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66.74% HP: A Magical Journey [Complete] / Chapter 294: The US of A

Chapter 294: The US of A

If you want to read ahead, you can check out my Patreón @

[ https://www.patreón.com/fictiononlyreader ]

The link is also in the synopsis.

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The United States of America . . . the land of opportunity to the non-magical world, where any dream could come true, and everyone seems to be pursuing the "American Dream." But in the magical world, it had a different, peculiar reputation of being controlling and buried in strict mandates that exercised excessive control over its magical residents and those who visited the country. The country's magical culture was shaped through its history that included the horrifying Salem's Witch Trials and nationwide hunt for magical kind, labeling them as against nature and dangerous, not to be allowed to exist, and executing them through the cruel method of burning them on stakes. [1]

The magical congress had strict rules regarding magicals entering the country through non-magical means. They had methods of detection on every airport, waterway, and major roadway border for magical detection. And would be interviewed without fail. On the magical side of travel, Portkeys to enter the country were heavily monitored and required a secure process to procure. If found that one had entered the country through an unauthorized Portkey, the person would be charged within the country and put in prison, and Magical America's stance on negotiations on such cases was infamous for being unyielding.

"Business or pleasure?"

Quinn looked at the man sitting in front of him. The man was a MACUSA official, one employed in the Tourism(?) department, supposedly responsible for interviewing those who arrived in the country through a Portkey. This was a first for Quinn— in his recent travels, though the influence of Wests, he had obtained Porkteys directly at his destinations without going through 'customs.' Even when he had traveled to America during the world tour with George, he had never sat in an interview because of his young age.

Quinn stared at the man, wondering if his grandfather wanted him to experience this because he for sure knew that with the West's influence, he could dance into the country naked, and no one would question his intentions. Well, at least, he was in a private room and not in a queue.

"Both," he replied to the official.

The official looked up from the documents and furrowed his brows. "Both?"

"Both."

"Would you care to explain?"

"Well, I have business to take care of," asked Quinn. "But I am also looking forward to seeing some popular public spaces. I would like to have numerous New York slices; I have heard a lot about pizza here. Do you have any suggestions for me? Where should I go to get the best pizza; give me the keys to the motherload, if you know what I mean."

"I do not," said the official plainly.

Quinn shrugged. So much for the hospitality.

"How long are you here in the country?" asked the official.

"Less than two weeks."

"Please give me a specific date. What day does your Portkey return back home?"

Quinn took out a palm-sized square tile from his pocket and placed it on the table between them. "I was provided with a custom Portkey that I can use anytime I like to return home. The reason I say I'm here for two weeks is that that's the maximum duration I'm personally planning to stay in the country . . . but if I were to answer with respect the Portkey, I can stay here in the country as long as I want."

Such was the power of Wests.

"What?" The official picked the Portkey tile off the table and pointed his wand at it while looking at Quinn and suspicion. His expression changed to shock as the spell gave back the result.

". . . I-It's really a custom Portkey."

"Yes, as I told you earlier," Quinn took his return Portkey back from the official.

It would be a while before I can apparate inter-continent,' he thought. Cross-country apparition was easy for Quinn, and he could even skip to neighboring countries with no problem, but cross-continent and inter-continent travel of humungous distance was still impossible for him.

«It's possible if I let the curse— . . . . . .»

". . . Where would you be staying?"

"I have a place in Manhattan. That would be my place of residence for my stay here." And by that, Quinn meant there was a West-owned property that was going to use.

The official stayed silent as he picked up his quill and wrote on Quinn's form. When he was done, he put down his quill, pushed his chair back, and pressed a button on a golden appliance sitting on a shelf behind him.

He turned to Quinn and raised his hand towards. "Your wand, please. We need to register it in our records."

Quinn thought for a moment, wondered about his choices before he spoke, "I don't use a wand."

". . . . Wait, what?"

"I do not use a wand," said Quinn. He pointed at the pot of ink on the table, and the black liquid rose out and levitated in mid-air.

The American official started at the floating ink before turning to Quinn for a while. "You're British, correct? Do you use another form of focus? We also need to record other foci."

"No, I don't use any form of magical focus," said Quinn.

The official's eyes remained fixed on Quinn for a while before he sighed and looked at the form as his hand went to his temple, his fingers rubbing it.

