Peter didn't notice the moment it happened. His stuff was already in the house, as expected, and after he took a minute to wander around and see what it was like, he decided the first thing he wanted to do was go look for a job here.
It's when his computer is booting up and he's thinking about that that he notices that he isn't... sure... what he was going to look for, exactly.
Which he feels very strongly is unlike him. Why did he not have a job already lined up by the time he moved? What possessed him to move to a tiny town in nowhere's asscrack without even an actual guaranteed form of income? That's insane! What if it took weeks or longer to get a job? He has the credentials and networking to only work with whatever he wants to work with (to an extent), looking for a job online on, what, LinkedSim or something, is preposterous.
...right?
........who does he have in his network? Why does he think he could get a good job if he wanted to?
He grabs his phone to look through his contacts only to find he has none. No... no one.
...he has no one.
He has no one. He tries to think of where he last worked, and comes up blank. His major was in engineering but he never went to uni. He can't remember school, he can't remember the names of his friends, or their faces.
Where... did he go to school? Where did he live? Where is he from?
Who is his family? He, he's meant to have a brother and a sister and parents and, and grandparents, he's sure of it but he can't, can't, can't recall—
Peter tries to get up from the chair but his legs give out from under him and he finds the floor approaching his face rather more quickly than it should. He braces for the fall and doesn't really get too hurt, but his head still feels light.
His breathing is coming in ragged and quick, but he tries to force himself to think through the slurry. It's much more likely that he's just having an episode, a stroke or something, than that he actually just has no one. His brain is playing tricks on him, and he won't be able to do anything about it if he panics.
Which itself is... not enough to solve his problems, but it allows him to focus. Breathe.
Slowly.
He doesn't need to get up, he doesn't have any appointments or anywhere to be or anything to do.
(And even if he did, he's clearly having An Episode here and that takes precedence.)
Breathe.
Slowly.
Breathe in.
............
Breathe out.
...........
He can stay on the floor, and he can shut his eyes and focus on his breathing. Breathe in.
...........
Breathe out.
..........
Breathe in.
..........
Breathe out.
..........
He falls asleep. Or maybe passes out, the difference is academic.
When he comes to, still on the floor, the first thought he has is that he's never felt worse in his life, which is preposterous but feels kind of true. He looks down and notices that his legs got tangled with the computer chair when he tried to get up and they're pressed uncomfortably against the chair's legs.
He pulls them closer to his body, dragging the chair with, and manages to get free of it. Then he reaches down to massage his sore ankles, skin red from the pressure, and slowly manages to sit up, cross-legged.
Peter tries to think again, more carefully his time.
His memories are vague and murky, like impressions of memories rather than real ones. If he asks himself about his family, the answer that feels right is that he's the eldest of three, and has a somewhat fraught relationship with his parents. Associated with that answer are vague feelings, the general impression of having been raised with siblings, the overall summary memory of having had fights to assert his independence as the first one to leave the nest and make his own way.
But none of the memories... hold. They slip away, he can't think of their names, he can't remember their fights. His brain insists that the memories are real, that of course no one remembers every little detail of their lives, but he doesn't remember... any of them. Any details.
He's probably having some sort of Episode, but another look at his phone confirms no contacts. He could be hallucinating that, too, or maybe he... wiped his phone and, and somehow induced amnesia in himself? Vague memories of permanent amnesia being harder than fiction portrays it as surface in his mind but every bit of knowledge is suspicious now.
Peter gets up and pulls his chair upright then logs into his account on his computer. Social media, surely he has social media...?
No. Oh sure he has a Simbook account but it's empty.
Computer files?
The computer is bare and new, absolutely no sign of use.
He could Siimgle his name... no. That's his Simbook account and then some other people called Peter Tarleton that aren't him in references or old enough they're probably dead.
Seriously? How about universities, he doesn't remember which one he went to but he can think of specific engineering and programming knowledge that he got from it.
(And just to test his paranoia, he does some more searches to try to confirm that his knowledge is real and not entirely made up.)
He looks for the websites of the University of Britechester and the Foxbury Institute, and tries to find himself there. No luck. They do have lists of graduated alumni every year, but his name is nowhere in those lists for the past ten years.
Is he... sure... his name is really Peter Tarleton? Yes, that's what his phone says, and his ID in his wallet looks legit and has a picture of him (he checks the mirror to make sure) and that name.
Okay... what the fuck.
Option 1: he has gone totally, completely insane, all the way off the deep end.
Option 2:
...
What even is option 2? This doesn't make any sense!
With near-perfect timing, there is a knock on his door.
...is Peter fit for human interaction? Should he answer? He doesn't... feel... like his form of insanity will devolve into violence.
It might be good for him to see another human being.
He gets up, stretches a bit, looks down—jeans and a T-shirt, presentable. He checked his face in the mirror just now, he looks a bit harried but not horribly so.
He walks to the door and opens it, trying to look normal.
"Hello, neighbour!" says a person at the head of a small pack of four people. He and one other person are carrying food trays. "Welcome to Glimmerbrook!"
Oh... oh goodness a welcome committee to the neighbourhood. That's so cute!
Also he's still kind of freaking out here and is not sure he wants to receive people! One person would be fine but interacting with a whole group—
"Oh hi!" he says more-or-less automatically. "Goodness this is so unexpected!"
"Oh, I'm sorry dear," says another person, an older lady giving off mad grandmotherly vibes. "Is this a bad time?"
"I'm Unther Hayes," says the first one who spoke. "These are Noelle Basil," grandmother lady, "Charlie Martin, and Austin Riggs," the other two.
"Welcome!" those two say in unison.
...weird people. But cute.
"I, ah, um," he is actually feeling awful and she just gave him such an opening but first impressions matter but he might be going crazy and if so he needs professional help but—
...why did he even move here?
To become a wizard, duh.
Wait what????
Let's. Table that thought for later.
"I'm, ah, yeah this is not a great time—"
"It's quite alright, lovely," says grandmother, even though the other three look clearly less-than-pleased at the rejection. "Just accept our little gifts, then, and we'll get out of your hair."
...okay. Gifts, sure, they did make him food.
(Wizard??????????????)
He tries to be as gracious as possible, and accepts the food, but something occurs to him just before they leave. "Hey, can you take a look at this for a second, please?" He shows them his contact list. "This is empty, right?"
The four of them do look, and it's Austin who replies: "Yes it's empty. You feelin' alright, mate?"
"Yes I am!" he says, you know, like a liar. "Thank you all for coming, I'm really sorry I couldn't be a better host right now. Hopefully I'll be able to make up for it sometime later!"
Well, off they go, then.
