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Coco has always been fascinated by magic.
It was no surprise to anyone in the village who had seen a glimpse of this small girl, with dreams in her eyes and wonder in her voice, excitement, love, and absolute devotion to something as fickle and miraculous as magic engraved in her very being.
However, everyone begins to wonder what happened to the quirky child who'd follow her mother everywhere when, someday, the villagers wake up and take in the horror of Coco's home, of Coco's mother and the shattering of her tranquil life.
They do not dare touch the remains, and soon a congregation of witches come flying to the small town, muttering ominously amongst each other while throwing glances at the kind seamstress’s frozen body. It is also said they did not find the body of a young child, and thus the villagers wonder and ruminate on this worrying fact. They also throw glances at the little house in the corner of a small hilltop, a bit far away from the main town hub but still visible from afar, especially when the moon is high and her stony face glints menacingly against their firmly closed shutters.
Some are worried about the small girl. She's always been such a big help to the village, with her smile and her draperies always at the ready. Some are more sceptical. And others are absolutely terrified of it all, because few remember the man made of water who came inside the seamstress’ shop and repaired the carriage of some highland missus. They heard the clients' irate cries, mitigated only by his smile and his promise to right the wrongs done to the carriage. They saw him bow and unfold his witch hat, which had been flattened against his breast, as he took it out from under his heavy cloak.
The man was pretty enough, though his features were wobbly and quite indistinct under the thin layer of water that kept flowing down his hair, his forehead, his neck, and dripping onto his clothes. His hair was of the whitest glow that would make the sun blush, but somehow still stuck out to all sides as if the water that dripped down the tips of his hair in droplets wasn't of any concern. They begrudginly admit that it must be normal as a witch - some even snark it is to be expected - as they can do whatever they wish with their magic, including cosmetic such as willing hair to remain unperturbed even under the weight of water endlessly flowing out. It may also be how his small glasses managed to stay upright on his nose despite his blurry features and how his voice remained clear and distinct, pleasantly warm despite the waves of coldness the water produced, like when the villagers go to wash their clothes in the nearby river and can't help but shiver at the cold humidity radiating from the place.
What a strange sight, some say, blushing.
Not as bad as the one covered in stone, others would mitigate with a shrug. That poor lad couldn't even walk anymore because of the weight bringing his body down. They had to transport him in a wheelbarrow like an animal!
This is a bad omen, the last few would sneer. They will bring doom to our world, this is only the prelude...!
And after the catastrophe of Coco's home, those small voices begin to clamour louder and louder still. Looking ever more distrustful of those burdened with elemental traits. How lucky the village is to be quite remote from society, and that no other villager suffers gravely from this. Magic is all pretty until it begins to become inexplicable.
Like that boy who suddenly began to float, small pieces of him covered in fluffy clouds that wrapped around his neck and made him suffocate! One exclaims. Or that poor, poor girl who grew some metal patches on her skin. It was a wonder at first, yes! Not being able to feel anything, the scales razor-sharp, quickening the pace of wood-cutting… until the scales began to cut from the insides. And the girl was no more!
Magic is beautiful, but this kind is daunting, they whisper. It would be no surprise if what happened to Coco's mother is the fruit of those evil acts...
The opposite party would look heavenwards and snort in mockery of those pessimistic views of the world.
And those are the same witches who treated the man that’d begun to turn transparent and as fragile as glass. They also made it so the babe, your cousin's child, would avoid this same fate as well as soon as they took notice of the excess of flesh growing out of his limbs. Coco is fine. The man, this witch, seems trustworthy enough despite dripping water all over my inn! They would snap, fed up with those increasing rumours.
More grumbles, more scepticism, more everything echoed, but those rural fears never reached their main intigator’s ears. Because as soon as Coco went inside the atelier, his new master (Qifrey was his name, she learnt quickly enough) apologised for the mess for which she did not see - aside from a few pots and papers shuffled onto the table of the living room - and then he quickly dashed through the house, saying that he needed to change out of his waterlogged clothes.
She would later find out the many quirks and living habits of each resident.
The ever cheery Tetia, the calmer and cold-headed Richeh and the ambitious but kind Agott under her rough edges.
Though they never competed with Qifrey when it came to uniqueness.
