Post by mckinnon on Nov 11, 2012 1:08:13 GMT
KIT MCKINNON
nineteen. male. bisexual. warlock. light. bitsy.
Red is the color of passion. It is also the color of blood. He is five years old when he remembers hearing his mother screaming at him to get out. She is unhappy with him, and his memory is a bit foggy; he cannot remember why she looks so livid. “Mummy, why are you angry?” He asks her, trying to understand, and then she slaps him—slaps him clear across the face with enough force to send him flying. He hits his head on the ground, landing on the broken glass of the empty wine bottles his mother had been drinking all evening, and cuts both of his hands. He does not cry until he sees a red substance beginning to ooze out of each wound.
His mother continues screaming, but he ignores her, curling into a little ball, his vision blurring with tears. Why do his hands hurt? Why is his mother so angry with him? What has he done? He wishes for someone to hold him. He wants his sister. He wishes she was here with him, but she’s not. Orla had gone off with her school friends for the night, and left him alone with their mother. His mother is not a bad person, he reasons. She is just sad because his father is no longer around to hold her like she used to hold him in her arms. “Orla, I’m scared,” he whispers, whimpering quietly.
With all of his might, he wishes for his sister, calling out to her. “Come home, Orla! I need you!” It becomes a mantra; something he whispers aloud and in his mind continuously, calling out to his sister. An unknown period of time passes before he hears the sounds of a door slamming open, harried footsteps, and his sister calling out for him. He hears his sister screaming at their mother, before he feels himself being picked up and cradled. He looks up into Orla’s wide, worried violet eyes and smiles. “You came!” His sister doesn’t say a word; instead, she brings him into her room, and bandages his hands. It isn’t until hours later when he is cuddled up into her on her bed and rapidly falling asleep that he hears her whisper, “You are a very special boy, Kitty.” With a soft sigh, he falls asleep; clutching his sister’s night shirt with his bandaged hands. At least, Orla loves him. He wishes his Mummy loved him.
There are four main red blood cell types: A, B, AB, and O. Each can be positive or negative for the Rh factor. AB is the universal recipient. O negative is the universal donor of red blood cells. Kit is O negative. He donates blood each year and has been since he turned eighteen. He likes to think his blood is saving lives.
White is considered to be the color of perfection. Kit hates perfection. He is an imperfect being, always has been, and always will be. He has many flaws, but he embraces them all. His flaws make him who he is. He can’t ever change. He refuses to do so. He remembers a time when his life had been perfect. He had a mother and father who loved him; he had an elder sister who did her own thing, loved to guide him with her light, and he followed her so obediently. The perfection began to crack before shattering completely into nothingness. His father left them behind; the man he once idolized left them without a backward glance, off to start a new family with a woman much younger than his mother.
In the blink of an eye, his mother changed. She was no longer the sweet woman who tickled him, read him bed time stories, and tucked him into bed before kissing his brow, and telling him she would always love him. She had become someone else entirely. She had forgotten how to love him. She was no longer perfect. She was nothing, but flawed—a depressing being that had lost all sense of direction. While his mother began to drown in a sea of wine and misery, his sister began to thrive in the most unimaginable way. Forced to grow up, Orla’s light only strengthened and grew in size. It blanketed him, shielded him from the reality of it all. “White reminds me of hospitals,” she told him one day, shuddering. “It’s too sterile of a color,” she added. His lips upturned into a smile. “White is a shade,” he responded. “Never a color.”
Whenever he paints, he hates starting off with a blank canvas. The canvas is always white. It reminds him of innocence, and is too pure for him to bear. He hasn’t been innocent since he was five years old. The blank canvas mocks him with its purity, and so he feels compelled to taint it with colors—the brighter, the better. He will paint until no shade of white is left visible.
Yellow is the color of sickness. Usually, one might believe that such a color evokes feelings of merriment and optimism. Is the sun not yellow? However, the color symbolizes something else entirely to the young warlock. His grandmother never fails to visit him and his sister; she appears on their doorstep whenever illness plagues the household. Due to his mother’s perpetual bouts with alcoholism, he and Orla see their grandmother quite often. She enters the McKinnon household with a flourish, taking things over and overseeing the children with a vengeance. “You must do as you're told,” she tells her grandchildren, handing them some vials. “I will teach you all that I know,” she promises them. His Gran is a brilliant woman. She has him and his sister aiding her in making a potion that will make their mother feel better.
The potion turns a bright yellow, and Kit can do nothing but stare. It is the color of mustard and smells pretty funky. He gags as the smell wafts through the air, hitting his nose. “If it smells like that, I can’t imagine how it tastes!” He complains. Gran smirks down at him, winking. “It tastes the way it is supposed to, little one. After all, it’s medicine, and your mother is not in need of a spoonful of sugar to help her.” It isn’t until he is older that he realizes his grandmother’s intentions. Medicine does not always have to taste so rancid. He knows this now as he has been taught by his sister that it is possible to make medicinal potions taste pleasant.
Gran purposefully fed his mother the pungent potions. It was her way of trying to snap his mother out of her funk. Unfortunately for them all, his mother never recovered. Her alcoholism only worsened with time. Without fail, the mustard colored potion never stopped being spoon fed. Kit shies away from the color yellow because it reminds him of that particular potion stored in his memories. He hates the taste of mustard too even though he has never tried it. It’s too brownish yellow or so he often claims.
His Gran was always a very important person in his life. She was his teacher. She taught him all that she said he needed to know. She taught him and Orla the basics of being magical; told them to keep it secret from those who did not need to know; but above all else, she taught him to be proud of his roots. McKinnon’s are powerful. McKinnon’s persevere. Orla and he both proved both statements right.
