A magical catastrophe​ at the pub

“Did you not read the sign?” The burly man at the bar asked, his hairy fist coming to punch at the worn wood. She shivered, jumping back from his anger.

“What?” Cassy asked, looking around as the rest of the bar’s inhabitants stared at her.

“No cloaks!” He yelled, pointing to a very plain piece of wood hanging from the door. She walked over to it, picking up the bottom and pulling it closer to her face. It read, no weapons, no animals, no cloaks! 

“I’m sorry,” she uttered, putting the sign back.

“Take it off,” he huffed in reply. Cassy looked down at the dark fabric, cringing silently, she began shuffling back out the door.

“No one is going to judge you in here missy, no need to leave,” a large woman said, her apron was covered in what Cassy assumed, was either meat or she had just killed her clients. The woman gave a kind smile, putting her hand out to take the cloak from Cassy. Gulping, she prayed the lady was right about the no judgment. She unclasped the hook of her cloak,  handing it away with a shiver.

“What on earth did you do!” The barman screamed. Cassy sighed, watching as the entire pub turned in open mouthed confusion. She had tried a new hair treatment technique, using her magic she was supposed to have achieved long, luscious locks… instead, she now was the proud owner of hair that refused to acknowledge gravity.  Brown locks curled upwards instead of down, spinning in tiny spirals up until it looked like she was hanging upside down.

“Well thank you for not judging!” She screamed, grabbing her cloak and leaving. Laughter followed through the slamming door as she sniffled in defeat.

 

Cloaked

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