Her master had a charm to him that was special to his person. Starting, of course, with his mind-blogging appearance. His other apprentices all wore meat and bones, tangible skin and warm words around them, but Qifrey was different, in which his watery… quality? made him almost untouchable. Well, he’d held her several times, most particularly when he offered her a place at his side that night, but other times to gently shift her when she trampled where she shouldn’t be, to correct her posture after too many times leaning over her sketches, or out of the way and back to safety. But he never seemed to seek anything more than a few contacts, claiming that his water was freezing cold and he didn’t want her to catch a cold (which was... true. In a way. Though she was sure that given a bit of time, water could be warmed like when touching a cold surface; after waiting for a while, warmth would be transferred and chase away the cold).
He also always seemed to be on the move, though it probably was because if he stayed too long in one spot, he would end up flooding the floor after one or two hours of studying, or doing whatever a witch had to do, bent over the table, eyes laser-focused on his task. He would sometimes startle awake from his concentrated stance, and then, riffling through his hair in obvious frustration at the state of the floor, he would get up and either get a mop. Or if he felt too lazy or tired, he would finish the circle of a drying spell, already half drawn and at the ready in his small stack of paper clips, carefully tucked inside a pocket.
Most of all, it hindered him with his cooking. He had several kinds of long waterproof gloves, some stretching to his elbows, others up to his shoulders, engraved and embroidered with countless spells that seemed custom-made for him alone, as water normally dripping down his fingertips would instead trickle down the gloves’ opening and on his chest or at his feet.
She had even noticed that his clothes were waterproof. At least his black turtleneck was drawn tight against his skin to make sure no more moisture could get inside him. He had explained he would put the cloth on in the morning, and the interior of the cloth would heat and dry his skin while water continued its endless flow on top of the black tissue. That ought to be uncomfortable, Coco thought, still remembering when she had to go wash the long tissues for later sales, and end up utterly disgusted and itchy from the sensation of water stuck inside her boots or between her shoulder blades, even after drying herself as much as she could with the towel she brought in her satchel.
His outerwear was also waterproof to some degree, but lacking the tightness of his black garments. She supposed those were sacrifices to pay: a witch could not go around without their telltale uniforms and cape. Coco had to admit that his flowing white robes were of the softest tissue and brought a grace to his movements. Though it also forced him to wring his clothes several times at home when he chucked off the upper half of his uniform onto his hips.
She had also wondered if water would make drawing magic more difficult, but she guessed he had a lifetime to adapt and practice his craft. Sometimes it felt as if he was more in tune with water than with his own body, flicking droplets with deadly accuracy onto her forehead whenever she answered a question wrong, or how he would always manage to control his movements to prevent liquid from flying everywhere and onto others’ things. It also applied when he drew, seemingly unbothered by the water dripping down his fingertips, so quick with his pen that water didn't even have time to move. It was mesmerising to see. Clearly, Qifrey was the most skilled witch she'd ever seen. Not that she'd seen lots of witches, but she was sure her master was one of a kind!
This sentiment was shared by all his apprentices, who did not hesitate to gang him up for more questions, for squabbles and for more harmless little things that made their atelier so lively and homey.
Coco had firmly thought her master to be the only one with such a unique condition. Of course, she'd heard of other cases, but Qifrey seemed to have adapted to it instead of being burdened by the weight of so much life on his body (she had asked if his water was drinkable, he’d responsed with a tentative ‘yes’ and later had to ward off an army of small children chasing him with mugs in their hands).
That was until she met Olruggio.
Their first encounter had been more than a little bumpy, to say the least.
Though what had shocked her the most had been the blazing heat that radiated from within the man. Despite his black and blue attire, there was a fire that burned inside his pupil and spoke of a vividly iridescent flame easily stoked. Looming under the doorway, even if she stood under the rain and a few meters away from him, she could feel the harsh heat close enough to make her eyes sting and the front of her robes drying impossibly quickly.
But then the man had looked at the darkening skies with a scowl, sighed loudly and scratched at his neck before making a decision and then grabbed her by the wrist. She almost cried out in fear at the prospect of being burned. She was sure that if he so much as brushed against her, her skin would burn to a crisp. But the man made sure to use his cape as a barrier between his skin and hers. Olruggio was his name, as Qifrey called out from afar, running towards them despite his high distaste of rain (he had said cheekily he hated the sensation of foreign liquid adding to his already thick layer of constant water).
Olruggio’s touch, while hot, was whitstandable from under his cape. His words, however, were not so much as they burned her all the same when he uttered the word Council.