There was a minute of silence in the room as the official contemplated, and Quinn sat in front of him with a smile.

"Are you sure you don't have a wand?" asked the official. "That if we check your belongings, we won't find a wand or other form of foci."

"No, you won't be finding anything in luggage," said Quinn. They wouldn't find "anything" in his briefcase. It was, after all, charmed to hide the expanded space, and over the years, Quinn had added his own additions to it, making it extra-secure.

". . . Alright, but if we find that you're lying and you're caught with a focus, then you'd be immediately arrested and tried in the court of law here in the country."

"I'm fine with that," said Quinn.

The official nodded, placed his hand on the hefty stamp on the table, and brought it down on the form with ka-ching, leaving behind a green approved mark on the paper.

"Welcome to the United States of America."

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- (Scene Break) -

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New York, the city that never slept, the Big Apple, was a fascinating city. For Quinn, who spent most of his year in a big castle with not enough people to occupy it, the most populous city in the entire of America, was too much of people. Standing in Times Square, he felt like he was standing still in the sea of people even though he was walking. The buildings were so tall that he had to crane his neck up to look at the top, and everything was shiny, throwing their billboard lights on him.

Quinn, who was now of age, didn't require a chaperon to accompany him on his trips aboard; as such, for the first time on his solo trip, he was alone. George had tried to stick to someone with him for protection, but Quinn had bluntly refused.

"Man, there sure are many tourists here," Quinn chuckled as he saw myriads of visually notable people who clearly looked like visiting tourists with their fanny packs and backpacks— traveling in hoards with their travel guides, pointing their lenses at the sights.

Quinn raised his camera, pointed his camera at the Tim Square sight, and clicked a picture from an angle that was pro-approved as there were a bunch of people with professional gear standing around him, doing their own photography.

"Hey, what's that camera," one of the professional photographers.

Quinn looked at the non-magical person and the Nikon camera in their hands and then looked at the camera in his hand. It was around the same size, similarly black in color, and the design did follow the current template of SLR cameras.

But there was one glaring issue with the camera.

"This is from a company called QuinnTech," said Quinn with a shameless smile.

The man stared at the camera, "Man, that's one good looking screen . . . your camera doesn't look like a digital camera."

Yes, the SLR cameras lacked screens on their backsides. There were viewfinders through which you could look at your framing, but no screens. A screen in a camera hit the consumer market in the mid-90s in the form of a digital camera, but even then, those screens were just for framing shots and lacked eyeballing exposure or the entire live image package. But Quinn's camera, which worked on magic, had a screen with stellar image quality, showing the frame that the dynamic lens in front was catching.

"Oh yeah, it's a great screen . . . it shows a live image, meaning the image on the screen is exactly what will come out when printing. I can even mess with the aperture, shutter, ISO . . . and all the works right from here and see the results on the big screen. Though this model still needs work on stability, though," he said. The dynamic lens utilized transmutation to change lens type, making it a one-lense camera.

"C-Can I see it for a minute," the man had a hungry look in his eyes, "just for a little while, man."

"Yeah, about that . . . how about no," Quinn moved his camera holding hand away.

"Come on, man, just for a minute."

"Nope," said Quinn and waved a snapped his fingers. The man's eyes blurred for a moment before he backed up and walked off to what he was doing before spotting Quinn's camera.

'Using magic in public . . . in the middle of the Times Square! Man, if MACUSA is going to throw me in prison if the caught me,' Quinn chuckled.

After being happy with his photo collection and sightseeing around Midtown Manhattan, Quinn went around asking New York residents about their favorite pizza places, and his accent and clean and classy appearance worked wonders as he was able to find many good recommendations, which he compiled and went to the most recommended one.

"I wonder if it's different in Brooklyn," Quinn patted his belly with a toothpick in his mouth. He spat it out, and the pick turned to wood dust before it hit the ground.

He looked at the nondescript multi-storied building in Upper Manhattan, and from the outside, it didn't look much except a lot of blacked-out windows— though Quinn noticed that it appropriately matched the buildings in the surrounding. Its front door was closed with a black inner shutter from the inside, and it didn't look like the building was occupied. Quinn looked at the side of the building and saw an alleyway. The alleyway was deserted and surprisingly clean. However, more importantly, he felt the presence of a ward as he stepped inside.

