"Hawke residence, Beth speaking," is the answer, and Thistle lets out a broken sob into the phone. She's already crying. Fuck. "Hello?" Beth repeats.

"Bethy, it's me," Thistle replies, and hears the gasp of joy from her sister. 

"Thist? Hi! Hey, holy shit, it's so good to hear from you!" Beth sounds so happy, and Thistle's heart breaks. She sobs into the reciever again, trying to cover the sound. "Thistle? Are you okay? Talk to me." 

"I miss you. Fuck, I miss you so much, Bethy. And Mum. And Bodahn, and the goddamn dog," Thistle says, trying not to cry any harder. 

"Thist," Beth says, and her voice sounds so sad that Thistle has to sit down. "I miss you too. I keep sleeping in your room. You should be here, you-" Beth cuts herself off, but she knows what Beth was going to say. That she should be at home. Beth is a hedge. Their father was a hedge. It was her mother that insisted Brakebills was the better option. 

"If I did come home...if I..." Thistle starts, but can't finish. She was in, wasn't she? What her father and her sister couldn't do was be here. Shouldn't she be here for them? 

"Thist. I love you. I miss you so much all the time, but you're in! You're going to learn so much! You..." Beth trails off, and Thistle can hear where Beth was going with it. She has heard the same speech from her mother, so desperate for legitimacy. 

"Yeah, Beth. I know. I...I'm sticking it out. For you. And dad," Thistle says, her heart already feeling too heavy to carry. 

"Are you happy?" Beth asks. 

Thistle is silent. She was silent until she got a hearing aid, so she guesses that it's no different to Beth anyway. 

"Because...if you aren't...Thistle, you should come home." Beth's words are so against their mother's that Thistle reels. "You know as well as I do that magic doesn't have to come from that stupid place, and I want you here. I want my big sister here! I miss you, and the dog is miserable, aren't you?" Thistle laughs when she hears a mournful little howl from Ariel. "What do you want, Thist? Do you want to be there?" 

"I..." Thistle leans against the phonebooth. "I don't know. I didn't even want hearing aids," she admits. 

"I know. I saw how much you hated it when mum wouldn't give up on the idea," Beth says. She sighs. "Look. I love you, and so does she, but I want you to do what you want."

"Can I let you know when I figure that out?" Thistle whispers. 

"Of course, Thist. And I love you, and will support you, no matter what." 

"Thanks, Bethy." Thistle goes to hang up. 

"Carver would want you to be happy too. More than anything. And he was a selfish git," Beth says, and Thistle lets out a choked laugh. 

"I hear you. I love you." 

"Love you too, fluffy sister." 

Thistle hangs up, rests her head on the wall, and then heads back to her room to get ready for class. 

Classes proceed. Most of her professors do not make any particular effort to accommodate her. They speak quickly, often while facing the board.

Some of them are condescending, dismissive, and downright nasty when trying to make a point at a student's expense.

One of her professors does make an effort to speak slowly, enunciate clearly, and face the students whenever he speaks-

-but most do not, and none speak to her about any further accommodations.

She can weather this. She can. She’s been through this her whole life, long before she had her hearing aids.

Even knowing that, her heart still aches every time she has to tap Quentin’s shoulder, so that she can read his notes. 

At their next study session on the Sea, Quentin hovers instead of joining her on the picnic blanket immediately. He's carrying a book in the crook of his arm, vibrating with nervous energy. Finally, he says:

"I found a spell. It's not for lip-reading, which would be way more useful than half the stuff I had to read to find this one. It's for looking at my notes during class- it could be generally useful for like, surveillance. This has worrying implications about privacy rights given that the, uh, uninitiated, don't know about magic and can't defend themselves from us, but I'm choosing not to think about it."

Thistle feels like she hasn’t cracked a smile all day, but this makes her lips curve up, just enough. She pulls a piece of paper out of her notebook, and scribbles a ‘Thank you’. She passes it to Quentin, once he’s sitting on the blanket. 

"How are things going in class? You seem a little lost."

Thistle dips her head for a moment, her hands threading into her hair. She then pulls the paper back to her, and scribbles for a few moments.

Was told that I should be looking at ways to hear that don’t involve ‘muggle inventions’. Told them that ASL was a thing and that went down like a house on fire. 

I can help you research options. There must be other deaf magicians.

But why does everything have to be a magic solution? Why can’t they just be slightly more accommodating? It’s so-

Thistle doesn’t even know what to say here, so she just draws a Scribbly black cloud. 

He doesn't seem to know what to write about that. It takes him a bit longer to get something out.

I don't think Half the professors act like they're colonial governors. No kings, except back home where they're too far away to do anything. Brakebills doesn't have to follow the ADA. I don't think you should go up against something if you can't win. We can find a magic solution that translates English into ASL.

It’s not the solution Thistle wants. Not even close. But she’s frightened and frustrated that the solution seems to be just Leave.

we can table that for another time. Can we go off your revision notes? Mine are pretty sparse. 

Revision ensues.

Quentin eventually gets distracted from whatever they're meant to be studying by launching an extended digression about phosphoromancy and its applications in...

"-in the middle of the city! Protective wards are one thing, but the time effect- the unseasonable weather, it's amazing. It's amazing there aren't any scientists in New York who've noticed something messing with their models."

"-are there? Do you think they've been-"

He swallows, nervously.

Anyway. Where were we?

Thistle wraps an arm around Quentin’s shoulders and squeezes.

 “I like how excited you are about this. It’s nice.” Her voice is raspier than ever. 

"It's just-"

He pauses, and remembers to write.

Magic is real. I've been waiting for this my whole life.

Thistle already knew it was real. She cannot relate. She wishes she felt anything like his enthusiasm. 

Because of your love of card tricks?

It goes back further than that. I guess I always felt like this world wasn't good enough, by itself. The first time I read a fantasy book, it was like...sunlight streaming into a dusty room in an abandoned house. Everything else got better. I kept re-reading the same books, wanting things to be like that out here. Now they are. All of us get to be part of that.

Not all of them. Not everyone. Some people have their perception of magic restricted and held back, to the point it hurts. But Quentin has escaped that, and Thistle would never change his view.

I’ll bet that light was warmer than anything you ever felt. 

The moment I walked onto campus was the happiest of my life.

