## #PennedPossibilities 1027 — SC POV: If you could master any skill, what would it be? How would you use it? Note: #tootfic.
[Devil-girl, currently a mob enforcer, autist, SC POV:] I looked at Bolt [the MC] squarely. "*That's* a weird question."
"I? Well. You went to *huge* trouble to attend the Directorate's school of thaumaturgy. Since we're working together, I thought it might be good to know…"
I wasn't the type to have personal goals, simply work goals. I made a point of studying *everything—* "But maybe that's the problem."
"I didn't mean to be nosey—"
I hugged her tightly, wings and shoulders, with my cheek against hers, before she could pout. Unlike me, being forced to work for criminal organizations had damaged my day angel coworker badly. All jock and often faulty unschooled intuition, she couldn't find the advantage even in the *best* of the worst situations, to turn a lose to a win, and tended to fold into fears. I tried to be as friendly as she, so it made logical sense to reciprocate, to see if it would help.
"Silly girl," I whispered into her ear. She was keenly aware of being a decade older than me, so I felt her react to the *girl* diminutive I'd used to take her out of fear mode. I chuckled, releasing her. "I know about your reporter friend. Learning from him the craft of interviewing is good."
"Don't tell anyone about him."
"I won't. So… is there a skill I could learn? Ah! I'd defo be mastering working simple miracles well."
"Simple?" Bolt clearly wanted to laugh but with me was always circumspect. "I've seen you go from here"—she popped out a wing, pointing—"to there. *Pop! Blam!*"
"That takes singularity maths, and I'm still working on getting that miracle right. Since I got scared into making it work the first time, I'm never sure the next time will work. You wanna example? How about turning a wheel on a cart, or better yet, creating a simple sprite."
"In your apartment building, you made so many—"
"Sprites? Simple ones?" I fear I scoffed.
I took a deep breath, found a standing mnemonic drifting in my mind, felt recollections of numerical matrix fragments melting into proper predicates, then with a sense of the random, and a feel for the impatient breeze cooling my skin and buffeting her wing feathers in the morning twilight, I made a snap-judgement codicil to take the place of targeting. Balancing happened instantly, congesting my horns. With a wish, I released an avalanche of bright digits crackling and shooting like burning embers across my arithmocosm, filling my halo.
I worked a miracle.
An apparition of rainbow light—a palm-sized spherical aquarium, filled with luminous colored oils circulating in frothy plumes—snapped into existence. The polychrome sprite drifted from between us and quickly away. Bolt fluttered back with a squee, mouth agape, the eldritch light illuminating her face, her fuzzy blue eyebrows becoming caterpillars trying to kiss. The sprite made like a butterfly, dancing back and around and askance on the wind, toward the nearest building as the escapement ran down, plumes slowing, and the precious few splendors I allowed it burnt away.
Pretty good for a dozen-dozen sloppy quick draw approximations. I'd be hard pressed to duplicate it exactly.
Not exactly? That was easy.
"Wow…" Bolt's voice was like smoke drifting from her mouth.
I asked, "Do you have any idea of how complex that was?"
"Pretty easy, knowing you."
"Dozens of open irises arranged parallel to the sphere surface, unrelated maths for the colors, a recollection for the target to provide multi-axial oscillations to simulate the butterfly movement. I could go on. It all came to me in a hot mess. But, a simple colorless monochromatic sprite afixed 45° above my forehead that will turn as my head turns, what most 4-year olds master?" I made a very wet raspberry sound.
"You *did that* going up the stair to your apartment!"
"Did I?"
"Um." She frowned, looking askance as she thought, her tongue blipping out for an instant. "Well, it *was* yellow, and it orbited around your head—"
"Yeah, that."
"You gave it to me, and *it followed me to the squats!*"
"Exactly. Turning a wagon wheel to make a cart roll is a thing daemons do to make coin. Can't. Do it. For trying!" I growled. "Once, I had a so-called friend who helped me figure out how to make complex things work, when *Simple* failed. Had to nearly die to learn my best trick. Not sustainable."
"The dying bit?"
I nodded. "Simple is Hard."
"Which is why you're going to a thaumaturgy high school at your age?"
I narrowed my eyes at her, grinning nevertheless. "How old do you think I am?"
My grin was strategic. I didn't accidentally confirm she'd guessed right.
[Author retains copyright (c)2026 R.S.]
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