𝐀 𝐑𝐔𝐍𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐓𝐂𝐇

He  didn't  think  he  could  lie  down  anymore.  His  heart  felt  ready  to  burst  out  of  his  chest.  Whatever  hint  of  exhaustion  he  might  have  had  had  long  been  replaced  by  an  acute  alertness.  Besides,  he  found  that  he  did  not  want  to  rest  yet.

Babette's  hand  pulled  away,  &  suddenly  his  face  felt  cold.

        ❝      W-  Wait   !      ❞      Without  thinking,  he  followed,  hovering  for  a  moment.

        Don't  crowd  her   !

Quickly,  Puck  leaned  back  again.      ❝      I  mean,  um.      ❞

He  sank  into  his  side  of  the  bed,  too.  There  was  an  invisible  yet  distinct  line  between  them.  She  felt  so  far  away  now.

        ❝      Yes.  I  have  room.      ❞

         I  don't  need  it,  though.

His  gaze  shifted  to  the  blanket  she  toyed  with  in  her  hands.  It  was  awfully  thin,  &  likely  too  small  to  accommodate  both  of  them.  Puck  did  not  mind  sleeping  without  it.  Still,  he  did  not  think  it  would  account  for  much  warmth  on  its  own.

        ❝      If-  uh,  if  it  gets  too  cold,  um.  I'm  very  warm.  So,  if  you  need,  uh   .     .     .   ?      ❞      

His  cheeks  grew  hot  all  over  again.      ❝      Extra  heat   (  ?   !   )   --   I  don't  mind  being   .     .     .    closer.      ❞

      Whether  it  was  an  invitation       or  not,  the  seamstress  was  quick  to  scoot  closer.  Closer  still,  until  almost  touching  his  shirtless  self.  How  selfish  of  her,  to  first  take  his  clothes,  then    (  most  likely  )    the  blanket  for  the  night.  There  was  no  doubt  if  one  would  ask  the  inn-keeper  for  another  one,  they  would  provide  without  argument.  Yet,  something  inside  her  pretty  little  head  dismissed  this  option  entirely.

   It  would  be  so  much  nicer  shooing  the  cold  away  with  only  their  body  heat.

Babette  didn't  exactly  prompt  for  a  cuddle.  She  tested  how  Puck  would  react  to  closeness,  to  this  new  proximity   ;   and  in  a  matter  of  moments,  the  fey  was  gently  stealing  the  meager  space  there  was  left  between  both  of  them  by  eradicating  inch  after  inch.  The  small  bed  suddenly  regained  space,  where  she  wasn't  cuddled  up  against  the  bhaalspawn.

       ❝  I  believe  you  make  for  a  better  blanket  anyway.  ❞        Mumbled  against  his  collarbones.  Babette  began  to  wonder  if  the  taller  one  could  notice  her  heart  trying  its  hardest  to  break  out  of  her  ripcage    ?

      ❝  Maybe  this  is  a  weird  thing  to  say,  but  I  always  knew  you  would  be  gentle   &   careful.  I  was  a  little  bit  afraid  of  you   ;   the  first  time  I  saw  you  fight  against  goblins.  But  .  .  .  I  don't  think  I  could  feel  safer  with  anybody  else  right  now.  ❞

"Well, it isn't such big of an issue, so please don't make such a face. I'll help you for sure, one way or the other.", he widened the smile, aiming to cheer her up. The green of his eyes stood out strongly among the red scales of his face, and made them look all the more expressive.

He placed the broken needles to the table, and his hands on the sides as he leaned on it.

"We have three options. First, I can glue them back for you. They won't be perfect, and will break again eventually, but will last you a while at least.

Secondly, I can easily make you metal ones, if they don't bother you. I'm not sure if it's problematic, if not, it will be a quick work.

Or...well, I can give you some of mine, if you really want wooden ones. I always carry some supplies, and I had to get into knitting for a week and something more, so they should still be around."

      Eyes  read  along       this  imaginary  listing  he  provided,  and  a  pout  wandered  onto  her  face.  By  no  means  could  she  accept  someone  else's  needles.  What  if  he  needed  them  in  the  foreseeable  future    !     (  He  .  .  .  could  make  some  for  himself,  probably  .  .  .  )    No,  no.  She  shook  her  head,  freeing  herself  from  the  argument  she  troubled  herself  with  just  now.

       ❝  I  think  I  would  prefer  them  not  to  break  again.  It  would  only  make  me  sadder,  seeing  this.  ❞       There  was  a  dry  clump  sitting  in  her  throat,  perhaps  from  nervousness  or  the  shame  of  asking  for  something  so  silly   &   small  as  knitting  needles.       ❝  How  long  would  it  take  you  to  make  these  .  .  .  metal  ones     ?     I  personally  never  possessed  a  pair  that  wasn't  wooden.  ❞

The  dragon-blooded's  tilt  of  head  was  mirrored,  if  only  slightly.  Would  it  be  a  pain  for  his  large  hands  to  work  on  something  rather  delicate  as  this  request     ?    So  many  swords  around,  and  here,  the  fey  stood.  Asking  for  tailor  supplies.  Embarrassing    !

       ❝  I  truly  don't  want  to  be  a  nuisance.  You  must  have  many  people  commissioning  you  for  .  .  .  er  .  .  .  weapons.  Swords   &   shields   &   axes  .  .  .  I  will  pay  upfront.  I  insist.  ❞

It wasn't an unwelcome change.

Adonai stared at the wine in her glass before her thoughts were interrupted by a sweet voice hushed at her side. Babette spoke of the vampire—of Astarion—the man who, in any other circumstance but this, would have been Adonai's enemy by virtue of what he was. An undead.

"It is an unkind thing to be what he is," Adonai responded, not at all a whisper. She lifted the drink in her hand towards her. "Unable to taste the sweetness of wine. If it were your blood, perhaps he wouldn't have complained."

      A  hand  flew  towards  the  side  of  her  neck,       wide-eyed   &   soon  putting  on  an  exaggerated  frown.  She  cupped  her  throat  as  if  the  mere  words  spoken  about  blood  would  alert  the  camp's  vampire,  soon  suckling  on  her  tender  little  neck  like  a  leech.

       ❝  He  can't  have  mine    !  ❞        Out  of  question,  because  teeth  piercing  skin  hurt     !     ❝  I'm  very  sorry  for  his  affliction,  but  I  am  off  the  menu.  ❞      She  worded  it  as  a  hidden  question,  perhaps  a  challenge,  seeing  how  her  brow  lifted  only  the  slightest.  Adonai  can  offer  herself  to  the  elf,  if  she  was  truly  so  sorry  about  him  not  being  able  to  taste  the  bitter  grape  juice.

Little  Babsi  has  indeed  been  spying  on  the  others,  albeit  spying  was  such  a  rude  word  for  it.  She  kept  an  eye  open  to  any  nonsense  creeping  about  camp.  Looking  after  the  others,  in  a  sense    !    Now  ending  up  discussing  Astarion's  diet.  And  how  she  prayed  inwardly    –    The  drow  wasn't  trying  to  keep  her  voice  down.  Eyes  flicked  towards  the  pale  one,  who  seemed  to  still  grumble  into  his  bottle.  A  distraught  blink  towards  the  other  woman.  Babette  tried  to  tell  her  to  .  .  .  maybe  whisper     !

       ❝  Would  you  drink  vinegar  if  you  couldn't  have  blood     ?     I  would  rather  drink  water,  like  a  normal  person.  But  that's  just  me.  ❞

“Why are you so worried?” