𝗬𝗢𝗨𝗡𝗚 𝗛𝗢𝗟𝗟𝗬𝗪𝗢𝗢𝗗

descendants2||all scenes

chapter 1.
descendants 2.
mavis | 14.

Mavis Gothel was awful.

awfully cunning, awfully ruthless, awfully perfect, and an awful lot like her mother.

after the original leaders of the isle were chosen to attend Auradon Prep in the main kingdom itself, mavis had easily climbed to the top of the villain kid food chain; only below uma and her crew, of course. no one was above the daughter of ursula, not even mavis.

desperately determined to come across some remainder of magic—no matter how impossible that feat was on the isle of the lost—mother gothel had opened up a run down store in the center of the isle, creatively titled "The Rock Shop." it was here that the witch sold poor, unfortunate, idiotic souls rocks she had obtained from the side of the road, claiming them to be magical crystals.

mavis was rather petite, with piercing gray eyes and unruly dark frizzy hair with streaks of red and purple. when she wasn't working at the shop or collecting scam-worthy stones, she spent her days leaning over their balcony while poking fun at smaller, weaker people below, or—despite her mothers disapproval—doing any and all sorts of art. mother gothel deeply frowned upon this expression of creativity as it reminded her painfully of her first 'daughter', rapunzel. mavis had never met rapunzel, but had naturally grown to loath the now-queen almost as much as her mother, who, to rapunzels fault, was not the most fair woman on the island, to put it plainly.

on this particular day, mavis was dusting off rocks to put on the display shelves when the bell above the shops door sounded. the girl barely glanced up, muttering, "can't you read? we're—"

a familiarly wicked voice spoke, "closed. i know."

mavis looked up toward the door, shocked to see none other than mal, daughter of maleficent, back on the dammed isle of the lost. before the core four had been chosen to venture over to auradon, mavis had bonded with the four older villain kids over their shared love of evil — especially mal, who had been a sort of wicked mentor for young mavis.

now, though, mal didn't seem very evil at all—her short, dark purple hair now a bleach blonde hanging down her back, light purple tips so lazily dyed they looked as though they had been sloppily dipped in a bucket of jam (mavis wouldn't know. the isle never had jam.)

"mal?" mavis drops her broom obnoxiously, "are you back for good? i mean—bad?"

mal chuckles, "as if." she steps further into the shop, glancing around, "i forgot that you guys don't open till midnight. place looks good."

"thanks." mavis shrugs, "i try to get the dustiest rocks. they look the most authentic."

"so, how's the business going?" mal remembers when she had first left the isle, how extra horrid mother gothel had been to mavis in regards of getting the shop up and running.

"eh. sometimes we get a few desperate witches, but mostly it's a lot of dusting and painting and sweeping." mother gothel was all about presenting yourself the very best — part of the reason why she was so obsessed with having rapunzels hair to keep her looking youthful.

mal begins pacing the front entryway, "hey, maeve...you're pretty good at hair too, right?"

mavis scoffs. "i'm good at everything." mal gives her a look, and the girl stand up straight, "yeah, i used to do evies. the little braids were my idea."