And so they study, and eventually, go their separate ways.

Meanwhile, Dermot Quinn hates magic school. It's cool that he can do enough magic to get in, whatever, that's fine. He's not good enough to pass any of his classes, and the only sport they have is one that uses magic, so he's SOL. Most of the time he just misses his family, except that's stupidly complicated nowadays too. He doesn't even really miss his dad, he thinks, except then he remembers the business trip he dragged Dermot on. He doesn't miss his mom, he lies to himself, but it doesn't hold up when he reminisces about her casserole while he's picking at dinner. He misses Skylar, that one is easy enough to admit- and easy enough to do something about. It's not like he has to worry about keeping the whole shebang a secret from his brother sister. So, when he's bored on Friday night and he doesn't want to go to the special cell-phone-enabled-magical-hotspot-or-whatever on campus to exchange incredibly slowed down texts with her, Dermot goes home.

Skye probably already figured out he was coming by the time he turned the last street corner, but he'll still knock on the apartment door. Their mom raised him to be polite or at least, raised Skylar that way, and Dermot is picking up the skillset now that it counts.

"Hey, sis, guess who? I didn't text because it's like a prison in there."

Despite his thoughts, she did not, in fact, know he was coming. Her apartment is as shitty as usual, and it might actually be messier than the last time he was over. Lose pieces of notebook paper, the notebooks themselves, obscure magic books, and a map of the local sewer system are a few of the things he has to step over to get into the apartment proper.

She smiles up at him from her position on the couch. "They do realize it's the twenty-first century, right? They really need to update their wards to allow cellphones."

"They do, in 'certain approved locations which minimizes the disruption to the overall framework', which sounds like a lot of mumbo-jumbo to cover up that this is the best anyone working there can do. I bet all the private-sector magicians could do it, but Brakebills can't afford them."

He slumps onto the couch next to her, heaving a sigh of relief.

"Missed you. Don't know what they think they're doing, saying you can't take the exam. There's no way I have more magical potential than you."

"Missed you too. And you're underestimating yourself. You have just as much magical potential as I do. We both took the same lessons when we were kids. You just have to stay calm, focus, and remember what we were taught."

""Sure, staying calm, the thing we all know I'm great at. I'm doing okay. Not failing out yet. I just think if only one of us was going to go, it should have been you. Are you sure you don't want me to talk to the dean?"

"If he wanted to give you an explanation, he would have already. He knows more about you and your life than you do. That's how Brakebills works. I don't think there's anything you can say that will change his mind."

"Fiiine. Can I punch someone if he doesn't let you in next semester?"

Skylar laughs and shakes her head. "Maybe if you pass your External Circumstances final we can look into finding you a sparring partner that can help with your compulsive need to punch people when things don't go our way."

"Yeah, yeah. What about you? How are things going here?"

He gestures at the detritus of her research.

"Oh! I managed to find the sister of Victoria Gradley and she gave me a really solid lead that I've been running down these past few weeks. Also, there's a dragon under the city and someone hired me to find it. So mostly I've been doing that."

"You're still looking into that case? Brakebills clearly doesn't want anyone to know about it. If I shouldn't go up against them, neither should you."

He doesn't comment on the dragon under the city, because that's self-evidently cool and needs no remarking on.

"We can't just ignore it and pretend it never happened. They might still be out there and in need of help. And if they don't, for whatever reason, the people that love them need answers. I can't just abandon them."

"I know. You and your big dumb heart are going to get us in so much trouble one of these days."

"I guess that's what I have you for. You and your compulsive need to punch everything can get us out of it."

"Getting mad and punching are my two main skills. I should put them on my resume."

"And your passing grade in External Circumstances. Did you bring your coursework? We could go over it, have some dinner. My treat."

"Yeah. We both know I'm not making it through this year without you."

He retrieves his coursework, and enjoys dinner with his sister.

When there's somewhat of a lull in conversation, he clears his throat.

Pauses.

Doesn't seem to know how to ask.

Skye catches the train of thought anyway.

"I haven't heard from her. I know she's still at the house in Chicago and still with your dad. They had a dinner party last month, so probably they're doing fine. Didn't hear anything untoward about it, anyway." She pauses and - reaches out and touches him. Which is not something she does often. Casual or affectionate touching was always disapproved of in their family and Skye's aversion to touch is on the high end. "You should call her. I know you miss her."

Harrumph.

"Yeah. Thanks."

Dinner. Back to more comfortable topics.

Skylar tells him about her dragon quest! Going into detail about all the ways she's gone about finding them, the people and creatures she's met along the way. She even had a run in with a vampire and some hedge that hunts them. Which was awkward and kind of nerve-wracking, but everything turned out pretty well and now she has new friends and he can meet them if he comes around next week for dinner?

Then tells him about her progress on finding the missing students and it's quite a lot and she can literally go on all night.

They can go on for a significant portion of the night. Dermot hangs onto every world of her adventures, since they sound so much more exciting than what he's been doing at school. He asks invasive personal questions about her new friends, cracks bad jokes about sucking, and prompts her about how exactly she did this or that impressive thing. It's relaxing, compared to hitting a wall in Brakebills. He can get back to that tomorrow. For now, he just enjoys the company of someone who actually likes him and whose expectations he's already gotten a chance to lower.

Thistle knocks on Quentin's dorm room door, wringing her hands. She was going to just go home for the weekend, but if Quentin wasn't busy, maybe she could hang out with him instead. Would go a long way to quell the feeling that she should just go.

Lori opens the door, threading an earring in, and smiles when she sees Thistle. 

Hey, Thistle. Looking for Q? She signs, remembering that Quentin said she preferred it. 

Thistle knew that Lori could read her mind, or at least her emotions, but still smiled gratefully at her. 

Yeah. He in?

No, sorry. He's gone around to the Physical Kid's Cottage. You could ask there?

Absolutely not. She would stick to her original plan, and go home. She was homesick anyway, and maybe Bodahn would cook her favourite. 

It's all right, just wanted to check something. See you.

Lori gave a thumbs up, and shut the door. 

Thistle left the dorms, heading for the nearest gate out, fishing her phone out of her pocket, ready for when it started working. She passed through, and on the other side was London, Thistle instinctively turning her hearing aids off as the blaring sound of the Underground rattled past. 

Bethy! I'm at Waterloo. Come meet me?