He shuts and locks the door then slowly slides down to the floor again with his back to it, leaning forward to cover his face with his hands.
A wizard.
What????????????????
He's very sure that's the reason. Like, he has an almost crisp memory of thinking that he wants to be a powerful spellcaster and that was what made him decide to come live here even though he hates tiny towns and is very much a city rat.
(Is he a city rat? What city has he lived in before? He just doesn't know~)
Okay, okay, chill for a sec. Before he goes to explore this idea he needs to finish his thought from before. Where was he...
He sits back at the computer and starts typing into a blank document. It's easier to think that way.
Option 1: he's insane. If he's insane it's a very peculiar kind of insane, with other people interacting mostly normally and informing him that his contact list is indeed empty. But either way, he is hallucinating the preposterous state of affairs of having zero online presence in this day and age.
Option 2: he's not insane, he's not having any kind of mental breakdown, those people were not hallucinations.
...but does it matter? If he's having some extremely vivid dream or whatever, it's survived him passing out and then interacting with people. Maybe he's in a coma somewhere, but it...
...he can just act like this is real. When your hallucinations are this solid and strong and feel this real, clearly you can't use your own senses and pure reasoning to go back to reality. In the worst case, he'll be seen in public interacting with people and things that don't exist one too many times and the nice men in white jackets will take him somewhere.
Note to self: if you ever find yourself kidnapped by monsters or fairies or whatever the fuck else, consider the possibility that actually these might be the first real people you've interacted with in a while and your brain is just projecting your current elaborate fantasy delusions onto them. Be nice to them and try to find out if they can help you.
(However, do keep the possibility that this is reality in mind.)
However, on the off-chance that he can still somehow interact with the world, he can post something online asking if anyone has ever heard of symptoms like his. He'll go to Simmit and post a topic on s/NoStupidQuestions about it. ...and maybe s/MentalHealth too. Yes, that's good, he can check on these later.
...he's hungry. And thirsty. Why does he feel like he's never felt thirsty before? Whatever, roll with it, he follows his nose to the trays of food his neighbours so kindly provided him with.
.........this is really exceptional food. Whoever made that tartiflette needs to be hired as a chef somewhere fancy, like, damn.
Right. Whatever. So he's... got no memory of his life prior to, uh, earlier today. Everything that happened before is somewhere between a blur or just straight-up missing. Possibilities for why this is the case range from something extremely bizarre having happened to erase all of his memories... and all evidence of his existence from the internet... to him having literally been created fully-formed with the vague memories just today.
Why does he feel like it's the second one.
Maybe he's just paranoid. Or it's his narrative sense. Something like that.
What does it mean for him to have been created fully-formed today with just vague memories and... concrete knowledge about programming?
Well, first, it means that everyone he's ever known doesn't exist because he hasn't actually known them. He feels like maybe he should be... mourning... his lost family, but he can't think about them. He can't remember them, they don't exist, they never existed. And he doesn't feel the loss. There isn't anyone to mourn. His heart is... empty.
But second, it has... implications about the world. He thinks. Probably.
Maybe everyone was created fully-formed today. Although those people welcoming him didn't seem... particularly existentially threatened by the idea. He doesn't want to flatter himself in thinking that maybe he's just much more introspective than they are and that mattered, that feels rude.
Maybe people just do get created fully-formed sometimes, and his question on s/NoStupidQuestions will just have something like "hey hello welcome to the world this happens sometimes yeah here's some resources to get acclimated". He checks on it, actually, it's been a few minutes, but the thread still has no replies.
...actually if that's a thing that just happens then surely there's resources about it online. He's gonna go check that.
Nope. Some substantial amount of Siimgling and Simpediaing reveals absolutely no online resources on people being spontaneously created, or at least nothing that isn't obviously crackpot stuff. So much for that.
Wizards, however... do exist. Not that he... really doubted it... he's not sure why he would? But online resources are scarce, and they do point to the best bet being going to Glimmerbrook if you're interested. Which... is weird, right? He's not going crazy, right, it is bizarre that wizards exist but are somehow endemic to this specific tiny town? Maybe magic only works here? Or maybe there's some huge drawback to being a wizard and only a tiny cult of people do it?
Okay, back up.
He got created today. He (thinks he) wants to become a powerful spellcaster. He lives in a tiny house in a tiny town and doesn't have a job.
Why does he want to become a powerful spellcaster? That seems to carry over from... his fake memories. But prima facie it seems like a legit thing to want, investigation into magic and possible drawbacks pending.
What about a job? Presumably he needs one to... well, if nothing else, pay for his bills. How much money does he have in savings? ...less than §3,000.
Why did he get spontaneously created with such bad decisions?
Well. Job first—if nothing else, he needs to send his application places.
...how is he going to apply places without having any prior experience? Or... any safety net... of any kind...
...
...
Okay maybe he can figure this out later once he has scoped out the magic. His savings should hold him for at least a week. There's meant to be a magic portal here and the town is tiny enough that he can probably spend a couple of hours walking around and see most of it. Maybe he'll run into someone and be able to ask about it.
He puts some walking shoes on, grabs his phone and wallet, then out the door he goes.
The town... has a river. Which, really, he knew, but why does he feel like he's seeing it for the first time?
(A: because he was created fully-formed inside his small house a few hours ago.)
The river seems like a good bet on what to focus on, so he starts walking along it, to the left from his house first.
He sees a jogger in the distance, jogging along the beaten path between the trees, but decides not to go after them. If he somehow doesn't run into literally anyone on his walk then he can... probably knock on someone's door?
But it turns out to be unnecessary. Whatever force of creation made him exist chose a pretty good spot for his house, because after only a few minutes of walking he sees a glimmer that turns out to be very much a magic portal in the distance.
It's an aesthetically pleasing location, he has to admit, but he docks some points due to the fact that it's right by the top of a very, very tall waterfall. What the hell, that's an accident waiting to happen, especially with how he has to actually skip from the riverbank to the rocks right in the middle of the river to get to it. Anyone could just slip and fall into the water and then fall to their doom.
Dumb.
But at least very obvious!
Once he's certain of his footing, he... stares at the portal.
Why is there a magic portal in the middle of a random river by a tiny town, entirely unattended. Is it indestructible? Is it secret somehow? Is there some mind magic affecting everyone in the world that makes them not want to visit, or do people just not care?
Peter walks up close to the portal, slowly, ready to react to anything that... might... need to be reacted to. But nothing at all happens. When his face is inches away from the shimmering surface of the portal he raises a hand up to it and stick his... pinky finger through. It tickles a little bit.
Also, the finger is totally not visible anymore on the other side of the magic membrane.