"So, that's the entrance."

There was a side double-doored entrance opening up to the alleyway, though it was chained up with a chunky lock with charms laid every from chain links to door hinges to the lock itself. It made it clear that the occupants didn't want people entering from the doors to the building.

"Whatever," Quinn waved his hand, and the lock snapped open with the chains slipping down to the floor. The door opened, and Quinn stepped inside. The door immediately closed, and the lock and chain were back up again with the charms recast, just much stronger.

The building was abandoned. . . or it seemed like it. Not a single soul could be seen in the hallways; however, they were spotless with a spot of dust, and because of the blocked windows, the lights were on. And Quinn could tell that the light panels fitted in the ceilings were MLEs in disguise and that, like every other magical building, this one didn't have any electricity running through it.

The building, as Quinn was informed about, was a residential building, and because of its location in a non-magical dense area, the building indeed had actual two-bedroom apartments. However, there wasn't a single non-magical soul in the building, and none of the apartments were occupied by anyone.

In actuality, the building wasn't a residential building but a commercial building for the magical population of New York. Besides, every apartment's door was a magical door hidden with charms, and those were the actual "rooms" of the building, and behind those doors was a business owned by several people who leased the space from the building owner.

Quinn arrived at the ninth floor of the building, and he could see a set of apartment doors and a complementary set of hidden doors. Those two sets of doors had something in common, which was that all of them were locked— apartment buildings locked with simple locks, while the hidden doors were locked with strong magical charms.

Every single hidden door was locked, just like the front door of the building. Which Quinn thought was very American because, in Britain, the magical buildings had "anti-muggle" charms on the front, which did a more than enough job of keeping the non-magical outside, but the front doors were rarely magical shut close with strong magic.

Quinn finally reached a hidden door and waved his hand for it to click open, instantly disabling the locking magic on it. He pushed it open and stepped inside. Immediately, he had left the darb hallway and entered a place with a very high-end vibe to it. From the royal red walls and the lush carpet beneath his feet, he could tell that some good work was done in the space.

"He has done a good job," said Quinn, looking around.

Walking deeper into the space and exiting the entrance hall to find himself in a small dining area, with tables and chairs stacked to the side, and as he was looking at the painting on the walls, he heard footsteps, and before he could turn to face them, he heard.

"Don't move. Who are you? How did you enter? What—"

The voice halted when Quinn fully turned. He smiled and greeted the man who owned the restaurant.

"Hello, Abraham," said Quinn to the shocked man. "Surprise!"

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Quinn West - MC - I'm here, America!!!

Official - Customs - For some reason, the red denied stamp calls for him.

FictionOnlyReader - Author - Ignorant about cameras, Customs, and pizza.

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[1]: This is my fictional vision of magical America. I have NOT built it from my views of "real" America, and even those views are ignorant at best, as my only access to America is through popular media. I know jack shit. Same goes for all the other countries I have ever written. I won't even say I know my own country well enough to be an authority.


CREATORS' THOUGHTS
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Just like always,

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Chapter 295: Restaurant Astier

If you want to read ahead, you can check out my Patreón @

[ https://www.patreón.com/fictiononlyreader ]

The link is also in the synopsis.

.

-*-*-*-*-*-

.

"Don't move. Who are you? How did you enter? What—"

"Hello, Abraham . . . . Surprise!"

Quinn and Abraham stared at each other as they stood in Abraham's restaurant. Abraham's jaw was slightly ajar as his hand raised, froze with a wand pointed at Quinn.

"Quinn. . . Quinn, what are you doing here?" Abraham asked, seemingly trying to figure out what was happening here. "H-How did you get here? The Floo's not lit yet, and you can't apparate in here."

Quinn raised his hand to the front and gently lowered it. On Abraham's end, he felt his wand hand being pushed down.

"Let's get that wand not pointing, shall we," said Quinn. "As for answering your question, I didn't come through the Floo, nor did I apparate here," he pointed at the corridor that he had used to enter the dining area, "I came through the front door like a normal person— you know, opened it and walked inside— don't worry though, I locked it after me.

So, how are you, Abraham?" he asked.

