps it resulted from the deviation in routine; perhaps he had struck his head in that fall. He nodded either way. It did not seem to warrant anything else.

He clasped that hand.

"Santiago," he said.

"I've not seen you around. Small wonder, I suppose. I am a student at the College. You, uh, gamble?" He hesitated.

"Where?"

Shiloh Albright

 

[Shiloh Albright]

Santiago suited him better than Pretty Boy did. She was glad to finally put a name to his face. Heat crawled to her cheeks. He was a student at the College? It was just her luck to somehow get tangled up with College student. Yet he didn’t regard her with disgust. It meant he didn’t know of her expulsion, for the name Shiloh seemed synonymous to it.

Oh, but she hadn’t given her last name. Shiloh wasn’t that unique, was it? Maybe this could be a chance for her to present herself as she saw herself, not as how others saw her.

After a firm shake, Shiloh let go of Santiago’s hand and grinned.

“Sometimes.” She said with a shrug. Mr. Sneezy sat up, beginning to lick a paw to swipe over her ear. “I’ve been dabbling in frog racing recently. You ever been?” Far better than cock fights, frog racing was all about the enchantments a smart wizard could put on their frog. Only so many could work on the small creature, and there was a lot of magical science formulations involved with it.

Shiloh wasn’t the best with coming up with the right combination. She had hoped Professor McCellan would have the answer.

“Some newbies will pay College students to make their frogs faster. It’s a good way to make a quick buck.”

Santiago Castelle

 

[Santiago Castelle]

"Ah," Santiago said, a now-habitual nod crooking his neck. His mouth twitched in answering smile, finding him stiff in the grips of formality. His balance was skewed. Brushing the stains off his trousers, he worked his way to his feet.

"I'm afraid I lack, uh, familiarity with such spells?" The question lilted in his voice, and consternation crested him briefly.

He shrugged.

"But, should we be standing around? I doubt they've allayed pursuit..."


Shiloh Albright

 

[Shiloh Albright]

She followed after Santiago’s unspoken idea, getting up herself. She didn’t care about stains. Shiloh never did her own laundry, that was on Ina, the in-house maid. It was a luxury that few had, it was also a luxury that Shiloh wouldn’t appreciate until she had to start doing her own laundry. Until then, she’d care little for the well-being of her clothes.

Shiloh held out her hand.

“Well, I’m gonna head over there now. It’s off of Bora Street and Vergali Avenue. You can come with me, if you want.”

Santiago Castelle

 

[Santiago Castelle]

Santiago watched the offered hand, a furrow creeping onto his brow. He shrugged, adopted a lucid ease, and took the hand. The last gasp of hesitancy fled at the gesture. A foray into the murk had as much appeal as returning to the college, but he acquiesced to the immediacy.

At least there was company to keep here—better than the ineptitudes that had previously graced his day.

"Uh, sure," he said, falling in step behind the woman.

"I've not been in that district. You'll have to lead the way."


Shiloh Albright

 

[Shiloh Albright]

Shiloh gave her biggest grin, dark eyes alight with mirth and mischief. With a gentle squeeze, she began to lead Santiago. No one could blame her for wanting to hold onto the hand of a pretty boy like Santiago. She really hoped that this time her hands wouldn’t get clammy from her nerves, so instead she focused on the road in front of her and thought only about leading him to the frog race.

“I got you, don’t worry, Santi.” Shiloh said then looked over her shoulder. “Can I call you Santi or is that only for family?” Before he could answer, she was facing forward once more. “Doesn’t really matter because I am going to keep calling you Santi. It’s a cute nickname, suits you.” Mr. Sneezy was trotting beside them, whiskers twitching. Shiloh’s other hand held her broom and she jabbed it up to the air.

“So! Frog racing, let me tell you how it works! All the frogs start at the starting line and then they hop to the finish. Frogs are sorta dumb but they’ll hop forward usually. Lots of spells are created to make the frog want to hop. They’re kinda lazy and just sit there.” They veered off into a busy street, beginning to blend in with the crowd. It wasn’t as bad in the middle of the day as it was in the evening, which Shiloh was thankful for. She was smaller than most and it often hindered her when she was constantly bumped into, or worse, shoved out of the way. It was why she preferred riding her broom.

Santiago Castelle

 

[Santiago Castelle]

As Shiloh led, so was Santiago content to follow. The easy pace conferred the opportunity for him to level out his breathing and wipe the sweat that had since coalesced on his brow. It played a vivid contrast against the whirlwind of Shiloh's conversation; beat for beat the words churned past before he could compose a reply. And beat for beat he would have bet that any reply would have fallen upon ears deaf to his particular pitch.

There was nothing for it but to shrug and listen.

He found his attention straying to the strange animal that trailed along with them. The swaying steps and outward facade lent all appearances to that of a pet, belying the intelligence it had clearly displayed. A fascinating creature, one that could be called else but a familiar. Already the afternoon enriched him further than any lecture on the sigilous nature of glyphs and such warding doctrine.

Abruptly, he blinked. He missed most of what she had said. Requesting her to repeat herself was uncouth at best. So he nodded along instead, followed the cadence of her tone if not the words.

"You're quite acquainted with this topic," he said, settling his face into neutrality.

"If I may, what first drew you to it?"


Shiloh Albright

 

[Shiloh Albright]

“My parents don’t like gambling. My mother specifically told me how low class frog racing was and not to do it. But whenever someone tells me not to do something, I end up wanting to do it a lot more than I did before. So I do it and consequences be damned.” Shiloh had no idea that Santiago had ignored her previous ramblings which was for the best. Clearly she could talk up a storm just fine herself.

She had gotten used to the sound of her own voice. She had made herself like it. They were going down Vergali Avenue, fast approaching Bora Street.