He pulls the finger away immediately and it's still whole. Which makes him feel kind of silly for worrying but on the other hand he would feel even sillier if he had just walked through the unknown magical portal and ended up being disintegrated by it or something, so, he stands by his paranoia. ...and he also tests a whole hand, then a whole arm. You know, just to be sure.
He's... sure.
It's literally a magic portal right there and he can step through.
Well. Worst-case scenario, he dies, and while he doesn't want to die, apparently he's only existed for less than a day, it won't be a big loss to... humanity.
(Yes it will, he's the best thing that's ever happened to this world, but he shouldn't really think these thoughts.)
He doesn't die. It doesn't even feel like much of anything, except for slightly ticklish and maybe a bit cold, like walking into a store with AC on.
(Has he ever done that? Probably not. So how does he know what it feels like?)
But he spent so much time thinking about all the ways the magic portal could be dangerous that he forgot to spare any thought to what he would have expected to see on the other side. Whatever it would have been, though, he's pretty sure it's not...
...this.
He's looking up at what looks like an entirely ordinary house. What's extraordinary is the way it looks like whatever he's standing on is floating in the middle of fucking space.
Rather than go into the house, Peter wants to explore the edge of... this floating island? It sure looks like a floating island, and that conclusion is backed both by the fact that he can see other floating islands with clearly-man-made buildings around and the fact that he does find an edge to this island after half a minute of walking.
And to think he'd been worried about a waterfall.
A wave of vertigo washes over him so he takes several steps away from the edge and falls on his ass, just in time to see someone zoom past and above him on a broomstick, flying in the direction of one of the floating islands there.
Flying... broomsticks. Okay. He has no idea why he keeps having intuitions about what is and isn't normal when he didn't exist until today but he still does and it'd be dumb to deny that he's having those intuitions and reactions.
But he'll just... sit there. For a minute.
Okay, enough sitting, getting his mind blown by apparently-mundane facts of existence is getting tiring.
Given that the magic portal spat him out right in front of a mansion of sorts, the mansion is probably important. He gets up, dusts himself, and walks over to said mansion.
The inside is peculiar, very sparsely decorated. One large square room with a lowered area in the center with some sort of arcane-looking symbol on the floor. The walls to either side of him have two archways each to other rooms, while the wall across the room from him only has the one. And while this room itself is empty, he can hear faint murmuring from the side areas.
He walks slowly to the right, his footsteps echoing in the large hall, until he reaches the first archway, and realises that both archways on that wall lead to the same room.
The same arcane symbol from before is etched into the floor of that room, and what can only be described as a magic cauldron stands on its center, with various crystals and gemstones placed somewhat haphazardly under it. There is also a set of stairs, a double chair, a desk with a weird balance thing on it, two bookshelves and, most important of all, a person. A woman, just standing there, doing nothing, looking like she's thinking about something.
Also, there's some sort of magic rune floating above her head.
Okay! Promising! Stranger with a magic symbol floating above her head!
Peter... knocks on the wall, right next to the archway, and says, "Excuse me?"
The woman startles and looks up at him as if woken from a daydream.
"Oh! Hello. You're new."
Yes! Yes he is—wait, no, probably she just means he's new here and they've never met, not anything more metaphysically relevant.
"Hi, yes, I am. I'm Peter Tarleton."
"My name is Cara Lane, Sage of Practical Magic. Welcome, welcome to the Realm of Magic," she says, walking over to the double chair and patting the seat next to her. "Please, sit."
Wow okay that's—he's strangely feeling like crying? What is this and why is he so overwhelmed. He stops himself from it and walks over to the chair to sit next to her.
She turns slightly to better face him. "So! Peter. What brings you here?"
"I, um, well." Maybe he should have thought this through a bit better. But oh well, he's here. "I'm interested in magic?" he tries.
"Of course you are. Well, I can perform the Rite of Ascension and turn you into a spellcaster."
"—what, just like that?"
"Just like that," she agrees.
"No, no test of aptitude or personality, no making sure I will use my powers for good, nothing?"
"You can use your powers for good or evil. It depends on you."
That... doesn't quite answers his questions, but okay.
"Well—well, I think I want it, but, um, could you tell me more about magic first?"
"I can't teach you any spells until you become a spellcaster."
"No, that's not what I mean. I mean, uh... what's it like? What does being a spellcaster entail, what can magic do, and, um, what are the drawbacks?"
"A spellcaster can cast various spells with many different effects, or brew magic potions with even more varied and powerful effects."
...okay, that again does not answer all his questions.
"Are there any drawbacks to being a spellcaster?"
"If you cast too many spells in a very short time, you will build charge. More charge means your spells are more powerful, but they can backfire and hurt you or curse you."
Alright! Progress! That's useful information.
"What if you never cast a spell?"
"If you stop casting spells you will slowly discharge your charge into the environment. It is also possible to actively discharge but that's a draining process that can't be done too many times in a short time."
Why are all of this person's answers so weird.
"So if I never cast any spells, nothing bad will happen?"
"You only build charge by casting spells."
"And there are no other drawbacks than this charge thing?"
"If you use a spell against another spellcaster, they might turn it back at you."
"Okay, but... Look, what I mean is, it seems like there aren't a ton of spellcasters around, even though information about you guys is publicly available, so... what gives?"
"I don't understand."
"Why isn't everyone trying to become a spellcaster?"
"Anyone who wants to become a spellcaster can just ask one of the Sages for a Rite of Ascension."
"...I feel like we're talking past each other, here."
"We can talk about whatever you like."
"Why are there so few spellcasters?"
"I don't know."
Thank you for the straightforward answer to his question no bad Peter don't snap at the clearly senile old lady.
"The only drawbacks to being a spellcaster are spellcaster charge and the fact that other spellcasters can turn my spells against me?"
"You can also turn other spellcasters' spells against them if they try to harm you."
"Okay but that's not a drawback that's an advantage."
Smile.
Arghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.
"You said there were multiple Sages? Can I find another Sage to speak to?"
"There are three Sages: the Sage of Practical Magic, that's me; the Sage of Mischief Magic; and the Sage of Untamed Magic. You can find them around here."
"Okay! Thank you, I'll try to find them," and maybe they will be less absolutely useless than this woman no actually she was pretty useful just a little bit slow and weird.
She seems to consider this to be the end of their conversation, and gets up to go grab a book to read.
...maybe going kind of asocial like that is a consequence of magic. If magic rots your brain that'd be a pretty great reason to not do it!
Peter gets up and resumes exploration of the place.
