gotta do it in the penthouse
that's where I keep my pen
Anyone who thought Cassian’s aptitude (or rather, lack thereof) for school was an exaggeration is likely realizing their mistake right about now. Of course, it is impressive he had managed to receive a pass on his delightful little ditty, but never fear, there’s still time. Unless Tir manages to turn this poor boy’s head around, of course.
A tall task, to be sure.
Honestly, no one would likely ever accuse Cas of being especially clever or scientifically minded. But what he lacks in such learned intelligence, he makes up for in wit and creativity. Or, well, what passes for creativity to a young, hormone-fueled boy at least. And so, when the next assignment comes, and they’re charged with creating an entirely new substance, Cassian cannot help but be intrigued.
You see, while the devilish young Cas may have little interest in songs and poetry, he has always been a great fan of exploration and trouble-making pursuits. And, well, given some of the things he’s gotten into in his life, he can imagine several useful things he might create to aid in those activities.
So it is with somewhat impish glee that he embarks on this particular tasks, using abilities not normally granted to him to craft his brand new substance. Something the likes of which Beqanna has never seen before.
And when it is his turn to present his creation, he steps forward with a gleam of delight in his eyes, a thrill of excitement in his veins. “I think you’ll all appreciate this stuff,” he begins, a little smirk toying with his lips. “You see, it’s a liquid, slippery, but not runny. It keeps its shape pretty well, even in cold and heat. Useful, eh?”
His grin widens as he smears a little in his graying mane. “Nice and clear, so it doesn’t stain your fur. Pleasant smell too. A little like, mmm” he pauses thoughtfully “ fresh, crisp apples.”
“And so many uses!” he continues gleefully, eyes bright as he slicks it through his hair. “Burrs in your hair? Gone! Squeeze through tight space? Pshhh, easy. No more, uh, what’s called? Friction?”
With a toss of his head, slicked hair gliding against his skin, he tosses a jaunty grin to Tir. “I call it Mama’s Magic.”
Cassian
