Chapter Text
Honestly, it would kill Sam to start a discount section.
It wasn’t as if prices didn’t drop outside of the New Year Sale. Ruggie was sure of that. He once compared the prices of Leona’s favourite bacon cookie by checking its price at Sam’s every single day over the course of a semester and found that the price would be knocked down every three months as the cookies neared their expiration date and went up to its usual price after they were freshly restocked.
(For the curious, it went from a thaumark off as the expiration neared the last month to half-off within a week of the date. Once expired, food items weren’t sold to customers. Ruggie already tried.)
So it wasn’t that things didn’t go on sale and didn’t warrant a dedicated section. Rather, from what Ruggie could tell, it was likely because Mr. S's Mystery Shop was packed ceiling to floor with inventory that would make anyone’s head spin and Sam and his employees wouldn’t be able to keep up with collating, organising, or moving all the knocked-down items to a dedicated shelf.
Ruggie would be able to do it though. For a price. Open to negotiation.
Usually, he wouldn’t mind doing a discount dive, but today it was slightly annoying him. Leona had been particularly irritable following the random magic outages around the dorms this morning and had taken it out on everyone. Apparently, first the shower had come out in dribbles, then it ran hot when the knob turned cold, then cold when turned to hot, and then he’d gotten out and found out he was running out of toothpaste because he’d started on the backup toothpaste and neglected to inform Ruggie about it but somehow this was Ruggie’s fault for, oh, he didn’t know, not installing a camera to monitor his stock of toiletries at all times.
Not altogether an atypical morning at Savanaclaw. But for some reason, it was grating a little on Ruggie’s nerves today. He supposed it might be in part due to the fact that he was here at Sam’s instead of on the pitch for Spelldrive training, but he would be lying if the call from the Corn Shuck he’d received on his way here didn’t play a role. After all, he did catch himself avoiding the gaze of anything remotely corn-related as he scurried through the aisles.
Of which there were many. Ugh. Why was there corn-flavoured mouthwash?
Hate had nothing to do with it, by the way. It wasn’t that he hated the old lady who ran the little grilled corn shop in Foothill Town. He had worked there for a couple of weeks now, and the work was fine: nothing difficult, mostly cashiering and cleaning up at the end of the day. Small tasks.
In return, small money. The stall wasn’t exactly seeing long queues every day, and like, grilled corn? Nice in winter, maybe, but in the blazing heat of summer Ruggie couldn’t think of a less marketable food option than steaming corn kernels popping hot butter into a customer’s face. He also worked most week nights after school, which was precious real estate in his daily schedule for such a paltry salary.
So when the new convenience store across the street offered him triple the salary for the same hours he was putting in at the Corn Shuck, he took it.
Who wouldn’t, though? They were offering triple the salary. Triple! The old lady might have been kind and everything, but Ruggie Bucchi wouldn’t be Ruggie Bucchi if he turned his nose up at more money for what was basically the same work. Indoors, too.
Not that there was a need to justify his choices. The old lady had said as much on the phone. She had only been calling to thank him for his work so far. The day he’d spotted her grease-splattered recruitment notice threatening to peel off onto the cobblestones during his search for a half decent cake (some upperclassman’s girlfriend’s birthday; he barely remembered) he had volunteered to help her out for a bit. She’d acknowledged that she knew his help would only be temporary, too.
Ruggie was aware that the convenience store was actively trying to steal business from the Corn Shuck. Though it drew middling clientele, the shack did see customers who (inexplicably) enjoyed a traditionally charcoal-grilled corn or two regardless of the season, and the new metal rollers boasting machine-warmed corn that magically appeared by the cashier a week after the convenience store’s opening definitely struck Ruggie as, ironically, too convenient.
But that wasn’t his problem. Whatever underhand means the two businesses used whilst battling each other for the thaumarks in the townspeoples’ pockets had nothing to do with him. He was just an employee. A good one, if the convenience store poaching him was any indication, but more importantly one whose only involvement in this fight was restocking reserves and running the register.
If anyone could call this a ‘fight’, which they probably couldn’t. It was more like a one-sided beatdown.
Reaching for the discounted toothpaste, Ruggie tried to put this out of his mind. Again, not his problem. If the old lady wanted to keep her stall alive, she had to be the one to save it. Ergo, if the opening of a soulless convenience store tolled the death knell for her business, she only had herself to blame.
The bell chimed. Class begun in half an hour.
Items gathered in his arms Ruggie headed to the till and pretended not to see the corn-shaped ice cream on his way out.
***
“Thank you Shrimpyyyyyyyyy,” were the words that greeted Ruggie as he stumbled into Potionology one minute before the bell. Then an obnoxious chew. “More please.”
“Oh, Floyd,” said Jade, who barely lifted a hand to acknowledge Ruggie sliding into the last seat amid the other Savanaclaw students like a Spelldrive disc through a goal. “Did you already eat it all?”
“After the Prefect spent all that time preparing it?” Azul chimed in, peering into what looked like a container of slimy slices. “That’s a pity, no?” He turned to you, expression pointed. “Much as this is appreciated, Prefect, we will not be paying if you choose to make more of your own accord, you understand.”
“The Norwegian skrei came from the Monstro Lounge,” you reminded him, smiling. “I can’t make more even if I wanted to.”
“We thank you anyway, Prefect,” responded Jade, with what seemed like genuine gratitude in his eyes. “This is perfect.”
“Floyd asked, so…” You shrugged. “Hope this helps with the homesickness.”
“Shrimpy, mo—“
“Sit!” commanded a voice from the back of the room. “Class will begin in 30 seconds.”
