Chapter Text
It was a lovely spring day outside of Qifrey and Olruggio’s atelier, and Qifrey himself had released his apprentices from any further study indoors for the day so that he and Olruggio might have a chance of handling a certain adult issue the two of them had: sorting through all of the tedious paperwork that had come piled upon the doorstep of their atelier. The veritable mountain of paper that came every spring with the great hall’s annual audit and filing organization.
Qifrey always bemoaned the arrival of the season when he still studied under Master Beldaruit. His previous master would have him running all over the great hall, and even out to other witch settlements through the window way, to gather the proper papers, and file everything accordingly, and then to send messages to those witches who were known for either forgetting or ‘forgetting’ to get their own papers in order. Oh each year that he was stuck fielding such tasks for his master was a year that he got significantly better, and more creative, at making spells that would take the brunt of the burden off his shoulders. So it isn’t to say that the many years he spent helping his master with the yearly filings of the great hall weren’t educational, they very much were, but they were also so very, very, very tedious.
It was precisely his own past experiences under Master Beldaruit that have him sending his own apprentices out to enjoy the spring sunshine though. While Qifrey understands how important it is for young apprentice witches to learn how to complete all of the tasks that will be expected of them as fully fledged witches within society under their chosen masters, yearly filings included unfortunately, he doesn’t want his girls to have to experience the specific brand of -i want to tear my own pointed cap off and eat it/do something bad and/or stupid enough for the Knights Moralis to wipe my memory of magic completely and become an outsider- stress that the yearly filings almost always induce within the witches who complete them, which is every witch, bar the brimhats, of course. Qifrey can almost understand the desire for a young witch to turn to the forbidden magic of the brimmed hats, if only it meant they would be forever free from the paperwork of the great hall.
All of that aside, it’s probably for the best to keep the girls from being around Qifrey and Olruggio while they work through the spring filings for the atelier. Because while Qifrey apprenticed under one of the wise, and as such was subject to the whims of his Master delightfully using his ‘adorably scowly apprentice’ to help complete his own mountain range (as opposed to the singular mountain peak that the standard witch has) of yearly paperwork, Olruggio distinctly did not, and as such, did not have the same built up tolerance for the sheer bureaucracy of it all that Qifrey did. Which meant that come spring filing time, Olruggio could (and more often than not did) forget that there were certain words and phrases that their adorable apprentices, young as they are, should not hear coming out of anyone’s, much less one of their masters’, mouths, no matter how frustrating the paperwork became.
So the two of them passed baskets into each of their girls’ hands and then ushered them out the door to enjoy the spring sunshine and fresh outside air. With the tasks of picking the spring mountain berries that were just coming into season so that they could all make jam out of them for a future breakfast toast topping, as well as gathering some of the wildflowers growing within the grass fields near the atelier to decorate the atelier’s windowsills and dining table with a little spring flare being given to the four of them. And that had left the atelier empty bar him and Olly, and of course, the paperwork, accompanied almost immediately by Olly’s cursing. Honestly, the paperwork piled high upon their work table counted as an entity in itself at this point.
Qifrey is thankful to get the girls out into the sun for more selfish reasons as well though, even if he does want them to have a chance to enjoy the spring sunshine. Qifrey will admit, if only to himself, that he sent the girls away so that he wouldn’t have to muster himself into the ever cheerful, smiling, and patient professor for them. He doesn’t have to mask the amount of pain that he is in quite as much when it is just Olruggio and himself. When there is no one else to see the weakness that Qifrey is made of, from his failing eye, to his stolen one, to the bone-muscle-nerve deep ache that runs him through day to day.
Qifrey does still have to hide a large part of his aching pains from his dearest friend as well, after all there is no reason for a missing eye to cause pain throughout the entire body, and Qifrey has made sure to be even more careful of his dearest friend finding out anything that could lead him back to the truth, that could lead him to once again having to make use of the hidden spell that sits safe within his cap, just above his aching brow.