The ground floor has two other similar rooms to that first one, with books and a cauldron, and one of them is occupied by someone brewing a magic potion. They don't notice Peter, and since they don't seem to have a floating rune above their head he decides to not pester them. There's also a small bathroom and a kitchen, which is only sensible, really, but that concludes the mapping of this floor and the only places left to explore are up—and downstairs.
He decides to go downstairs into the basement first, and said "basement" consists only of a single room very much like the first one he went into. But more relevantly, said room has two people talking to each other, one of whom has another magic rune floating above her head. So he folds his arms behind his back and waits for a lull in their conversation to butt in.
"...didn't think he was that bad," says the Sage.
"I like him, he's always been nice to me," says the other person.
"I think Laurie just doesn't like vampires."
"Vampires creep me out a bit."
"Gordon Myles is a vampire."
"I've never met Gordon Myles."
"You should meet him! I think you would get along."
"I might!"
Then they stop talking, and that's when the Sage notices Peter. "Hello!" she says.
Vampires! Vampires are a thing. Sure, okay, why not. He once again has the vague memory that he'd heard rumours about them but, well, you know how this story is going.
Also: that conversation is weird and given that both women do not look to be old he's starting to get genuinely worried about the effects of magic on the brain.
"Hi! Sorry to interrupt, I'm Peter Tarleton and I'm interested in learning more about magic."
"I am Nāwai Faamoana," says the Sage.
"And my name is Madilyn Gorman," says the other one.
"I can perform the Rite of Ascension and turn you into a spellcaster," says Nāwai.
Yeah he's getting that impression.
"I just talked to your colleague Cara Lane, but I wanted to chat to other Sages about magic."
Nāwai nods. "I am the Sage of Mischief Magic."
"Wonderful! So, um, one thing that your friend didn't help me very much with but that I'm pretty curious about is the subject of side effects or drawbacks."
"If you do too much magic in a short time, you build spellcaster charge. Spellcaster charge—"
"Right! Yes, Cara mentioned that. I'm wondering if becoming a spellcaster has any other side effects or drawbacks or anything bad that might explain why most people don't turn into spellcasters."
"If a spell fails, it can bounce back or affect you negatively."
Spells can fail! Grand, good to know.
"And is that all? Is there any reason to not become a spellcaster other than the failure modes of actually casting spells?"
"I am not a spellcaster," says Madilyn.
That... doesn't... answer...
...wait. "You're not? Why not?"
"I don't want to be a spellcaster."
"If you want, I can turn you into a spellcaster," Nāwai tells her.
"Ooh."
What. The fuck.
"Didn't you just say you didn't want to become a spellcaster?"
"I think I want to become a spellcaster!"
"Do you want me to turn you into a spellcaster?"
"Yes!"
...aaaah? Maybe it's this whole place that rots your brain not just being a spellcaster. "You know what, nevermind, I think I'm good, thanks."
He tries to ignore the sounds of Nāwai starting to wave her hand around and do magic to this poor innocent bystander who might have had their brain eaten by magic because he doesn't want his brain to get eaten by magic what the fuck.
Up the stairs out the mansion through the portal what the fuck okay he's back to the real world actually maybe he should just go as far away from that portal as he can yep he's sprinting now.
That is a very good reason not to become a wizard! He does not want his brain to end up in whatever way their brains did. Aaah!
Alright, back home, let's hyperventilate for a little bit before going back to the computer to check on whether his Simmit posts got any replies.
No replies. It's been... multiple hours, now, and still no replies.
Odd.
He's... wired from all of that. And kind of needs to unwind. Going on a jog sounds... like a good idea, probably.
He spins in place.
...nothing happens.
He... tries again. Nothing continues to happen.
How... do you... change clothes. Wait, actually why did he think just spinning would get him to change clothes? That makes no sense.
He pulls his top off, with some fumbling, then kicks off his shoes to replace his trousers. Sleeveless T, shorts, and running shoes, good enough for a jog, off he goes, in the opposite direction from the magic portal.
Man, this really is a teeny tiny town. The houses are far from each other and there are very few people out and about. It's kind of depressing. Still, nice to jog through, he doesn't have to stop for traffic.
Eventually he runs into another jogger, though, and waves them over. He's managed to calm down enough to want to talk about this to someone who's (probably) not been brain-eaten by the "Realm of Magic".
"Hi there!" he says, panting and patting his forehead dry with his T-shirt. "I'm Peter, I just moved here."
"Hello," says the other person. "I'm Fabian Caller."
...bad vibes.
"Nice to meet you. Hey, weird question, but, uh, you know about the wizards off in the Realm of Magic?"
"Yes?"
"Do you know what's... up with them?"
"I don't understand."
Baaaaaaad vibes.
"Have you talked to one of them?"
"I have never met a spellcaster."
"—oh! Sorry, I just assumed, since the town is so small and the portal is right there."
"The portal has been there for as long as anyone can remember."
Please don't say just being around the portal is enough to rot your brain, Peter just moved came to existence.
"And yet you've never met any spellcasters?"
"Spellcasters are strange and mysterious."
"Have you... ever gone through the portal?"
"No."
Augh.
"Aren't there many spellcasters living around here?—sorry if I sound rude, I'm more used to the city," in a manner of speaking, "so I kinda just assume everyone around here knows most everyone else."
"I think I know most people around here."
"...and most of them aren't spellcasters, then."
"I don't think I know any spellcasters."
"Hey, how do you feel about butterflies?"
"They're pretty! Do you like butterflies?"
"They're okay. How do you feel about the weather?"
"I like it when it's this sunny!"
"—okay! I think I'm just gonna go back to jogging."
"It was nice meeting you!"
Off he goes.
Aaaaaaaaaargh!
Hyperventilating about brain rot will not be helpful. What will be helpful is resuming his jog, not talking to anyone, working up a good level of exhaustion, getting those happy chemicals going and all that, and coming back home. That's what will be helpful.
He gets back home, eventually, and takes a shower before anything else.
It helps.
Then he sits at his computer and checks Simmit. His threads have a couple of replies, now, but they are absolutely useless and, also, they sound weird.
They sound weird in the same way those people sound weird.
It occurred to him, on his way back—what if it's not the magic portal or magic doing this at all? What if everyone is like this? Like, everyone in the world?
What if he's the only person in the world who—who can string logical sentences together and, and, and whatever else?
SimTube has videos of people who are not from Glimmerbrook. It has interviews, and people talking about things, and makeup tutorials. Switch.tv has video game streams, including some people playing stuff right now. Those people are live. He can join the chat and talk to them and see how they respond.
He can acquire a mountain of evidence, here, that actually everyone in the world is like that. Except for him.