Blue is the color of the sea and the sky. It is also the color of his and his sister’s bruises. Ever since his sixth birthday, his mother grows violent with him and Orla. However, his sister does her best to shield him from it all. She takes the brunt of their mother’s anguish, lets the woman beat her, screaming incomprehensible words until she’s blue in the face. It is Kit who tends to his sister afterwards. He learns to help and to heal. He learns to hide each bruise he earns, to be guarded about who sees. With the bruises comes the discovery of lying. He learns to deceive those he does not trust.
He learns that sometimes it is best to keep things to himself. So whenever Gran asks him about a particularly nasty bruise on his person, he looks her in the eye and tells her it was his fault. He is such clumsy little boy, after all. She gives him a searching look, but says nothing. Somehow, he knows she knows he’s lying, but he does not have proof. He is eleven years old when he is awoken in the middle of the night. Orla’s worried violet eyes reflect his own, and he does his best to blink away the grogginess he can’t help but feel. “What’s happening?” He asks his sister. “It’s time for us to go.” She tells him, handing him a suitcase. Without another word, he begins to pack up his belongings. He packs the bare necessities that he knows he will need, as many items of clothing that will fit inside of the suitcase including his favorite jumper his Gran knitted him a previous Christmas, and his tattered stuffed kitten he has had since he was a baby.
He does not know what is happening or why his sister has decided it is time for them to leave their home, but he does not question it. Somehow, he knows his sister is doing the right thing. A vision pops into his head—one that showcases he and his sister somewhere safe; it astounds him because he sees himself happy. The vision only solidifies his blind trust in Orla. She is his guiding light. He knows she will guide him to where they need to be. As soon as the siblings are done packing, they both leave their home and sneak off into the shadows. Orla never lets go of Kit’s hand. She guides him towards a familiar car, throws their luggage into the boot, before helping him into the backseat and buckling him in.
She sits down beside him, caressing his curls. He looks all around, glimpsing a peek at his Gran in the driver’s seat. Gran throws them both a smirk and a wink before revving up the engine. “It’s time for a big change, little one,” she unexpectedly announces. “We’re heading overseas.” He falls asleep in Orla’s arms, listening to his grandmother cackle with glee. He awakens only when it is time for them all to board a jet plane. Kit remains wide awake as the plane takes off into the sky, and he cannot help but press his face against the glass of the window, looking at the clouds. “Is this what it feels like to fly?” He asks no one in particular. Gran ruffles his curls. Orla smiles his way. Both tell him to go to sleep. He needs his rest. Tiredly, he complies. He dreams of flying.
He is eleven years old when he leaves his home in New Zealand behind. Orla has just turned twenty, and produces a large bag of cash filled with the money she’d secretly been saving. It is with her savings that she purchases three plane tickets. Gran comes up with the plan to go overseas. This is how the McKinnon clan ends up in Manuka. Kit’s mother never bothers to look for them. It’s a blessing.
Green has great healing power. It is also the color of Liam’s eyes. It happens to be Kit’s favorite color as well. A few months pass by and the McKinnon clan has been able to rent out a quaint one-room little flat above a Chinese restaurant. The three of them make do with what they have, and all are as happy as clams. Kit does not mind that he has to share a space with his elder sister and his grandmother. He is just happy to have a home that feels like a home for once. His Gran is the one who takes charge as soon as they arrive in Manuka. She takes care of all of the paperwork for them, and somehow the three become citizens as Gran works a little bit of her magic. He is not sure if she used her magic or managed to charm her way into getting them what they needed. He never asks. Sometimes it is better not to do so when it comes to his mischievous grandmother.
His lessons with his grandmother continue a week after their arrival. She begins teaching him about enchantments, telling him of which crystals and gemstones to use for which enchantment. His sister quizzes him at the end of each lesson. She has already completed all of her training and is a full blown witch. He’s slightly envious of her knowledge, but keeps it to himself. At the same time, he’s proud of Orla. At twenty years old, his sister is quite powerful. He aspires to be like her in the future, and makes it his long-term goal. “I want to be powerful,” he tells his Gran during a lesson. “Tell me, baby. Why do you want to be powerful?” The question throws him off. It is one he is not ready for; not ready to answer. He is embarrassed when he doesn’t have an answer ready for her. “You will find the answer when you least expect it, little one,” Gran tells him, a knowing look in her eyes. He can only pout and whine in displeasure. He hates it when she is so cryptic with him!
In the fall, he begins attending the local public school. As he sets foot inside of the building, clutching his sister’s satchel, he cannot help but gaze around warily. Back in New Zealand, he had been known as the quiet boy who kept to himself; never spoke unless spoken to, and who liked to doodle in his notebook when no one was looking. He had been classified as the weird boy with a penchant for art. Now here he was, far away from home, and away from all of those judging faces of the kids he knew; he had left them all behind. The judging faces of strangers greeted him, looking upon him with interest. He sighed. “Just be yourself, Kitty,” his sister whispered in his ear, smiling down at him. He met her gaze with hesitance, silently asking her many questions all at once. She understood. She always understood him. Their silent conversations were something the two siblings treasured.
“It’s okay to open up, Kitty,” she told him licking her lips, “Perhaps it’s time to reinvent yourself, no?” Orla jokes, winking at him. Unknowingly to her, he takes her words to heart. With that said, she leaves him at school, off to start her new job. He walks into the office of the school, waiting for the secretary to collect his file and escort him to his classroom. As soon as he steps foot into his classroom, he spots a boy off by himself, looking as sad and detached as he feels. He tunes out his teacher’s introduction and only half-listens as the woman tells him to find a seat. He plops himself down directly next to the brunette with the sad eyes. Taking a deep breath, he thinks over what Orla told him and makes a decision. As soon as he does, he sees a vision. He pictures himself with the boy, their arms around each other, grinning and laughing. Kit feels a rush of sheer joy he cannot contain. In all of his excitement, he turns to the boy beside him and exclaims exuberantly, “Let’s be friends!” And, that is that.
The sad boy with the bright green eyes introduces himself as Liam Anderson, and it isn’t long before the two boys are as thick as thieves; attached at the hip. Kit knows he has forged a bond for life. His visions of the future never fail to give him hope. His only worry is that Liam remains oblivious to what he truly is.
