Dripping with water, Rhinestone climbed out of a teacup.

“I’ll miss you,” the teacup gurgled.

Rhinestone sniffed in response. He returned himself to natural size.

“Why can’t you just use the tub like a normal person?” Balth complained, whipping him in the back of the head with a towel. Finding Rhinestone the wrong size, the wrong species or covered in unidentifiable magical goo in random places throughout the house had become routine, but some habits — turning up naked in the dining room for instance — pushed Balth’s buttons.

“Did you see the size of our water bill?” Rhinestone countered, “We can’t afford for me to not bathe in a teacup.”

“We can’t afford to serve tea in cups you’ve bathed in. And wouldn’t you agree that our egregious water bill was caused by a certain explosion of the pipes when you summoned a hippopotamus into our toilet?”

Rhinestone defiantly tossed his longish pink hair, launching water droplets onto the antique wooden tabletop.

“You don’t play fair, Balthie! I’m still practicing, and you can’t ‘learn from your mistakes’ without the mistakes!”

Balth sighed, “I know, Rhine. Just… be careful. I don’t want you to have another attack…”

Rhinestone had the magical equivalent of asthma: like an asthmatic person has difficulty breathing if they overexert themselves physically, Rhinestone’s attacks were triggered if he overexerted himself magically. When Rhinestone used his magic, a little excess spilled over which attached itself to objects and gave them a Voice. One or two objects speaking wasn’t terrible, but hundreds of objects — each individual floorboard, every utensil in the silverware drawer — speaking in a cacophonous typhoon sent Rhinestone into a paralytic panic. Balth would find him curled in a ball, hands over his ears, unable to move or free himself from the noise that only he could hear. Seeing Rhinestone — jawbreaker unshakable, risk-taking glitter-bomb, I-told-off-all-your-bullies-even-though-they-were-bigger-than-me-and-pulled-my-hair-and-gave-me-a-black-eye-and-I-didn’t-even-flinch Rhinestone — like that made Balth’s teeth ache.

Rhinestone rolled his eyes.

“Look, Balth, I got my magic late in life, remember? If I let fear hold me back, I’m never going to make it to your level.”

“Rhine, you don’t need to get ‘to my level.’ You could have any job! Preferably one less dangerous! Why do you have to become a wizard? It’s not like I ever had a choice —”

The room went ice quiet.

“Balthazar Flinn,” Rhinestone’s voice was steely, “What exactly do you mean by that?”

“You know what I mean.”

“No, Balthie, I don’t.”

“Oh come on, Rhinestone! It’s not as though I could become a professor or a businessman with this face! The options were gangster, bodyguard or wizard, and I only have talents in one of the three!”

Rhinestone rubbed the bridge of his nose, frustrated.

“Balth. No one cares about your scar. Some pernicious little twits gave you a hard time about it back in the day, but they are not everybody. You can’t let your insecurities hold you back.”

“‘A hard time about it?’ Rhinestone, they thrashed me and locked me in a dumpster. Or did you forget?”

“Of course I didn’t forget! I found you there! The point is: their nastiness shouldn’t keep you from living your life the way you want. I never knew you didn’t actually want to become a wizard…”

Balth let out a long sigh.

“It’s not that. I-I do love magic and adventures and everything. It’s just… I don’t know…”

Rhinestone flicked him in the forehead, at the top of the scar which zig-zagged across his face.

“Don’t overthink. If you want to become a wizard, do it. If you don’t, don’t. Just don’t let fear make choices for you.”

Rhinestone strutted out.

“Wait! You never answered my question— ”

Ten years later, a woman rang the bell.

“I’m here about the antique table?”

“Ah, yes. It’s in the dining room,” Balthazar Flinn let her in and handed her a pink bath towel.

She looked down at it confused.

“What do I need —” she stepped into the dining room.

Dripping with water, Rhinestone climbed out of a teacup.