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There were so many valid reasons to despise the Great Hall that Qifrey scarcely needed to pick just one.
It was an oppressive place in more ways than he could count, where the light took on an odd, shifting quality, and the air at the fringes felt humid and unpleasant.
Powerful spells kept the ocean at bay, but he could never put aside the knowledge that if something were to happen to those spells, the water would simply fold in, collapsing everything in its path and enveloping him once more in the dark, suffocating wet.
At least it would be fast this time.
He’d long ago come to the conclusion that the people around him weren’t at all concerned by this possibility, and it was yet another line of inquiry that caused people to look at him askance, so he learned to keep the thought to himself.
His other reasons to loathe the city were more straightforward.
Residents of the Hall had long memories when it came to rumours, and many, without thinking, defaulted to unkindness when confronted with Beldaruit’s most notorious apprentice. What should have been dull, daily interactions became awkward when they realized who he was, and many didn’t care to look at him directly, his stolen eye causing them to glance quickly away.
“I’ve heard he actually died. That he was fully dead - part of an experiment meant to bring someone back to life.”
“It’s so distracting to look at him. Like I don’t want to be rude or nothing, but he just feels kinda off.”
“Beldaruit was so kind for taking him in. It was so gracious of him.”
What a charity. What an act of altruism.
It seemed that no matter how long Qifrey spent above ground, away from the Great Hall, it wasn’t nearly enough time to extinguish their morbid curiosity. Even as an adult, a witch fully free of his master, they shot him surreptitious looks, or else watched him openly. Sometimes he would glance up only to find Olruggio meeting a nearby stranger’s gaze with a pointed, unflinching look.
So no, it wasn’t the most comfortable place for Qifrey.
Perhaps the stupidest reason to loathe the Hall, however, was the flirting.
Not with him, but with Olruggio, whose master craftsman status preceded him, despite the man having zero interest in the benefits that came with such a reputation.
Olly had always enjoyed being at the atelier, and had never seemed to mind the solitude of living in the middle of nowhere, rarely returning to the Hall. This meant that when he did return, infrequent as the occasion was, people tended to notice. Perhaps he’d finished a groundbreaking new project, or had been helping some unfathomably rich noble. His talent drove admiration, and it drove it in spades.
And now, with reports of his (their) boiling dragon spell spreading like wildfire in the wake of the Silver Eve disaster, the attention only multiplied. So too did the flirting.
Women in the dining hall would send him secret little smiles. The braver sort of witch would fall into step beside him and ask about Silver Eve, or push for earnest advice on their own personal contraptions - and show their appreciation by quietly asking him out for a drink. Handsome shopkeepers would lean forward across their counters full of wares and wink.
Qifrey witnessed these valiant attempts firsthand, often from steps away, as if he didn’t exist. He filed each exchange away, hands clasped neatly in front of him, his face a mask of mild politeness.
Maybe it was a testament to his skills that it didn’t occur to them to think him an obstacle.
Are you an obstacle?
Even Sinocia wasn’t immune. As she checked him over for any residual signs of injury she lightly teased him until he grumbled, or smiled warmly and set a hand on his arm (a liberty that no one else could get away with).
With her there was no ulterior motive, just friendly flirting borne of genuine fondness, and Qifrey had a sense that the woman’s romantic pursuits lay elsewhere. Still, the takeaway was there all the same: people liked Olruggio’s attention.
Olly never reciprocated in kind, merely went about his business, or kept exchanges polite, helpful and brief.
“I don’t get it,” said Olruggio as they took the steps down from the headquarters of the Knights Moralis, the broad spiral staircase curling gently towards the busy central hall.
All attendees of Silver Eve had been required to file a witness account of the event, and both Qifrey and Olruggio’s accounts had, by necessity, been more extensive than either of them would’ve cared for. Barring some omissions on Qifrey’s part, of course. There was no way he would implicate his students in principle breaking if it could be at all helped.
“I think they think I make more money than I actually do.”
And that was true enough. As Qifrey had witnessed over the years, it was never the craftsmen who made the serious money, but rather the people who ruthlessly capitalized on their work. Money wasn’t exactly tight at the atelier, but they certainly weren’t out at the market every week either. The teaching stipend he received only took them so far.
It was strangely sweet of Olruggio, however, to assume his admirers were interested in him for money, or his genuinely clever contraptions, but not his unassuming, gentle charm, or the way he’d drop everything to help someone in distress.
“I’m not even the good looking one,” Olruggio continued. “That’s you. I really gotta wonder where their taste’s at if they’re getting confused by this.”
Qifrey shot him a devious, cat-eyed glance over the top of his lens.
“What.” Olly’s voice was flat.
“Nothing.” Qifrey’s was a small song.
