Chapter Text
Vela got a rude awakening and a splitting headache, leaving her to groan in hatred at the sun rays as it melts their retinas. They try to ground themselves, to remember the day before. His brain is empty, and so, so full of pain. He pushes herself to move out of the sunlight. Vela ended up throwing themselves off the bed, not that he minded. The floor is infinitely much cooler than the warm and laser bright light that draped heavily on the bed.
He woke up again, and this time the light cools down a bit, the sun having moved its position away from her window. He picked herself up, despite the aching they felt.
“Drats! The shop!”
Vela yelped in misplaced realisation that she’s past work hours, and rushed putting back their clothes in order to run to the town. Midway running towards the door he realised that today was Saturday. They sighed in relief, their fear of being late outweighs the disappointment from exerted energy during rush.
Vela threw her weight on one of the chairs while she waited for the tea he was supposed to drink last night to heat up. His nightly routine of coming home early to a nice brew was forgotten in favour of drinks out with Dave, from what she remembers. The bits and pieces of the night slowly return to her as they drink the warm tea, it was smooth and citrusy, perfect for hangovers and dry throats.
‘Hangovers aren’t the only thing I’m worried about.’
Vela feels the comedown from whatever concoction was in the drinks they drank, the full extent of their fatigue hitting twice as hard. She folds her legs unto himself as they observe the room from which he rose from, reminiscing the night from before. The contrast of the light coloured walls from the brown wooden floors was a completely different tone from the blues and purples that the room exhibited that night.
The exhausted witch lets out a quiet scream in her thighs, the cup above his head. His foolish and drunken state left her open and out kissing his customer. The blurry memory of them making out keeps replaying, each of them revised in attempts to fill in the gaps that their drug-addled mind couldn’t keep.
He removes himself from the chair after she finishes their drink, walking her way to the shower to rid themselves of last night's excursions.
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Vela wakes up to a sunny Monday, the chemicals long removed from his body at last. The summer season made his usually cool mornings warm, to their dismay. He wears billowy trousers and topwear to compensate for the warmth. A minute or so of checking inventory and the state of the house was all that was left before exiting the door.
Arriving in town took a brisk 10 minute walk. Right by where the forest is thickest and far away from the main road, a figure approaches. Dechtire steps out of the thicket, an unamused expression displayed on her face.
“Dechtire! It’s been a while, where have you been?” Vela greets.
Dechtire wordlessly throws in the vest that Vela lost. The clothing is rugged and messy, with evidence of transfer and rough-holding. Vela sighs in regret, dusting the dirty vest as if it could help salvage the tattered clothing.
“One of the young faes found it around the path on their way home. They gave it to me.”
“Everyone knows you’re too much of a hermit to actually leave the forest, much less return it to a seemingly careless human.” Vela chuckles
“I know.” the forest ranger pinches her eyes “but the fae is young, and got confused with what they saw when trying to give it back to you.” their head directed anywhere but to Vela’s face as they manage to glare a menacing eye contact before withdrawing.
“I would appreciate it if you closed the curtains or locked your door properly if you were to bring an intimate guest to your home. Might I remind you that you aren’t the only person living in th-”
“Okay! Okay! I get the message, please don’t bring that up again. It’s embarrassing enough as it is, now I get the news that some young fae peeked in and saw the mess that happened yesterday!" The billowy clothing they wore did nothing to help the heat coming from her body escape, tugging the collar in hopes of it leaving.
“Also, I wish you didn’t litter your clothes around so carelessly.” Dechtire scolds
Vela cuts them off before it ends up becoming a full-blown lecture. “Hah, ok, ok, I get it. Look, do you need anything from the town? No? Well I do. I’ve got a job to do Dechtire, like any responsible adult out there in the world. So if you would excuse me,”
Vela runs to the town before Dechtire could even finish anything.
The memory from last night still haunts and embarrasses him, and no amount of running is going to remove that feeling. He arrives at Olger's bake shop, for she is a creature of habit, regardless of the time. The town sparks life with every person, markets, and carts they pass by. The warm hue of the town contrasts the blue sky above him, never failing to be a comforting sight in times of mild misery.
Vela slows their steps, already doubting their ability to obtain bread when they see the crowded line in front of the bakery. She clicks her tongue in quiet introspection about the pros and cons of cutting the line before they give up. The witch smoothly turns in disappointment and paces to their work location, discarding their plan of eating warm pastry.
The shop doesn’t stand out as much as the other shops appearance-wise; the sepia coloured stone goes well with the dark accents, with flowers that decorate the building. Though, the always quiet humming that created the ambience the shop has always stood out to Vela. The antique cypress door of the backdoor is warm to the touch.
“Vela, you’re late.” Mavelle frowns in censure, only moments after the door opens.
“I arrived before you? Isn’t that a feat.” Bedelia quipped lazily, her dark hair faded with a white that seemed to grace her follicles like lightning. Bedelia wears clothing similar to her nephew: a traditional Celtic dress with the emblem of their family.
“Why is everyone making such a big fuss over me being late? It’s not like it hasn’t happened before.”
“Not often enough, I’d say!” Bedelia cackles
“Don’t encourage this behaviour, theía!” Mavelle exasperates.
“Is reconstruction work finally getting to you? You know my grandfather always says; ‘Those witches are only good for one thing, and that’s offending everyone in town.’”
