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This definitely had not been within your expectations when deciding to go through with this ritual, not since literally all of your friends and instructors, or at least the ones you had bothered to ask, promised it wouldn't summon anything weird or potentially dangerous if you attempted it and did the spell correctly. Well, something must have gone amiss, either because some of your ingredients were wrong or if your preparation of the circle had been wrong something went wrong and now? Now there was a very tired looking, very naked man sitting on the floor, inside of a summoning circle, on dirt and grime within your homemade work space inside of your garage.
At the first instance of different colored smoke, or at least different to when you had started, you cut the ritual short simply because you had figured the summoning had failed. That's usually what it meant when clear smoke turned a dark, menacing purple. Usually.
Apparently not because there it - he - was, long limbs and long hair, as an all too tired and, somewhat, irritated drawl escaped from his lips in a language you wouldn't have understood if you hadn't spent the last six or so years of your life learning and studying it for the very explicit purpose the lost language was used for: magic and the occult.
"Ah," you mumbled, trying to find your voice as a faint blush began to spread over your cheeks as you struggled to find the right words in which to reply in. "I, uh, summoned you?"
You realized your mistake almost immediately, mentally scolding yourself at the slight inflection in your words. The implications of the question in your voice could cause trouble, to say the least.
His violet colored eyes blinked at you as the language you spoke registered somewhere in his brain, a wavering glint hinting at something slight and hidden. Whether he was impressed by your use of a long forgotten language, usually reserved for the occult, or amused by the question in your voice you didn't know and, if you were honest, you didn't want to.
You barely made notice of how long his hair actually was, falling over his shoulders to a length just above his navel, or that his hair held a shade of violet that closely resembled the irises that peered at you beneath heavy lashes and the shadow of his bangs, and instead focused on the intricate markings on his shoulders that pulsated with old magic.
"Why did you summon me?" He asked, gaze pulling away from you to look around the cluttered garage.
You pulled at the sleeve of your academy uniform, suddenly too warm for the choice you had made for the longer option of fabric in the chilly and too tiny work space your parents had lent you while attending your sorcery school.
"I was, um, trying to summon a familiar."
"Familiar?" The man hummed, his gaze wandering around the space before him.
The echo of your words made you want to say more, to explain that it was a mistake and that you hadn't meant to waken him from whatever slumber he had been under. Or that you had only expected to summon something similar to a cat or a bird or literally anything else than what appeared to be a fully conscious, magical entity that was obviously way out of your league in casting or summoning magic.
You bristled under the mans instense gaze, his stature towering over you as he made his way to the very edge of the circle, causing you to vaguely take notice of the smudges his bare feet had made while walking through the chalk on his way towards you. Your gaze very quickly following his face so you could remain eye to eye, the strain in your neck beginning to make you nervous as the magical entity in front of you, seemingly too tall to be humanly - or magically - possible. He began to look you over as if he deciding on whether or not you would really be worth the trouble or effort; for what, you didn't know, but the increasingly horrid stench of burnt hair, among other ingredients, was beginning to sting your eyes and cause tears to form.
"Um," you took a deep breath, your face growing hot at the increasingly growing scent of sweets and cinnamon. "Yes."
The man continued to stare down at you, hair swaying as he tilted his head to the side, and you heard him hum before finally making the conscious decision to cross the threshold of the circle so the warmth of his fingertips could brush against your skin, moving stray hairs away from your cheeks and stopping a tear that had fallen from the corner of your eye.
"Tiny-chin," the man muttered, his hand moving to pet your head. "I am Murasakibara Atsushi and I will accept your wish to become your familiar."