Work Text:
The restaurant was lively, the sound of raucous laughter filling the air in the same manner that beer was filling the cups of your colleagues. You sat, gripping your water with tight fingers, feeling lost amidst a sea of people. You did not understand why it was required that you go to these team “happy hours”. The dwarves and elves could really drink, and the lower inhibitions got, the more of an outsider you felt.
The number of times your shoulder had been bumped had to be in triple digits, and not a single person seemed interested in talking to you. You flipped your phone over, marking the time. Maybe it was late enough for you to bow out; this did not have an official end time, after all.
Not that you could get a word in inchwise with these people to excuse yourself. “It’s getting late,” you finally announced definitively, setting your cup down to punctuate your declaration. A few people around you laughed, clearly having heard not a single word you had said. The dwarf beside you only seemed to take note of you when you began to stand.
“Oh, you’re still here?” He guffawed, clapping a hand on your back hard enough you nearly lost your balance. “Thought you left hours ago!”
Hours? Had nobody noticed you were there…for hours?
Another of your coworkers seemed to be drawn to the conversation, pink cheeks flush with indulgence for the evening. “It’s because they blend in with the background,” they observed, barely contained laughter hissing behind their teeth.
Your cheeks felt hot in indignation, but you knew better than to snap back; this was technically a work function, after all, and you were probably the lowest person on the ladder here. You swallowed your displeasure, the taste bitter and uncomfortable, and forced a skewed smile. “See you Monday.”
You turned, the sounds of people suggesting different clothes or hair fading into the unrecognizable din behind you. You wondered if they realized you had walked away; were you really that unnoticeable?
A weight settled in your chest, brow furrowed and pinched in discomfort. You were an introvert, not a decoration. It seemed unfair that everyone had written you off, deciding you were too plain. Too forgettable. Unremarkable.
The cars whizzed past you on the street in a blur, the steady sound of your heels against the city pavement an echoing underscore to your thoughts. A part of you felt despondent, but another part of you was angry. They would be so surprised if you showed up Monday at work with a full makeover; bet that would shut them up.
Just as the thought crossed your mind, a lighted sign caught sight of your attention. You fell still, neck craned to look up. ‘Well Wished, a Fairy Godmother LLC’. For a moment you stared, hesitating; but the sting in your spirit from the horrendous night eventually turned your feet toward the door.
Still open. Apparently late night miracles were a common request.
A shop bell sang overhead as the door opened, and you stepped inside, casting your eyes first one way, then another. It was crisp, but in a homey sort of way. The wood floors were spotless, the blue leather sofas for waiting spanning both a delicate and business feel. The front desk was empty, a large curtain hanging to separate the front lobby from some sort of area behind.
There was nobody else in the shop; in the emptiness, you began to feel hesitancy.
Still, before you turned to leave, the curtain parted, and someone stepped through. It was a fae; you could pick that out immediately by the light in his eyes. Their shimmering teal attention was focused on you. He looked as crisp as the shop itself, a tailored suit on his lean frame, white gloves on his hands. Even his hair, a two-toned greenish-teal, looked immaculate. He was handsome, in an ethereal way, and you felt the need to shy away from under his gaze.
A smile spread his lips, though the expression was reserved. “Welcome to Well Wished,” he greeted, his deep tones pleasant. “How can I be of service?”
“I want to hire a fairy godmother,” you answered, a small heat flaring on your cheeks. It sounded silly to say out loud, in a way. Though, you supposed anyone coming into Well Wished late at night was looking for the same miracle you were.
“Then I’m at your disposal. My name is Barbatos. Would you care to join me in our consultation room?” He gave a quarter turn, parting the curtain once more to invite you deeper into the building with a small bow.
Your voice failed you, so you simply nodded, setting out to follow. Barbatos set an easy pace, though there was something effortless in his movements that made you feel slower. It was probably because you were not of fae-blood, too. Though, if you looked and moved like that, you supposed you would not be there in the first place.
You found yourself in a smaller conference type room, a small table set with some chairs around. Barbatos waved his hand as you entered, a teapot and plate of small cakes floating through the air to settle on the table’s surface. You sank into a seat, eyeing the confections with both admiration and interest, a fact that the fae chuckled at as he slipped into a chair across from you.
“They’re not cursed, if you are concerned,” Barbatos prompted.
You flushed. “Of course not,” you assured, taking a cookie in hand pointedly to take a bite.
Barbatos’ eyes sparkled. “Now, how can I help you?”
You felt that helplessness well inside you once more. What could he help you with? More like what couldn’t he help you with. “...I want to be memorable.”
For a moment, Barbatos simply stared at you; perhaps he was waiting for you to continue. Perhaps he had seen that this was hard for you and merely wished to give you time to breathe. A flutter of his fingers and a paper and pen appeared for him to take up. “I see,” he hummed, his tone a low buzz that was nearly hypnotic. Barbatos’ lips flicked down, but he elegantly reached to pour first you and then himself a cup of tea. “Well Wished is in the business of performing personal requests,” he conceded. “But this is quite abstract. Perhaps you can help me understand what it is you would like to see.”
