Practicing Spells-2"Something's not right here-" Annabeth said sternly. She reached up to feel her face-but instead felt hair. And then when she felt her face, it was like feeling the back of her head-but it wasn't.Person511
Alex had already begun laughing her ass off.
"YOU need to SHUT THE FUCK UP!" Annabeth commanded.
"I can't help it!" Alex fell over laughing.
"Wesley, put my FUCKING HEAD BACK RIGHT!" Annabeth roared.
"Ok! Ok! Calm down! I can try this one here-"
Annabeth didn't see him do a wand movement but he must have because next thing she knew, she couldn't see.
"Whoops! I made your eyes disappear!" Annabeth then turned around quick and smacked Wesley across the face.
It took a while for Wesley to get himself together, but when he did, he faced a backwards-headed eyeless Annabeth, crossing her arms and legs and sitting on the couch, just about ready to murder Wesley.
"Ok-I can restore your eyes easily." Annabeth could soon see again, although face was press
Practicing Spells"Where's the rest of me?" Annabeth asked when she opened her eyes. Alex was standing above her, holding her wand, cringing.Person511
"Sorry..." Alex said as she nervously opened her left eye. She let her wand drop. She knew that Annabeth knew what had happened to her, hence the question at hand. Annabeth had been sitting on Alex's sofa only ten seconds before, practicing spells as usual. And now...Annabeth was only a head-and a neck. Well-about 80% of her neck was there. Or more. Either way, Annabeth was lying on her cheek, her long, brownish-blond hair hanging off the edge of the pillow.
"How hard is it to change my hair color?" Annabeth asked impatiently. "I WANTED to be full-blond!"
This is where Alex began to laugh. She pulled her phone out and took a picture.
"I swear if you post that anywhere-I'm telling Logan you like him!"
"Don't blackmail me! You're just a head! You can't move!"
"The least you could do is set me on the table." Annabeth requested.
Deep PocketsDeep Pocketsdkfenger
“Hey, honey, look at these!”
Gary turned away from the display of vintage postcards he’d been admiring and sought out his wife. A flash of red hair led him in the right direction, and he found her two stalls over. She was holding up what looked like a shallow cloth bag, perhaps three inches across and no more than that deep.
“It’s a bag, Leona. So?”
Leona put her hand into it, and pulled out her purse. It was the sort of purse that you could store phone-books in, and Gary was convinced that it was lead-lined due to the weight. The neck of the bag stretched a little as the purse emerged from it, then snapped back to its original size.
“They’re selling bags of holding? Real ones? How much?”
The cheerful woman behind the table named a price that made Gary hesitate, it was their entire flea-market budget for the whole day. Leona saw that look, and got an impish one of her own.
|I watch from the shadows how you artists and writers are developing, creating and sharing art with others. I notice but I do not let myself be noticed often. I might be standing right in front of you but you won't see me.|