Black is a mysterious color associated with fear and the unknown. It also gives the feeling of perspective and depth. “Black contrasts well with bright colors,” Liam tells him, fiddling with his camera. “Using a black or gray background makes brighter colors really pop!” Kit listens with rapt attention. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he finds Liam’s words quite intriguing. He files the information away to be used at a later date. Who knows when he might need it next? His twelfth birthday passes, and he feels like a whole different person. Having friends other than his sister and his grandmother feels so foreign to him; he cannot explain what it feels like to be accepted. He has Liam. He makes other friends, but none are as important to him as Liam. After all, Liam was the first person he allowed to get close to him.
Liam is his first friend gained, and Kit subconsciously begins to put his best mate up on a pedestal. It is inevitable. Years later, life begins to get complicated. Growing up has its perks and its curses. Before long, Liam has his first girlfriend. Kit can never remember her name. She wasn’t important. By age seventeen, Kit has had a dozen girlfriends. Puberty was good to him, and the girls have noticed. He hit his growth spurt around age sixteen and shot up a good foot and a half. At six foot, four inches, he’s one of the tallest in school. Gran tells him he inherited his height from his father. He is told that his father was a tall, strapping lad. Each time she compliments him, he cannot help but beam with pride. He preens, and he smirks. It feels good to look good. So he might just be a little vain. Is that really so bad? He doesn’t think so.
Things take a turn for the worst when Liam calls Kit up randomly one day. Kit notices his friend sounds strange on the phone, and does not understand why. He has this strange feeling of foreboding building in his stomach. Something is wrong. Something has happened that is so very wrong. He tries to quell the raging feelings of panic and anxiousness that begin to rise, and half listens as his friend asks him to come over. He does not even think, he just moves; rushing throughout his house on auto-pilot. It is a wonder how he threw on clothes and made it out of his apartment without some sort of accident occurring. Nevertheless, he makes it to Liam’s house a half hour later with not a moment to spare. Liam greets him as usual before he shatters like glass, and all Kit can do is hug the lad as he cries on his shoulder. His heart goes out to him, breaking from within his chest. He doesn’t say a word as he holds his friend, merely holds him close and listens.
He very briefly flashes back to the nights when he would hold his sister after their mother roughed her up real good, clutching her tightly. The situation causes him discomfort due to slight similarities and yet far greater differences. Liam’s little sister has cancer. She is very sick, and no matter how hard Kit pleads with his grandmother to help him search for a potion—an enchantment, anything at all to help the innocent little girl for Liam’s sake—there is nothing that can be done. Kit feels like a failure. For quite a while afterwards, he has trouble looking his mate in the eyes because he knows he has failed him. He cannot even save an innocent little six year old with his magic. He is weak. He is useless.
Things get worse before they can get any better. One night, Kit has a vision. It is his worst nightmare come true. For years, Liam has been kept in the dark. He knows nothing of the supernatural; nothing of the world that Kit and his family are a big part of and Kit wishes to keep that way. “Humans are not meant to know of our world,” his sister argues passionately, trying to make their grandmother understand. Gran shrugs. “It is important to keep hidden, yes, but the humans are of no consequence to us.” She speaks with finality and that is that. Gran’s word is law. Kit sides more with his sister, but keeps this to himself. His best friend is a fragile human. He is too far attached to the boy to let go. His allegiance is now strained. He knows this is the calm before the storm. The vision plagues him, pains him, but there is nothing he can do to help.
He pictures his friend, his Liam in the arms of a vile creature—a vampire. “You or her?” She whispers, her lips twisting into a smirk. Kit knows Liam’s decision even before his mate decides. Liam’s fate is sealed, and his screams of pain haunt him from then on. “I want to be powerful, Gran,” he tells his grandmother one night at the dinner table. She looks upon him with interest, quirking a brow. “I want to be powerful to protect the ones that I love. I will not be pathetic and feeble.” Gran smirks at him, snorting. “What brought on this sudden declaration, my love?” He says nothing in response. Orla throws him a knowing glance, but he telepathically communicates with her to stay quiet. It is better that some things are left unsaid.
The vision plagues him for months, and Kit watches as his best friend begins to deteriorate before his eyes. Things are changing, spiraling out of his control—but, with a start, the young warlock he had never been in control to begin with. Amelia, Liam’s baby sister, is getting sicker. As she slowly dies, a piece of Liam dies along with her. He is sluggish and deathly pale like that of a ghost. This is mostly due to the perpetual feedings of the vampire. Kit does his very best to be Liam’s pillar of support, but gods it is so hard pretending to be oblivious to the changes that are so obvious to him. It hurts him. He has to lie to the one he trusts the most because he must. Who knows how Liam would react now if he suddenly spilled the beans? “There is a time and a place for everything, Kitty,” his sister tells him as he rants to her one night, clutching her to him in his bed. He had had another nightmare and though he tried to be quiet, Orla came to him anyways. She knows him better than he knows himself. “There will come a time when you’ll have to tell him the truth,” He nods gravely. He knows.
One week out of the blue, Kit foresees Amelia’s death. He knows it is on the horizon, and he knows that trouble is brewing. With Amelia’s death, Liam will die alongside her; his spirit eradicated. Kit has to act fast or all hell will break loose, and he knows—if worse comes to worse, he will be forced to reveal himself, if only for Liam’s safety. It is Orla who gives him the idea. She presents him with a sharp pencil one morning before he leaves for school, giving him that secret smile of hers. “The pencil is mightier than one might believe it to be.” She tells him in that cryptic way that she has adapted due to their Gran’s influence. “The proof is in the lead.” She winks, and the realization strikes him lightning! He grips the pencil in hand all throughout the day, never letting it leave his grasp. Some of his classmates present him with searching looks, but he pays them no mind. He has better things to worry about than his social status at this point like how he is going to plant the idea in Liam’s head. It is all a matter of inception.