YES! Yes, go to the nearest pret, I'll be there ASAP!

Thistle sends back every heart emoji, and heads where she's told, switching her hearing aid on as she leaves the station. Once at the shop, she orders a coffee and grabs a sandwich, and waits for her sister. 

Twenty minutes later, Beth peeks her head inside, and brightens the second her eyes land on Thistle. She waves, and makes her way inside, weaving through the queue and winding around the tables. 

Thistle scoops her up the second she gets close, and kisses the top of her head, squeezing her tight. 

Beth squeezes back just as tight, burying her face in Thistle's shoulder. 

She doesn't talk until they've parted, Beth sitting down next to Thistle. 

How are you? Really? She signs. 

Thistle allows herself one moment to wallow in grief, that her baby sister, in her last year of high school, is her biggest emotional support, before she answers. 

Lonely. And despite everything we had surrounding us growing up, I never realised how much I didn't need it explained. It was just...our lives. 

Surely they could explain the presences? The voices? That's got to be something, right?

I could just be mad. Reasonable enough explanation?

Beth giggles. Oh, you're definitely mad, but not because you hear voices.

Thistle points an accusing finger at her sister, but can't keep the smile off her face. Listen, I'm very happy for Anders and Arla, could not be more pleased, stop bringing up my utterly tragic crush.

At least you can laugh about it now!

Thistle rolls her eyes, and playfully whaps the back of Beth's head. 

She asks Beth about school, and work, and how things were at home, and once they both had coffee and food warming them, they decided to head out for a ramble around London. It felt like years since Thistle had been home, even if it had only been a few months. 

Beth skips ahead of Thistle, to walk backwards in front of her. 

Been out much in New York? Is it anything like here?

Thistle screws up her face, and then gently moves Beth to one side, so she avoids a pole. 

Nothing's like here. This is home. New York is just...big. Loud. Busy.

Yeah, sounds nothing like home at all. Beth rolls her eyes. 

Okay, so those were bad examples, but you'd understand if you went. Maybe you'll get to.

You going to sneak me through the gate? Show me the Empire State buildling? Can we sit on the steps of the MET like in Gossip Girl?

Thistle laughs. Sure, we can do all that. But I meant more that you'll probably get into Brakebills, once you've done your undergrad.

Beth's mood drops, and she stops walking. She moves to one side, leaning against a shop window. 

I don't think that's for me. As much as I love magic, I'm happy with what I know now. Besides- She stretches, and shakes her arms out. I think I'm going to be a botanist.

You...want to make bouquets? 

Beth rolls her eyes again. That's a florist, dummy. I want to study plants. How they grow, what does it take to make different kinds. Maybe I'll make a bouquet or two, but I like the science angle of it. 

Thistles reels her sister in, and hugs her tight. She kisses the top of her head again. "If that's what you want, then I am so, so happy for you."

Beth sighs, and slumps against Thistle. "Thanks, Thist. Ongoing fight with mum about it has me all worn out."

"Yeah. Well, mum has to learn that the glory days of her youth are over and her children aren't gonna be bougie lords." 

"Yeah. You'd make a terrible Lady Amell. For one, your last name is Hawke."

"Lady Hawke, bouncer at the local pub. Sounds great."

Beth laughs, and then squeezes Thistle once before letting her go. 

Come on. I've got the credit card, and you need some new clothes. 

Thistle pretends to shiver. Time to play living Barbie doll again?

I know you secretly love it. You cannot hide from me.

With that, Beth loops her arm in Thistle's and drags her back into the Underground. 

Dermot continues to struggle with classes. He's finally figuring out some tricks to stay on top of the faster paced stuff, but it's the more gradual spells that he can't handle. Focusing on that much magic for an extended length of time always goes wrong, somehow. He finally manages to get somewhere with Decumbiture- but External Circumstances will sink his GPA more than enough to make up for it.

He's not looking to study. He's looking to do something fun. That's how he ends up on the sports field. It's for Welter's, which he barely knows anything about- it's not televised, and the one time his dad took him to a game, he wanted to tear his hair out from boredom. Still. Better than feeling stupid because he can't figure out why bird migration should have anything to do with his light spell. So. Sports. He's out on the sea, looking around for someone he knows to rope into playing a pickup game with him.

"Dermot!" Oshin waves at him from a ways off, as she pushes her way down the path.

"Hey! Looking to play some Welter's? Don't know the rules, so we won't have any."

"Eh, most of it's improv anyway. And I'm always down to flex some magic."

Dermot sets up the board. They take turns, obviously, casting their way across. Every completed square feels like an accomplishment- he's not doing well in any of his classes, but he can do some magic. He's not completely hopeless.

The way Oshin tears through her squares is like she’s been practicing for Welter’s all her life. Which is, of course, impossible.

“You’re falling behind, Derm!” She ribs, grinning. 

"How many times have I told you not to call me that?"

Dermot completes his squares without much creativity; whatever the most obvious interpretation of the square's symbol is, he takes it. This leaves him with a longer path to victory, while Oshin...he's got no chance. He settles for cracking bad jokes to make her laugh.

And laugh she very much does! He gets her, more than anyone in this place. Magic is a means to an end, not something to be honoured and gasped about. 

"You make me laugh so I fuck up, don't even try to lie," she scolds, completing another complicated tut with ease. 

"I'm multi-talented. I can make you laugh so you don't win and lose badly at the same time."

“You are a man of many talents, it’s true. Maybe that way we can lose together.”

"How do you figure out the squares so fast, anyway? This uses way too much brain for a sport."

“It’s actually less about figuring out and more about feeling. Like, there’s what you see, the symbol, and what that evokes in you. Once you know how, it’s like riding a bike!”

She assumes. 

"Huh."

He...tries that?

That seems to improve his game immediately, although not by much. Oshin continues to dominate.

She has a very, very unfair advantage, but she wasn’t about to go easy on Dermot. She feels like he’d be more annoyed by that than anything else.

 “How’s the rest of your classes going? You planning on staying the full three years?”

"Not sure I've got another choice. 'm not good at much. Besides, I'm kind of here for my sister. Sneaking out magical secrets," he whispers conspiratorially.

Oshin perks up at that, eyes bright. “Oooooh? She a hedge?”

