Oh, oh, oh its.... Magic??

"You're certain that this will work?" Grim asks, concern, but most importantly skepticism in his voice. Clasped in his hooved paws, he holds an unlit sparkler. His eyes are squinted at the older bun across from him.

Wiz adjusts his hat, pulling it down over one eye to nod with confidence. His own wizard hat isn't weighted down with candles and melting wax like Grim's is, so instead the star-like charms that decorate the brim and point jingle. "Are you doubting the work of a professional, Grimhild?" He asks in such a way that makes it sound as though his nose is pointed skyward, hauty - sure of himself more than he is of anything else. 

"Not exactly..." Grimhild rolls his eyes. "However, I've yet to see any of your 'magic' be proven real. Divination is a significantly different practice than magic. Half of the belief is in the mind of the person receiving their reading. But what you're trying to convince me of is..." 

Wiz leans forward and presses his own hoof against Grim's fluffy mouth and nose, effectively shutting up the bun. Grim's eyes flatten and he thumps his foot against the ground in an incredibly rabbit-like display of grumpiness. "All I'm hearing is that YOU need to consider believing in m e more. Have I ever let you down with a magic show in the past?" Wiz asks, Grim lifts an arm to begin silently counting off all the times Wiz's 'magic' has failed, but the older bun swiftly cuts him off. "Don't answer that."

Grimhild sighs with incredible exasperation at his boyfriend. 

Dr. Craft finally removes his hoof from Grim's mouth, spins around, and returns to the box of sparklers. He hoists his heavy imp, curled up sleeping on top of them, and deposits him on his hat where he usually sleeps. The other spectres around him shift and flow, floating around the guyst. He lifts a clawed paw of his own and lazily swats at the figures, growing quickly bored at how his hand passes right through them. Both of the guysts black hands drop down as it returns to sleep, dangling off the brim of Wiz's hat and waving around as he turns and shuffles about his burrow. 

"What I need from you this evening... Is to close your eyes and trust me. Can you manage that?" 

Grim stares at Wiz, giving it a throughout thought over. Despite his grumbles and complaints, he really does trust his partner - a n d has a constant curiosity for the magic that Wiz claims to be able to cast and control. He flips the tail of his hat over his shoulder, sets his cards down on a table beside him, and closes his eyes without further comment. Dr. Craft lifts both front hooves into the air in a silent cheer.

"Perfect. Incredible. Magnificent!" 

"Please. Be quieter and make it happen, you old wizard," Grim retorts. Wiz sucks his teeth - but gets to work. 

His work, of course, has nothing to do with casting actual magic. He certainly wants to BELIEVE that magic exists somewhere, but Dr. Wizzorium Craft is nothing but a hoax and a con, who is far too deep in his research and magical hoo-haa to admit it's just a fantasy hobby at this point. As he scurries around his burrow searching for a box of matches, he mumbles a spell out loud. Something something fire. Something something pyre. Something something ire. Just enough to (1) rhyme and (2) convince his boyfriend that he does, in fact, know what he is talking about. When he finds the matches he fumbles the box, catches it, and rushes back in front of Grim.

"F i r e!!!" he shouts as he strikes the match across the rough bottom of the box, disgusting the sound. The tip of Grim's sparkler catches, sputtering and twinkling loud enough to make Grim's eyes pop open in shock. Wiz drops the match and stomps it out with his hoof while Grim is too distracted by the show to notice.

"You did this?" Grim asks, awed. "You did something!" 

"Of course I did ..." Wiz huffs, polishing his hoof on his fluffy blue coat. "I'm not a doctor wizard for nothing..."