That's not conclusive enough evidence. Glimmerbrook has a whole world of magic right there, maybe there's some, some weird magical field and actually as soon as he leaves he'll recover all his memories and get back to being a normal person who had a normal history.
He doesn't think that'll happen but he can't help but hope.
He calls a taxi, and asks to be taken to the most metropolitan place he knows. Let's go to San Myshuno.
The driver warns that it's a long ride. Forty-five minutes. Peter says it's fine, and off they go.
He thinks of taking a nap, but decides against being unconscious for any of this process. It'll be a long ride, but he can listen to music on his phone while watching the scenery.
...while watching the scenery fucking skip a frame.
He nearly jumps out of his skin when it happens, but one moment he's looking at the quickly disappearing signs of civilisation and the next they're getting to San Myshuno. And yes, his phone does say that a bit over forty minutes have passed.
Except they haven't.
Aaaaaaaah?
He does his level best to put it out of his mind for the next five minutes and when the taxi driver drops him off at a park he goes to lean against a tree to hyperventilate. Again.
But maybe that's a good sign. Maybe that means he left the field of weirdness of Glimmerbrook.
Except he still doesn't have his memories.
It takes him less time to calm down, now. Gosh, he's getting used to panic attacks, that's nice.
Peter shakes his head, straightens up, and walks over to one of the sunset park goers to... chat.
"Hello! I'm Peter Tarleton," he says to a woman sitting on a bench reading a book.
She looks up, closes her book, and puts it away before saying, "Hi, I'm Sarah Jenkins."
"Nice to meet you, Sarah. Have you ever met a spellcaster?"
"I haven't. I've heard spellcasters live in Glimmerbrook."
"I've heard the same! I actually visited the Realm of Magic."
"Gosh! What's it like?"
"I didn't stay very long because I got spooked by people sounding very strange."
"Oh. That's too bad."
"Yes it is."
...and now he just won't say anything and wait to see what happens next.
Sarah keeps looking at him for nearly half a minute, then grabs her book again and resumes reading.
"Do you like butterflies, Sarah?" he asks suddenly.
She puts her book away again and looks at him once more. "No, I find bugs kind of creepy."
"What book is that that you're reading?"
"It's called How The World Stopped by Peter K. Dark."
"The science fiction author!" How does he know this and not the name of his own mother. "Do you like science fiction?"
"Yes! Do you like science fiction?"
"It depends on the author. Tell me, Sarah: are you a person?"
"I don't know. Are you a person?"
"I'd like to think so! But I'm increasingly convinced that everyone else isn't."
"That sounds worrying. Why do you think so?"
"Well, you see, pretty much every conversation I have had since I started existing earlier today has been very similar to this one, in which the best engagement I could get was a sentence vaguely related to what I was talking about followed by maybe a follow-up question or a similar topic."
"That can't be nice."
"It's not! For example, I tried to ask the spellcaster Sages about whether there were any drawbacks or side effects to becoming a spellcaster, but they kept saying the same things or not really answering my questions."
"I've never met a spellcaster."
He sighs. "Yes, Sarah. I know."
Smile.
"Why aren't you a spellcaster?"
"I don't want to be a spellcaster."
"Did you know a spellcaster Sage could turn you into one if you asked?"
"...wow! I didn't know that. How can you become a spellcaster?"
"I think I'm gonna go, now. Bye Sarah, it was nice meeting you."
"Bye, Peter. It was nice meeting you, too."
Back to her book.
Aaaaaarghhhhhh.
Peter must be going crazy. He must be in a coma hallucinating the whole world. He must have been kidnapped by fairies and now they're experimenting on him.
He tries talking to other people. They all sound like that. They all—they're all—the same...
Not really. They do have personalities. They do seem to have consistent tastes. Some of them ask more questions than others, some of them are more interested in his life than others, some of them talk more than others. They're all individuals.
They just don't... seem... to be people.
For some value of people.
They don't care if he switches between subjects wildly and unpredictably. They don't really try to go deep into anything. They are garbage at inferring whatever related things he might want to know. Every question, when it's answered directly, is answered in the most minimalistic way. And sometimes they just don't understand the question and say something that's only approximately in the same topic. Hell, he even insulted a couple of them, then immediately apologised, and they seemed... fine. Maybe a little bit offput for a while but eventually it was like they just forgot. They act like... like... like video game NPCs, or something.
And it's getting late, and he's getting hungry, and he's also getting extremely depressed by his findings.
He's also in San Myshuno, and although he's pretty sure his memories aren't really his they seem to so far also not have been false. He does know engineering, all of the websites he thought about visiting do exist, Glimmerbrook is the place you go to to become a wizard, San Myshuno is a cosmopolitan metropolis filled with high rises and skyscrapers and a bustling city life.
San Myshuno is a cosmopolitan metropolis filled with high rises and skyscrapers and a bustling city life, as life should be, and so he has no trouble finding a restaurant to burn §1,000 in because he needs nice food and to get unreasonably drunk.
He doesn't need to really talk to the staff, and thank goodness for that. Table for one, please, show him something nice and expensive—he has vague memories of musings about becoming vegetarian but if even the people aren't people here it's very unlikely the cows are—and nice wine, yes he wants the whole bottle, he wants to get shitfaced tonight.
The staff dares give him sympathetic looks. Surely they're programmed to recognise his mood as "fresh from a break-up" or some shit and to show sympathy or some other such bullshit.
He's good on his word, and after an absolutely delicious series of courses including a starter with baked brie, a main course with salmon and some outstanding seasoning he could not pick apart, and this white chocolate lava cake with blackberry jam that made him understand the word "mouthgasm" in a way he never had before (because he didn't exist before, geddit?), he downs the rest of the wine glass after glass. He doesn't quite drink it straight from the bottle because on the off-chance he's actually still made of biology he does not want to go into a drunk coma tonight, but he's tempted.
Peter stumbles out of the restaurant, not entirely sure how much the food cost or even how he paid, and almost feels like he should be singing into the bottle while thinking it's a microphone, except he doesn't have the bottle anymore. Does he have a microphone app on his phone? Wait, he doesn't need a microphone, he just needs the music. He puts music on, and starts singing, and he'll be damned if being drunk will make him sing off-key. He sings perfectly, he's sure of it, and honestly who cares if he's wrong? No one, because no one else exists.
He manages to avoid tripping and faceplanting on the concrete all the way back to the park he'd visited earlier, but his luck runs out while he's walking past a tree and whoooop the ground is now much closer to his face than it should ever be, for the second time today.
Second time in his life, haha.