"...yeah," he says unconvincingly. "A hedge," he repeats, with the air of someone who believes they may be talking about topiary and doesn't want to ask.

"Hedge-witch. Someone who studies and uses magic outside the law. Very punk rock."

"You can do that? Badass. Maybe I'll suggest it to Skye. She's not really doing magic, just investigating stuff."

“There’s more ways to learn magic that’s not Brakebills. Your sister plays it smart, she won’t even need this place.”

"Cool. How do you know all this stuff? It sounds like you don't need Brakebills."

Oshin laughs, and tries to subtly scratch her legs. “I’m mostly kept here so the Dean can keep an eye on me. He’s an old...mmm. We’ll say family friend.”

"Is this some mob stuff I shouldn't ask about if I don't want his goons to kneecap me?"

Oshin giggles, shaking her head. “Nah, nothing shady. Just...the truth is very long and complicated. Be more interesting if it was a 1950’s gangster type drama.”

"Can I pretend it's that? More fun that way."

He loses. It was pre-determined, really. He shouldn't be upset. He likes Oshin. He knew he would lose. He's not any good at magic.

It's stupid to kick the grassy field of the Welter's board. First of all, it doesn't make him feel better about losing or being a piss-poor excuse for a magician. Secondly, he stubs his toe and that just makes him curse out loud, where Oshin can hear him instead of letting him sulk in private.

"Shit! Fucking- shit shit, ow, stupid- shit."

Stupid.

“Uhhh, hey, woah there. What’s your foot ever done to you?”

"Dunno. Nothing, really. That's the problem."

Stupid. He wonders idly if there's someone he can punch who deserves it. God, but he misses video games. And wrestling. And his parents.

“...right. You know that you’re not, like, doing awful? I’ve been doing magic longer, I do have an advantage.”

"Sure. Sorry about that. Go again?"

It still hurts, but that's fine. He's ignored worse.

She should probably get him to talk about what’s putting the sour look on his face, but she doesn’t really know how to to do that. She barely gives her own emotions their due.

Instead she grins, and pushes back over to her side of the board. “You’re on, Quinn.”

They play on. Dermot loses both games, without throwing a tantrum, and then they're out of time.

"Same time next week?"

Oshin snorts. “I’ll check my very busy schedule of nothing. See you next week!” 

He heads back to his dorm room and has a quiet night in. His roommate is out all night, every night, partying- how the hell are other people making friends so easily? He used to have friends. Nothing noteworthy happens.

Thistle nervously pets her hearing aid while she waits outside the classroom. It reminds her of that first day, after the test, when she stood in front of the teachers and somehow managed to produce a rippling image of what each of them were thinking of. 

She's terrified. 

"Come in!"

Thistle opens the door, and slips inside. The office is...not what she is expecting. 

Yes, there is a desk, and a chair, but there is also overcrowded bookshelves, framed photos on every wall of the professor and what must be her family, cushions on the floor in piles, and against the back wall, huge glass cupboards. They are full to the brim with strange looking objects, spheres, oddly glowing spears, a piece of cloth that ripples in light that it seems to make itself-

-and rising from one pile of cushions, the professor herself. She is over six foot, muscled, and holds herself like a warrior. 

But her face is soft and kind as she beckons Thistle over. "Ah, yes, good morning. Please, come make yourself comfortable. Tea?"

"No-" Thistle coughs, as her voice squeaks and rasps. "No, thank you." 

She takes a seat in front of the desk. 

The professor tilts her head, but says nothing to Thistle's decision. She sits in the high-backed leather chair all professors seem to have, and folds her hands in front of her, on the desk. 

"You seem afraid."

Must all the professors here speak so bluntly? 

Thistle squares her shoulders, leans back in her chair, and schools her face into something neutral, if a little piercing. "And now?" 

Surprisingly, the professor lets out a sharp bark of laughter. "Oh, you are very good at that. I take it not many people get to your heart."

Well, Thistle's confused now. 

"I...I thought I was here for assessment?"

"You certainly are. Everything is a part of it. Young Magicians don't realise how much their powers play into even their mannerisms. And since you seem to be excellent at hiding yourself, I thought perhaps that might be your favoured school, much as it is mine."

“Does being my ‘favoured’ school make it my discipline, ma'am?" 

The professor's lips twist in a grimace. "Please, no ma'am's. Professor or Kassandra will do just fine." 

She twists her fingers together and apart, and then leans back in her chair to flick a glass door open, and retrieves one of the spheres. She puts it in front of Thistle. "What do you see?"

Is this a trick question?

"...a sphere? Metal, I think?"

Kassandra nods her head to the side, making a non-committal noise. 

She twists her hands together again. "And now?" 

The minotaur roared to life in front of Thistle, who screamed soundlessly and fell back out of her chair, scrambling back away from the monster that had appeared in front of her, what the fuck kind of assessment is this- fuck, was she going to be killed?

And then the minotaur was gone, and there was just a sphere on a desk again. 

Kassandra was laughing. "Sorry! Sorry, I know, it is one of my more terrifying ones." She was already out of her chair, moving around to help Thistle back up. 

"That...that wasn't real?" Thistle took Kassandra's hand and let herself be pulled up. 

"Ehhhhh-" Kassandra tilts her head back and forth. "It depends on what you consider real. Like, for example, you see that statue?" 

She points to the corner behind Thistle. 

Thistle turns and looks. The statue is of a bird, an eagle maybe, with wings stretched out. It looks very old. 

She turns back to Kassandra, wondering where this was going. 

"And now?" Kassandra gestures behind again. 

Thistle turns back around, and swears and ducks-

-as the statue swoops over her head, in full feathered real life.

Kassandra coos to the eagle as it lands on her outstretched arm, and kisses its beak. "Ikaros, you frightened my student, naughty bird."

Ikaros calls, loudly, and does not sound apologetic. 

Thistle stares at the bird, now grooming one huge wing, in wonder. 

"But is...is it a bird or a statue? Which was the real thing?" 

"Does that truly matter? Whether Ikaros was a statue or a bird first? The evidence is in what you see, is it not?"

There's a glint in the professor's eyes, and Thistle feels like she is trying to say something that Thistle already knows.

Something on the tip of her tongue. 

Something stirs through Thistle, thrilling down to her fingertips. 

"It's as real as I can make it," Thistle says, on a breath. 