Olruggio sighed. “Don’t look at me like that, you know exactly how cute you are. Don’t play games.”
“Cute, ” Qifrey said, as if trying on the word, as if rolling it around like a new taste on his tongue.
“You’re so cute. What are we even talkin’ about. If you think you know someone cuter I’d love to hear it.”
“Dear me.”
Qifrey was in a rare mood. Maybe the oppressive dread of the Great Hall was temporarily making him punchy, or he’d been imbued with a feeling of lightness at having thus far avoided confrontation with the Knights. Better still, the Brimmed Caps had played their hand with the curtain leech and played it badly, and now even the sleepiest corners of witch society, the ones inclined towards apathy, couldn’t help but be on high alert.
Either way, he was feeling more mischievous than usual.
“Hieheart’s rather cute,” Qifrey said.
Olly thought about this, his feet slowing as they reached a landing on the massive spiral staircase.
“Yeah, alright, he is. You’ve been knocked off your podium. Don’t tell him I said that, though, we'll never hear the end of it.”
“Mm,” Qifrey agreed. “You don’t think you’re cute?”
Olruggio scrubbed his nose with the side of his hand, which was itself an endearing little gesture.
“I’m completely average. Someone’s gotta be. Anyone who says differently is trying to get me to make them something.”
“I disagree.”
“About what part?”
Before Qifrey could elaborate on his stance, a tall, hurried man passed them on the landing, his hair a fiery red, tousled to the side.
Utowin.
He glanced their way, and Olruggio used the opportunity to catch his attention.
“Hey, thanks again. Owe you one.”
“Any time,” the Knight replied, and gave Olruggio a rakish little wink on the way up, his boots scuffing along the worn stone steps. “Feel better soon, big shot.”
Once the man was safely out of range, Qifrey turned to look at his friend.
“Goodness, extra popular today.”
“He’s just giving me a hard time because we’re both from town. And because he pulled me away from the leech when I was sloppy.”
“He’s from Ghodrey?”
Olruggio nodded. “Yeah.”
Something neatly clicked into place. Qifrey stopped and looked up to get a better glimpse of the retreating man, but he'd already vanished out of sight behind the wall in the curved staircase.
Had they grown up together? Was this the figure that had inspired Olruggio’s rush to defend Coco’s fledgling romantic pursuits when it came to the arm bangles?
“He saved you from the leech?”
It was positively ridiculous, but Qifrey noted a bright, quick stab of jealousy at the idea of the thing. Olruggio’s childhood was not under sole ownership of Qifrey, but that didn’t stop his brain from objecting to the idea of another having a part of that knowledge. It was a good thing, he reminded himself, that someone had been there to help Olruggio with the leech, even if it hadn’t been him.
“Saved is a strong word,” Olly muttered.
And with that, Qifrey reached out and took hold of the thick, black fabric of his cloak. Without a word, he started for one of the recessed brick alcoves lining the landing.
“Wh- Are you okay?”
“Yes.”
Qifrey steered his friend the last few steps and guided him firmly until they were both tucked away in the deepest shadow. There, away from casual glances, Qifrey stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Olruggio’s shoulders. He had at least a few centimetres on him, so it was only too easy to envelope him in a tight, warm hug, fingers sinking into the heavy cloth.
Olruggio reciprocated immediately, sliding his own arms easily beneath Qifrey’s cloak and settling in without a second thought, and this close he could make out a familiar, welcoming scent.
“I know you hate it here,” came Olruggio’s voice, muffled by cloth, low and comforting. “We’ll find the girls and get home, okay?”
Qifrey’s discomfort with the Great Hall wasn’t what prompted the sudden show of affection, but Olly didn’t have to know that. It was probably better that he assumed as much, really. Qifrey was allowed some unflattering, run-of-the-mill jealousy from time to time. He was only human, after all.
You’re only human, remember.
Rather than release him, or acknowledge the words spoken by his ear, Qifrey nuzzled in closer, nearly knocking the black hat off in the process.
His past and soon-to-be transgressions against Olly meant that he never felt right pushing for something more, but it didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy what little they had. It didn’t mean he couldn’t walk right up to the line, even if he couldn’t step over it.
Footsteps passed them on the nearby stairs. First one set, then two more, fading into the din of the hall.
When he finally stepped away it was with a great deal of reluctance, wanting to linger in place, needing to ignore his obligations for a moment longer. His fingers trailed along the black fabric before finally releasing it.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Olruggio’s cheeks were flushed a rosy pink, almost the same happy, flustered look as when he was in his cups. His hair was mussed, flyaways in every direction.
“I take it back,” said Qifrey. “It’s no contest, you’re the cutest person I know.”
Olruggio gave a good-natured scoff and turned to leave, cloak swirling around him. "I wish you could hear yourself, you're so full of it."