Thinking on his feet, he puts what he knows to good use. In art class, he starts rambling on about the power of the pencil, feeling lame. Hopefully, Liam does not catch on to his scheming, but at the same time—Kit hopes that his actions will prove fruitful. The idea is to make it so that Liam is subconsciously aware of pencils, enough so that he might use one against say—an enraged vampire. Throughout the week, Kit continues on with his passionate lectures about pencils, noting Liam’s amusement. He makes it out to be a big joke, his faux intentions to cheer up the human—when in reality, his intentions are much, much more. “The power of the pencil is in its tip,” he quips to his friend, grinning like a goof ball. Liam snorts. “No, don’t think me mad, mate!” Kit coos, waving his finger at the boy as if to scold him. “It can be brandished as a weapon, ya know? It might even save your life one day!” He announces, smirking. Liam shakes his head, laughing, but Kit feels victorious.
Then, Amelia dies, and life is set into motion. Kit has a vision. His heart soars. He knows he has won. Liam lives and with him, Kit breathes in peace. Is this what it feels like to be in love? His heart aches. Things will not end well for him, he knows. It is tragic, but that’s love. Love is sinful and it is tragic.
Liam perseveres in the face of the vampiress and his sister’s passing. Kit finds himself drowning in all that is Liam, trying to squash all of these sudden burgeoning feelings. Where are they coming from? This is more than that revealing kiss they shared after a bout of skinny dipping when Kit declared his sexuality to his truest friend. Friendship can only go so far, but Kit resolves to take what he can get. He pretends like all is well, and the ice forming around his heart is not hardening.
His mother continues screaming, but he ignores her, curling into a little ball, his vision blurring with tears. Why do his hands hurt? Why is his mother so angry with him? What has he done? He wishes for someone to hold him. He wants his sister. He wishes she was here with him, but she’s not. Orla had gone off with her school friends for the night, and left him alone with their mother. His mother is not a bad person, he reasons. She is just sad because his father is no longer around to hold her like she used to hold him in her arms. “Orla, I’m scared,” he whispers, whimpering quietly.
With all of his might, he wishes for his sister, calling out to her. “Come home, Orla! I need you!” It becomes a mantra; something he whispers aloud and in his mind continuously, calling out to his sister. An unknown period of time passes before he hears the sounds of a door slamming open, harried footsteps, and his sister calling out for him. He hears his sister screaming at their mother, before he feels himself being picked up and cradled. He looks up into Orla’s wide, worried violet eyes and smiles. “You came!” His sister doesn’t say a word; instead, she brings him into her room, and bandages his hands. It isn’t until hours later when he is cuddled up into her on her bed and rapidly falling asleep that he hears her whisper, “You are a very special boy, Kitty.” With a soft sigh, he falls asleep; clutching his sister’s night shirt with his bandaged hands. At least, Orla loves him. He wishes his Mummy loved him.
There are four main red blood cell types: A, B, AB, and O. Each can be positive or negative for the Rh factor. AB is the universal recipient. O negative is the universal donor of red blood cells. Kit is O negative. He donates blood each year and has been since he turned eighteen. He likes to think his blood is saving lives.
White is considered to be the color of perfection. Kit hates perfection. He is an imperfect being, always has been, and always will be. He has many flaws, but he embraces them all. His flaws make him who he is. He can’t ever change. He refuses to do so. He remembers a time when his life had been perfect. He had a mother and father who loved him; he had an elder sister who did her own thing, loved to guide him with her light, and he followed her so obediently. The perfection began to crack before shattering completely into nothingness. His father left them behind; the man he once idolized left them without a backward glance, off to start a new family with a woman much younger than his mother.
In the blink of an eye, his mother changed. She was no longer the sweet woman who tickled him, read him bed time stories, and tucked him into bed before kissing his brow, and telling him she would always love him. She had become someone else entirely. She had forgotten how to love him. She was no longer perfect. She was nothing, but flawed—a depressing being that had lost all sense of direction. While his mother began to drown in a sea of wine and misery, his sister began to thrive in the most unimaginable way. Forced to grow up, Orla’s light only strengthened and grew in size. It blanketed him, shielded him from the reality of it all. “White reminds me of hospitals,” she told him one day, shuddering. “It’s too sterile of a color,” she added. His lips upturned into a smile. “White is a shade,” he responded. “Never a color.”
Whenever he paints, he hates starting off with a blank canvas. The canvas is always white. It reminds him of innocence, and is too pure for him to bear. He hasn’t been innocent since he was five years old. The blank canvas mocks him with its purity, and so he feels compelled to taint it with colors—the brighter, the better. He will paint until no shade of white is left visible.
Yellow is the color of sickness. Usually, one might believe that such a color evokes feelings of merriment and optimism. Is the sun not yellow? However, the color symbolizes something else entirely to the young warlock. His grandmother never fails to visit him and his sister; she appears on their doorstep whenever illness plagues the household. Due to his mother’s perpetual bouts with alcoholism, he and Orla see their grandmother quite often. She enters the McKinnon household with a flourish, taking things over and overseeing the children with a vengeance. “You must do as you're told,” she tells her grandchildren, handing them some vials. “I will teach you all that I know,” she promises them. His Gran is a brilliant woman. She has him and his sister aiding her in making a potion that will make their mother feel better.
The potion turns a bright yellow, and Kit can do nothing but stare. It is the color of mustard and smells pretty funky. He gags as the smell wafts through the air, hitting his nose. “If it smells like that, I can’t imagine how it tastes!” He complains. Gran smirks down at him, winking. “It tastes the way it is supposed to, little one. After all, it’s medicine, and your mother is not in need of a spoonful of sugar to help her.” It isn’t until he is older that he realizes his grandmother’s intentions. Medicine does not always have to taste so rancid. He knows this now as he has been taught by his sister that it is possible to make medicinal potions taste pleasant.
