Kael and Jem : Wanna Blessed Be's

The new-age hippy-dippies were good for business, but oh did they drive him to distraction sometimes. Most of them were teenagers, infant Sabrinas raised on Disney and Labyrinth with all the focus of, well, teenage girls.

He thought that he could take some of them by the hand and earnestly assure them that he was a fairy and a magic worker and have them believe him entirely right up until they saw him buying toilet paper, peanut butter and not-very-dolphin-safe tuna from Spar. That would be their ultimate evidence. His preference for electronica over folk-music, petrol-guzzling motorcycles to bikes, and strip poker to tarot readings would all damn him as a fraud as well, no matter if he stripped off and glamoured blue while starting fires with his elbows…

No, no real ‘practitioner of the arts’ would be so crass as to harm the ickle fluffy bunnies by, say, driving too fast on country lanes. Although presumably if he pretended he was an American Indian and hunted for his dinner barefoot with a bow, and said please and thank you to the bunny spirits, that would be ok.

No, *real* magic would be warm and fuzzy and involve wishing on stars and walking widdershins round the apple tree in your back garden shaking glitter over your skyclad shoulders or some such rot and rubbish.

Katie’s elbow caught him firmly in the stomach, and he glared at her. Her knowing smile was almost as irritating as the gaggle of girls the other side of the counter. He turned back to his customers.

“Can I get you anything else ladies?”

[Challenge response : Jem - peanut butter, stars, glitter]

Kael and Jem : Wanna Blessed Be's

The new-age hippy-dippies were good for business, but oh did they drive him to distraction sometimes. Most of them were teenagers, infant Sabrinas raised on Disney and Labyrinth with all the focus of, well, teenage girls.

He thought that he could take some of them by the hand and earnestly assure them that he was a fairy and a magic worker and have them believe him entirely right up until they saw him buying toilet paper, peanut butter and not-very-dolphin-safe tuna from Spar. That would be their ultimate evidence. His preference for electronica over folk-music, petrol-guzzling motorcycles to bikes, and strip poker to tarot readings would all damn him as a fraud as well, no matter if he stripped off and glamoured blue while starting fires with his elbows…

No, no real ‘practitioner of the arts’ would be so crass as to harm the ickle fluffy bunnies by, say, driving too fast on country lanes. Although presumably if he pretended he was an American Indian and hunted for his dinner barefoot with a bow, and said please and thank you to the bunny spirits, that would be ok.

No, *real* magic would be warm and fuzzy and involve wishing on stars and walking widdershins round the apple tree in your back garden shaking glitter over your skyclad shoulders or some such rot and rubbish.

Katie’s elbow caught him firmly in the stomach, and he glared at her. Her knowing smile was almost as irritating as the gaggle of girls the other side of the counter. He turned back to his customers.

“Can I get you anything else ladies?”

[Challenge response : Jem - peanut butter, stars, glitter]