Post by addilyn elara slater on Jul 31, 2022 0:18:24 GMT -7
don't need a metaphor
for you to know i'm miserable
Early April 2027
Was there ever such a sign of failure as ending a relationship at the one-year mark or perhaps the simple inability to hit the lettered keys in the correct order? Addy let out a frustrated sigh, muttering under her breath. While the concept of a portable computer was convenient, she wondered if a Quick-Quotes Quill would have yielded better results as she typed up this report. Slowly the interns had been pulled to work on more complicated tasks rather than transcribing mountains of scrolls into the electronic records. Addy wondered if their document storage could rival the Gringotts vault system. She could feel the frustration building in her core; every time she hit the up arrow instead of the shift key, it only compounded.
In a rare moment, Addy had left work only an hour after most people. Her assignment for the day—see if it was possible to refurbish a device that had been hit with a hex. Some of the components were fried but replaceable, yet it still didn't work. Addy had focused, finding that her head hurt and her eyes were dry from barely even blinking. But in the end, she had decided to leave before she gave in to the urge to throw the damn thing across the room. She'd never been one to succumb to her temper. In fact, it took quite a while to get her temper going though few could quickly breach those walls. She hit the arrow key again, and the letters appeared in the middle of a word in the previous line.
She stopped, closing her eyes as she felt that strange mix of panic and irritation. Her eyes began to burn, but not from a lack of blinking. In fact, quite the opposite. She felt tears beginning to well up, along with that lump of emotion in her throat. " Bloody thing…" Addy forced the emotion down as best she could, closing the laptop and pushing it further on her desk. However, instead of silence filling the room, she realized that a precarious stack of items in the corner of her desk was slowly and dramatically falling over. But before she could respond, it hit the floor. She closed her eyes and forced herself to take a deep breath. There was that feeling again of wanting to launch something across the room.
The explanation for all this? Well, Addy had been working incredibly long days. Exhaustion hit her soon after getting home, and she hardly had time to think before she was asleep. It was easier that way. She hadn't been feeling like herself the past week and a half or so. But Addy really didn't want to think about that. Instead, she grabbed her wand, waving it, so the stack of folders resumed their placement on the desk. The books found their homes on the shelf, and two clothing items landed on the bed. She recognized her 'Ministry of Magic Intern' sweater but the other one—well, that one made her pause. The sleeve that stuck out had the letters' OPHET' on it, and her stomach somersaulted into her chest and back down.
Addy had not been feeling like herself, and it took any extra energy she had to not think about why. But as she walked over to retrieve the jacket, she felt that lump return to her throat. She thought about the bus ride. Not even able to recall what they'd fought about. She thought about dinner, the awkward small talk that had only led to disagreement. And then he'd put his foot down, temporarily shattering her intransigence and lowering her guard. With pleading eyes, they looked at one another. What were they doing? All they seemed to do anymore was bicker or avoid conversation with easy distractions. Addy tried to remember when it all began to feel like work or when she didn’t mind repeatedly hearing the same 'fun fact' about the Prophet or cameras. Or even when he still admired Addy for her work ethic.
No, that night—their first anniversary had turned into a crossroads. Nothing Addy had studied in any of her subjects. No charm or piece of magical theory prepared someone for this. In that brief silence, she supposed they both knew, Addy had probably known for a while, but she didn’t fail. Things had to work because that’s what she did. She didn’t fail. Finally, they were able to talk. And Addy thought she’d gotten everything out of her room, but she couldn’t even do that right. She pushed herself to work to fill in the gap, to distract herself from her phone being so quiet. The group chat was only really a place where Brigh would share what new interesting thing she had learned or discovered. A new place she’d visited and how that entire chapter of Ancient Civilizations in their Ancient Runes class was actually useful. Merlin, the sweater still even smelled like him.
Addy wasn’t accustomed to failure. It wasn’t in her nature. She always knew the answer, knew a way to find the solution. Always knew the way forward, but not this time. She just felt…sad. She’d finally sent Brigh a bit of a vague message, but the young Cursebreaker-in-training had yet to respond. And in the meantime, she worked her regular overtime to distract herself. Every time that ache grew in her chest, she practiced the transfiguration spells that were the most effective against precious metals. Researched Charms to prevent tampering or modifications. She even practiced hitting those keys on the computer—determined to at least get a sentence without a single typo. She wondered if Claire or Grey would know what to do, but it had been hard enough expressing doubt in her future. She could hardly bear the thought of sharing what felt like an abject failure.
She’d have Brigh return the jacket, but she walked and hung it on a hook behind her bedroom door. The farther she was from it, the less it hurt. These things were painful. Addy wasn’t so blind that she didn’t know that. But she didn’t have a best friend now either. She wiped her face with her sleeve, everything she was pushing down was starting to come back up, but she didn’t want it. Sitting back at her desk, she pulled the computer back toward her, opened the lid, and typed her password. Knowing that she would not sleep at all with how bad it all hurt, she might as well finish these TPS Reports (Televisions, Phones, and Shortwave-radio Reports, not to be confused with a Test Procedure Specification). The interns were an excellent labor force for the menial testing the more senior members did not want to do. But she couldn’t focus.
[Raphael Caelan McLaggen , BRÍGH ENNIS O'DALAIGH for reference]
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