Gran purposefully fed his mother the pungent potions. It was her way of trying to snap his mother out of her funk. Unfortunately for them all, his mother never recovered. Her alcoholism only worsened with time. Without fail, the mustard colored potion never stopped being spoon fed. Kit shies away from the color yellow because it reminds him of that particular potion stored in his memories. He hates the taste of mustard too even though he has never tried it. It’s too brownish yellow or so he often claims.
His Gran was always a very important person in his life. She was his teacher. She taught him all that she said he needed to know. She taught him and Orla the basics of being magical; told them to keep it secret from those who did not need to know; but above all else, she taught him to be proud of his roots. McKinnon’s are powerful. McKinnon’s persevere. Orla and he both proved both statements right.
Blue is the color of the sea and the sky. It is also the color of his and his sister’s bruises. Ever since his sixth birthday, his mother grows violent with him and Orla. However, his sister does her best to shield him from it all. She takes the brunt of their mother’s anguish, lets the woman beat her, screaming incomprehensible words until she’s blue in the face. It is Kit who tends to his sister afterwards. He learns to help and to heal. He learns to hide each bruise he earns, to be guarded about who sees. With the bruises comes the discovery of lying. He learns to deceive those he does not trust.
He learns that sometimes it is best to keep things to himself. So whenever Gran asks him about a particularly nasty bruise on his person, he looks her in the eye and tells her it was his fault. He is such clumsy little boy, after all. She gives him a searching look, but says nothing. Somehow, he knows she knows he’s lying, but he does not have proof. He is eleven years old when he is awoken in the middle of the night. Orla’s worried violet eyes reflect his own, and he does his best to blink away the grogginess he can’t help but feel. “What’s happening?” He asks his sister. “It’s time for us to go.” She tells him, handing him a suitcase. Without another word, he begins to pack up his belongings. He packs the bare necessities that he knows he will need, as many items of clothing that will fit inside of the suitcase including his favorite jumper his Gran knitted him a previous Christmas, and his tattered stuffed kitten he has had since he was a baby.
He does not know what is happening or why his sister has decided it is time for them to leave their home, but he does not question it. Somehow, he knows his sister is doing the right thing. A vision pops into his head—one that showcases he and his sister somewhere safe; it astounds him because he sees himself happy. The vision only solidifies his blind trust in Orla. She is his guiding light. He knows she will guide him to where they need to be. As soon as the siblings are done packing, they both leave their home and sneak off into the shadows. Orla never lets go of Kit’s hand. She guides him towards a familiar car, throws their luggage into the boot, before helping him into the backseat and buckling him in.
She sits down beside him, caressing his curls. He looks all around, glimpsing a peek at his Gran in the driver’s seat. Gran throws them both a smirk and a wink before revving up the engine. “It’s time for a big change, little one,” she unexpectedly announces. “We’re heading overseas.” He falls asleep in Orla’s arms, listening to his grandmother cackle with glee. He awakens only when it is time for them all to board a jet plane. Kit remains wide awake as the plane takes off into the sky, and he cannot help but press his face against the glass of the window, looking at the clouds. “Is this what it feels like to fly?” He asks no one in particular. Gran ruffles his curls. Orla smiles his way. Both tell him to go to sleep. He needs his rest. Tiredly, he complies. He dreams of flying.
He is eleven years old when he leaves his home in New Zealand behind. Orla has just turned twenty, and produces a large bag of cash filled with the money she’d secretly been saving. It is with her savings that she purchases three plane tickets. Gran comes up with the plan to go overseas. This is how the McKinnon clan ends up in Manuka. Kit’s mother never bothers to look for them. It’s a blessing.
Green has great healing power. It is also the color of Liam’s eyes. It happens to be Kit’s favorite color as well. A few months pass by and the McKinnon clan has been able to rent out a quaint one-room little flat above a Chinese restaurant. The three of them make do with what they have, and all are as happy as clams. Kit does not mind that he has to share a space with his elder sister and his grandmother. He is just happy to have a home that feels like a home for once. His Gran is the one who takes charge as soon as they arrive in Manuka. She takes care of all of the paperwork for them, and somehow the three become citizens as Gran works a little bit of her magic. He is not sure if she used her magic or managed to charm her way into getting them what they needed. He never asks. Sometimes it is better not to do so when it comes to his mischievous grandmother.
His lessons with his grandmother continue a week after their arrival. She begins teaching him about enchantments, telling him of which crystals and gemstones to use for which enchantment. His sister quizzes him at the end of each lesson. She has already completed all of her training and is a full blown witch. He’s slightly envious of her knowledge, but keeps it to himself. At the same time, he’s proud of Orla. At twenty years old, his sister is quite powerful. He aspires to be like her in the future, and makes it his long-term goal. “I want to be powerful,” he tells his Gran during a lesson. “Tell me, baby. Why do you want to be powerful?” The question throws him off. It is one he is not ready for; not ready to answer. He is embarrassed when he doesn’t have an answer ready for her. “You will find the answer when you least expect it, little one,” Gran tells him, a knowing look in her eyes. He can only pout and whine in displeasure. He hates it when she is so cryptic with him!
In the fall, he begins attending the local public school. As he sets foot inside of the building, clutching his sister’s satchel, he cannot help but gaze around warily. Back in New Zealand, he had been known as the quiet boy who kept to himself; never spoke unless spoken to, and who liked to doodle in his notebook when no one was looking. He had been classified as the weird boy with a penchant for art. Now here he was, far away from home, and away from all of those judging faces of the kids he knew; he had left them all behind. The judging faces of strangers greeted him, looking upon him with interest. He sighed. “Just be yourself, Kitty,” his sister whispered in his ear, smiling down at him. He met her gaze with hesitance, silently asking her many questions all at once. She understood. She always understood him. Their silent conversations were something the two siblings treasured.