"No, no, no," Abraham raised his other hand up, showing Quinn his open palm, "you have to answer me why you're here first."

"Hmm, isn't that obvious? I came here to meet you."

"To New York? From Herefordshire?!"

"It's not that far, you know. It's just over the pond, as they say, and I didn't even take a boat, popped up using a Portkey and took Floo to a node in New York, then wandered my way here to the building. Even had a fair share of pizza on my way."

Abraham stared at Quinn, his face still showing disbelief.

Quinn realized what the man was thinking. It was, after all, very creepy and crazy to pop up at someone's workplace without notifying them, especially when that space was closed off from outside entry.

'Whatever, I own the place,' he thought, ignoring that it wasn't okay, even for the landlord to enter a tenant's place without their permission.

"I assume Lia doesn't know you're coming here," asked Abraham, sighing.

"Nope~, I didn't tell her," Quinn exchanged MagiFax with Lia every week, and she was clueless about his visit to America and that Quinn was visiting Abraham. "If I told her that I was coming here, she would've tried to stop me, or told you I was coming, or be here in person to breath down my neck. . . I'm taller than her, though."

"That does sound like her." Abraham once again breathed a long sigh. "Then may I ask why you're actually here?"

"I'm in New York for some work," said Quinn, pulling a table and two chairs from the corner with a wave of his hand. "As for why I'm here specifically, I wanted to see how my lessee was doing— need to know if you'll be able to make rent this month."

"Wait, what? Lessee, what do you mean?" Abraham asked Quinn, who sat down by the table.

"I own the place, Abraham; you signed a lease to use this space, making me your landlord."

"What?! I didn't know that!" Abraham, who had sat down on his chair, immediately stood back up, pushing his chair back.

Quinn glanced at the falling chair, and it stopped falling and stood straight up. "Of course, you wouldn't know. I wasn't the owner when you leased this place; I only recently acquired it as part of one of my few investments here in America."

"Did you . . . did you buy it because I have my restaurant here?" Abraham asked.

"Partially, yes. It was one of the reasons behind why I bought this place," he had bought it from Lia after all. "The other reason is the prime real-estate this space is. Upper Manhattan, especially a magical building, is just a great investment. I'm impressed that you're doing well enough to pay rent for this place— it's really, really high."

Abraham sank back down on the chair, his shoulders slumping.

"Don't feel down; nothing's going to change," said Quinn, chuckling. "I don't have the time or motivation to directly take care of rent and other things here. You'll be interacting with whomever you have been interacting with, and things will remain the same."

". . . I don't know what to say," Abraham sighed. "I don't know how I should feel about you owning the space for my restaurant."

"Restaurant? No, no, my dear Abraham," Quinn raised his finger and waved it around, "I own this entire building."

Lia had only owned Abraham's building, and she had only sold that to Quinn. But after that, Quinn had gone out of his way to buy the entire building from all the individual owners to obtain the ownership of the entire building.

"The entire building?!" Abraham all but yelled. "Oh my god . . . so much rent."

Quinn laughed. Eighty percent of the lots in the building were occupied, and Quinn was receiving rent from them every month, and he was sure that incoming times, the management agency handling the building would have it running at its full capacity.

"So when do you open?" Quinn asked.

"Dinner service starts at five," said Abraham.

Quinn looked at the time, and it was three. He looked around the restaurant, and it looked deserted. "You have employees, right? Where are they?"

"They're out for lunch. I think they're about to return."

"You don't have a staff meal?"

"We don't do staff lunch usually. My staff likes to go out after prep work and before the dinner service starts. They're about to return."

Quinn looked around the restaurant, and Abraham noticed the gaze.

"Do you have any questions?" he asked.

"Yeah, how many people do you serve here?" Quinn asked. "I ask this because I'm presuming this is the dining area."

The dining area, as far as restaurants were concerned, was small— from what Quinn could tell, it was barely big enough to fit two to three tables. Quinn had been quite a few of them, magical and non-magical, low-end to high-end, street food to fine dining.

"We serve fifteen reservations daily," Abraham glanced around his workplace. "Each party can be anywhere from a single patron to a party of ten, and we will prepare accordingly."

