A Magical RP (More of an Interactive Story) (CLOSED)

(Np! I've always been a big fan of those games where all the tiny choices you make link into really big plot points, so this is pretty much perfect for me, tbh)

Thank you both! This whole thing was inspired by me deciding that while I loved the random aspect of RP’s and the totally different outcomes that happen as a result of combined interactions, I still wanted it to have a lot of my own ideas, you know? I am glad you both enjoy it, though! I’m excited for the actual story to begin!

Also, remember—things you might think are trivial might be, or they might not be. Everything’s up in the air (literally; I’m coming up with all of this on the spot, so the story is as spontaneous as it can possibly be thanks to our combined efforts).

Fantastic choices! So, our boy Cecil is a bit on the quiet side, huh? And he’s talented, too? What exactly is he talented at?
(He can sing well/he likes to paint/he’s a fast runner)

(Well I'm glad you put the idea into action, I'm pretty excited to start too!)
(Also, he likes to paint)

We don’t have that many questions left before it does start, so let’s get through them! :)

Let’s now paint—pun intended—a picture of his home life. His mother, as discussed, is out of the picture. She used to be married to a man named Randolph. What kind of man is Randolph? Once again, you can each pick one:

• He’s not home a lot
• He’s a hard worker
• He’s a very kind man
• He’s quiet
• He’s physically strong
• He is rather smart

(Imma stalk cuz this is an amazing idea!!!)

(Thank you, @StarkSpangledBanner! I’m glad you like it)

(Randolph isn't home a lot)

Well, this is an unfortunate path we’ve chosen for poor Cecil, isn’t it?

Cecil didn’t used to be the way he was. He was a happy kid, always eager to spend time with his parents, always chattering about school or telling jokes. When his mother died (a little less than a year before the story starts), he became withdrawn. Quiet, his classmates might even say if they stopped to ask him how he was rather than discussing their own problems.

His father wasn’t quite the same after she passed, either. He started staying out later, sometimes not even returning home until the next morning. He’d claim that was because of work; it wasn’t always, and Cecil knew.

Cecil knew something else, too.

Randolph was involved with someone else, a young woman by the name of…

Alice.

What an interesting name…

Before we continue, are you satisfied with your choices so far?
(Yes/no)

(Yes!)

(Small advertising (I apologise if this isnt allowed) I created an Rp similar to this style, a video game type Rp called King's Quest interactive Rp. I'd like to experiment so if any of you want to join, please do!)

(You’re alright, @StarkSpangledBanner! And that sounds interesting, but I think my hands are mostly full with this one)

So, some choices have been made, all of which are extremely interesting.

Thank you both for being patient with me. In time, you will see a little better why these decisions were important.

Now, let me begin the story.

(I'm really excited to begin! :)

Blue. All Cecil could see above him was bright, bright blue, and even though it hurt his eyes to look at, he kept staring. It’d hurt more to look away, after all. If he did, he’d have to face the fact that he’d have to get up, and if he got up then he’d have to head inside the absolute mansion that was Ravesson’s and get his Reading performed. He wasn’t ready for that yet; how could he be? How could anyone ever be ready to be told what type of magic they’d be stuck with for the rest of their lives? The mere idea was insane. He’d rather stay out on the front lawn, peering up at the sky, waiting for a breeze to drift through to cool him off.

A small noise occurred from somewhere beside him. He sighed deeply and lazily rolled over onto his stomach, his gaze landing on (Naomi/nobody).

Naomi settled down beside him, smoothing out the skirt of her plum-colored dress. She fiddled with her hair for a moment, trying to put it back up behind a (flower/butterfly) pin.

“No use in hiding out all the way out here,” she remarked calmly. “You’re gonna have to get Read eventually.”

(“Yeah. I should just get it over with.”/“Whatever.”)

(Trying to put it up in her butterfly pin / "Whatever.")

Surprise flickered across her face. “Whatever? No, it’s not wha- you know what, never mind. I can tell you’re in a mood. Here, why don’t you come with me? I’ll walk you all the way up to her office, if you’d like.”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he rolled onto his back and crossed one of his legs over the other. His gray coat rustled the grass beneath him as he stretched his arms out.

“I’m serious, C,” she said, “you really can’t keep her waiting. All students have to be Read before the school year starts—you know that.”

“Did you already go?”

“I… yeah, I did. I know we said we’d go together originally, but, well (a teacher made me/I couldn’t find you/I got tired of waiting).”

("I got tired of waiting.")

“Thanks,” he responded. His voice was steady, but he was stung by her words. Before they’d gotten to Ravesson’s, they’d made each other swear that they wouldn’t leave each other behind. She’d been so confident that she was never going to leave his side for a second.

It was only their first day.

He supposed maybe he just moved too slow do her. That was alright, he reasoned. He should forgive her.

“Sorry, C. But—like I said—I’ll walk with you to her office if you need me to, and I can wait for you to get out, too. What do you think?”

(“I‘ll go alone.”/“That sounds good, actually.”)

("I'll go alone")

Whatever eagerness she had left her as soon as he opened his mouth to speak. He had to admit, it pleased him slightly to see her guilt. He promised himself that they’d be even from that moment on, stood, brushed off his pants, and made for the front of the school.

He’d already been inside once that day to unpack his things. This time, however, he wouldn’t be going to his room. The grand hall was filled with students milling about. It was so loud that Cecil could barely think. As soon as he possibly could, he took a right into the hallway where Mistress Frida’s room was and found himself filled with relief. There was nobody in line. He’d waited so long that everyone in his class of about a hundred had already gone.

Mistress Frida opened her door as soon as he came up. She was a tall, heavyset woman with thick hair and round, rosy cheeks. When she moved, the twenty or so bracelets on her arm jingled.

“Hello, Mister Valentine. I’ve been waiting for you to come by.”

“Oh?” That caught him off guard. She was as good as they said, then.

“Come inside. Today, you’ll take a test—not a graded one, of course, don’t look so panicked—that will decide your fate. This test will be about (your personality/your life).”

(Your personality)

“My personality?”

“Yes.”

Cecil followed the woman into her room. It was dressed from wall to wall with indigo and scarlet sashes, wondrous gold patterns, old maps, vases with incense sticks, detailed paintings, and a stained glass mural or two. Everywhere he looked, there was another splendid detail that sparkled, shimmered, or popped. Somehow, nothing seemed out of place. It all came together like a perfect picture, and he decided he’d try to paint it when he had a spare couple of hours.

“Take a seat over here, Mister Valentine.” Mistress Frida gestured to a plump pillow sitting across from a mat the color of red wine. About four candles were spread around cushion, so he sat down on it carefully.

“Alright, let us begin. Close your eyes.”

He did as she asked.

“Now tell me, who are you? Who is Cecil Valentine?”

(“I… I don’t know.”/“Do I have to do this?”)