Olly has always been so understanding of the searing, spiking, blinding –ha blinding, blind just like Qifrey is going to be,( and goodness if he doesn’t get rather cynical during days like this one, it always takes Qifrey by surprise, even if it probably shouldn’t at this point, just how callous he can be)– that exists behind Qifrey’s eye and throughout his head though, has always been so kind about keeping the curtains closed, and dimming the lamp lights for him on days where it is especially bad. Qifrey will be forever thankful for the care that his kind star bestows upon him, especially when Olly is already so busy with his own work and commissions already.
Olruggio’s care can be difficult to deal with though, for more reasons than the fact that it oft sets off the silverwood within him, especially as the vision in his eye has worsened over the years. For all that even the slightest light causes an exponential increase in pain on days when his eye and head make themselves the ultimate nuisance to him and his work, Qifrey cannot see clearly without copious amounts of light refracted just so through his glasses, and Olruggio isn’t –and cannot be made– aware of this fact.
Still though, it is a frankly gorgeous spring day outside, plenty warm, with bright sunshine and fluffy clouds dotted throughout the sky, and it works in everyone’s favour to have the girls outside while Qifrey and Olruggio stay in. Qifrey is glad that his and Olly’s apprentices will get to have some quality time outside with the sunshine and fresh air, especially with the storm that Qifrey just knows will descend upon their atelier come evening, nightfall at the latest. Qifrey doesn’t even need to consult the handy weather jar spell within his room, not with the way he woke up to his limbs aching and his head absolutely splitting this morning. It will be a terrible day and night for Qifrey, both physically and mentally, oh how he hates rain, but at least the garden will be well watered.
So there is definitely a heavy spring storm making its way towards their little atelier, and the miniature stormclouds spitting lightning as they rest and bob around the eighteenth through first clockmarks within the spelled jar on Qifrey’s shelf only confirms what his body has already told him via communication method: pain. All the jar tells him, that he wasn’t already aware of, was the general time to expect to see dark clouds come rolling in along the horizon, as well a rough estimate on when they might once again disperse.
Qifrey informed Olruggio of the coming storm over their shared breakfast preparations, and even without so much as a flinch or rubbed brow seen from Qifrey, and Qifrey would know, he keeps himself extra aware of his body language and minute reactions on days where he feels like every nerve he has is on fire, Olly turned to immediately put the kettle on to heat and went to gather the special blend of medicinal tea that they keep for dealing with general head and body aches, as well as slight fevers and colds. It warmed Qifrey’s heart to see that Olly also made sure to leave a cup of steaming tea by Richeh’s spot at the table as well, knowing that she was also cursed with a sensitivity to the changes within the air that brought the rotations within the weather to them. Qifrey was glad to see the slight furrow between her brows fade as she drank her tea and ate her breakfast, even if he was almost certain the girl hadn’t even noticed she was tensing them herself.
That was earlier in the morning though, and while Qifrey had attempted to give the girls a lesson on balancing sigil signs within spells that deliberately created varied conditions that would keep their attention, before Qifrey inevitably lost his own as the morning cup of tea he managed to down through the rolling nausea wore off, it was clear by the ninth clock mark of the day that they were all going a bit stir crazy with being stuck inside while it was shaping up to be such a gorgeous day. Even Agott, though she certainly hid her fidgeting feet and hands, as well as her distracted gaze looking out the window longingly at the grass, the best out of the four of them.
And so, it was decided that they would all take a break from lessons for the day, with the girls sent out into the spring sunshine with baskets and foraging instructions, and the adults settling indoors at the atelier’s large table –the one that had plenty of space for the inevitable chaos of spread papers that was about to befall the two adult witches with responsibilities to society they were completing, however reluctantly– with plenty of spare paper and inkwells freshly topped off in order to get started, and hopefully finish, the paper work for the Great Hall’s required yearly filings and audits regarding allotments and such bureaucratic sundry for conjuring ink, spells maintained, replacement pens, replacement pen nibs, food allowances, clothing allowances, commissions completed, etc.