He turns around to stare at the sky—it's a full moon, is that magically relevant? are werewolves real?—and is ten seconds into trying to switch songs on his phone before he realises he is not actually holding his phone, as it fell from his hand when he tripped. He looks around for the source of the music, finds it, and tries to grab it, but it's too far. He stretches his hand out and eventually gives up and just rolls a bit to get close enough to it, then decides to instead just put the phone away. The music cuts off as soon as it disappears into Peter's inventory.
He sits up and whoooooooooa why is the world spinning oh right it's 'cause he's drunk. That's... annoying. The world shouldn't spin when he's drunk, how rude of it. He just wanted to forget all about his problems. Which he did! Because he forgot about eeeeeeverything, noooooothing happened before today why is he lying on the dirt again.
Another try, this time he manages to stay mostly up, seated cross-legged on the grass, and he ruffles his own hair to get all the dirt off. Then his... T-shirt. Why is he wearing a white T-shirt. That was a very dumb idea. It's fucking covered in dirt.
He takes it off and sticks it into his inventory. He can deal with laundry later, for now he just wants that dirt off. Except it's on his trousers and his shoes so he tries to pull them off—no, bad idea, he's falling again.
Ugh and now there's dirt all over his skin, he should go somewhere with no dirt. Like home. Home has no dirt. Home is nice and comfy. He gets his phone to appear in his hand and calls a taxi, then he crawls over to a park bench and uses it to pull himself to his feet. After swaying in place a little bit he resumes the work of patting himself free of dirt. He almost entirely succeeds, which he'll call good enough. At least now most of the dirt won't get on the car seat.
He sits on the bench and sways back and forth while he waits for the car.
It only takes a minute to arrive. The driver says something about Peter's shirtlessness, but he's too out of it to notice, and too out of it to be outraged again when his time is stolen from him in the trip. It's almost midnight, now, and after fumbling with the keys to both unlock and lock the door he kicks his shoes off, shambles to his bedroom, and falls face-first onto his bed, out like a light before he even hits the mattress.
Why is that alarm so loud.
Peter tries to reach for his bedside table to make it stop, and fails to find it. He opens a bleary eye and sees no alarm. Then he realises there is no alarm, and actually what he's experiencing is not "hearing a loud noise" it is "seeing a bright light".
Why does the sun exist.
He drags himself off his bed, walks to the window, and shuts the curtains.
Ah, yes. Blissful darkness. And he can go back to sleep now.
...mrr. Who ran over his head with a cement truck, he needs to sue them. And he can't sleep.
He gets up, shuffles to the bathroom, and finds the medicine cabinet. Painkillers, please, and a lot of water, thank you. That should be good for the hangover.
Now back to bed, and the birds are so loud, who the fuck allowed birds. Can they please stop. This is a double bed, he can grab the other pillow and press it against his ears to block them out and wait for the painkillers to kick in. It'll take a while but he is unemployed and furthermore has existed for maybe twenty-four hours total by now, he can sleep in if he wants.
Eventually, he does manage to fall back asleep. And eventually, he does wake up again, and his hangover has been muted down to a small ache at the top of his head, but he's had migraines haunting him for years so he's used to it, it's nothing bad.
...except for how he didn't exist until yesterday, that is. Of course.
Now he's in a funk again. Getting drunk was—maybe not a good idea, but at least he didn't drink so much he blacked out. He does remember calling a cab shirtless, and he remembers that the driver sounded slightly put off by it but agreed to drive him anyway.
That... gives him a small idea...
But he'll think about it later. For now he needs to take a long, hot shower to get rid of the grime. His skin feels clammy and disgusting and he should probably put his clothes in the laundry machine, but he'll do that later. For now they go into his inventory and he'll shower.
After twenty-five minutes including using the toilet, that shower, and a brushing of teeth, he's feeling like a new man, ready to face whatever the world has to throw at him.
So of course the first thing he'll do is use his computer.
His Simmit threads got more replies, but they're all between useless and actively trollish. It's actually kind of funny to watch automaton-people trying to troll—he's not sure what he expected, exactly, but it was definitely more creative and intelligent than this suite of poorly-strung-together sentences trying to be insulting. He almost feels tempted to keep that there for his future amusement but eventually decides to go ahead and delete the threads.
Next he checks his bank account. The food and the wine went for... §763. Huh. Less than he'd expected, but he's not complaining. He'll still need to get a job, though, however the hell that works, but... if he's the only actual person around... he might be able to pretty handily beat the market in many ways.
And he'll have access to magic. He's still feeling just as person-like as he did yesterday, and either it is some magical effect that'll eventually get him somehow or it's got nothing to do with the Realm of Magic at all. In any case, it doesn't seem like he has any reason to expect spellcasting to be especially dangerous.
He draws his clothes from his inventory and puts them in the washer, then decides to add his bedsheets to it, too. Maybe you shouldn't do that but right now he doesn't care. He turns it on and goes back to his bedroom.
Another outfit—and he briefly considers his idea from earlier—but no, if the Sages have any veto power over him getting magic, he wants to at least not upset them. Jeans and a T-shirt, like always, and shoes that are good for walking, then...
...he should eat something. And when he walks into the kitchen he realises he never put the welcome food into the fridge. The way he notices it is by the smell. Holding his breath, he gets rid of the contents of the trays—man, he does not remember whose trays these are—and puts them in the dishwasher.
Okay, so, no leftovers. He's not sure what time—11:43AM says his phone, okay, not that bad given the givens. And he can have some cereal just to fill his stomach for now. The mansion at the Realm of Magic had a kitchen, he's sure he can get more food if he wants it...
...but he's feeling paranoid, so he places a couple of apples in his inventory just in case. They'll not last as long there as they would in the fridge, but it's not like apples are expensive.
Okay, now he can go. Phone and wallet in his inventory, keys go there too once his door is locked, and he can follow along the riverbank at a leisurely pace.
The portal is right where he left it, and after checking it for limb-eating again just to be sure he steps through it and finds himself staring up at the big house once more.
He finds the Sage of Practical Magic there again, in a different room than the one he saw her in yesterday, and greets her with a, "Good afternoon, Sage Lane."
She looks up from her stirring and let's go of the gigantic ladle—which keeps going without her help—to give him a small wave. "Hello, Peter. You can just call me Cara."
Man it would be so fucking nice if today everyone miraculously sounded real.
"I think I want to become a spellcaster after all. Can you tell me more about the specifics?"
"I can cast the Rite of Ascension on you to turn you into a spellcaster."
Here lie Peter Tarleton's hopes and dreams, beaten to death by a nonsensical reality.
"What kinds of things can spellcasters do?" he tries.
"Spellcasters can cast spells, make potions, enchant items, and bind familiars."