Mavelle and Vela groan, one in aggravation and one in silent annoyance. It was the same saying all the time, everytime one of them did something that was out of their field. They had a split second of eye contact, reaching for each other in understanding and solidarity. Bedelia’s nonsensical quotations being annoying was one of the not-so-many things that Vela and Mavelle could agree on.
Vela waves the conversation away, making the older witch laugh even more as she holds her weight on the table. Vela was already drained from the conversation, and would very much rather clean and renovate the entire house all over again than deal with conversation. (not that they sincerely mean it, of course)
“How may I help you?” Vela asks the customer farthest from the scene.
“Well, you see some wild critters broke in and damaged a bit of my crops. I was wondering if you had something to fix that.” The customer's body language is skittish, his hands occasionally rubbing the hem of his shirt.
“Ah” Vela says in a moment of loss “well.”
The witch began to look around the workshop, their hand gliding over the labels and the rows of glass and cabinet. The boutique always seemed like a library in times like these.
“Where are your crops stationed?”
“Just a few leagues northeast, between the meadows and the farms; My family has had it for generations.” The customer explained. The farmer had amber eyes, bright and full of life. It was so similar and so different from the eyes that Dave possessed. The elf’s soft dewy green eyes and the pollen speckle in his left had the same brightness, but mellowed down. If Vela were to compare the impression that Dave’s eyes left, it would be like seeing the life cycle of a butterfly. Vela has never seen such a brief death be so beautiful.
“Based on your location, some fox repellents would do you some good.” Vela forgot to ask what the customer meant by fixing, so he simply decided to give him two vague options to take. “Or maybe a tincture of ‘Demeter’s Blessing’? While efficient, using it long term would only make your plants more vulnerable to disease, this is just to compensate for the damage done, uh…” Vela forgot to ask the customer's name, which they thankfully supplied.
“Ermis.”
“So, which one would you prefer, Ermis?”
“I’d like to pick both, if that’s not too hard. Could I have it delivered before the sun goes down?”
“No problem. Mavelle, could you call for Eugenia- tell her there’s some bottles she needs to deliver?”
Mavelle turns, already arranging the packaging material and request. Vela picks up his book, sifting through thousands and thousands of potions and the lists of their making.
“Neobe’s tears, with some simple spices like garlic or chilli pepper helps. If you want something more broad, we could always add in some cactus intestines.” Vela lists off. “Hm.”
“Demeter’s Blessing will do, but its full potential is only seen during the spring, so it might not work as well as you would like it to.”
“I’m a farmer, Witch. I’m afraid I have no choice but to trust whatever advice your expertise deems to be wise, for I am not well-versed with the blessings the Deities bestowed to us.” The farmer meekly replied, not understanding the options and opinions Vela was spouting.
‘Ah. Right.’
“My apologies, I shan’t bore you with the details then.” Vela bows politely, if not a bit embarrassed.
“It’s no problem.” the farmer laughs, and how bright the laughter rings.
Vela’s heart squeezes, their thoughts roaming back to the bright and warm elf.
“If that’s all, then you are welcome to leave. All that’s left is to prepare the potion and deliver it. Payments could be made when it’s delivered to you.”
“Is that so? Well then, thank you for your services… uh.”
“Vela.”
He smiled. “Thank you for your services Vela.”
With that, he exited the door. Vela feels a sense of deja vu, but decides to ignore it, and strided to the heart of the studio, named the Potion Forge by Bedelia truly, to the dismay of Mavelle and Vela.
“You have to remember to introduce yourself to the customer Vela, this isn’t proper business etiquette.” Bedelia lightly scolded, she continued to lounge the area, while her nephew made charms for another customer.
“But I did.” Vela protested, they don’t actually remember, as introductions and beginnings don’t concern her. But her stubbornness and need to stick it up against Bedelia, no matter how weakly, resolves her strength to protest.
“No you didn’t, and this doesn’t just apply to business, you never introduce yourself to anyone! Do you know how awkward that is?”
“I get it, I get it, I’ll introduce myself next time.” Vela placated, not really listening to the conversation.
They began working, pressing ingredients. After kneading and mixing the ingredients in a mortar and pestle, Vela added the stock base for the potion and alcohol for the tincture. Adam’s ale is also added into both of them, in measured parts as Vela slowly and methodically poured in the liquefied ingredients.
The process is quiet, as the world starts to close in on them. This was the second-most favourite thing Vela likes to do, if someone were to put it that way. Potion making was the one thing she bonded over with her late mother, so the way Vela sees it is more of a duty that mingled greatly with respect, bittersweet regret and vindication.
“Yeesh, you’d think that it’s rush hour already,” Bedelia stretches with the luxury of unemployment, a luxury Vela points out time and time again doesn’t belong to her. Regardless, she sports a mischievous smile and an intention she doesn’t plan on backing out on.
“Well, it looks like you two got it handled with the customers, real proud with how responsible and grown-up you both turned out to be. Young ones like independence right? I’m taking my leave now, have fun kids!”
Neither Mavelle or Vela makes a movement to bid the elder witch, unbothered by the usual distance Bedelia takes when it comes to work. Time flows as time does, and the hours and customers ahead of them don’t wait for anything. Vela doesn’t mind the monotonous peace of the day, but seasickness is an uncontrollable urge as she waits for a certain elf to come her way.
He never came.