The Octavinelle students immediately slithered into their seats as Crewel sashayed toward the rostrum. He vaguely gestured for you to sit with his pointer as he flipped through his massive textbook, apparently more eager to start the lesson than comment on your presence in their classroom.
You continued standing at the front of the lab, a little awkwardly.
Crewel shot you a glance. “Oh,” he said. “Right. The Prefect will be joining Potionology with the Second Years until summer vacation,” he explained, waving at the Savanaclaw section without further explanation. “Sit with the beasts, will you, pup?”
Wordlessly, you hurried toward the group of tables and slid into the only empty seat in the lab next to Ruggie.
The classmate who constantly bought forgotten ingredients from him spun around immediately. “Yo, where’s your cat?”
“He got turned into a radish,” you immediately whispered back, looking resigned.
Ruggie choked on a snort. He’d spotted Grim ducking into the cafeteria at lunch earlier, distinctly un-root vegetable in form.
The lowered tones were for naught, since Crewel rapped his pointer against the rostrum impatiently.
“You. The beast chattering over there.” He folded his arms. “If listening proves a chore, you can gather everyone’s herbs from the garden for today’s class.” His eyes dipped down to his open textbook. “Arnica. Chamomile. Geranium.”
The list continued as the beastman leapt up, grabbing a pen to scribble down the plants on the palm of his hand as he ran. Beside Ruggie, you got to your feet.
“Why’re you gettin’ up?” Ruggie said. “He didn’t mean you.”
“Oh.” You sat down.
“Offering your assistance, pup?” called Crewel, spotting you. “Go on then, he’ll probably need more hands.”
Obediently, you stood back up and hastened to the back of the room.
Holding back a sigh, Ruggie opened his textbook. He didn’t understand you.
That wasn’t to say he didn’t like you, because he did. Everyone did. You were always around, for starters, in the thick of all the things that happened in Night Raven College (of which there were plenty), and when anyone wanted or needed your help for something you would more often than not willingly and ostensibly happily comply.
It was helpful when he was the one in need of assistance, but that willingness to sacrifice your free time to help someone else for seemingly zero gain made no sense to Ruggie whatsoever. He didn’t know if you were just some sort of pure, kind soul, or simply didn’t know how to say no.
Checking that Crewel’s attentions were elsewhere, Ruggie snuck a look at you. You were giggling at something his classmate said.
Probably a mix of both.
Now that, Ruggie truly didn’t understand. There were few benefits to altruism, but even fewer to people pleasing. Buttering someone up was one thing, but giving in to every little thing because one ‘felt bad saying no’? Nightmare scenario.
But that was neither here nor there. Your inefficient methods at navigating this cruel world, while wildly inexplicable to him, was none of his business. While he liked you as much as he did the next schoolmate (maybe a little more if he was being honest), it wasn’t as if he considered you two the closest of buddies. The two of you barely spent that much time together. Definitely not enough for him to stick his nose where he wasn’t wanted to dole out advice on how to live your life.
“Ruggie Bucchi.”
Ruggie snapped to attention. “Yes, sir!”
“You’ll be paired with the Prefect.”
Ruggie blinked. “Sir?”
Crewel didn’t even look at him, eyes on his paper. “You won’t require magic for this project, and the Prefect is conscientious enough.” He eyed him over the reading glasses he had put on. “You have the whole summer vacation to work on it and your grades are passable. You’ll be fine. Next!”
Group project? With you? Between the two of you you had enough extracurriculars to fill a schedule book and then some. When would either of you find time to work on a project together? It wasn’t as if Ruggie tended to coast whenever he did projects in a group, but the other party was at least not the second busiest person on campus. (He chose to believe he took top place.) No way this was going to work.
Plus, he would be blind if he didn’t notice the way you looked at him. He wouldn’t class it as a crush, per se—he was aware he was surrounded by a school of better-looking, more accomplished dudes—but even he had to admit that there was something close to affection in your gaze and he wanted as little to do with it as possible.
Not because he was disgusted by you. Again, he (along with the rest of the Night Raven College student population!) liked you. A lot. But the thought of spending time with you scared him. If you truly had feelings for him that extended beyond friendship, he would absolutely fail to not give in to the desire to start something with you.
He shuddered at the idea. Romantic relationships upset him. The notion of two people pooling their resources or depending on each other was nothing short of disturbing; the idea of hunting for someone else horrified him as much as being hunted for. Without the justification of gratitude or filial piety he had never thought about sharing his life with another person. He didn’t even know how to do it. He didn’t want to know how.
Point being, he had to reduce the amount of time he spent with you. He was already in danger as much as it was, and a group project would make things irrevocably worse.
Ready to protest Ruggie put his hand up as you returned to the seat next to him. One of Leona’s favoured bacon cookies slid toward him.
He looked down at it, then up at you.
You were smiling. “Your Housemate gave me a cookie.”
Ruggie raised a brow. “What, you want me to open it for you?” He shook his head. “Don’t even think about it. Crewel’s gonna have your hide just for trying.”
You quirked a brow. “I’m giving it to you. You always seem hungry, so you can have it.”
He opened his mouth. You flipped your textbook open.
“For nothing in return, don’t insult me by asking.”
Ruggie shut his mouth. You turned back to your textbook.
He stared at the cookie. A wave of emotion drowned out the memory of what he was about to do.
“Yes, Bucchi?” Crewel eyed him. “Going to ask for a partner switch, are you?”
You glanced at him, question marks in your gaze as it shifted to his still aloft arm. He stared as your eyes drifted back to his. Something in them softened in what appeared to be hurt.
He looked away. He lowered his arm.
“No, sir,” he said, eyes avoiding the cookie. “Just stretching.”