Kassandra nods. "Exactly." 

"My power is...to hide?"

"In a sense, I would think so. You mask something of yourself all the time. Only someone well trained in seeing past could tell the difference."

"Oh. So I can only use my power on myself?" 

Somewhat disappointing, after such a revelation. 

Kassandra laughs a little, and transfers Ikaros to her shoulder so that she can pull herself onto her desk, tips of her toes touching the ground. 

"For now, yes. But I think your power lies in not just masking yourself, but anything you choose. And you can do that instinctually. No tuts needed."

Something buzzes in Thistle's veins. 

Rightness. Thistle feels...right. 

"Where do I start?" 

Kassandra grins.

Half an hour later, Thistle leaves Kassandra's office, heading for her new home. 

The next day, Professor Nikalou holds him and two other students back after class. The first one is finished with her in ten minutes. Dermot is up next. He walks in, looking around at the array of...things. There's a lot of things. Potted plants, puzzle pieces, pearls...

The Professor pulls one student aside and stares at them intently, to the point they start to squirm under the intensity of her gaze. 

"Uh, Professor?" They eventually ask, and Kassandra tilts her head. 

"Yep, not getting anything. You're a tricky one!" She declares, and then directs them to one of the puzzles. 

She beckons Dermot over next. 

"Hey. Uh, you're supposed to assign us our Discipline, right? And specialty, too."

She laughs. "I don't assign anything, Mr Quinn, you have to show me what it is."

"Yeah, that's- what I meant. Do we all have to solve puzzles?"

"I don't know. Do you?"

"...no?"

Dermot looks around the room for anything- sport-y he could try.

Kassandra squeezes his shoulder. "It's not life or death. Look around, see what feels natural. You've got a hint of something in you, I'm curious to see what you pick." 

With that she grabs the last student, barely looking at them before directing them to some kind of stacking game.

Okay. He tries to go for what feels natural. There's a kind of hoop thing with a ball next to it; he starts lazily tossing the ball through the hoop, collecting it each time manually.

The professor leaves him alone for a while, but eventually catches the ball before he can. “Why did you pick this one?”

"It seemed more my speed. I'm not any good at puzzles or tricks or bunnies or whatever."

“Yes, perhaps. But you aren’t using any magic to manipulate it. You’re just playing basketball.”

"Are you sure? I thought it just happened if I picked the right thing."

“You picked something you know how to do already. I don’t think you use magic to play basketball. Unless the rules have changed recently.”

Kassandra makes a point of standing between Dermot and the hoop. “What is something that you once found hard, but have found easier? What is soothing, where once was frightening? Or vice versa.”

-he makes a beeline for the paperclips. There's probably some thing Physical kids are supposed to be able to do with this that's way cooler than anything he can do, but...Dermot pauses, turns around, and finds some paper on one of the desks between a Newton's cradle and the creepy taxidermy animals. He rips the paper in several spots, just a little, and places the paper clips on the tears.

"Figured this one out last week."

He holds his hands out, fingers splayed and palms down, trying to focus. Nothing happens for several minutes.

Kassandra watches with some interest, and a little bit of concern. She’d thought maybe he was so late a bloomer that he was too timid to use his magic. She’s seeing she might’ve been wrong with that assessment. 

The tears in the paper knit together. He smiles excitedly.

A simple spell, one that even someone with no magic can do, and definitely no evidence of the weeks of study he’s had here.

But Kassandra is not unkind, so she claps his shoulder. “Well done! You think Healing may be your discipline? How does that feel?”

"It seems cool. I guess it's nice to be able to heal people, right? So far it mostly seems to work on me, though."

“Everyone starts somewhere, kiddo! We’ll figure it out.”

Another hearty clap to his shoulder. 

So they can continue testing until Dermot manages to cut himself trying to operate one of the sharper puzzles and instantly heals himself, with a speed which is uncommon for a magician of his mediocre talents.

Now that...that’s something. Kassandra grabs him, and inspects the freshly-healed wound. “Now how did you do that?”

"I don't know, I just wanted it. Thought about how it should look and not how it was."

There is...a lot to unpack in that small sentence, but Kassandra lets it go. For now. In the meantime- 

“Well, that makes it pretty certain to me! Healer, with a focus on self-regeneration for now. Maybe as you learn more you’ll be able to stretch out that to heal others.”

"That would be nice! Thanks. So what do I do now that we know?"

Kassandra shows him where the Healing dorms are, and shoots off a quick message to Dr Kinloch as she does so, warning her in advance. 

Dermot, finally excited by something about magic school (he has a discipline! not a specialization, but he'll ask his mom whether that's normal when he calls her next), heads to his dorm.

Thistle had spent a very good afternoon figuring her way out through the illusion that hid the Illusion students dorm (an entire castle!), and had made herself at least meet the other students. They had been welcoming, which was a relief. Her room, as well, was comfortable and tidy, and all of her belongings were already in there. She managed to actually feel rested, as she got into bed that night. 

Unfortunately, Brakebills does not seem inclined to allow her a good night's rest. She is awoken on a grassy field, with voices around her muttering in various states of distress. She cannot see, because there is something on her head obscuring her vision.

"-die, my dad will sue your asses!"

"First years! Now that all of you are awake, pay attention."

Bags over their heads start to come off. Thank god, because Coldwater was one more sentence away from getting a spell to the face.

Thistle, dizzy and confused, is relieved to see Quentin, and hastens over to him, wrapping her hand around his wrist. For comfort. 

Zevran takes the opportunity to emerge out of the darkness, shushing the first year nearest him, making them jump a foot into the air.

 “Quiet now, quiet, your queen demands your attention.”

"Listen up, dipshits and half-wits. As upper-classmen- and upper-classwomen- it's our esteemed duty to administer The Trials. The Trials separate the wheat from the chaff; if you're cut out to be a magician, you pass. If not, you fail. Only the strong survive. I can already see some of you thinking, 'Oh no, boo hoo, I should have gone to Harvard, or Yale, or Brown.' Well, it sucks to be you. Pussy up. Brakebills requires actual effort."

"And before you think the faculty will save you, consider that they are the ones making this possible!" 

Zevran winks at Quentin as a sweeps pass. 

Quentin squeezes Thistle's hand.

"Are you okay?"

