Dog Days
East Village, NY, United States
Early August 2026
@Bridget Collins
The letter from Bridget was discussed in DMs.
Cyrus had returned – for good, for now – to New York at the end of July. He'd lugged a duffel bag behind him, the waterproof, beat-up fabric dragging on the cement, as he shouldered his knapsack for what he hoped was the last time. Travelling had been amazing. He'd seen so many things and met so many people that sometimes, it all started to blur together, although, of course, the highlights of his gap year were still very obvious. Sometimes it was the little things – fresh strawberries at a market in New Zealand, or clogs in the Netherlands, or getting to see a camel for real. But other things were bigger – the sense of being utterly dwarfed that came from seeing the Great Pyramids, or the tomb he'd gotten stuck in with YoYo AKA Hanya and some really cool other guys, or the beautiful cherry blossoms in Japan.
And now he was home.
It was kind of weird getting up the stairs. He wasn't even jet lagged – he'd been in the Americas for the end of his trip, after all – but exhaustion tugged at him. His aunt helped him get his stuff up to his room, and then, instead of asking him how things had gone for the last leg, she just let him pass out on his neatly-made bed. He slept for a solid sixteen hours and woke up a little after 2pm the next day, slightly groggy but otherwise well-rested.
He could have slept for longer, he thought, but a tapping noise at his window forced him to get out of bed. He stretched, reached upwards to turn on the fan, and then opened his blinds. And – oh! Oh, that was an owl. A big one, too. Like a jumbo jet of an owl. 'Dude, I'm so sorry,' Cyrus mumbled as he hastily unlocked the window and opened it. He'd no idea how long the owl had been there. It flew inside, dropped something on Cyrus's bed, and then flew out.
'Man, I was hoping to feed it,' Cyrus muttered to himself. He attempted numerous times to open the letter in a normal way, but when it would not budge, he had to tear the paper. The ugliness of it did not please him, but those aesthetic concerns were forgotten when he began to read.
At first, he had no idea who was trying to message to him. It was like getting a spam call, and that was rare for Cyrus because his phone only really worked when he wasn't at his aunt's apartment. But then he skimmed the letter and saw the name at the end. Oh yeah! Bridget! The lady at the tomb! After vaguely imagining her face (surely more greyscale than usual) in his mind, Cyrus reread the letter. He then started to pen one of his own, pulling out some loose leaf notebook paper and a glitter pen.
After that, Cyrus vowed to get dressed and go to an arcade or something. He'd be the laziest guy ever til either he heard back from Bridget, or until he arrived... but first, he had to tell his aunt she'd be coming.
Early August 2026
@Bridget Collins
The letter from Bridget was discussed in DMs.
Cyrus had returned – for good, for now – to New York at the end of July. He'd lugged a duffel bag behind him, the waterproof, beat-up fabric dragging on the cement, as he shouldered his knapsack for what he hoped was the last time. Travelling had been amazing. He'd seen so many things and met so many people that sometimes, it all started to blur together, although, of course, the highlights of his gap year were still very obvious. Sometimes it was the little things – fresh strawberries at a market in New Zealand, or clogs in the Netherlands, or getting to see a camel for real. But other things were bigger – the sense of being utterly dwarfed that came from seeing the Great Pyramids, or the tomb he'd gotten stuck in with YoYo AKA Hanya and some really cool other guys, or the beautiful cherry blossoms in Japan.
And now he was home.
It was kind of weird getting up the stairs. He wasn't even jet lagged – he'd been in the Americas for the end of his trip, after all – but exhaustion tugged at him. His aunt helped him get his stuff up to his room, and then, instead of asking him how things had gone for the last leg, she just let him pass out on his neatly-made bed. He slept for a solid sixteen hours and woke up a little after 2pm the next day, slightly groggy but otherwise well-rested.
He could have slept for longer, he thought, but a tapping noise at his window forced him to get out of bed. He stretched, reached upwards to turn on the fan, and then opened his blinds. And – oh! Oh, that was an owl. A big one, too. Like a jumbo jet of an owl. 'Dude, I'm so sorry,' Cyrus mumbled as he hastily unlocked the window and opened it. He'd no idea how long the owl had been there. It flew inside, dropped something on Cyrus's bed, and then flew out.
'Man, I was hoping to feed it,' Cyrus muttered to himself. He attempted numerous times to open the letter in a normal way, but when it would not budge, he had to tear the paper. The ugliness of it did not please him, but those aesthetic concerns were forgotten when he began to read.
At first, he had no idea who was trying to message to him. It was like getting a spam call, and that was rare for Cyrus because his phone only really worked when he wasn't at his aunt's apartment. But then he skimmed the letter and saw the name at the end. Oh yeah! Bridget! The lady at the tomb! After vaguely imagining her face (surely more greyscale than usual) in his mind, Cyrus reread the letter. He then started to pen one of his own, pulling out some loose leaf notebook paper and a glitter pen.