He just has to ask the right questions. "What are familiars?"
"Familiars are animals, magical or otherwise, bound to spellcasters. They can aid in casting, lend their magical reserves, and even protect from death."
...alright this might actually get to be too much stuff to ask about. If she could be trusted to be useful she'd probably tell him only the most relevant parts but this is what he has to work with.
"Are there any books with all this information about spellcasters?"
"We have many books here at the manor with more information. You may peruse them at your leisure."
Downright obsequious.
"Thank you, Cara. I'll get back to you."
And she seems to take this as an end to the conversation, so she returns to her potionmaking.
He... probably can't check the books out, can he. Well, that's alright. He'll walk over to the nearest bookshelf and...
...well, the book called An Introductyon to the Arcayne Artes is probably a good place to start!
Peter told Cara he was ready to be turned into a spellcaster but there are books and they are very informative so he's going to be informed. And it feels much less awful for books to not respond to him like people should because books should not be people so that's fine.
(The books also sound off, still. They are simplistic and uninspired and dry. But simplistic and uninspired and dry books can still be soothing in their own way.)
The next few days are spent hopping between his house and the Realm of Magic to learn more. Despite the extra ys and es inserted places they shouldn't be—Peter is pretty sure even in Old Simlish stuff wasn't written that way—they're readable enough. And despite the number of books and the time he spends reading them, their actual informational content is not very high. Something like the frame skip in his car trip from earlier seems to be happening, here, where subjectively not a lot of time passes but by the end of it his clock has advanced by more than it should have.
Spellcasters, as Cara said, can cast spells, enchant items, brew potions, and bind familiars. However, the three latter categories are really just especially important and useful spells that got their own names, so it can all be reduced to the one thing.
In order for you to become a spellcaster, an existing spellcaster needs to cast the Rite of Ascension on you (no, it's not clear how the first spellcaster came to be, next question). Once that has happened, your magical potential is unlocked, and you get both an extra sense for it and an extra sort of primitive mental action that is just in itself a sort of empty canvas—you can do magic without having the magic actually do anything, and it's onto this empty canvas that you paint the effects you want to have in the world. That's what a spell is.
Despite the relatively freeform way that works, spells are still discrete, individual effects. This is because once a spell is invented it enters the collective consciousness of all wizards and can be learned by anyone who's practising their magic and in a receptive frame of mind. So a wizard who wants to invent a spell will focus on creating the effect they want and will bind a set of steps, gestures, and words to said spell; once that happens, they can just execute those steps to cause the effect to happen, and that's more-or-less that; and thenceforth that spell is available "out there" to be learned by anyone who's trying to learn.
However, not just anyone can learn any spell. There is an underlying tracking of how powerful a spellcaster is, which is not dictated by which and how many spells they know but is correlated with it. Subjectively, more powerful spellcasters are ones that are more in tune with their magic, understand it better, have better intuitions for it, and have more experience with the mental motions needed to have the effects they want. It's almost like a muscle, and it does atrophy with sufficient disuse, but people who have trained that muscle more and more effectively can use it in more powerful and creative ways. And every spell lies somewhere along that gradient of power, in a way that's intrinsic to what the spell does, so for a spell to be learnable at all the spellcaster needs to be powerful enough to cast it.
No such thing as wielding power beyond your reckoning. If you can wield it, you can reckon it.
Enchanted items are objects that a spellcaster has turned persistently magical with a specialised spell. The most basic enchanted object just about every spellcaster has and uses is the glimmerstone, a nifty little thing that Sages give new casters as a freebie which permits free teleportation to the Realm of Magic from wherever they are and then back. This is so that people don't have to always come all the way to a specific portal to get here—and though the book implies there are other portals to the Realm of Magic elsewhere, only the one in Glimmerbrook is mentioned by name. But other common enchanted objects are magical foci, especially wands (which can help with spellcasting by serving as a lens of sorts that focuses and directs magical intent), flying broomsticks or other appliances (for fast and fun transportation), and, of course, potions.
While most enchantment spells are pretty powerful and complicated, potions are as a rule simpler and more accessible. Technically a potion is any enchanted consumable that applies an effect, temporary or otherwise, on the person who consumes it. Like regular spells, there are specific sets of steps that need to be performed and, in this case, ingredients to be added in specific quantities and orders. Once the potion is completed, it never gets spoilt even should its ingredients be the kind of thing that does, and it will apply its effects on anyone who consumes a dose, although how much "a dose" is and what happens when you consume less or more than a dose at a time varies per potion. Their recipes universally seem to yield an integer number of doses.
Next, familiars. Animals, magical or otherwise, can form a bond with a wizard that provides benefits for both. Each familiar bound to a wizard gets a cosy pocket dimension for itself, as a subset of the wizard's inventory that's personalised just for them. Furthermore, a familiar will never die for as long as their wizard is alive—even should their corporeal form be completely destroyed, they'll reform safe and sound in their pocket dimension. In exchange, a familiar can absorb some spellcaster charge if it's out while the spellcaster is casting spells, it can increase the power of their spells, and it can also take their place should they be about to die for any reason (and then be reconstructed inside their pocket dimension).
Finally, spellcaster charge. It's simple enough, and works as Cara explained: if you do too much magic in a row, you accumulate charge. The more of it you have, the more powerful your spells are, but the more likely they are to spontaneously fail. A failure can range from a simple fizz to a full blown persistent magical curse that needs to be specially removed. Death by spell failure is uncommon but not unheard of; death by too much spellcaster charge is more commonplace, especially amongst novice wizards who don't heed the Sages' warnings. Wizards do get an innate intuition for it, though, and they can reliably tell when their charge levels are getting dangerously high. There are ways to quickly discharge into the environment (which does sometimes itself have some effects, many persistent magical features of the world can be traced back to discharge), but doing that too much can also be dangerous, and the safest way to ensure you're free of charge is just waiting it out—a day at most is enough to get rid of it all.
And most importantly, there doesn't seem to be some terrible drawback to being a spellcaster that explains why most people aren't. No, probably the explanation is just that most people... aren't. No one challenges the status quo, and the status quo is "there aren't that many spellcasters".
There are other books he hasn't gotten to, in-depth explanations of various spells or studies about what happens when multiple spells that do the same thing exist or catalogues of known magical animals or what-have-you, but that can wait. He thinks he knows what he needs to know to become a spellcaster, and so he will... talk to Cara.
(He has talked to people over these few days he's spent here at the Realm of Magic. They continue to be That Waytm. It's just upsetting, but he's an extrovert and he will literally die if he spends whole days without talking to anyone, even in this much-reduced form of talking.)