Qifrey indulged himself with a quiet sigh as he settled down into his place beside Olruggio at the table. While the ability to let his mask drop slightly with the girls outside was appreciated, the paperwork laid before him was going to do no favors for his aching head, and so Qifrey was already dreaming of a day spent shirking his responsibilities to witching society in order to lie in bed and rest. It was a daydream that wasn’t going to occur of course, Olly would never let Qifrey leave him alone with all the filings to be done, not when they had completed them sat side by side at this very table together for so many years. Olly would also never allow his self proclaimed ‘expert in the processing of these things’ to leave Olruggio to his own ‘far less experienced, come on Qif, you’ve worked on these things for years’ devices.
For all that the two of them used the yearly filings as ammunition for light banter and teasing between them, Qifrey would not in fact leave Olruggio to deal with the sheer redundancy of filling out how many commissions one had completed throughout the year at least three separate times all by himself, and Olruggio likewise would not leave Qifrey to complete everything himself, even if all that Olly could do to ‘help’ was make tea and pass Qifrey more ink for his drying well when it came to the more complicated papers to be filled out for filing.
Qifrey does know that if Olruggio was even the slightest bit aware, if he had even the slightest inkling, of just how much Qifrey’s body was hurting him today, that he would insist on handling –or at least attempting to handle– the papers himself, and send Qifrey back off to his room with another cup of tea placed within his hands and assurances that ‘everything would be fine Qifrey, for the love of the silverwood trees you stubborn fool, stop worrying about needing to take a break and go rest’, the kind, selfless hypocrite that Qifrey’s dearest friend is. Olruggio is not aware of such goings on with Qifrey’s health though, and it needs to stay that way –damn silverwood–, so Qifrey simply resigns himself to a day spent nursing a tension headache of top of the weather induced one, as well as everything else, and picks up the first paper to begin the ever tedious process of proving via ink, paper, and receipts (as well as stress), that he and Olly have not in fact somehow scammed the great hall out of resources this past year. At least, not in any way that could ever be proved.
Qifrey is far too familiar with the inner workings of the documents to have either himself or Olruggio be caught, should they have committed some ‘less than upstanding’ misuse of the great halls allocated resources. Besides, the two of them did do so with Beldaruit’s permission – and almost direct instruction– so the slight inaccuracies within their paperwork when they first established their atelier could be written off as ‘ordained by the wise’ should they ever actually come under heavily scrutinized review, which is something so incredibly unlikely that it is complete fair to say that they just never will.
The only reason Master Beldaruit had even the faintest idea that the two of them had mayhaps been planning on a few deliberately shifted/omitted facts within their paperwork anyway was because Olruggio fell asleep while trying to fill out his section, and Beldaruit had thought he would spare the both of them the kindness of not needing to re-complete an entire section of their filings because Olly accidentally drooled on them by carefully removing the papers from underneath his sleeping head. An action that exposed the notes Qifrey had left for him on what needed to be filled out and the margin of error that the two of them could likely get away with when it came to ‘filing as two separate witches with a conjoined atelier’ as opposed to simply stating themselves as sharing an atelier, which, for whatever reason, the laws frowned upon unless the parties in question doing the sharing were married.
‘‘The joys of bureaucracy, my dear friend!” He’d offered –with a cheeky and saccharine/sarcastic smile placed upon his face– as an explanation to Olly when he expressed bafflement at the inner workings and wordings of such filing details.
‘’What does half of this even mean Qifrey? And how have you not gone insane from dealing with it yet?’’ had been his very much harried, frustrated, and exhausted response. He’d already had to spend the previous week shirking sleep in order to meet a rather tight deadline for a nobleman’s commissioned spell, after all, and no one wanted to deal with even more paperwork after something like that.
“Oh boys, look at the two of you!, committing such wonderful protests against the monolith of witch society’s filing audits as laying claim to the same atelier and space without a marriage or ‘proper separation of each witch’s space from the others’! I am so proud! But don’t ever leave such evidence around where someone else might find it again young Olly, that’s how you get caught!’’
