"Theron, I don't care how good you think you are, you can't make a parakeet out of a cabbage."

"It's not a cabbage, it's a relative of chicory. Sort of in between cabbage and lettuce. And I'm not trying to make a parakeet- I've already got half a dozen parakeets, and they're worthless." Theron looked tired, more tired than he should have been, even after the last competition at the Square. He was carefully peeling away the leaves of the thing in his hand, paring it down into something sleek and endive-like. It was a pretty vegetable, at least, with lovely shades of green and purple marbling the leaves.

Brenon shrugged and leaned against the side of the table to watch. Theron had attracted a crowd, of course- he always did. Little jewel colored parakeets flitted back and forth over the heads of the watchers, taking messages and stealing food. Theron ignored the noise and continued peeling the vegetable. It had started out as a leafy, multicolored mostrosity the size of Theron's head; now it was barely the size of a fist, and glimmered as the morning sunlight caught the dewdrops encrusting its surface. Leaves coated the table and clung to Theron's clothing like burrs.

"Behold, fair citizens! From this simple vegetable, I shall create a wonder that has not been seen since the days of the Omnismiths! I shall bring life from what is now dead, and give wings to that which once bore roots!" His voice cracked on the last syllable and Brenon wondered what his old friend had been up to to be this off kilter. When they were younger, Theron wouldn't have been caught dead with bags under his eyes.

Some of that vanity still shone through as Theron enclosed the vegetable between his long fingers and shut his eyes tightly. The sour lemony smell of magic filled the area as Theron swayed back and forth, his face going several shades closer to green.

Brenon found himself gripping the edge of the table, concentrating along with his friend, willing the spell to work. Whatever Theron did to get himself blacklisted the first time, a spell this amazing would be just the thing to gain him favor in the eyes of the Voyance again.

Unless, of course, it killed him.

Theron opened his eyes and grinned, the expression slightly less than sane on his haggard features. He spread apart his hands to reveal what appeared to be a bristly, multicolored apple. The thing gradually unfolded itself, stretching out a long, delicate neck and shimmering, opalescent wings. The tiny bird trilled softly, musically, and peered at the crowd with swirling jewel-toned eyes.

It was beautiful, and Brenon found himself gasping along with the rest of the crowd. There were murmurs, then, awed whispers of "Omnismith" and "Vimancer." Theron had done the impossible for a crowd of city ruffians at the Voyance's Fair. The irony almost made him choke.

He would've been tempted to break Theron's neck for being such an idiot, but the other mage's swaying had grown more pronounced, and his face had gone positively colorless. So Brenon caught him as he fainted, and stuffed the pretty little creature in his pocket.

"Move on, y'bastards, there's nothing more to see! Go on, away with you! Whimsy Rochestrae is having a sale on whistles down Bronk Street, go pester her." Theron was practically a Ghost in his arms, and Brenon wondered what the price he'd paid for a miracle.

As always, Theron made things more interesting, the bastard.
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Had a dream. It was good. The characters decided to stick around and make birds out of endives. (Another universe just expanded in my head, and I'm not especially pleased about that.)

Either Stella or Walker is one of Theron's descendents, apparently...or maybe Solneki is. That could explain quite a bit...

Clearly I need to work out the Voyance's universe. *sigh*