“It’s okay to open up, Kitty,” she told him licking her lips, “Perhaps it’s time to reinvent yourself, no?” Orla jokes, winking at him. Unknowingly to her, he takes her words to heart. With that said, she leaves him at school, off to start her new job. He walks into the office of the school, waiting for the secretary to collect his file and escort him to his classroom. As soon as he steps foot into his classroom, he spots a boy off by himself, looking as sad and detached as he feels. He tunes out his teacher’s introduction and only half-listens as the woman tells him to find a seat. He plops himself down directly next to the brunette with the sad eyes. Taking a deep breath, he thinks over what Orla told him and makes a decision. As soon as he does, he sees a vision. He pictures himself with the boy, their arms around each other, grinning and laughing. Kit feels a rush of sheer joy he cannot contain. In all of his excitement, he turns to the boy beside him and exclaims exuberantly, “Let’s be friends!” And, that is that.
The sad boy with the bright green eyes introduces himself as Liam Anderson, and it isn’t long before the two boys are as thick as thieves; attached at the hip. Kit knows he has forged a bond for life. His visions of the future never fail to give him hope. His only worry is that Liam remains oblivious to what he truly is.
Black is a mysterious color associated with fear and the unknown. It also gives the feeling of perspective and depth. “Black contrasts well with bright colors,” Liam tells him, fiddling with his camera. “Using a black or gray background makes brighter colors really pop!” Kit listens with rapt attention. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he finds Liam’s words quite intriguing. He files the information away to be used at a later date. Who knows when he might need it next? His twelfth birthday passes, and he feels like a whole different person. Having friends other than his sister and his grandmother feels so foreign to him; he cannot explain what it feels like to be accepted. He has Liam. He makes other friends, but none are as important to him as Liam. After all, Liam was the first person he allowed to get close to him.
Liam is his first friend gained, and Kit subconsciously begins to put his best mate up on a pedestal. It is inevitable. Years later, life begins to get complicated. Growing up has its perks and its curses. Before long, Liam has his first girlfriend. Kit can never remember her name. She wasn’t important. By age seventeen, Kit has had a dozen girlfriends. Puberty was good to him, and the girls have noticed. He hit his growth spurt around age sixteen and shot up a good foot and a half. At six foot, four inches, he’s one of the tallest in school. Gran tells him he inherited his height from his father. He is told that his father was a tall, strapping lad. Each time she compliments him, he cannot help but beam with pride. He preens, and he smirks. It feels good to look good. So he might just be a little vain. Is that really so bad? He doesn’t think so.
Things take a turn for the worst when Liam calls Kit up randomly one day. Kit notices his friend sounds strange on the phone, and does not understand why. He has this strange feeling of foreboding building in his stomach. Something is wrong. Something has happened that is so very wrong. He tries to quell the raging feelings of panic and anxiousness that begin to rise, and half listens as his friend asks him to come over. He does not even think, he just moves; rushing throughout his house on auto-pilot. It is a wonder how he threw on clothes and made it out of his apartment without some sort of accident occurring. Nevertheless, he makes it to Liam’s house a half hour later with not a moment to spare. Liam greets him as usual before he shatters like glass, and all Kit can do is hug the lad as he cries on his shoulder. His heart goes out to him, breaking from within his chest. He doesn’t say a word as he holds his friend, merely holds him close and listens.
He very briefly flashes back to the nights when he would hold his sister after their mother roughed her up real good, clutching her tightly. The situation causes him discomfort due to slight similarities and yet far greater differences. Liam’s little sister has cancer. She is very sick, and no matter how hard Kit pleads with his grandmother to help him search for a potion—an enchantment, anything at all to help the innocent little girl for Liam’s sake—there is nothing that can be done. Kit feels like a failure. For quite a while afterwards, he has trouble looking his mate in the eyes because he knows he has failed him. He cannot even save an innocent little six year old with his magic. He is weak. He is useless.
Things get worse before they can get any better. One night, Kit has a vision. It is his worst nightmare come true. For years, Liam has been kept in the dark. He knows nothing of the supernatural; nothing of the world that Kit and his family are a big part of and Kit wishes to keep that way. “Humans are not meant to know of our world,” his sister argues passionately, trying to make their grandmother understand. Gran shrugs. “It is important to keep hidden, yes, but the humans are of no consequence to us.” She speaks with finality and that is that. Gran’s word is law. Kit sides more with his sister, but keeps this to himself. His best friend is a fragile human. He is too far attached to the boy to let go. His allegiance is now strained. He knows this is the calm before the storm. The vision plagues him, pains him, but there is nothing he can do to help.
He pictures his friend, his Liam in the arms of a vile creature—a vampire. “You or her?” She whispers, her lips twisting into a smirk. Kit knows Liam’s decision even before his mate decides. Liam’s fate is sealed, and his screams of pain haunt him from then on. “I want to be powerful, Gran,” he tells his grandmother one night at the dinner table. She looks upon him with interest, quirking a brow. “I want to be powerful to protect the ones that I love. I will not be pathetic and feeble.” Gran smirks at him, snorting. “What brought on this sudden declaration, my love?” He says nothing in response. Orla throws him a knowing glance, but he telepathically communicates with her to stay quiet. It is better that some things are left unsaid.
The vision plagues him for months, and Kit watches as his best friend begins to deteriorate before his eyes. Things are changing, spiraling out of his control—but, with a start, the young warlock he had never been in control to begin with. Amelia, Liam’s baby sister, is getting sicker. As she slowly dies, a piece of Liam dies along with her. He is sluggish and deathly pale like that of a ghost. This is mostly due to the perpetual feedings of the vampire. Kit does his very best to be Liam’s pillar of support, but gods it is so hard pretending to be oblivious to the changes that are so obvious to him. It hurts him. He has to lie to the one he trusts the most because he must. Who knows how Liam would react now if he suddenly spilled the beans? “There is a time and a place for everything, Kitty,” his sister tells him as he rants to her one night, clutching her to him in his bed. He had had another nightmare and though he tried to be quiet, Orla came to him anyways. She knows him better than he knows himself. “There will come a time when you’ll have to tell him the truth,” He nods gravely. He knows.