He ignores Zev and Margo ramble on about the importance of these Trials and blah, blah, blah.

She can't hear him. She can't hear anything-

She turns huge, terrified eyes on Quentin, and points to her ears.

Quentin is struck for a moment by the awful unfairness of- Brakebills? Life?- before he's somewhere else.

"...great. You two."

They're sitting in some kind of- spare classroom? This building has way too many extra halls which are just for sitting in and reading and thinking big-brained thoughts.

"Feel free to leave any time, Quinn," Lori shoots right back.

"What are we doing here?"

Quentin looks for Thistle-

Margo slams her ruler against their table.

"Eyes on the prize, Coldwater. The Trials have begun."

Lori flips through the paper on the table, and frowns at it. "It's a problem, is what it is. I don't think this is in any of our wheelhouses."

Quentin immediately starts trying to study the paper to prove her wrong-

-and Dermot does the same. Neither of them notice this.

Meanwhile, Erica is reading her own paper quietly.

Yuna was alternating between looking at her own paper, and shooting Thistle worried glances.

Thistle sat and shook, the silence she was so used to, now threatening and daunting. 

She signed at Yuna, asking her what was going on. 

Yuna watched Thistle's hands move, and with a lot of regret in her eyes, mouthed 'sorry!' at her.

Thistle managed to hold back the fear she felt, and reached over the table to tap at Erica.

"What's up?"

Erica looks at her briefly, but her attention is more on the assignment.

Thistle sees her mouth move, but can't read her lips. She taps Erica again, a little more urgently. 

"What?"

Erica looks at Thistle searchingly.

Thistle points at, and then covers her ears. 

She looks to Yuna in frustration.

"Hey. Any clue what her deal is?"

"I- I think she's deaf. They didn't give her a chance to put her hearing aids in."

Yuna remembers Thistle from their shared classes.

"-of course they didn't."

Erica can double up on the work she's doing because this primeval hazing ritual kidnapped them from their beds.

She glares at Margo.

“I could...I don’t know, manufacture something? Or at least conjure it?”

She asks Erica, and not Thistle. 

"Whatever works. Think she can read lips?"

"What is going on!?"

Thistle's voice is a little muddled, and inflects in the wrong place. She's fucking terrified. 

"We have to at least try?" 

Yuna looks saddened, terribly so, by Thistle's plight...but her eyes do drift down to the paper in her hand. 

Erica writes a note and passes it to Thistle.

This is a test/hazing ritual. We'll take care of it, just sit tight.

Thistle reads the note, nods at Erica, and then slumps forward, her head in her hands. 

Then Erica will get to work trying to crack this problem.

Meanwhile:

Dermot is pretty sure he's getting somewhere. They're clearly missing something here- he can't make heads or tails of the equations they need to balance, but it's obvious they don't have all of the parameters they need. If the problem involves multiple locations and a single moment in time, they can skip worrying about weather but they need to account for the size and the acoustics...

Lori's paper is covered in notes she's made on the side, and small equations she's made to try and balance the size of the spell versus containing the effect, but there is just...something that she can't make connect. 

Then she catches Dermot's thoughts...and wants to slam her head into the table. "Yeah...yeah, that would work."

"What would work?"

-dammit. Did she figure it out already? Skye would have.

Lori pushes her paper over to Dermot. "I think you've got the bits I didn't. Which is incredibly annoying." 

"Yeah, sounds like it."

It's not like they have to share.

"Are you seriously going to let us fail just to make a point?"

"Thinkin' 'bout it."

Lori laughs, sarcastically and meanly. "I'm a telepath, dumbass. I am offering my side, I didn't have to ask for yours!"

"...right. Sure, let's share."

Stupid Brakebills and its stupid telepathic student body and their- sharing is caring, it's not like he wants to fail more than he wants her to fail. Probably. Maybe? Definitely. Sort of. Dermot passes his sheet over for her perusal.

Lori is thoroughly pissed at how thorough and reasonable his notes are. She wants to set the page on fire, hazing ritual be damned. 

Instead she sighs, and passes it over to Quentin once she's copied down the parts of Dermot's notes she needs.

Quentin will do his best to help. He's not particularly talented at the practical aspect of magic, but manipulating equations is child's play. It doesn't take long for Quentin to synthesize Lori's and Dermot's notes to present her the answer.

"Sorry, did you want to- I figure it doesn't matter who gets there first."

"No, that seems fair."

If Lori had beaten him, he couldn't have taken it, so he's glad it's this weirdo loser.

“You seriously are the most insufferable fucking person! Really? Really?” Lori seethes at Dermot.

She has half a mind to throw a chair at him. Not with magic, just stand up at batter him with it.

 “Quentin, if you’ve got the answer, let’s hear it.”

"Well, you were on the right track with the decryption- nothing Dermot had on that made any sense, honestly, but the problem was you weren't thinking about the circumstances enough- circumstances are tricky, but if you think of them in terms of different systems that interact the way the organ systems do, or weather patterns- it's like the sodium-potassium channel, or how cold fronts- maybe tectonic subduction, actually- they wouldn't have had as much glass in their buildings as we do, and you have to take into account climate change, whatever Dermot wrote here about- the arctic was right on the money. Anyway, what you had here about the Brethren's ciphers-"

He's pretty glad he actually solved something Lori couldn't. It's been a while since Quentin could feel like the smartest in the room. He got there first. First!

As much as Dermot's smugness bothered her, she lets out a happy giggle for Quentin. She knew he'd been struggling somewhat, not because he wasn't smart though. 

"Yeah, yeah, we get it, you're smart," she teases, rolling her eyes and mussing her hair. "I really thought I had the circumstance right, how did you-" Lori points to a couple of Quentin's notes, trying to see how he got to the solution. 

He shows her.

Lori overall seems to have a good conscious grip on circumstances as they are typically taught, but as she's following Quentin's explanation, it becomes clear that her intuitions don't come from that education. They're quite strong, though...

Well. Mum needs to cut that out then, as much as Lori loves her, clearly her help wasn't enough. She softens the thoughts as much as she can. 

"Okay, Quentin. How do you want us?"

"Okay, so I think for this we want you to start with a Popper's 22, and Dermot should stand across from you- no furniture in between, so not too close-"

Quentin stands up, realizing only them that several other people in the room are now paying attention to him. He swallows-

"Step right up, little lady, and stand...here. Now you, Mr. Quinn, we'll need you just three feet away. Don't feel too awkward, it's only a cooperative spell."