Quinn nodded, recalling going to numerous restaurants with the model Abraham used. They were high-end and exclusive, aiming to provide the best experience with a very personal touch to the guests. And from what Quinn could put together with the rent and the number of people Abraham served, he could tell that the restaurant was high-end with a niche clientele.

Abraham pointed around the small room, "This is just one of the fifteen rooms in the restaurant. Our guests require privacy, and luckily America is famous for its spatial magic services, so we stretched the space as widely as possible and divided it into these fifteen rooms along with our other requirements."

Quinn glanced at the wall behind Abraham and sent out a pulse of magic. 'Ah, it's indeed stretched out with spatial magic,' he thought, sensing the magic all around the room.

He knew that America was known for its spatial magic. Lia had commissioned the briefcase that she had gifted him from an American craftsman. That briefcase had become home to what could be arguably said to be his entire life.

"You must see a lot of politicians as patrons," said Quinn.

"Having a place in New York, especially in Manhattan, does make the guests who run in political circles."

Manhattan was the home to the headquarters of The Magical Congress of the United States of America (MACUSA,) making it the hub for magical American politicians and bigshots who were related to bureaucracy and politics.

"What do you guys serve?"

"French cuisine as that I was what I was trained in," Abraham said with pride. "We, however, don't provide a menu— we provide a set menu that changes regularly as we experiment and learn with our craft. Guests, however, can tell us in advance what they want to eat, and we will prepare it for them. We keep records of all our guests. For example, if you eat here, then we will keep a record of what you ate, and the next time you visit us, we can customize your menu— if you want to eat something from a previous visit, we can provide that, or if you desire to eat something new, we can make sure none of the dishes you ate the last time repeat.

We also take feedback from our guests to learn their tastes and preferences to provide a personal experience. The more you visit, the better we would know you, and thus get a better experience than the last time."

Quinn stared at Abraham with slightly raised brows, impressed with what he heard. He knew that selling an "experience" was a good business model, and in his view, Abraham's restaurant was implementing an innovative version of that.

"Wow," he uttered, clapping soundlessly. "When Lia introduced you as a restaurateur, she wasn't lifting you up, was she . . . you said that you worked in a place much different from this one— you must've thought a lot about this."

Abraham nodded. "I left a great job that I was very comfortable with to start my own restaurant, so I had to be sure that I was going to do something that would be successful. I thought about it for an entire year before spelling the charm," he then smiled, "Lia helped me a lot when I was thinking on how to do things."

"Ah, I can feel the love," Quinn said with exaggeration. He then paused and leaned forward to ask seriously. "Lia's not going to come here today, is she?"

"Lia? No, we aren't set to meet for a couple more days."

Lia, with her responsibilities, was a busy person, and with her job that took her all over the globe, she couldn't stay in a single country like an average person. Abraham, in his job as the head chef and owner, too was a busy individual— it took a lot of research and experimentation to run a place like he wanted to run, and to keep guests happy, he had to be constantly doing something new which took time to do with the level of service that was promised.

As such, from Quinn knew, his sister and her boyfriend didn't have a relationship that looked like the ones that many others their age had.

"When do you two spend time together, if you don't mind me asking," asked Quinn.

"It's difficult for a non-resident to come in American with a Portkey," started Abraham and shook his head with a wry smile. "But apparently, it's not a big deal for your sister; she said she can Portkey here every day without any problem, so we did contemplate that but decided against it.

I start my day late and work till late, whereas Lia starts her days early and works till evening, so our times don't match for us to meet every day. Moreover, I'm busy at weekends, so we decided to spend time together on Wednesdays and Thursdays— she comes here, and I leave the kitchen to my second in command and partner on those two days— I'm lucky to have a great staff."

'Well, as long as they're happy with their relationship,' thought Quinn and then asked, "Do you have a room here in the restaurant where I can rest for a while?"

"Yeah," Abraham looked towards a corridor leading out of the dining, "we have a room in the back . . . but are you sure that you don't want to go rest wherever you're staying."

"I'll go there after I return from my outing during the late night. Right now, I would like if I could just jump up from here because if I go there, I would need to meet up with a bunch of people waiting for me and sit down with them for a while," Quinn sighed.