Certainly a fond memory for Qifrey to reminisce over with Olly as the two of them get into the thick of filing, yes. It will serve well in easing his dearest friend’s trepidation at the pile of paperwork that is about to fall over on top of his head. Qifrey really should warn Olruggio of the impending avalanche destined for where he has once again placed his head on the table (as he always does come spring’s season of paper), but well, surely he can’t be blamed for finding a sliver of amusement in the adorably startled meep his dearest friend lets out when gravity inevitably drags the papers down unto him.
As he starts to help clear the aftermath of the paper avalanche that his dearest Olly was caught in, still chuckling despite Olruggio’s indignant squawkings of betrayal for his lack of warning that reach his ears, Qifrey wonders how the girls are doing outside. Hopefully enjoying the sunshine and frolicking through the grass, that’s what Qifrey would wish for his apprentices at least. A day spent enjoying the spring weather, with a few easy foraging tasks sprinkled in so his adorably darling apprentices won’t feel guilty for ‘not being useful’ or ‘wasting the day’ sounds like a far better day than the one ahead of him and Olruggio. A day of rest will do the girls wonders, it is truly a shame that their masters can’t join them for a relaxing spring picnic. It would be glorious to join his girls outside with Olruggio for a proper frolic, alas…
Oh well, it can’t be helped, the two of them have a job to do and responsibilities to complete, and it is better that the girls are outside for the time being, while they get it done as efficiently as possible. Which does unfortunately involve Olruggio’s foul mouth cursing out the paper and ink he works with, as well as the trees from which they sprung, as well as every witch throughout history who ever had a hand in creating the absurdity that is the yearly filings, so there really was no choice about it, the girls had to go. He and Olly needed the large table within the great living room, and his girls were under no circumstances to be exposed to such sundry aspects of language that Olruggio was capable of in those moments where great frustration seized him.
(it was amusing, at least to Qifrey, and Qifrey had noticed, that Olly only ever truly swore at inanimate objects: his robes when they got caught on a door frame, the table if he stubbed his toe on one of its legs, whatever inane contraption that ‘just wasn’t working’ within his workshop, all of those and more were free game for foul language strong enough to curl a brimmed cap’s hat pointed, but Olruggio never, well almost never (the time that Easthies implied Qifrey would be better off ‘having an unfortunate accident of some kind’ than continuing to be an outsider turned witch within Olruggio’s earshot was a notable exception (and oh wasn’t Easthies’s face at being told where he could shove his thoughts a wonder to behold)) swore at others. Qifrey’s dearest friend really was the world’s kindest, brightest, most altruistic star, sharing his warmth with them all.)
That is enough reminiscing for Qifrey now though, he needs to focus on getting the filings all sorted for the atelier. The sooner he and Olly finish dealing with the papers currently flooding their workspace the sooner that he can shirk his other duties for the day to curl himself into a ball within his room. Giving himself just a few hours, or even just one, where the girls are outside running off their pent up energy before tonight’s storm (not that they knew that was yet another reason he was sending them out) and enjoying the sunshine.
Yes, now is the time for Qifrey to train his focus to the papers under his hands, away from the pain coursing through him, and the fond memories of the days of his and Olruggio’s own youth and time as apprentices long past, the night’s coming storm, and how his young apprentices are doing as well as what they are up to outside without his supervision. There is no need for him to oversee them constantly, even if that might work somewhat to assuage the worry he carries whenever they leave his dwindling sight (they have all faced far far far too many encounters with the brimmed caps as well as general danger in general for him to not worry). Now is not the time for anxious thoughts, or ruminating woes.
Now is the time for sharp reading eyes (thank goodness for his glasses), and even sharper ink strokes, born of stable, steady hands. (it is not the first time that Qifrey will have had to work through agony to complete his responsibilities, and for all that he wishes it might be, it most likely won’t be the last either.)
Now is the time for the two of them to knuckle down and get these damned papers dealt with.