Cyrus eventually found the owl from before in his aunt's back garden, where he gently tied the letter around its leg. 'Go find Bridget, okay? That's a good lil buddy.' He patted the owl's head, though it was unbeknownst to him whether or not the owl actually liked that. It did, however, fly off, presumably to find Bridget, so it must have been fine.Dear Bridget,
Wow! Gonna be so for real, I didn't expect a letter. Not that it's a bad thing! I'm happy to have heard from you.
I'd love to try to help! We can meet up sometime if you want. I'm back home with my aunt Teresa in New York right now, so I'll give you a return address so you know where to go. She won't mind having visitors, but if you want privacy, there's also a kind of small backyard we can use. Maybe if we drape some blankets over the fence and hide, the No-Majs won't see us. Jk jk, unless...?
Anyway, if you prefer owls, that's okay too. I think it's easier to teach stuff in person, though. Plus, we could get ice cream and hang out or something – or we can just do spell practice, whatever you want!
I haven't gotten sealed in any more tombs (thank goodness), and I've honestly had a really great few months. I hope you've had the same.
Can't wait to see you.Sincerely,
Cyrus
After that, Cyrus vowed to get dressed and go to an arcade or something. He'd be the laziest guy ever til either he heard back from Bridget, or until he arrived... but first, he had to tell his aunt she'd be coming.
[pc] koko riddle · 'i was raised up to be admired.'
'hey! bom bom bom. got any grapes?' · cyrus darsel [inpc]
Dog Days
Credit to Cassiel Ahlstrom
@Cyrus Darsel
This day was a long time coming. Bridget believed asking for help was a virtue, but she was loathe to actually do it for this thing in particular. She had, once. Way back in her third and fourth years when she was just getting into duelling, she would watch her peers slowly master the art of splitting their spells and she would ask them, if she knew them well enough, how they did it. Then she would take their advice and try, and try, and try. The nothingness she had to show for all her efforts and questions grew into a sore point, one she determined to hide, so she kept trying but stopped asking.
Years down the line, that same nothingness clung to her. Maybe this skill just wasn't for her, but she was even more averse to admitting defeat for something this important. The unfiltered commentary of a child after a duel in late December planted a seed that would not sprout until late March. Finding herself trapped in a bloody tomb, of all things, served as a reminder of why she really wanted to do this. The benefit to her duelling was a plus, not the purpose; Bridget cared most deeply for her ability to defend her friends, when it came down to it, and for that she could finally swallow her pride.
It still wasn't entirely straightforward as a knock of someone's door the next day. She knew many a spell-spreader from Hogwarts and from the Magic Marinas. Many of them were even friends. But Fianna thought about magic in a way that was far too mystical, Illowy was often travelling for her work, and Astrea, though she cherished her old teammate, would probably be a terrible teacher. Her other friends fell into many of the same categories. Then she remembered Cyrus. She didn't know if he was busy and he might be a poor fit... but maybe not. She didn't know if they were friends. He was American, he liked ducks, he could be considered a bit naïve. That was the product of this kindness and optimism he radiated, though, the kind that might really believe in her ability to finally, finally pull this off.
This deliberation and then second-guessing carried her all the way to mid-July, when finally she was fed up with her own circling worries. It might be a horrible idea, but she'd decided Cyrus was unlikely to judge. That was worth something. More than anything, she needed to try, and trying started with sending an owl. It wasn't her first draft; the first was painfully long, riddled with crossed-out sections, and even annotated in the margins. What she sent, via wizard post office and their great, hardy owls, went like this:She attempted not to think any more of it until his reply came. Written in glittery ink, Cyrus said he was willing to help and even included little hand-drawn emojis. His transformation from the formality of her letter to the friendliness of his own was rather endearing, actually. Even if this didn't work, there was the consolation of ice cream.Cyrus,
This is an odd request you are welcome to say no to.
I noticed your ability to split your spells in two, a skill I have been trying to learn for years. If you would be willing, I would appreciate any advice or assistance you can provide. You seem quite different from the people I used to ask about it, and I think this may be a good thing.
If you say yes, I think meeting would work well, but I would appreciate even owl correspondence. I can come to you, wherever you are these days. I would also appreciate if this stays between us.
I hope you have been well and have avoided getting sealed in any more tombs.
Best,
Bridget
She went to owl back to say she would come (teaching was easier in person) and set up a date, then considered how long all of that would take. Wizard communication was so painfully slow sometimes. And she really needed her international travel to happen in August, before preliminaries started. It was easier just to take three days off, pack her bags, puzzle out how the Macmillan London Center worked, and hope he was around.
New York City in August was warm and in constant buzzing motion (she believed the latter applied year-round). Her adult life in Cork thus far was not very comparable, but she'd lived in London a few summers and felt confident enough catching a Muggle taxi to the address she'd been given, the dollars she'd exchanged for pounds and Cyrus' letter in her pocket. With her (currently unfortunate) lack of a phone, she was stuck in conversation with her rather chatty driver, but soon enough she was standing on the street outside Cyrus' aunt's place, one hand on her bag, the ends of her long patterned skirt swishing around her shins as another car drove past.