His living arrangements here were handled by the people employed by Wests, which meant even though this was a personal trip, there were people who knew Quinn was visiting. That meant there were going to be West Executives who would like to meet the grandson of George West and do some bootlicking and get acquainted. So if he went at night, he wouldn't have to deal with those people until tomorrow, or . . . never in his trip if he went out early and returned late.

"I have no problem with that," Abraham said, "you can rest in the backroom; I will ask my staff to stay away from the room."

"Thank you, that'd be much appreciated."

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- (Scene Break) -

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"That ends today's briefing," said Abraham looking at his staff. "I hope everyone's clear with their tasks and today's profile."

" " "Yes, chef!" " " replied the staff of 'Restaurant Astier.'

Abraham closed his notes for the day and smiled as his employees, but then noticed that suddenly their eyes strayed to the side, looking behind him. He turned and saw Quinn standing at the kitchen door, dressed in a suit that was different from the casual jacket he wore before.

"Quinn?" he called. "Is it time for you to go out?"

Quinn shook his head before waving towards the staff with a charming smile. He stepped forward, retrieved an envelope from his pocket, and handed it to Abraham, who looked at the familiar envelope with wide eyes.

". . . You have a reservation for today," Abraham said, raising the reservation invitation letter that Restaurant Astier sent to its guests.

"Yes, I'm booked under the name Balbh East," Quinn pointed at the letter card and then grinned, "Surprise~!"

Abraham's eyes went down to the letter card and then up to Quinn, and as he did that, he couldn't help but think how similar Quinn was to Lia in some aspects, and more importantly, he made a note not to spend an evening with both of the West siblings together.

". . . I will show you to your seat," said Abraham.

They exited and followed along a corridor with fifteen doors in it. They stopped in front of door number four, and Abraham opened it up for Quinn to step inside. The dining room was decor-rich, yet it was simple. Quinn could see a lot of things like a magical gramophone and walls with paint that moved seemed to move slowly to change patterns over time. In the middle of the room sat an ornate table with two chairs.

"Room four, from what I remember, has a reservation for two guests" Abraham frowned as he read the reservation letter card, then looked up at Quinn. "Someone else will be eating with you?"

Quinn looked away from the room and nodded, "Yes, I'm meeting with someone here." He took out his pocket watch to check the time, "They like to be on time, so I guess they're about to arrive."

As soon as Quinn said that, a hemispherical glass globe on a wall, which had been empty, suddenly lit up with a flare of green flames rushing under the glass.

"What is that?" Quinn asked.

"It seems you were right about them being on time," said Abraham. "Your guest has arrived at the Floo in the reception room."

Quinn glanced down on his clothes, and they straightened up. He held his hand behind his back and positioned himself so he was looking away from the door. Soon he heard a jolly yet old voice.

"Thank you, little lady," said the voice.

"Good evening, sir," Abraham greeted the smiling old man with eyes that seemed to shine with an eye-catching light. "I'm Abraham Astier, the Head Chef of Restaurant Astier. I'll be preparing your courses this evening."

"Hoho, I'm looking forward to it, Abraham. I don't usually come to establishments like these."

"Please look forward to an enjoyable time, sir," said Abraham. "Please enter, sir; your companion has already arrived."

"Oh?" the old voice chuckled . . . sounds of footsteps . . . "Quinn . . . oh my, haven't you grown tall."

Quinn, who was acting as if he didn't know about the arrival, turned to gaze upon the old man with a smile,

"And you have grown older, Mr. Alan."

Alan D. Baddeley's already wide smile stretched wider, accentuating his smile wrinkles on the side of his eyes.

"That happens with time, my dear child."

The master and student had reunited.

.

-*-*-*-*-*-

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Alan D. Baddeley - MASTER - Hello, little ones. It has been a long-long while.

Quinn West - Balbh East - I don't approve of this disrespect! Why was I bumped down the list?! Move me up this instant!

Abraham Astier - Restaurant Astier - Wonder who's the old man.

FictionOnlyReader - Author - Who better than the GOAT himself.

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-*-*-*-*-*-

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If you have any ideas regarding the magic you want to see in this fiction or want to offer some ideas regarding the progression. Move onto the DISCORD Server and blast those ideas.

The link is in the synopsis!


CREATORS' THOUGHTS
FictionOnlyReader FictionOnlyReader

Just like always,

Review, comment, add to the library, and share this fic.

Thx

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