The moment Qifrey slammed down his spell onto the ground, and huge waves of water cut Olruggio's path short, Coco almost saw instinctual fear in the man's eyes, bringing the side of the cape that wasn't caught around her wrist above himself in an effort to prevent the spell from splashing him. Then he whirled around, speechless and eyes wide for an instant, before scoffing in disbelief and looking at Coco once again with renewed seriousness and... Wariness? Worry? Something else…?
But soon after, they were all herded once again into the house.
While Tetia went and fetched Coco a towel, slapping her hand away and beginning to vigorously dry her hair off, she anxiously looked at the two adults standing offishly on the side, near the fireplace.
Qifrey obviously didn't need to dry off, though he did put his hand across his hair, muttering about rain and awful sensation. Olruggio stood on the other side, crossed arms on his chest and looking at her with that same glare, though it had mellowed a bit in intensity, now more pensive while he waited for the girls to finish their fussing. He did not acknowledge her furtive, curious glances.
As she observed him, she concluded that his own condition was not as apparent as Qifrey's, but as unique as the other's.
When the three of them talked about how she came to become Qifrey's apprentice, she didn't fail to notice the way his cape was carefully placed under his body, making sure no part of him was in full contact with the mat on which he sat. And while he drank from a bowl, the one he held was made of pure metal (hers and Qifrey’s were made from wood). The drink between his hands boiled a few seconds after coming into contact with his skin. She also realised that the plate on which he placed his beverage had been marked with spells along its borders. She didn't need profound knowledge of spells to understand that it was a freezing spell to prevent the utensils from catching fire.
After this stressful encounter, her relationship with Olruggio softened around the edges as time passed by.
Coco also began to see traces of his presence despite the fact that he was scarcely seen around the house. As she progressed through her spell readings, she began to make out more signs, a bit everywhere. For example, she made out some carved onto the floor stones to consolidate them from Qifrey's constant watering, and probably Olruggio's scorching steps whenever he came to eat and didn’t bother putting on shoes, only reinforced slippers. There was also, in the kitchen drawer, a whole section of utensils placed far from the cluster of cutlery they (that was, her, Tetia, Richeh, Agott and Qifrey) used daily, before she realised they were all etched with strengthening spells to withstand Olruggio's touch.
She had even seen, on one of those rare occasions deep into the night, Qifrey and Olruggio working together. Her master had stretched an arm towards the other man, his hand holding a glass with some colourful mixture inside. Without a single word, Olruggio had stopped his reading, sighed, but silently complied, and had placed one single digit against the bottom of the vial, instantly making it fizz and produce smoke under the intense heat. Qifrey had smiled while Olruggio grumbled and resumed his reading.
Coco had beamed at that as well and retreated into her room with flutters of happiness in her belly.
She had become quite protective of this little haven. Yes, she knew Olruggio was a childhood friend of Qifrey. She knew they deeply trusted each other. And in a logical and chronological order, she was the intruder inside the atelier. Still, she hadn't been able to stop herself from feeling worried about a potential incompatibility between Olruggio's fire and Qifrey's water. Call it illogical, dumb and senseless, she hadn’t been able to ignore this worry gnawing at her chest the first few days after meeting Olruggio.
And so, she had watched and observed whenever she could without looking too conspicuous. Which had led her to take a peek at the living room when she’d gone to the toilets in the middle of the night, curious to see why the lights were still on, and witnessed them together in the silence of their home.
It was this kind of interaction that made her love magic even more: to see such contradictory, illogical and extraordinary things align so perfectly together.
Olruggio would always indulge them whenever Tetia or her pleaded with him to cook something quick while Qifrey was away, shopping for whatever he needed at the moment. And while most of the things the black-haired witch did were most commonly scorched to oblivion, crunchy and almost painful to their jaw with how much chewing they had to do to make it swallowable, he always complied with their requests. And they kept on asking him for more, from time to time. It always brought a smile to Qifrey's face when he came back and saw them all gathered at the table. It was not a soft one, perhaps too jagged around the edge to call it indulging, but the pride he felt for his apprentices would always bleed through, no matter the awkwardness of his expression. Coco simply assumed his master was just bad with his emotions, and seeing Olruggio interact with his apprentices probably communicated what he was incapable of emulating.
It also showed whenever Olruggio's inventions blasted to his face. Fire wouldn't do anything to one made of flames, but Qifrey would always be there in an instant, slapping his hand against the table on which flames began to burst forth and immediately snuffing out a catastrophe before it even began.