This was worth trying. She reached out and rang the doorbell.
Outfit reference: something like this
(she has just little silver hoop earrings and no bracelets)
Phyllis Stanwood (iNPC) • Aislin Darragh (2nd gen) • Alejandros Espinosa (2nd gen iNPC)
Dog Days
East Village, NY, United States
Early August 2026
@Bridget Collins
The brrrrrriiiiing of the doorbell echoed through Teresa Carey's brownstone like an alarm. The brown-haired woman initially left the kitchen to go answer the door, but she was forced to a halt by the six-foot-three young man barrelling down the stairs.
'Sorry, Aunt Teresa! I'm gonna get it!'
This had been how things had gone the past few days. The doorbell would ring, and Teresa would go to answer were she home, and Cyrus would excitedly stop her. He'd greeted the postman with such intense enthusiasm that he'd ended up getting the guy's number and making what he called friends with him. He'd talked to a pizza delivery guy for 30 minutes and had made the guy late to his next delivery. He'd bought an insane number of girl scout cookies, earning a groan from his aunt. The kitchen counter was now stacked with thin mints.
This time, when Cyrus opened the door, his bright smile was accompanied by a spark of recognition in his cerulean eyes. 'Bridgettttt!' he exclaimed. He, contrary to character, would not go in for a hug. He held back the urge and instead held out his right hand for a very professional handshake. Also restraining from calling her 'bestie', he would then beckon her into the house. 'Yes, yes, come on in.' His voice had dropped a bit with all this trying to be professional. His aunt stood behind him in the foyer, and he gestured to her first, and then to Bridget. 'Uh, Bridget, this is Aunt Teresa. Aunt Teresa, this is Bridget. My, uh...' Friend? '...student. Yes, yes.'
He'd informed his aunt of their plans. That had resulted in their modest back garden being set up with blankets over the garden walls. Cutesy lanterns decorated each side. A few thrifted Barbie dolls and stuffed animals would take the place of duelling dummies.
Aunt Teresa would offer Bridget a handshake, tell the young woman she could help herself to anything in their kitchen, especially the millions of thin mints, and then she would leave them to it.
'Right, so, let's head out back. I'm assuming you've got your wand with you, yeah?' Cyrus, for his part, did not, but he snatched it off a pack of thin mints on the kitchen counter as he attempted to lead Bridget towards the door heading outside. 'Love your skirt, by the way.' His cargo shorts did not compare at all. Nor did his brown-and-tan Hawaiian shirt. 'Okay, so, I think we should start with flipendo. And don't try to spread it just yet. I just want to see how you're doing things. Does that work?'
Early August 2026
@Bridget Collins
The brrrrrriiiiing of the doorbell echoed through Teresa Carey's brownstone like an alarm. The brown-haired woman initially left the kitchen to go answer the door, but she was forced to a halt by the six-foot-three young man barrelling down the stairs.
'Sorry, Aunt Teresa! I'm gonna get it!'
This had been how things had gone the past few days. The doorbell would ring, and Teresa would go to answer were she home, and Cyrus would excitedly stop her. He'd greeted the postman with such intense enthusiasm that he'd ended up getting the guy's number and making what he called friends with him. He'd talked to a pizza delivery guy for 30 minutes and had made the guy late to his next delivery. He'd bought an insane number of girl scout cookies, earning a groan from his aunt. The kitchen counter was now stacked with thin mints.
This time, when Cyrus opened the door, his bright smile was accompanied by a spark of recognition in his cerulean eyes. 'Bridgettttt!' he exclaimed. He, contrary to character, would not go in for a hug. He held back the urge and instead held out his right hand for a very professional handshake. Also restraining from calling her 'bestie', he would then beckon her into the house. 'Yes, yes, come on in.' His voice had dropped a bit with all this trying to be professional. His aunt stood behind him in the foyer, and he gestured to her first, and then to Bridget. 'Uh, Bridget, this is Aunt Teresa. Aunt Teresa, this is Bridget. My, uh...' Friend? '...student. Yes, yes.'
He'd informed his aunt of their plans. That had resulted in their modest back garden being set up with blankets over the garden walls. Cutesy lanterns decorated each side. A few thrifted Barbie dolls and stuffed animals would take the place of duelling dummies.
Aunt Teresa would offer Bridget a handshake, tell the young woman she could help herself to anything in their kitchen, especially the millions of thin mints, and then she would leave them to it.
'Right, so, let's head out back. I'm assuming you've got your wand with you, yeah?' Cyrus, for his part, did not, but he snatched it off a pack of thin mints on the kitchen counter as he attempted to lead Bridget towards the door heading outside. 'Love your skirt, by the way.' His cargo shorts did not compare at all. Nor did his brown-and-tan Hawaiian shirt. 'Okay, so, I think we should start with flipendo. And don't try to spread it just yet. I just want to see how you're doing things. Does that work?'
[pc] koko riddle · 'i was raised up to be admired.'
'hey! bom bom bom. got any grapes?' · cyrus darsel [inpc]