And so it continues. Dipping into the old patter well keeps him from worrying about just what everyone is thinking of him.

Margo approves, though. That was faster than she expected. Maybe she'll have to eat crow when Zev is eating her out later.

Zev appears behind her and kisses her cheek. "If I call you 'Q' later on, please forgive me. I'm going through something right now."

"You know I don't mind, El. As long as I can still call you Cate Blanchett."

Lori forcefully focuses on Quentin's instructions, trying to drown out the Very Loud And Horny second years across the room, and gets her hands in a readied tut position.

She pays no mind to their audience.

Dermot's motions seem just as practiced, but it's immediately obvious something is missing.

"Um, okay, we can- let me just go over it again."

This is not how his big moment that got everyone's attention on their group was supposed to go- he goes over it again.

...Dermot tries again. Still, the magic doesn't feel right. It's not coming, not flowing through him the way he does when he's healing himself.

"Dermot, I thought you weren't going to fail us just to be petty," Lori seethes. Again. 

"Look, you just need to focus-"

Why isn't he just doing it? Quentin laid out all of the logic, it should be simple for someone who's clearly better at magic than he is, he's seen Dermot's tuts-

"Trying, dude, nut up or shut up."

It should be working. Dermot knows he's better at healing himself than anything else, but he can cast other spells, he's done it before. He's not an idiot, and he's not a useless lump. He can just.

"Fine."

Quentin steps forward, shouldering Dermot out of the way. He starts from the beginning; he has the whole series of spells in his head, and Lori doesn't need to have it memorized, she can just read it off him.

Lori follows along, but does pick up on the maybe-panic in Dermot's thoughts...and it is concerning. Someone who can't do magic couldn't get into Brakebills, and Dermot knows what he's doing. 

Nevertheless, she and Quentin perform the spell together. 

Dermot slinks off to the corner to watch.

They're the first group to complete the spell successfully.

"Suck it, Ms. Romlin!"

Several of their classmates turn to stare.

"...fifth grade teacher. Said I wouldn't amount to much."

"Yeah, suck it, Miss Romlin!" Lori giggles. 

Meanwhile, Erica realizes that they're not going to finish in time. So, she does what any beginner Psychic magician with a specialty in aural enchantment would do.

"Dermot?"

Her eyelashes, fluttering as fast as she can flutter them.

Her voice, raised to the highest pitch she can raise it.

Her boobs, pushed out as far as she can push them.

And a little bit of magic carried with the sound of his name, unnoticed, so that her attention becomes very flattering, and especially given his current mood-

"Yeah?"

"I was just wondering..."

"Yeah?"

"I think I might have dropped a piece of paper on your table. Could you bring it to me?"

"Sure!"

Yuna sees what Erica is doing, and is half disapproving of such an underhanded tactic, but also very much wants to get past this and see what happens next. 

So she gives her best, brightest smile to Dermot too. 

He goes and gets, ignoring Lori and Quentin celebrating their victory or whatever.

This reminds Quentin that maybe Thistle needs some help. He follows Dermot over.

"Hey, um, are you okay?"

He taps the table, although of course she can see him, too.

"Thanks, Quinn. You're a sweetheart," she says, as she sends him back to his table.

Dermot goes, a little dazed.

Yuna slides closer to Erica. "That was really clever."

Thistle's eyes are red, and she feels nauseous. She wants out, she wants to go home, she misses Beth so much-

She starts at Quentin, and then immediately, like she wasn't in control of it, grabs his wrist tight. 

"Boys are easy, if you're pretty. Or just a little Psychic."

She glances at Quentin with mild curiosity, and an equal amount of disdain.

Good. He takes Thistle's hand.

This is completely unreasonable. He tries to formulate an actual argument that won't have Zev and Margo laughing in his face for being such a naïve baby.

"We're going to get through this," he says uselessly. He really wishes he'd learned sign language right about now. He writes a note telling her to sit tight while he talks to Zev and Margo.

He approaches Zev, since he's the first one he sees.

"Hey, what's the matter with you?"

Zev frowns at Quentin. “I suppose that is a rhetorical question, since I doubt you want a serious answer.”

"Newsflash, asshole, kidnapping people from their beds is a shitty plan, news at 11."

“But Quentin!” Zev says, with a dramatically twirl of his cape. “It’s a time honoured tradition at Brakebills!”

He clearly is not paying attention to the real anger in Q’s voice.

"Fuck tradition! What about basic fucking empathy? What about-"

As he whirls around to point at Thistle, she's not there.

"Listen up, first year, I'mma need you to take it down a notch, okay? Time's up."

She comes up behind Zev, placing a hand on his shoulder.

...if people who fail are just disappearing, Dermot is glad he figured out half the spell. He can't get sent home.

Zev clicks his tongue at Quentin. "Now, now, Q, there's no need to get testy. Where magic will, magic way."

His tone is light and teasing, but the way he steps back into Margo's hand tells her just how upset he actually was. 

Well. Margo and Lori, but Lori is more concerned with wrapping an arm around Quentin. 

"She- where's Thistle? Ugh!"

But before Quentin can say whatever he wanted to say, the classroom disappears around Dermot in the blink of an eye, and he's alone in the woods.

He kicks a tree.

Lori blinks and she's in the middle of the woods. Jesus, fucking and also christ, why couldn't their hazing rituals be less...Lord of the Rings themed? She brushes off her knees, hoping Quentin and his friend are okay, and then closes her eyes to reach out with her mind. 

There's voices, definitely other people around, but the one nearest is-

"For fucks' sake! Can't fucking go a minute without-" Lori grumbles, before starting to stomp off in the direction of Dermot's voice. 

"...hey."

Okay, that's good. He sort of thought maybe this was what they did if you flunked out.

"Got any clue where we are?"

"No, and it sounds like no one else around knows either." 

Lori spins on the spot. "We're not outside of Brakebills, that much is for certain."

Sure, and she can tell using her psychic powers. He hates this school.

"What do you want to do now?"

Lori can hear others nearby as well. Some, distant, or unclear the way they tend to be when shielded.

One of them has only natural shields, and they will give way the instant she tries to distinguish the noise.