“I’m rather good at being bad.” A cheeky hint of pride and Shiloh lifted up her broom in a show of victory. She liked to think of herself as the undefeated trouble maker in all of Elbion. She looked over her shoulder once more, seeing Santiago’s indifference. “It’s a lot of fun, Santi.” Shiloh said sudden earnest seriousness. “You’ll see. Oops, almost missed the turn.”

Shiloh veered sharply to the left, pulling Santiago without warning and yanking on his arm so he wouldn’t get knocked around. Mr. Sneezy kept up, if anything, looking more like the leader of the duo. There was another turn, then another, “short cut!” Shiloh claimed, and before one could blink they were both ducking underneath a low doorway and going into another with a wall of beads.

Another door was opened, a flight of stairs taken, a long hallways with a screen door and then they were back outside once more. A secret garden that had different hedge heights, white roses that seemed unbothered by the sun, white stone benches and fountains. There was ivy along red brick walls or white columns, large plots and pots of exotic flowers or flowering trees. It was serene when one only looked; when one listened, the cacophony of shouts and whoops was unavoidable.

To the right and through a quick hedge maze, which Shiloh only had to pause at one turn which was better than the last time she had come here, and they were greeted with the sight of frog racing. Multiple long wooden boards had been set up in the hand-made tracks that the frogs would hop along. Many races were currently taking place, the hawkers walked in between the separate racing arenas, and there were many spectators, some because they had put down money and others more curious about spells being used.

“And voila,” Shiloh sang, only now letting go of his hand so she could twirl in front of him before bowing with an outstretched hand. “May I present to you Nile’s Awesome Secluded Frog Arcana Racing, or NASFAR for short.” She was grinning as she stood up straight. “Sooo… what’s your first impression?”

Santiago Castelle

 

[Santiago Castelle]

Elbion's streets had proved a maze before Santiago's eyes. Familiarity with the garden district and college side of the canal scantly prepared him for their trek across the city proper. Less for the curtain of beads that rattled them across the threshold to the crucible of opulence.

Discordant colors flitted in the seclusion arrayed in staggering vagrancy. The scent of wood and moss mingled, settling before him as the sparsely packed crowd of spectators cheered along and urged at the backs of creatures that hopped with joyous desperation toward victory; in chaotic splendor, the frogs spilled as from between cupped hands onto tracks that thrummed in the arcane ersatz.

Santiago felt the rush of it from the base of his spine. Shivers of energy that crystalized into the semblance of spellcraft, each more peculiar and wonderful than its predecessor. Syllogistic recognition gripped him, and he stared after, watching those tiny legs furl and hop beyond the scope of frictious reality. It was only in the vague separation of warmth from his palm that sprung his attention back to his companion.

The girl had twirled from him, some measure of mischief curling at the back of her tone.

He took her hand up again with an offered bow, matching her each exaggerated gesture in turn. That easy grin was infectious, and he found himself smiling back.

"Perhaps I've yet to catch my breath," he said, "but this truly took what little I had away."

He laughed, as much for his benefit as to fill the following silence.

"Who are we betting on?"


Shiloh Albright

 

[Shiloh Albright]

Her dark brows raised in momentary surprise as he took her hand once more, bowing like she had yet his gesture inherently held refinement despite his bemused grin. Shiloh straightened, tilting her head as she looked up into his eyes. With a gentle squeeze to Santiago’s warm hand, she decided then that perhaps he was a kindred spirit, too. Not only were they both poor runners but it seemed they were both opportune to various sorts of mischief.

“Lightning McZing is my usual.” Shiloh said, “but they had a night racing event last week and he escaped. No one knows where he went.” She shrugged, hiding the disappointment she felt. She always liked the frog’s victory croak and the way he’d always wink at the audience. The young woman began to lead Santiago to the back which had a younger crowd. “These are the amateur races. You can’t bet more than a single centum. It’s a good way to make a name for yourself as a spell specialist. It’s also a good way to see upcoming talent.” Glancing at one smaller and shorter arena, none of the frogs moved.

“C’mon, Seabiscuit!” Someone not much younger than them shouted at their yellow frog. The green frog next to it turned and hopped over it, causing a simultaneous groan amongst the young onlookers. The smallest blue frog Shiloh had ever seen blinked and a normal-sized orange frog with green eyes finally jumped but only up into the air. It landed back further from the finish line than where it had started.

“You got any spells or glyphs on your frogs?” Shiloh asked with a raised brow.

“Naw, this is gonna be a, uh, how do you say, all-nat-ur-ral race, missy.”

“You can’t afford them, huh?” The group didn’t like her honesty, one giving her an extra hard glower. She held up her hands in apology, waving them slightly. “Hey, no shame in that. But if you want to make your race a little more interesting… we are College students.”

Santiago Castelle

 

[Santiago Castelle]

Santiago watched with pursed lips, surveying the track and its many hopping denizens. A measure of frivolity yet stirred him, smile fond at the crook of his lips.

He was beginning to get a grasp over these races; they rode on the prismatic nature of the frogs. Disorder, unpredictability. Shards of the gambler's song. The rhythm to it was beyond him, obfuscated by sheer enjoyment that surged at every movement between the creatures. In this dance, he played follow to Shiloh's lead.

He could only take to the bait she offered.

A flick of the wrist set Santiago's linens to swirl about his frame; hair tousled wildly in the sudden, contained gust, alighting in an arcane cackle that shimmered blue behind his eyes. It struck a mad spark that ebbed as he blinked it away like tears on a windy day.

"Students," he echoed, brushing down his clothes with a flourish.

"And, if nothing else, Seabiscuit seems quite inclined to take her offer."

He gestured: the yellow frog squatted on its haunches, beady eyes fixed in unblinking attention on their own, heedless of the lazy hopping passing it by.


Shiloh Albright