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Story Prompt
It was a cold and blustery afternoon -- and she honestly couldn't see why they had chosen to hold a festival during this sort of weather. The wind was cold and biting, harshly stinging her nose and cheeks; she could feel the blood rushing to them, reddening her face in a way she might have once found shameful, embarrassing. But now, glancing around at the spectacles openly taking place in the streets -- bright flashes of blinding illumination, dancing bits of colorful display -- she felt perfectly at home, red nose or not.
With a laughing smile playing round her lips, she clutched a wand to her chest, tightening her grasp against the slender length of wood and eagerly observing the magical feats as they were haphazardly performed. To her right, someone laughed, long and loud and hard, as their friend accidentally lit the ground beneath their feet aflame; to her left, beyond the sharp profile of her companion, she could spy someone who had turned their nose black and cold and wet, and was snuffling impressively as others around crowed their amusement.
As her attention drifted elsewhere, her friend cleared his throat and began to speak. His voice was a quiet, flutelike tenor, and his words seemed almost musical as he formed them, brow furrowed in shy question. "You said the blessing was taking place in the square, correct?" The woman managed to detach her attention from a man who was singing drunkenly outside of the tavern -- its sign had first attracted her attention, with its antique carving of the tavern's name: the Black Cat -- and glanced round at him.
Her friend, Ameko, was a kitsune, and a very young one, at that. With only three tails in his usual form, he had settled with her upon attaining his second, and the two rather mismatched beings had been the very best of friends ever since. While she found his... illusionary tendencies a little unnerving at the most inopportune of moments (Ameko had never been very skilled at deducing for himself when was a good time to be a fox and when it was better to appear as a human), that hadn't been enough to dampen their relationship.
At the moment, he was in his favored guise for such crowded, public places: a young man, with stubbornly untidy hair the shade of lilacs in the midst of spring and eyes a deep and vivid gold. Even in the most private of locales this combination was a bit eerie, and now was no different. She took a moment in answering him to gather her wits, wrenching herself from the depth of his gaze and tightening her grasp on the slender wand held between either mittened hand.
"In the square, yes," Jessica stammered, and Ameko smiled reflectively, glancing curiously to the wand held tight against her chest.
"It is made out of what?" he inquired, for at least the fourth time that day. She had been awake the entire night through, studying books of lore and magic, and he had hovered over her shoulder for the majority of the time, leaving only once to nap; during that lengthy period of steady observance he had asked, over and over, what wood meant what, and what the wand was made out of, and what she proposed to do about it.
"Yew and rowan," Jessica answered patiently. Her friend's wisdom was enough to make up for his forgetfulness. "If you'll remember, yew has special properties regarding mysticism, and enhances other arcane talents... and rowan--"
"Was used once for protection," Ameko finished, smiling cryptically.
"It's also good for enchantment," Jessica agreed, and the two continued on in silence, walking side by side. The lapse in conversation might have felt rather uncomfortable, if he was anyone but himself and she was anyone different... but as it was, it was peaceful; soothing, almost, to be surrounded by a raucous crowd, good cheer, and to be silent and ponderous within, refraining from joining in the festivities.
Presently, a loud bell tolled the hour, and someone called out for a friend, and someone else shouted shrilly something about a ceremony. Curiously, Jessie glanced to Ameko, who shrugged slender shoulders in indifference; panicked, the woman began to run, glancing to her wrist -- which was devoid of her watch, the delicate timepiece having been broken a few days prior by a particularly rambunctious game of cricket in the living room.
She cursed, and ran harder, pursued at a slightly more leisurely pace by her companion. The wand, held tight to her breast, seemed to be - reverberating, almost as though alive, and breathing shallowly; the woman shook her head, banishing such fanciful thoughts, and skidded to a halt at the fringe of a throng. This was the square, evident by the clock tower spied briefly above the head of the man in front of her, and these must be the other wand owners... Or were they?
Jessica narrowed her eyes in an attempt to increase the clarity of her vision.
These people here, on the outskirts, surrounding a raised platform in the middle of the square, seemed to be mere spectators. Impatient, she began shoving innocent bystanders aside, straining to catch a glimpse of where the ceremony would be held.
At length, and much jostling from others, Jessica broke free of the crowd, and stood with shallow breath to eye the others arranging themselves in a loose and casual line, glancing nervously to each other and no doubt making guesses at the rituals and processions themselves. Each held a wand, and each held a small item of indiscernible value -- and then she remembered, as suddenly as one might during a particularly relaxing vacation that they had left the stove on.
She needed an item of blessing.
Panicked, furious with her mistake (the blame could, of course, be rested on no one but herself), Jessica whirled, but the line of observers was adamant in disallowing her passage. Hot tears of mingling shame and anguish stung the back of her eyes, and she strove to melt back into the throng, desperately hoping that maybe, someday, she could catch the next ceremony, and her money would not be wasted.
Jessie jumped, startled, as a feather-light weight settled on her shoulder, and became the slender hand of her friend. She glanced away from him, scrubbing desperately at her eyes with her free hand, gaze fixed on a young, vividly green sproutling growing stubbornly from a crack in the cobblestone, desperately reaching for the caress of the dim and filtered sunlight of very early spring. Jessica hoped, distracted with such thoughts instead of focusing on the matter at hand, that it would be allowed to grow, to flourish...
"You need an item of blessing," Ameko stated calmly, extending the hand not already preoccupied with resting comfortingly on her shoulder. Around his fingers was entwined a slender string; from it hung a mask, cast of alabaster porcelain, shaped with pointed, erect ears and curving whiskers. Its lips, slightly drawn back into a puzzled grimace, were painted red, and its eyes were slanting and narrowed. A fox mask. She recognized it almost immediately, and stopped short in surprise.
"Bless it with this," the disguised kitsune continued, untangling his fingers from the string and wrapping it gently around her wrist. "Bless it with this, and give it the class of Appearance. I can help the witch or wizard who comes to claim it... for Appearance will deal with illusionary arts, and you are well aware of the talent I hold for such things." Ameko smiled, canines a bit too sharp, a touch too pointed to be considered entirely human, and withdrew into the crowd before she could stop him.
Drawing a deep breath, Jessica tightened one hand around the wand of yew and rowan, gripping the elegant, porcelain mask in the other, and stepped toward the platform, filled with renewed energy. She would not have to wait, after all... and for this new arrival, this new responsibility, and this new... friend, she felt confident.
And perhaps...
...A touch excited.
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<img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v191/J-chan-sama/witchery_brew/kitsunemask.jpg" align=left>
Hanging on the wall just over the door, suspended by its narrow, fraying thread on an equally dingy nail, is a kitsune mask. While its method of suspension seems aged and rather untrustworthy, it itself looks almost new -- the porcelain from which it is made is polished to a perfect sheen, and it glistens and glimmers in any trace of light.
On its glazed face, reddened lips are drawn back into a smirk, dotted gently with nostrils of the same claret hue. The bridge of its nose is swathed in black, a stark contrast to its delicately shaded, narrowed eyes; its ears are also lined with red, and along its forehead is a curious symbol, its significance known to none but Ameko -- its owner. 
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