Chapter Text
You were at an inn. If you didn’t know any better, you could pretend you were on a farm.
That might be a tad bit unrelated, but with the raucous stomps and noises coming from below, you could imagine some great, hopefully-friendly beasts of oxen and non-oxen cattle enjoying a freedom given by their rancher, running around without the worry of tomorrow or if the places time takes away with a celestial grasp were to be your next destination. They would be happy, enjoying a simple life after a nice and quiet day, and you would be glad to hear them, sitting in your room on a farmstead whilst calmly whittling a little something for no one in particular.
And as the sun sets, the cold of autumnal nights soon settling in, you put the carving and knife into one of your many pockets, adjust your cloak and slip into your shoes. Some of them don’t enjoy being out at night, and you need to check the fences regardless, so you’ll go down like you do every night.
You walk to and open the door, before-
"This reminds of that time with the goat! ...Or was it a pig?"
Ah.
Right.
You close the door.
You’re not on a farm. You’re in an inn. Travelling, with a party, to save Vaugarde.
Swivelling, you press your back to the door, ignoring the shake of your hand as you cover your eyes and breathe, nothing out of the ordinary, just a traveller sliding down to the floor.
Something about the crowd in this inn just. Did not gel with you. They didn’t feel dangerous, you think, but perhaps it was the size that made the thought of sitting with Isa and Odile - drinking a bit too much and feeling your senses fade a bit too much and seeing the bill become a bit too much - open a gaping maw within your stomach. Your confidence devoured, the lights burning bright, every breath accounted for. Why stay in the not-quite mosh pit?
You probably had said something to one of the other party members, likely Mira, and could have theoretically gotten a response, but what matters is you went to the room offered at a discount and haven’t left in close to an hour. Or, something close to that time. More? Less? Could be either, and you wouldn’t know.
You breath shakes as you stand up, and you resolve to ignore it and what’s coming from below. It’s fine, you don’t have to interact with the crowd, you can just go back to whatever phantasmal daydream you had conjured up.
Realistically, you won’t. You’ve already forgotten, and now you’re thinking about it so it won’t come back.
Probably didn’t mean anything.
You take out your knife, and your carving, trying to remember what you were making. It approximates a quadruped, and you think there might be horns. Something glides along the back of your mind, so you resolve to tap your knife as you let your thoughts do their thing. Wandering and forgetting, you almost don’t hear a new pair of footsteps. Quick, vaguely-heavy, and it’s a moment before you jolt as the door to the room is knocked on.
“Frin? You good if I come in?”
Oh, Bonbon! Delightful! You’re spinning around and opening the door before you know it, and it’s a testament to Bonbon’s trust in you that they don’t blink at the knife in your hand. You don’t think about the noise.
“Wow, that was quick.” They walk on in, and you close the door with a bit of haste. “Were you just standing right by the door?”
...right, you were standing right by the door. You could have sworn you walked back over to a bed, but you were mistaken. You should probably think of something to say.
“Door time?”
Yeah, that works.
It takes a moment, but they giggle a little bit once it registers. “Like floor time?” They do little hops before pressing back against the door to your left, sliding down to sit. Of course, you join them, and they move a bit closer once you’re on the ground. Not touching, as usual, but close enough to feel their presence, to know that they’re here. By choice, maybe - choosing to spend time with you, when at least three other people would also be willing to spend time with them.
You should probably ask why they’re here and not with someone else. But that might just lead to you learning they’re not here by choice, that Mira, Isa and Odile went to do something and sent them to you, and perhaps it’s a bit selfish to keep the facade of being chosen up, but you do anyways.
You had begun carving again, but you don’t really look at it as you mutter. It’s easy to forget, and it’s easy to not pay attention when you forget. Your eyes wander, but you hear something new.
Little gasps.
You think it might be coming from your side, and you smirk a bit as you flourish your knife with every carve. Nothing too fancy, just flipping it about in your fingers as you bring the blade back up, but the quiet “woah...” you hear from your companion makes you feel warm. It’s nice, to see subtle little appreciations like this. Big, grand gestures do certainly work, but you find yourself missing the quiet admiration your woodworking used to get, the thankful nods at a well-carved replacement fence or the larger portions given in sight of a small figure of a beloved pet.
The shape of the body seems to be done, all big and hearty like something that would want strength. Bonbon, to your side, is twisting their head to look it over from different angles, and you hold it still enough as you tap your knife, rap-tap-tapping for a moment before moving to the head.
You don’t flourish as you carve this part - far too small a space here, you would absolutely cut across something you don’t mean to - but they’re entranced nonetheless, every small piece of wood falling away like you’re unwrapping a present just for them.