What would you like to see? “When I walk into work on Monday, I want everyone to remember who I am, and not forget that I’m even there like they did tonight. I’ve heard fairy godmothers specialize in makeovers, so maybe that and a…charisma charm? Is that a thing?”
“Charisma is a boon we can help with,” Barbatos agreed, and his pen scratched over the paper to make a note. “And makeovers are our most popular package. But if you’ll allow me a few more questions before we settle on a service?”
It was not like you had ever gone to a fairy godmother before, so you nodded. They probably had different price points, different levels of change. You wondered if you should go full body, or if a striking difference in your hair was enough. You took a sip of the tea; it smelled and tasted divine, rolling across your tongue easily. The warmth it settled in the pit of your stomach made you feel hope for the first time in a few hours.
Maybe weeks. Maybe you had been feeling stuck for a while, now.
“Excellent,” the fae said, reaching to take up his own cup of steaming liquid and take a sip. “It sounds like your primary concern is your working life?”
Was it? You blinked thoughtfully. “Maybe more than work,” you answered. “I mean, it starts there, but…I guess my personal life is kind of unremarkable and boring, too.” Your tone dipped, that feeling of hope disappearing in favor of something deeper and more profoundly sad. “My personality is that of a wallflower,” you added with a frown. “I spent hours at a work function, and nobody even knew I was there.”
“Mhmm,” Barbatos hummed, scribbling another note down on his paper.
You reached for another cookie—they tasted as good as they looked.
“When you say your personal life is lacking, what do you mean?” The fae continued.
“I spend most of my time at home. Most of my friends are…internet friends,” you flushed, wondering if this man now thought you were a weirdo, too.
Still, Barbatos’ face remained even as he scribbled yet another note on his paper. “All right,” he announced definitively. “I believe I have enough information to start leading you through our packages.”
“That’s great,” you exclaimed, sitting up straighter in your chair.
The teal-haired fae snapped his fingers, and a pamphlet moved from the shelf to the table. You were about to reach for it when Barbatos flicked his fingers again, this time opening it to the first page. “It may be presumptuous of me, but I believe you only need our first level package.”
You dropped your eyes, scanning the words printed before you eagerly. Still, the further you read, the more confused you felt.
Wish Upon a Star Package:
Includes one miracle of fae-make and interpretation. Positive outcomes only.
First of all, it had never crossed your mind that the outcome of a fae wish could be bad, really, since they had made a business of it so readily. But of their interpretation, too? As in…you had no say?
“I’m sorry, but this sounds like you get to pick my wish for me,” you prompted, pointing to the word in question.
Barbatos nodded. “Indeed. The price is quite affordable, and I have a very good understanding of what you need.” He smiled, the motion professional enough you were instilled with confidence. “We can look at the bigger packages, but you will find the cost to be quite a bit steeper.”
Well, you supposed that was fair enough. The promise it would be positive was something…
“What’s the payment?” You asked, eyeing the pamphlet again and noting the distinct lack of pricing on the brochure.
“We can discuss that later,” Barbatos dismissed. “What do you think?”
Something had to change. You nodded.
“Excellent. Now.” He flicked his hand, the pamphlet shooting off and back to the shelf as he stood. You felt something cool envelop you, the feeling like a spring rain. Barbatos reached to take your hand, setting a glove upon you to sandwich your fingers between his gloved ones. You shivered as the chilling sensation intensified, finally cresting like a wave on rock and receding back like a tide.
Was that it? You did not feel different now…
Your phone buzzed, the sound somehow ceremoniously loud.
Barbatos’ lips curled upward. “Please check that,” he hummed, releasing you.
Curiously you reached for it, eyeing the alert on the screen. An email? From…?
You gasped. It was that company you had applied for weeks ago that had never contacted back. They wanted...an interview? You looked up. “Did you…? What about the makeover?!” You squeaked.
Barbatos offered a small bow, eyes glinting. “Forgive my frankness, but you are fine just as you are. The only thing that needed a change was your environment,” he declared. “But,” he smirked. “When you go in Monday to put in your notice, I promise everyone at work will remember you then.”
For a moment you gaped. “And payment?”
“Come back to tell me how your new job is going,” he said. “Perhaps you might be interested in tea. I happen to be fond of flowers, potted, brewed, or those along the wall.”
You flushed. “…I can do that,” you managed. Not that you were sure you had been prepared for this kind of miracle.
“Wonderful,” Barbatos turned, bowing in a courtly manner to allow you leave out the door. “I look forward to it. And thank you for coming to Well Wished.”
Your steps were light as you near floated from the doorway and back out onto the night street. Suddenly, your whole life seemed remarkable.