Accidental Magic Girl [In Character]

[TresdeLeche]

All Josie could do was sigh. She didn't know what else to do. Josie was just growing annoyed with the situation in general. She was still freaking out about being a slime while everyone is excited about killing a necromancer. Josie doesn't know what to think anymore. Her gooey membrane spread further on the floor as her thoughts melted to mush. She let out another sigh as she performed another vain attempt in figuring out what she should do now.

Whenever she would try to think of a plan, her ideas would drown in the holler of the police sirens. Josie's eyes widened as the howl of the sirens filled the air. The police sirens made Josie realize an important detail; She was still a goo. She knew she would be the first thing the police would inspect when they search the building. Even if she stopped all motion in her body, the police would still collect her for evidence. Regardless of what she does, she'll be collected and disposed.

Her vision was now swimming in a black haze while psychedelic hues filled her mind. The only idea she had was to call for help.

“Help! Someone!? I don't care who! Mother fucker, help me!”
Josie's mind screams as she continues pleading for anyone to help her.

 

[Meds]

Something echoes from far away. It arrives in the likeness of a wind current sweeping in from the endlessly deep night that is empty no matter how the city might try to fill it nightlife's sights and sounds. Distant, faded, aged - it is a mere memory of what it once was but that is enough for Josie's mind to know what it is.


It is a whistle. Once it was sharper than the wail of a banshee or the tip of an icicle about to stab someone from high up, yet even now the notes that form it are clear enough for Josie to recognize it. And its song, the undelying one made up by the little notes Josie hears, is that of a steam locomotive rushing upon tracks. It comes to Josie in the likeness of a buried memory resurfacing.


A few breaths is all it takes before the thought and the whistele that brought it about both fade away - just enough time for the second, slightly louder whistle to reach Josie's ears. Then comes the chugging pistons of the steam engine, and its huffing breaths. Distant they may all be but they are too prevalent to be just an imagined thing. And if Josie were not a good she would not feel it, but a goo she is and thus her liquid form feels the quiet tremors on the ground before the ground all around her vibrates with subtle force that makes the furniture across the whole parlor dance in a fit. Tables, chairs, sofas, large and small things all shake along the vibrations on the ground.


A train whistle pierces the night, now loud and clear, too near to pinpoint but it only takes a thought to imagine it right outside the parlor's very walls about to crash through the wall. It arrives together with heavy machine-gun like chugging of its pistons. A heavy mist of steam follows in their wake carrying on it all the subtlety of an atomic bomb detonating, misting windows and filling the parlor's floor with a white miasma too thick to see through and which clings to everything as it blankets all things under knee height.


As the sounds of the train grow to a violent crescendo, and the groud's quaking becomes too obvious to ignore even if the furniture were not going across the whole room like it was a new year's eve, the sharp whistle now rending through the night life' droning becomes the single noise anyone can hear for a moment before a thick curtain of total silence falls behind it. Something then strolls in through the damaged entrance in that pervading silence


A figure walks in from the night and into the mist-laden interior. The first and most notable detail of it is a closed and buttoned up great coat one might guess to hailing from the Victorian era albeit its many decorations as well as heavy hues of darkness differ from usual such coats. Said garb rests on very wide shoulders, providing visual tale of something with a great height and width of stature that speaks of a casual stand along with a closed mannerism. A heavy tricorn hat sits where a hat belongs even if the area between the headwear and the coat's large upturned collar features naught but a shadowy outline wherein two blue pinpoints form a distinct intellect. Two gloved hands are lighting up a bulbously shaped smoking pipe where a mouth might be while a hint of white light glows in the pipe's bowl.


"Having a good wangst, are you?" inquires a voice without mass behind it but with a distinct amusement at the one it is aimed at: Claire.

 

[V-RE]

Claire was still considering sliding out the back door when she too, heard the whistle of a train, the rushing train barreling down it’s tracks. When the first whistle faded, she shook her head and looked to the others, about to ask if they heard it, before the second whistle sounded, and it grew louder, closer.



As the tremors started, every bit of fur on her ears and tail stood up on end. The whistle, as it got closer and closer, started to hurt more and more, her new, sensitive ears ringing as it got close, forcing her hands to her them, pressing her ears against her head to try and dull the pain. When the curtain of silence falls, she takes a few steady breaths to try and help deal with the new headache.


At the sound of someone walking in, she looked up, originally thinking it to be a cop, only to stare in complete shock and curiosity at the man. She watched his hands carefully, watching him light the bowl of the pipe with a raised brow. That brow was raised even higher at his question, which seemed to be aimed at her. She looked around at everyone, before hopping over the counter, and clearing her throat. “Pardon, I uh, don’t understand the question sir.” She responded politely, her brow still raised high.

 

[TresdeLeche]

“...”
The amused comments echo through her mind as Josie's lips twitch. She grits her teeth before pushing herself out of the mound of goo. The goo follows her angry movements, being drawn to rise with her, and as it does her form solidifies until only a small puddle is left under her feet.

"WHAT!? WHAT THE FUCK-WH-THE FUCK DID YOU JUST SAY!?"
Josie explodes, and without noticing, raises her fully formed middle finger at the newcomer.

Any word after the exclamation doesn't reach the elder's ears. All the elder hears is a chorus of shrill whistles. The squeaks are reminiscent of a tea kettle releasing steam. The longer the goo yells at the elder, the louder the squeaks grow.

Unbeknownst to the goo, her voice isn't the only thing to that is changing. Her nose begins swelling: It stretches and curves until it solidifies into a tea kettle spout protruding from her face. Instead of her mouth, the shrill squeaks are now erupting out her newly formed spout.

Josie flails her hands and peeps fiercely, until a moment later she finishes with:
“Fuck the Puchuu, this magical girl bullshit, and most importantly, FUCK YOU!”

The goo raises her hand, middle finger fully pointed at the elder. Unbeknownst to Josie, her form had reshaped to perfect imitation of her human self, albeit still gooey.