One week out of the blue, Kit foresees Amelia’s death. He knows it is on the horizon, and he knows that trouble is brewing. With Amelia’s death, Liam will die alongside her; his spirit eradicated. Kit has to act fast or all hell will break loose, and he knows—if worse comes to worse, he will be forced to reveal himself, if only for Liam’s safety. It is Orla who gives him the idea. She presents him with a sharp pencil one morning before he leaves for school, giving him that secret smile of hers. “The pencil is mightier than one might believe it to be.” She tells him in that cryptic way that she has adapted due to their Gran’s influence. “The proof is in the lead.” She winks, and the realization strikes him lightning! He grips the pencil in hand all throughout the day, never letting it leave his grasp. Some of his classmates present him with searching looks, but he pays them no mind. He has better things to worry about than his social status at this point like how he is going to plant the idea in Liam’s head. It is all a matter of inception.
Thinking on his feet, he puts what he knows to good use. In art class, he starts rambling on about the power of the pencil, feeling lame. Hopefully, Liam does not catch on to his scheming, but at the same time—Kit hopes that his actions will prove fruitful. The idea is to make it so that Liam is subconsciously aware of pencils, enough so that he might use one against say—an enraged vampire. Throughout the week, Kit continues on with his passionate lectures about pencils, noting Liam’s amusement. He makes it out to be a big joke, his faux intentions to cheer up the human—when in reality, his intentions are much, much more. “The power of the pencil is in its tip,” he quips to his friend, grinning like a goof ball. Liam snorts. “No, don’t think me mad, mate!” Kit coos, waving his finger at the boy as if to scold him. “It can be brandished as a weapon, ya know? It might even save your life one day!” He announces, smirking. Liam shakes his head, laughing, but Kit feels victorious.
Then, Amelia dies, and life is set into motion. Kit has a vision. His heart soars. He knows he has won. Liam lives and with him, Kit breathes in peace. Is this what it feels like to be in love? His heart aches. Things will not end well for him, he knows. It is tragic, but that’s love. Love is sinful and it is tragic.
Liam perseveres in the face of the vampiress and his sister’s passing. Kit finds himself drowning in all that is Liam, trying to squash all of these sudden burgeoning feelings. Where are they coming from? This is more than that revealing kiss they shared after a bout of skinny dipping when Kit declared his sexuality to his truest friend. Friendship can only go so far, but Kit resolves to take what he can get. He pretends like all is well, and the ice forming around his heart is not hardening.
app by kel <3
rp sample
So much to do, and yet there is so little time. He found himself thinking, letting out a soft sigh. His satchel seemed to weigh even heavier than usual with the amount of textbooks he was carrying inside of it. Cinna was just lucky that he had taught himself the shrinking spell towards the end of his fifth year; having learned such a spell really made his life all the more easier. With a quick mutter of “Reducio!” he had managed to shrink fifteen large tomes down that he needed to use to complete homework assignments that would be due as soon as Christmas holidays had finished. He knew he did not need all of the tomes he had taken out from the library, but the sixth year Ravenclaw liked to be thorough with his work. Thus, he always ended up acquiring more information than what was really necessary.
In the end, the amount of gusto he put into each essay was worth it, especially the moment he received back the assignment with high marks stamped onto the front of it in red ink. It made him happy that all of his hard work was paying off because as his mother and father had told him plenty of times before in the past, hard work is the key to success. Cinna lived and breathed this very creed to the extreme. It was because of this that Cadence always told him he was neurotic with his work and perhaps he was, but you would never find the young Pucey boy admitting that out loud, especially to his friend. She would never let him live it down if he did; he knew that for a fact. The girl could be a real pain in his arse at times, but there were also moments that he thanked Merlin for granting him her friendship. It felt nice knowing that he was no longer alone as he had once been.
The young pureblood made his way up the familiar spiral staircase, hitching his satchel of books a little bit higher on his left shoulder so that the bag would not slide down his arm and topple down the stairs. He was much too tired to have to walk back down to retrieve the bag if it did fall and he had not successfully mastered the summoning spell as of yet, but he was working on it. Cinna was determined to get it down no matter the cost whether it be his sanity and or a few hours of sleep, but he could argue that his sanity was already hanging by a string and it was a normal occurrence for him to sleep a bit less than the average Hogwarts student. On average, the sixth year Ravenclaw slept four hours a night which would total a substantial twenty-eight hours over the period of a week. It was not too uncommon to glimpse Cinna with bags underneath his eyes.
No matter how hard he tried to hide it, there were a select few who were able to see past him trying to perform a glamour spell to rid himself of such a blemish to his skin. Cadence was one of them. Then again, it was not very hard for her to see past his horrible spellmanship. Glamour spells had never really been his thing and he could not be bothered to perfect it all. When would he ever need to perform glamour spells later on in his life? If he intended to become an international quidditch player for the rest of his life, obtaining injuries here and there would be the norm. Hell, even now he always managed to get knocked around on the field during the house games and practice. Cinna always managed to take a quaffle to the face at least once during practice. A few of his teammates liked to joke around that it was due to his short stature seeing as he was only five feet, eight inches. He merely brushed off the comments, rolling his eyes and muttering about how troublesome the jokes were under his breath. He may have been short, but he was stocky and well-equipped for success regarding certain body parts. The thought had him smirking to himself with perverse amusement.
Before long, Cinna found himself approaching the well accustomed sight of the bronze knocker in the shape of an eagle that would grant him access to his house’s common room as soon as he answered the riddle offered correctly. However, he was not too worried with answering the riddle; he never answered incorrectly. Failure was not in his vocabulary nor was it an option. He shook himself from his thoughts, knowing he had to pay attention to what the riddle was to be granted access to the room beyond the entrance. He did not have to wait long. “I never was, am always to be. No one ever saw me, nor ever will. And yet I am the confidence of all, to live and breathe on this terrestrial ball. What am I?” The young Ravenclaw paused for a moment, his eyes glazing over in thought as his mind began to race with all of the possibilities of what the answer to the riddle might be. It took him less than a minute to realize the answer. Taking a deep breath, he recited his answer to the knocker quietly.
