Chapter Text
If there was anything that Agott hated nearly as much as being unable to prove herself, it was falling out of routine.
At least, that’s what she told herself.
Ever since the arrival of a ‘certain someone’ to their atelier, Agott’s usual schedule of study, eat (while studying), sleep had been significantly more prone to interruptions. And to Agott’s utter horror, she’d found herself not minding all that much.
This past week was one of those interruptions. It wasn’t like Agott could be mad about it though; she had, after all, advocated to keep Brushbuddy’s new little family, and to sleep in the living room that first night. But in her mind, she’d missed too many hours of studying and was anxious to get back to hitting the books.
The excitement from the whole fiasco took several days to blow over, and then panic when the brushbubs realized that they could actually move very quickly despite having been born less than a week ago and weighing about one ounce. Eventually though, the atelier’s residents properly adjusted to the change and it became their new norm. But their routine had been significantly scrambled.
In other words, there hadn’t been much time dedicated to lessons or independent studying, and Agott, with their third test rapidly approaching, was relieved to finally break off from the chaos and devote herself back to her workshop.
Except, she didn’t really know where to start. Or rather, she was having a hard time bringing herself to start.
She understood the outline of the coursework, of course, but the instructions on how to start applying it were vague. The first few chapters of her unit seven textbook focused mostly on small, intricate sigils lining the inside of the outer circle, followed by the basics of complex multi-circle spells. And then the amplification of things like heat and volume while keeping the range of the spell the same, and then-
But it wasn’t like Agott didn’t understand.
No, she understood most of it perfectly fine, it was just that when she finally picked up her wand, the command of putting pen to paper wasn’t going through, wasn’t transmitting from her brain to her hands.
But she was going to decide what to cast any second now- no, not cast, just start with copying sigils, the ones on the paper, they’re right there Agott, for the love of the gods, you know this—
She only realized that she’d pressed hard enough to tear through the paper and leave a mark on her work desk, when a pitchy squeak pulled her out of her own head. Looking down, she found the black brushbub perched on her knee, staring up at her from under its ridiculous eyebrows. Like its siblings, this one was yet to receive a name. They’d come to an agreement that each apprentice would get to name one, but that they should wait a bit, to see who they’d bond with, if anyone. This one though, had taken interest in Agott on the very first night.
When they’d slept in the den after returning from the veterinarian’s, they’d sprawled themselves out on the floor a short distance away from where Brushbuddy sat on its throne of blankets and throw pillows. But this brushbub, not long after they’d turned off the lights, had crawled its way over to Agott and fallen asleep in her palm. She hadn’t had the heart to move it and her fellow apprentices wouldn’t stop cooing over how adorable it was the next morning and Agott, face pink, pretended that she didn’t care in the slightest.
Now it was nestled on her leg, at her desk, in her room, which she was sure she had closed the door to. It must have slipped under the crack… she’d have to find a way to seal that up. It had to have been there a while, judging from how comfortable it looked, but it was so light, Agott hadn’t noticed it at all. She frowned.
“You’re not making this any easier, you know.”
The brushbub said nothing.
“Do you mind? Well, get on with you!”
It blinked. Agott slumped forward, forehead hitting hard cedar.
“What am I doing?” She whispered, clutching her wand with a grip that could frighten a strongman. “Of course you don’t understand me, you’re a brushbuddy. How stupid does that make me? I need to be better than this, I need-“
Before she could finish, something warm and fuzzy pressed up against her hand. The brushbub. She realized, momentarily, that it was licking her.
She sniffed, pulling the hand away. “Stop that.” She said. “You can’t have my ink. Leave me alone.”
But there wasn’t any ink on her hands, and it showed no interest in her pen or her well. Yet it licked her, pressing itself into the center of her palm, weaving around her fingers.
It was comforting her.
. . .
The dam broke.
. . .
As a daughter of House Arklaum, Agott had grown up surrounded by books.
Of course, the family library was nothing compared to the famed Tower of Tomes, but to little Agott, barely tall enough to peer over a table, it had been massive.
The Arklaums, despite what other people might assume, hired no tutors to teach children who had yet to become apprentices. Agott, two years from when she was scheduled to take her first test, was tossed in a library and expected to teach herself.
Though many of the books were in regards to magic, there was also a vast selection of various stories and encyclopedias, and Agott, being a child alone in a library full of books, had been very prone to distractions. Quadruple the size of her bedroom with shelves that reached the ceiling, there was no shortage of things that peaked her interest. Her favorites were books on animals with elaborate watercolor pictures, especially the magic ones that moved when the page was turned.
There was also one textbook that she found herself oddly enraptured by, and that was a tome listing words from a foreign language called Italian, spoken somewhere farther up the peninsula. It was very simple, making lists of words in certain categories, digestible for a young child, and Agott had found it incredibly amusing.
However…
The hours wasted reading those sorts of texts rather than her assigned coursework is what resulted in the ‘incident’ that made her mother reject her apprenticeship.
When she’d moved to Master Qifrey’s atelier, she packed every single textbook on spell casting that she could fit in her bag. When she arrived, however, she realized that she’d accidentally brought the Italian book rather than one of her study guides.
In a fit of rage, she’d stabbed herself in the hand with her pen.
Master Qifrey, upon seeing her tears and her bleeding, had panicked and rushed her to the Medical Spire. While it hadn’t been serious, she still had that scar on the back of her hand.
Eventually, Master Qifrey had bought her the book she was missing, resolving mostly everything. For some reason though, she hadn’t had the heart to throw out the Italian book.
She flipped through that same book now, one hand clutching a dust mote the size of her middle finger. Finally she found what she was looking for.
“There.” She said, addressing the dark splotch. “A fitting name, wouldn’t you agree?
.
.
.
“Pwee!”
. . .
“Oh! You’ve decided on a name Agott?” Qifrey asked, one hand on a stirring spoon.
They were all in the kitchen, minus Olruggio, and Agott stood in the doorway cradling her brushbub.
“Ooh! Ooh!” Tetia squealed. “What is it?! Tell us, Agott, tell us!”
Coco smiled, looking up from where she was positioned over her pyreball. “Whatever it is, it must be good since Agott came up with it!”
Agott coughed, turning her head to the side, cheeks dusted pink. “Y-yes. I have thought about it a while, and I have decided to name my- this brushbuddy Sopracciglia.”
“Pretty.” Richeh said. “But what does it mean?”
“Yeah, what does it mean Agott?”
“Nothing really. It’s just very sophisticated.”