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As far as flash goes, my magic is already pretty much as flashy as it gets.
So I think most of my practice this week is going to be making my biggest and baddest spells even bigger and badder.

Four hundred pounds of precision-machined tungsten.
Sinuous curves... Subtle in their elegance.

It's a friggin' bat, Marcel!
A friggin- huge bat!
There is nothing even remotely... Sinuous... about it.
... Anyway...

Rimas averted her gaze and thought for a moment.
She then reclined on her flying broom, got out her spellbook, and absently flipped through it, admiring her handiwork.

Yeah, yeah... I can imbue choreography into my fighting, though.
Now, I did say I had been watching Bryph.
I wasn't just ogling, I picked up a few moves myself, you see.
When I fight the Author, it'll be like choreography and a fight scene rolled together.

You know. Like... bone dry, but applied to sound rather than moisture.
Not hard to puzzle through.

You can't just mix and match idioms at will, Rimas.
The entire point of colloquialisms is that they're rooted in some objective truth, from which the phrase can then derive its meaning.

Don't be such a wet pebble.
The whole point of colloquialisms is that people just make 'em up. I'm people.

Rimas looked at Marcel over her shoulder, and almost whispered, exaggerating her mouth movements as she did so...

Marcel grunted with effort and threw his tungsten bat skyward. It soon faded into the cirrus clouds high above them.

Marcel charged at Rimas, leaping into the air as he closed the distance.
Rimas, without moving from her perch atop the broom, slipped to the side of Marcel's charge.

Marcel grasped at the air and was surprised to find that the bat had not simply fallen directly into his grasp.

Catching a glimpse of his bat, Marcel sprinted forward and leapt, shaking the ground.

Marcel met his bat as it tumbled through the air, grasping its handle and riding it back down to the ground.

Marcel kicked off of the tungsten bat, flipping frontways off the handle.
Marcel sprawled his arms forward to grasp the handle once more, throwing the momentum of his flip into a massive bat swing.
The poor ground didn't stand a chance.

Ehh... Seven out of ten. Could've used more moxie on the kicky flip.
I'm busy doin cool mage stuff.

Okay, first of all, booooo!
Secondly, you wrote that book yourself...
And yet you're flipping through it like it's a steamy novella with a twist on every page.

How do you know it isn't?
Maybe I dedicated half of my spellbook to writing filthy smut.
Maybe I developed a spell that creates trashy dime novel fiction at will.
Maybe I'm staring longingly at your rock hard abs in this old vacation photo I've literally got in my hands right now, knowing they'll forever be beyond my reach...
You've never read it, how would you know what's in it?

There's zero way you have that photo in there.
I refuse to believe that you lost our bodies but somehow kept a photo I gave to you as a joke.

Really, Marcel? You refuse to believe that here, in a void where effect can quite literally precede cause, and we have been given unconditional use of the power of creation...
Where you created the sun and I created the stars...
You believe that I cannot possibly have one measly photo of you?
I'll have you know I'm for real actually looking at it right now and I gotta say your hair looked way more vibrant ten years ago.

We both know that's not the case.
That you have the photo, I mean. I kinda agree about my hair.
There's no way you'd have-

Marcel's eyes widened, catching a glimpse of an instant photo poking up over the pages of the book.
Rimas met Marcel's gaze and winked.

Rimas torched the photo, letting the wind carry off the white ashes.
Marcel let out a deep sigh of relief, sat down, and pondered a moment.

It's real flashy-like.
You pull out a keytar during the fight with the Author and jam out a sick solo while I hit him in the face with ol' Bessie here.

I have improved upon your idea and pushed it out of the realm of normal cool.
I have pushed it into the realm of transcendental cool.