“You are tomorrow, which is to say, the future.” The disembodied voice that had once been present to speak the riddle did not respond to his answer. Instead the door swung open, granting him passage into the airy Ravenclaw common room. His eyes lit up at the side of the wide, circular room with the familiar color scheme of blue and bronze highlighted throughout the room – the midnight blue carpet, the arched windows hung with soft blue and bronze silk drapes. His favorite part of the common room though had to be the domed ceiling painted with stars. Ever since his first year, Cinna had always found glimpsing the stars each night while completing homework as a very soothing sight. As soon as he would finish his work, he’d find himself looking up to the stars on the ceiling and sitting to think in peace before he found himself dozing off.
Once he caught himself dozing, he knew it was time to head off to bed to obtain REM sleep. Allowing his eyes to scan the room, it did not take long for Cinna to spot just who he had been looking for – Cadence. He had been hoping she would be in the common room when he arrived. When not holing himself up in the library, you could nearly always find Cinna in the common room working on his assignments and more often than not, you’d find him keeping company with Cadence, Kai, or perhaps even Jorrin, though Cadence especially. Allowing a small smile to grace his face, the young pureblood strolled over to where his friend was sitting in the room and plopped himself down into the seat beside her, offering her a small wave in greeting.
In the end, the amount of gusto he put into each essay was worth it, especially the moment he received back the assignment with high marks stamped onto the front of it in red ink. It made him happy that all of his hard work was paying off because as his mother and father had told him plenty of times before in the past, hard work is the key to success. Cinna lived and breathed this very creed to the extreme. It was because of this that Cadence always told him he was neurotic with his work and perhaps he was, but you would never find the young Pucey boy admitting that out loud, especially to his friend. She would never let him live it down if he did; he knew that for a fact. The girl could be a real pain in his arse at times, but there were also moments that he thanked Merlin for granting him her friendship. It felt nice knowing that he was no longer alone as he had once been.
The young pureblood made his way up the familiar spiral staircase, hitching his satchel of books a little bit higher on his left shoulder so that the bag would not slide down his arm and topple down the stairs. He was much too tired to have to walk back down to retrieve the bag if it did fall and he had not successfully mastered the summoning spell as of yet, but he was working on it. Cinna was determined to get it down no matter the cost whether it be his sanity and or a few hours of sleep, but he could argue that his sanity was already hanging by a string and it was a normal occurrence for him to sleep a bit less than the average Hogwarts student. On average, the sixth year Ravenclaw slept four hours a night which would total a substantial twenty-eight hours over the period of a week. It was not too uncommon to glimpse Cinna with bags underneath his eyes.
No matter how hard he tried to hide it, there were a select few who were able to see past him trying to perform a glamour spell to rid himself of such a blemish to his skin. Cadence was one of them. Then again, it was not very hard for her to see past his horrible spellmanship. Glamour spells had never really been his thing and he could not be bothered to perfect it all. When would he ever need to perform glamour spells later on in his life? If he intended to become an international quidditch player for the rest of his life, obtaining injuries here and there would be the norm. Hell, even now he always managed to get knocked around on the field during the house games and practice. Cinna always managed to take a quaffle to the face at least once during practice. A few of his teammates liked to joke around that it was due to his short stature seeing as he was only five feet, eight inches. He merely brushed off the comments, rolling his eyes and muttering about how troublesome the jokes were under his breath. He may have been short, but he was stocky and well-equipped for success regarding certain body parts. The thought had him smirking to himself with perverse amusement.
Before long, Cinna found himself approaching the well accustomed sight of the bronze knocker in the shape of an eagle that would grant him access to his house’s common room as soon as he answered the riddle offered correctly. However, he was not too worried with answering the riddle; he never answered incorrectly. Failure was not in his vocabulary nor was it an option. He shook himself from his thoughts, knowing he had to pay attention to what the riddle was to be granted access to the room beyond the entrance. He did not have to wait long. “I never was, am always to be. No one ever saw me, nor ever will. And yet I am the confidence of all, to live and breathe on this terrestrial ball. What am I?” The young Ravenclaw paused for a moment, his eyes glazing over in thought as his mind began to race with all of the possibilities of what the answer to the riddle might be. It took him less than a minute to realize the answer. Taking a deep breath, he recited his answer to the knocker quietly.
“You are tomorrow, which is to say, the future.” The disembodied voice that had once been present to speak the riddle did not respond to his answer. Instead the door swung open, granting him passage into the airy Ravenclaw common room. His eyes lit up at the side of the wide, circular room with the familiar color scheme of blue and bronze highlighted throughout the room – the midnight blue carpet, the arched windows hung with soft blue and bronze silk drapes. His favorite part of the common room though had to be the domed ceiling painted with stars. Ever since his first year, Cinna had always found glimpsing the stars each night while completing homework as a very soothing sight. As soon as he would finish his work, he’d find himself looking up to the stars on the ceiling and sitting to think in peace before he found himself dozing off.
Once he caught himself dozing, he knew it was time to head off to bed to obtain REM sleep. Allowing his eyes to scan the room, it did not take long for Cinna to spot just who he had been looking for – Cadence. He had been hoping she would be in the common room when he arrived. When not holing himself up in the library, you could nearly always find Cinna in the common room working on his assignments and more often than not, you’d find him keeping company with Cadence, Kai, or perhaps even Jorrin, though Cadence especially. Allowing a small smile to grace his face, the young pureblood strolled over to where his friend was sitting in the room and plopped himself down into the seat beside her, offering her a small wave in greeting.
