"Later."

Marianne has an overpowering urge to lay down in the courtyard and soak in the vibes of the new city.

She knows the urge well, she's had it every time she stepped out of an airport into a new city; she hasn't a notion if this is a normal witch thing or just a personal idiosyncrasy. But — perhaps she can indulge herself for a minute?

No. That's exactly the wrong way to think about it. She is a witch, the natural predator of the fabric of reality. She alone decides what she is, no concessions. Everyone else has to cope with Marianne being herself and if they don't like it they will have to assassinate her.

She sits down on the stone just to the side of the portal, legs criss-cross, pants brushing against the pavement as she does. She lays back, straightening her legs all the way out. She is very tall.

She closes her eyes and lounges in the ambience and sound and texture.

The crack and clatter of bone against stone, the hubbub of many voices - "Three, and not a Kiss more." - "Silverblood up for auction! Bidding starts at ten thousand Kisses!" - "I brought you your favorite tarts, Ascquepezil - ", a cat mewling, the low crackle of witchflame. Distant music just on the edge of hearing, a slow, stately piece with violins. 

The ground is solid flagstones, flat and smooth and slightly depressed at each edge. The archway behind her is more haphazard, the work of some ancient architect and overgrown with moss. No dust. The air is cool and moist and has a little bit of an ashy tinge on the palate. 

Lily takes a moment to drink it all in. There's so much going on. 

A skeleton in a fedora and a nice suit is haggling over the price of reagents with a witch in a black dress.

Further down the street, another witch and another skeleton are dancing together, a stately waltz on a café patio.

Ascquepezil has just finished his fifth tart and left his summoning circle, winging along behind a witch's left shoulder. He sticks his tongue out at Cytherea as he passes. 

A woman with the lower body of a snake is leading a crew of skeletons to sweep the flagstones and pick up litter, though their brooms aren't audible beneath the hubbub.

- And another witch has just come through the portal! 

"Excuse me!", she says, stepping around the trio. "Do you two know which way to Hawthorne Academy?"

"Ask these two, I'm busy." 

And Cytherea walks off.

"Hi, I'm Mio, this is my first time in Hawthorne, what's up with you two?"

"We're just as new to this as you, but Hawthorne Academy is the castle. Or so we're told."

Marianne is going to ignore the solicitor. After a few minutes of making Lillian wait around (sorry, but actually not sorry since she intends to never apologize again because she is a witch) she climbs to her feet and stretches herself out.

Is the castle within walking distance?

Only one long flight of stairs separates her from it.

She takes them two at a time and tries the doors. Lily will get the hint.

"- sorry, my roommate is escaping -"

Lily bounds after Marianne.

"Hey, wait!"

"Sorry!" 

But she's smiling.

Marianne barges into a large foyer, with a cathedral-like roof; there's a sign on one of the pillars.

STUDENT TOWER →

← FACULTY TOWER 

↑ POTENTIAL TESTING

At the far end of the hall, a porcelain marionette the size of a human waits patiently, fingers steepled over its desk.

—she has pretty hands, is she a person?

Marianne walks briskly to the desk, discarding the thought in the same motion that generated it. Such is the course of most of her thoughts as of yesterday. The world seems to contain a truly enormous number of things, seeming to all contort and fall over each other for her attention.

Her fingers grip the desk edge, wand still shelved between them. "Hi, what do you need to bring to testing?"

"Nothing." The doll tosses a pair of dice on the table in front of her; one comes up a five, the other a three. Her gaze takes in the wand in Marianne's hands as well.

She looks at Marianne. "Identify." 

She pulls two forms out of the desk, checks three boxes, fills in two blanks, and presents them to Marianne.

The first form reads:

Name: Marianne Belor

Potential Rank: 1□2□3□4□5☑6+□

Current Rank: 1□2□3☑4□5□6+□

Placement: Yes ☑ No □

Accommodations: Medical Implement

The second form reads:

Congratulations on your rank 5 Potential Testing. You are in the strongest 1% of witches. You qualify for House Lionfeather and direct tutoring from Hawthorne staff.

Your testing result will be masked out of Identify. Do not brag about your rank; unscrupulous witches are eager to lay their hands on unrefined potentials such as you. Hawthorne House offers you its protection as well as its mentorship should you choose to join us.

Whatever your path, we look forwards to seeing your progress. We strongly recommend you dispose of your forms in the witchflame provided after reading.

The doll points at a green flickering flame on the desk. "We keep records of your rank for consultation with employers if you so wish. You may keep your letters to display, or dispose of them now if you so desire. Your rank is private information; I encourage you to share it only with those you trust. Is there anything else?"

Top 1% isn't all that high. She and all of her acquaintances were comfortably in the top percentile of intelligence, and not a one ever came to anything. It's disappointing seeing a checkbox to the right of her own, but one must work with what they're given. She lays the first paper in the fire, then the second.

"Yes ma'am, three questions ma'am. What is House Lionfeather? Is the situation truly so dire as to require destruction of documents upon receipt? And what is the etiquette of casting Identify on others?"

"House Lionfeather is the top class in Hawthorne Academy, for A-track students. Expectations are higher. The teaching is the best in the world."

The doll picks up the dice and puts them back under a small cup. "It is strongly recommended to destroy your documents regardless of what result you have. Newly-awakened witches in general are vulnerable, and spreading around your results can only make you a more tempting target."

The doll picks up its pen again. "In general, identify is cast by authorities on those who have need to prove they are themselves. It is not a perfect method, but it catches many abuses. It shows a certain lack of trust. I recommend you do it often. Those who matter will understand."

"But for a stranger to cast it upon one of their peers? Is that a minor insult still?"

"Minor, yes. But you had best get used to being a little rude if you're going to be anyone of consequence. Is there anything else?"