Fiver

I'm going to get it out of the way early. It's become my policy to do so.

It's rare to be a grel with pointy ears and rarer still to be one with black hair. I have protagonist written all over me.  I can't disappoint people when I look so incredibly burdened with rare purpose and destiny.

I could have studied half as much as I did and still been the finest magic user in my year but the fact that I DID study as much as I did created a further gap between me and what I hesitate to call my peers.

I make no apologies for my attitude at that time. 

By my final year of college, as I finalised my discipline I was without coequals.

You can call it being friendless or unpopular if you like but I don't think of someone who stands still for so long that they end up covered in ants as 'having lots of friends' - if you see what I mean.

Anyways. I'm hot shit. Very aware of it.

Now, every sphere spell - that is to say a spell that is taken from the five spheres and is unrelated to your discipline, MUST be tested and retested before you get your license. One of my sphere spells is 'fizzle'. Basically, so long as I react quick enough I can stop a single spell from being cast.

So I'm the blast arena taking my sphere exams. Crowd has formed, because though not popular I am still noticed by others. Observed as something of an enigma and , let's be honest, easy on the eyes.

I get 10 different spells cast at me by the examiner and I fizzle all of them with increasingly dismissive gestures.  Test passed. That should have been it but the tepid applause I receive alerts me to the crowd that has formed. Perhaps  50-60 people. Staff and students.

Aware that I have an audience, I loudly request that the examiner fires one more blast at me. I hold my arms out. Gonna show these also-rans what a real magus looks like in action. The examiner obliges me and fires a blast of pure energy in my direction.

The plan, naturally was to let everyone see the blast come tearing towards me, carving up the sand and loose pebbles that made of the ground of the arena, hear the gasps and terrified shouts and then fizzle the spell at the last second letting it explode just short of me, allowing me to emerge from the resulting smoke utterly unharmed. Doubtlessly to thunderous applause. 

The perfect story for them all to tell years from now when they're talking about how they used to know me back when.

Yeah. Not quite.

I WAS utterly unharmed, but my clothes - save for the black leather boots and gloves I wore were completely shredded away.

There was a moment of silence before someone called out.

"HOLY SHIT SHE LOOKS LIKE THE FIVE OF SPADES!"

Five of spades

Five a spades

Five a

Fiver.

After a week, people I'd never met or spoken to me were calling me that.  It was how people started to introduce me.

Truth be told I didn't even fight it that much. Even at the time. Not like that ever works. You try and hide something it makes it worse or get's distorted. 

So yeah. Basically everyone calls me 'Fiver' and that's why.

Now it's how I sign my letters. 

It's kinda cool in it own way. It reminds me of an experience where - even though I still succeeded - brought me down to earth. It's a nice little daily reminder for me to stay sharp.

People keep misspelling my real name anyways.

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Got the idea from a Morcombe and Wise joke.