Hmm.
Perhaps...
The front of the head was already largely done, with your work otherwise focused on the neck and underside, so you twist it and start on some detail. You normally would wait until the shape of the whole thing was somewhat-finalised, but you’ve an idea. The eyes are probably a bit too large for this, but that’s the whole point. They’re familiar, and the confused sound Bonbon makes clears up as you move to the mouth. This is unlikely to be accurate to the first inspiration, but you don’t particularly find yourself minding that as you carve a smile you’ve seen them make a few times - cat-like and curved, always spelling a mischief. They point to themselves with wide eyes, and you nod a few times as they bounce in place, giddy. It’s a moment to quickly add a small line and another for eyebrows, completing the face.
It looks off-model, with the long head, but it’s making Bonbon happy, so in other words it’s perfect.
Not finished, though.
You return to carving the neck, but it doesn’t take as long as you thought it would. The horns are next, but they’re much thinner so you have to slow down, planning out where you’ll carve in your mind’s eye, clouded as it is. They seem to notice your focus narrow, so they watch you work with a similarly intensity. They’re not judging, you’re fairly certain, so it doesn’t feel like you’re being watched.
The curves aren’t sharp, but they are fairly long, so it takes some time to whittle down. You think for a moment about carving horns that are spiralling, something leaning fantastical, but even you can tell it’s beyond your skill-set. Still, these more mundane horns require precision, so you stop muttering for just a moment to steady your hands as you carve-
“-and GET. OUT.”
The bang of a door slammed below jolts both you and Bonbon, but whilst they just get spooked, you end up lopping off the mostly-completed horn at an angle. It clatters to the floor, the loudest sound either of you have made in close to an hour, and you think about how much effort you’ve put in. It wasn’t even your fault this was ruined, you can’t help jumping at a shout and a slammed door, but now this carving is forcibly incomplete. You hold the rest of it with the same feather-light touch, but the handle of your knife is leaving imprints on your palm through your gloves. It was all going so well, you and Bonbon were having some nice quiet time, but a loud one below brought an end to it. It didn’t last.
Bonbon stands up from beside you. They’ll probably want to leave, now.
But they don’t.
Instead, they walk over to your party’s packs, moving to... Odile’s? She generally doesn’t like when anyone roots around in her stuff, but Bonbon’ll probably get a pass retroactively. They find something, after a minute, holding it with a grin before walking to the lopped-off horn and picking it up. Your confusion clears up as they approach you again, kneeling as they offer both the horn and a small bowl, filled with a few things you might recognise.
It is with practiced hands that, once you take the bowl, you mix a small portion of the materials. Not much, it’s a fairly small area, and it’ll be best to not use too much of Odile’s supply. You apply it with care, along where the horn was cleft in twain, and you think you might normally have to wait quite some time.
When do you do things normally?
You click your tongue and tap your foot twice, crafting two little crafts with little in the way of names that flow into the area around the mixture. From where you’re holding the horn and figure steady, you can feel the tail-edge of a crafted humidity, and looking down you can almost see the glittering lacquer shifting before your eyes, solidifying in just shy of a minute. Bonbon looks on in awe, the repaired horn’s seams catching the light with a glimmer and a shine, like how your knife used to shimmer in the evenings.
And it occurs to you that you have no idea what the material they gave you is called. Have you seen it before?
The remaining horn is much less eventful, and thank the stars that there’s no interruptions from below. It’s a bit shorter than its pair via the shiny substance, and you had considered making it match the length. But it being a little lopsided feels... right. Familiar.
But even as it is nowhere near as eventful, it does still take some time. Bonbon keeps paying close attention, and perhaps the both of you are a little tense in anticipation for another sudden sound. It does take a bit less time, as you remember the movements you have to do, and the curves come easily when you don’t have to stop to fix a mistake forced by another.
You finish the tip of the second horn, and hear footsteps somewhat outside the door. You stop carving, and Bonbon tilts their head to hear a bit better. A knock comes, louder than expected from your proximity to the wood but this time not resulting in a cleaving of carving. Mira’s voice comes a moment later.
“Siffrin? Bonnie? Can we come in?”
Bonbon catches your eye and grins a cheeky little thing, and you find yourself matching them as you pocket the carving and stand up alongside them, the both of you twisting before they open the door. You’re still holding your knife, and perhaps the sight of you two with such a blade and such grins doesn’t quite inspire confidence.
She blinks a little, a nervous giggle preceding her next words. “O-oh, were you two waiting by the door?”
You don’t even need to look at Bonbon to speak in sync.
“Door time.”