Chapter Text
The serenity of an unlit sky plays a duet alongside the ringing silence of slumbering beings, a performance repeated throughout the Naakiwan Downs every night in order to entertain its nocturnal audience.
As midnight’s peak passes over the rural atelier, a renowned witch also known as Olruggio of the Torch sits hunched over his desk. Crumpled papers and forgotten gizmos haphazardly lay scattered across a homely workbench. His unkempt hair and untrimmed beard are physical evidence of his occupied mind as he mulls over the schematics of his next creation to showcase at the Silver Eve Festival.
He sacrificed sleep for a countless number of nights, a decision that allowed him to complete the prototype for an invention that would no doubt be nothing less than groundbreaking: a device that allowed one to capture action in motion.
Its boxy appearance could pass as a wooden chest, Olruggio thinks to himself as he holds the object up with his tired hands. One could assume that it’s a chest that stores treasures. In a way, I suppose the assumption wouldn’t exactly be wrong.
The original purpose of his invention had been to create a device that would animate a flat surface, bringing still pictures to life; a device that could store a scene of a memory, and preserve it for future eyes to see.
Olruggio thought of paintings, of how masterpieces of talented artists could capture a moment in time with accurate detail. He thought of smoke sculptors, of how skilled witches could draw out advanced sigils that shaped the air into figures, figures that could dance about and act out stories of old legends.
But he wanted a device that allowed the common man to capture memories in place. He wanted the common man, lacking artistic skill and spell casting, to be able to preserve moments in time, able to preserve a glimpse of their lives for generations to watch even after they’ve long left the land of the living.
His source of inspiration originated from a special day months ago, back when Coco still hadn’t become a part of their atelier. It was way back when the snow replaced the green scenery of their abode, and the cold winds flapping against their furred coats.
It was Qifrey’s birthday.
Olruggio and the girls had planned ahead of time—way more ahead than any reasonable person would have—in order to prepare and execute the best birthday surprise they could for their beloved mentor.
And surprise him they did. This scheme of theirs had begun even in the early hours of the morning before the early bird himself had awoken. They feigned ignorance, pretending not to remember that someone had turned a year older that very day. The girls kept him busy, constantly directing never-ending questions at their teacher and perpetually asking him for his assistance in their studies. Their poor master had internally stressed the entire morning, worrying that he would not have the time to prepare lunch in time for their strong appetites.
Unbeknownst to Qifrey, Olruggio had hidden away in his workshop not to work on his commissions, but to prepare the best meal the birthday boy was ever going to have in his entire life.
He spent weeks learning numerous recipes and scrounging the peninsula for ingredients, all while his friend had the false assumption that he was cooped up in his room because of another one of his demanding clients.
When noon had arrived, the final phase of their plan sprung into action: scaring the soul out of Qifrey with the use of magical confetti and an ear-piercing ‘happy birthday!’
It was hilarious watching their usually composed teacher lose his wits. The awkwardness that Olruggio had known since their childhood resurfaced, with Qifrey jittery—but immensely grateful—for the remainder of the day.
He was speechless, his lone eye sparkling as they displayed the food they so meticulously prepared for lunchtime.
He was smiling, the real and genuine kind, not the trained ones that he would automatically put on whenever he noticed someone was watching. Olruggio forever regrets teaching him how to wear a smile, instead of giving him a reason to smile a real and genuine one.
At least today he is able to.
As the girls were busy pestering their master with their gifts, all he could think about was how he wanted to commit the moment into memory forever.
And thus, an idea was born.
(Olruggio had the prickling observation that Qifrey seemed more at ease while they were still pretending not to realize it was his birthday in comparison to when they were celebrating it. At the end of the day, he shrugged it off, attributing it to his friend being unaccustomed to lively surprises.)
“—working on?”
Olruggio jumps, his form going rigid as a sharp ache sparks in his back from the sudden movement. He was so immersed in his work that he completely failed to notice Qifrey sneaking into his room during the ungodly hours of the night.
“How long have you been here!?” Olruggio screeches.
“You didn’t hear me knock?” He adds, softer. “Don’t be so loud, the girls are asleep.”
“There’s a sign on the door that says that those who knock will be cursed.”
A pause. “I asked you a question.”
“…”
“What are you working on?” Qifrey asks again, in that ‘teacher voice’ of his and Olruggio wants nothing but to kick him out of the room.
He never does, and he never will.
“…it’s a contraption—”
“I can tell.”
“Can you at least let me finish,” Olruggio frowns at the witch kneeling on his loft behind where he sits, looming over him as he peeks over his shoulder with his one eye. He squints as he spots a shade of red tinge his friend’s normally pale visage darker. “Have you been drinking?”
Qifrey gives him an odd look. “We were drinking together.”
“Oh. Right.”
“Ollyy,” he grabs him by the shoulders and begins to lightly shake him. “Answer me. What are you working on?”
“Just how much did you drink?” Olruggio asks, incredulous.
“More than my usual intake, that’s for sure.”
“You’re going to wake up with a splintering heading, that’s for sure. I hope you don’t wake up without any recollection of your drunken state, because that would be a shame. It would be more enjoyable for me to tease you if you do remember.”
“…you don’t remember.” Qifrey mumbles to himself.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
Olruggio sighs as he pushes himself up from his workdesk, his friend slumping forward due to his earlier support being taken away from him. He has to admit, this may be the first time he has ever seen Qifrey with bad posture.
An idea sparks within Olruggio’s genius, genius mind.
“Olly?” Qifrey mutters out, lightheaded as he watches his friend grab a boxy thingamajig from his table. “What are you working on?”
He finally answers the question his friend has been pestering him with. “It’s a device that can capture and record visual scenes.” Olruggio lifts the object up to his face, maneuvering it around until it faces the correct angle.
The correct angle, aka towards Qifrey’s embarrassing state.
Olruggio turns a knob, and within the machine, a sigil closes.
His friend frowns at the action, squinting at the device. “It does what,”
“You’ll find out sooner or later,” he answers, looking through a small hole in the contraption that allows him to see what is being captured. “Say something.”
“Something.”
“Say something else.”
“Something else.”
Olruggio lowers the device, giving his friend a look.
Qifrey returns it with a giggle.
“Seriously?” he scolds, but really, he’s having the time of his life. It’s been a while since he’s had a nonsensical and humorous interaction with Qifrey, with his friend becoming more reserved as of lately. Olruggio scoffs as he lifts the contraption back up to his eye level. “You know what I mean.”
“I always know what you mean.”
He pauses. “Well, I don’t.”
“You don’t know what you mean?” Qifrey’s eyebrows downturn, questioning him in genuine confusion.
“No— that’s not what I mean.”
“Now I don’t know what you mean.”
“That makes two of us.” Olruggio scoffs.
Oh, he’s going to have so much fun with this.