"I can hear...Mal? I think. I'm pretty sure." 

She cups her hands around her mouth and shouts his name. 

Snap to attention. What was that noise? Threat? Prey. Mate? Threat...classmate. Right. This is a test. He- pulls up some of his shields again and starts walking towards her. She can still follow the general shape of his mind to meet him halfway, if she likes.

He follows her, since he doesn't have any better plan. Skye would. Maybe he could pull some kind of switcheroo, mess with the school's records somehow...

She can feel the shape of Mal's anxiety before he puts his shields up, and dutifully adopts the most calm, and maybe submissive pose she can as she approaches.

"Hey, Mal. We're as lost as you."

Mal doubts that loudly enough that his hastily-rebuilt shields can't quite hide it from Lori, but it's hard to guess the context.

"Where are they? Second years. They've got a lot to answer for."

“That’s the problem. I think it’s more like the teachers put the Second Years up to this. I’ll happily let you loose on them...once we find out where we are.”

Nod.

Mal puts his nose to the ground and starts sniffing, moving in an odd crouch, between bipedal and quadrupedal. It doesn't look very efficient.

The people here are all a bunch of freaks and he doesn't know how he's going to get out of these stupid woods-

Dermot waits to see what Mal does next.

It’s not the weirdest Lori has seen, but she is still surprised to see him do...that.

While Mal does an excellent impression of a bloodhound, Lori stretches her telepathy as far as it can go, trying to hear anyone else nearby.

Mal detects the poor sadsack stumbling through the woods first, and hares off in an unsteady, shambling gait.

Lori hears his thoughts next- the usual bunch of self-recrimination mixed with bitter invective vaguely hurled at the second-years, the professors, the headmaster, and the world in general.

God, she has never been so happy to hear Quentin's thoughts. "QUENTIN!" She yells.

Oh, huh. Lori's here. So I haven't been unceremoniously discarded, consigned to purgatory, forcibly ejected from Heaven like yesterday's garbage- um, hey, maybe I can just form sentences augh stupid branch which way was that yell anyway

-Flo would be so much better- no, maybe worse, but he'd make everything better-

Quentin continues trying to steer his thoughts down more productive avenues, like giving Lori a sense of landmarks. Thoughts about how awful Brakebills is and how awful the real world is are interspersed with references to 'Flo', 'Eddie', and 'Thistle', which mostly trend more positive than Quentin's thoughts about himself. He does spend an inordinate amount of time thinking about how hot Thistle is, which is often accompanied by apologetic embarrassment directed Lori's way. His rainbow bridge doesn't come up, since his thoughts are actually a useful navigational aid; Quentin's memory is astounding, and he's already built a mental map of everything he's seen so far.

Lori is able to lead the way towards Quentin, helping Mal adjust his course, and every single slip of Quentin’s thoughts towards his friends just makes Lori giddy. She blames that mostly on the weirdness of the whole night, and her relief that he’s okay.

Once she finds him, she tugs him into a huge hug. 

Hug.

"Any idea where we are?"

"Near Brakebills. They didn't send us far. Weak."

"Okay, so we can probably just walk back. Easy. We call that a win, right?"

He's mostly not feeling as confident as he sounds, but he's better at shielding than Quentin, so Lori can't pick up more than that.

“There’s no way it’s gonna be that simple. There’s a catch. There’s always a catch.”

"I know that. We should pick a direction and start walking before we fall behind everyone else. I'm not ending up last and getting kicked out of this place."

Mal ignores this in favor of trying to get his bearings. The second years are nearby, he can smell them- watching them flounder around like scared little mice. He wants to bite them.

“You think the magic school is testing us on our ability to walk? Really, Dermot?”

She sees Mal, and can feel some kind of agitation coming off him. “Mal? What’s- You okay?”

"They want to make us feel stupid and they're right here, laughing at us. Don't know where."

"Maybe we're supposed to track them down? It's a forest, it could be kind of a hunting thing? See if we can catch up to them before- I wonder if we're being chased?"

Lori stretches out her mind as far as she can, trying to sense anything hidden. 

It takes a moment to find them, but-

-there they are.

...and then, about thirty seconds later, they're not.

Meanwhile, Dermot and Quentin are having a conversation which mostly consists of Dermot saying things and Quentin thinking they're incredibly stupid things to say.

Before she knew she could do it, she would claim that teleportation was not a thing. Either way, they’re gone.

She butts into Dermot and Quentin’s argument. “So they disappeared as soon as I could sense them. I think Quentin’s got a point.”

"They're here? Let's go. Which one of you can cast a locator spell?"

"Not here. They left."

"They will have some way to nullify a locator spell. But I can catch wind of them long enough to find out where they are, and Mal can smell them-"

She's missing something. What is she missing?

Dermot...waits. He waits for someone to figure it out, waits for some solution to present itself. The annoying kid- Coldwater- is still talking and it's not helping, he's just talking and talking and talking and looking at Dermot like he's annoyed that he's not responding like he could even get a word in edgewise and they're all just standing around here waiting for psychic chick and scratch and sniff to find the second years- Dermot paces.

Lori could feel the rising anger from a mile away.

Mal notices it before she does, when the second years come back- he doesn't signal her, but Lori can read that he wants her to try to read minds in that direction-

Lori turns and hones in-

-they're not even close to figuring it out yet- he looks incandescently beautiful in that light-

"Zev, baby, move over here."

-the meat is too stringy, but the decadent atmosphere of their banquet pantomime is essential when it comes to intimidating the first-years- someone is reading her mind. Get out, you limpid cock before I tear your mind to shreds.

"Your friend Margo just called me a 'limpid cock'," Lori giggles to Quentin.

-he cracks a smile. Of course she did. That's Margo.

"That's Margo."

If- Quentin's thoughts become muddier, as colorful Play-Do starts to cover them up. Apparently he's remembered to put up his rainbow bridge.

"They're so close but they keep moving. I can't get a bead on them."

"Margo was thinking about somewhere with light...and then there was something about a pantomime banquet." Lori taps her lip. "Can you smell any food anywhere, Mal?"

Sniff, sniff, sniff.

Okay he's getting pretty sick of this shit. When are they actually going to do something-

"Oh, wait, they can't have taken us off school grounds, right? That's probably like, against the charter or something."