Cara is easily found once more, this time writing something into a journal, and he knocks on the doorway (no doors to these common rooms, it seems) to announce his presence. "Sage Lane?"
She looks up from her journal and vanishes it into her inventory with a smile. "Peter! Please, you can just call me Cara."
Yes, and this is possibly the eighth time you have said this with the exact tone of voice.
"I would like to have the Rite of Ascension performed."
"Splendid! Right now?"
He steps fully into the room. "Yes, please. What do I have to do?"
"Just stand there."
She gets up, draws her fancy wand from her inventory, and starts gesturing in his direction and saying non-words. Various particle effects begin to happen, the wind picks up (even though they're indoors), and it feels... ticklish.
But after about two minutes of complicated casting, there is a change. A crescendo in the sparkles and the wind, until all of the sparkles shoot right into Peter. He yelps in surprise as they pull him into the air, making him float in place and... changing him.
He feels the change, but he definitely could not describe it. There are metaphors he could reach for, it's like opening your eyes for the first time or learning how to move a muscle you couldn't move before, but it's not really like any of that. It's new, and it's different, and he definitely deeply understands now what the empty canvas motion of doing magic is. He could do it, he knows he could, he can feel it in his soul, and as he slowly floats back down he can also feel it in his body, an energising current running through his limbs.
"It's done," Cara says as she puts her wand away and reaches into her inventory for a fist-sized blue crystal engraved with the three arcane runes of the main schools of magic. The glimmerstone, presumably. "How do you feel?"
Peter looks down at his body and around himself to take stock, stretching his fingers and limbs. "I feel magical," he says, and it sounds so ridiculous but it's true.
The Sage smiles at him and offers him the crystal. "This is a glimmerstone. It's keyed to the portal just outside, and you can use it to come here from wherever you are. It takes about a day to recharge after being used."
He accepts the stone and places it in his inventory, then bows deeply. "Thank you very much. I will do my best with this gift."
"I'm sure you will," she says, and then she sits back down and gets back to her journal.
Ah, yes. This Unit Of Interactiontm has ended so she can return to her previous activity. Of course.
Well, he's explored some of these floating islands while he was here, when he was taking a break from reading the books, and he knows where the nearest shopping island is. He walks over to it—well. He jogs over to it, he's feeling a bit too energetic for anything short of a brisk pace, and finds the Wands & Co. Emporium, manned by a ghost.
That was a slight shock the first time he saw them but you know what, he is not going to complain about the fact that people don't vanish forever when they die. That is in fact a pretty good thing in his opinion.
"Good afternoon," he greets them. "Can I look at your selection of wands?"
"Certainly," they say in the creepy echo-y way ghosts seem to. They open a little display from their inventory and start their sales pitches. They also explain that these are not all possible wands they sell, as wands need to be individually manually enchanted and so their wares change from day to day—except for the very basic wooden wand, which they can enchant themself and so they have a near-unlimited supply of that one.
Peter did read a bit of a book that was specifically about wands, since he figured he'd want to get one and he wanted to understand them a bit better. It seems like they vary very little in function—some wands are definitely better than others, and some are more specialised, but the effect is not world-shattering, and novice wizards are advised to just get a simple basic one to start with and should they ever feel like they need a new one they can always get it later (despite the salesperson's insistence that a novice wizard will want the best wand to jumpstart their career).
So he does go for the most basic one, for §100, and after some empty pleasantries moves on to another shop.
A cauldron is also something he could buy, and he might eventually, but cauldrons are much more expensive, and besides the Magic Manor offers free use of their cauldrons for novice wizards learning the ropes, so whenever he feels like it he can just hop back here. He'll pass on that for now. The stores are also selling ingredients and crystals and familiar orbs (artefacts that have trapped some magical beast ready for a familiar bond, which Peter would feel a lot worse about if he wasn't pretty sure animals are even more of soulless automata than people) and some potions.
Including one called "Potion of Plentiful Needs", for §5.
"Excuse me," he tells the ghost manning that store. "What is a Potion of Plentiful Needs, please?"
"Oh, it's this wonderful little thing that just makes you feel better."
"Better... about...?"
"Everything!"
Helpful. Whatever.
"I'll have two, please."
So he'll successfully exchange money for goods!
Yay capitalism. He browses the other stores some more, but eventually decides to just go home.
As he does, he fetches the vial of potion he just bought from his inventory and studies it a bit. It's a dark purple liquid that bubbles and swirls even when he's perfectly still, and when he unstoppers it a pleasantly-smelling light green vapour escapes it.
Also, the pleasantly-smelling light green vapour seems to unaccountably form the shape of a smiley face every now and then before dissipating into the air.
Weird.
He downs it in one go.
Holy shit.
He feels—better. About everything. Almost literally? He was slightly hungry and slightly thirsty, and now he's not. He feels like he just woke up rested and refreshed from the best night's sleep in his life in the best bed that has ever been created. All minor pains from just existing—soreness from walking, back pain from not sleeping great, itchiness on the back of his knee—everything—is gone. He doesn't need to go to the bathroom, he doesn't need to shower, it even removed the vague traces of dust and sweat on his skin that one accumulates just for existing. He even feels socially fulfilled, in a way he hasn't felt, well, ever. Like he just had a very nice, interesting, deep conversation with some of his best friends in which everyone had very good points and had a ton of fun together.
What the fuck.
He runs back to the store and gets another ten of these and when he gets back home the first thing he does is start practising magic while aiming to get the spell for duplicating objects that he read about because if that works even on magical objects he has found the fucking elixir of happiness and it cost only §5.
After the rush from the "feel better about literally everything" potion dies down a few hours later, Peter still hasn't made any breakthrough on a copying spell. Still, practising magic is weirdly engrossing and meditative. Not particularly intellectually stimulating, but it's like playing some puzzle game for a while.
And by then he's remembered that he does, actually, need to find a job. Now, how does the job market work when one came to existence last week?
It turns out that the answer is "painfully straightforwardly". He found a job ad, he clicked the link, he applied to it, and he... got the job. No interviews, no anything.
Sure, it's an entry-level position at Dewey, Cheatem & Howe Incorporated as a "mailroom technician", because apparently every position is entry-level, but whatever. It's a famous investment firm and investment firms are good for making money, or so he's heard (by which he means he has this memory from the Before Times). It might be soul-crushing, but he won't find out until he tries, and when everyone else is... Like Thattm... well, it should be easy enough to shine.
He starts tomorrow, bright and early at 9AM, which he would usually detest but if this potion turns out to entirely replace the need for sleep, well... that won't be a problem anymore, now, will it?
Probably not.