This also had the unfortunate after-scene of trying to apply some burning cream onto Qifrey's skin despite the water's properties making the cream ineffective as soon as it came close to his body. Richeh had tried for a long time, going as far as to rake the bottom of the bowl they kept in their pharmacy for such instances, but to no avail. Agott had also tried her hand at bandaging, but they only came out soggy and unusable under her frustrated glare. In the end, Qifrey simply waved his hands and showed that it was nothing! They couldn't even see a thing under the watery sheen of his skin, though Tetia exclaimed that there was still a reddish mark right here and then tried to poke him to prove her point.
All of that under the eyes of Olruggio, who had stayed behind, unable to do anything other than watch the apprentices fuss about their master. Coco also noticed his darkened look as he watched Qifrey wave away their worries, saying that it would heal on its own and that a small burn wasn't the end of everything.
It must have felt quite imprisoning, not being able to help and touch his best friend, she had sighed afterwards. Olruggio and Qifrey did seem like they completed each other, fixing each other's blunders, like that instance with Olruggio's failed device. Or even when Qifrey almost flooded the stairs and the living room as he overslept and forgot to trigger the spell before going to sleep, which drained the water flowing out of his bed and out of the atelier through a summonable gate. Olruggio had come in and, with a grimace and a shudder, had taken off his shoes (not wanting to use magic and accidentally syphoning all their items scattered around the house) and began to walk barefoot. The water instantly vaporised, and they had to open all the windows to clear the smoke out.
Yet, despite all this, they never seemed to touch.
Coco hadn't dared ask for more details, knowing it was probably a sensitive subject for both men. After all, from her own experience, she always sought hugs and pats from everyone, blooming under the loving touch of the home she's made the atelier to be. And so she could only see it as painful when she saw the two adult figures talking to each other from across the table. If they ever were side by side, either Olruggio's cape was tightly wound around him to prevent burning anything, or they stood a safe meter away to avoid Qifrey's water from touching the black-haired witch's side.
When fire meets water, nothing good comes of it. Either water engulfes the other, or fire will consume everything until it is destroyed… or vaporised, if you care about details, but the result is the same.
While she'd never seen Qifrey's water disappear from his skin, pushed away because of a harsh wind while flying around or frozen because of the winter’s extreme cold (probably yet another set of spells hidden away on his figure), she suspected that water was such an inherent part of Qifrey that seeing him without it would be akin to killing him.
Much like Olruggio's aversion to water. He could touch it, of course, but what if his fire was ever snuffed out because of it? Stand too close, too long, and… Coco didn't dare continue down that line of thought.
Instead, she looked at the atelier.
She looked at her friends, her family, her mentors…
…And she smiled ever so brightly.
Even during the worst of autumn's weather, when it was cold and thunderous outside, rain rattling the house's whole construct, she felt safe.
She felt protected and happy, enveloped by Tetia, Agott and Richeh's warmth while she slept.
Even when Qifrey would come out of the house. When dark thoughts would swirl in his head and push him away from the place he's created and nurtured.
The building he helped develop, like the seeds that keep growing inside of him, delighted from the perfect environment they found themselves in: his flesh granted a sturdy wall of safety, the endless water granted them plentiful nutrition, and of course, the warmth of his emotions.
The roots continued to grow, and water continued to flow.
It is during those times, when rain continues to pour, hammering away at the world, that Qifrey would find himself riddled by guilt burning ever so low in his chest, stiffling and omnipotent, and he would think that’s good, I can stay like that.
And then Olruggio would appear at his side, his whole frame trembling from the cold of the rain running down his face, but the fire inside his eyes always fiercely burning a bright, iridescent white. Now they were directed towards Qifrey, and in those rare, frail, fragile and breakable moments, he would open his arms and hug him, burning away those damn seeds, for just a moment.
And he always makes sure to take the few small, minuscule, infinitesimal instants of intense warmth inside him, before the roots become too painful and he has to swallow back his hacking coughs.
Then he opens his eye and the roots disappear as soon as his sight lands on Olruggio's face, before smiling and saying that the rain is painful for his body. Also, Olruggio looks like a wet cat, looking so worried, he shouldn’t be out too long lest they all catch a cold!
And then, they trudge back to the house.
The door closes with a final click, but outside, the rain continues its deafening tune.
.
.
.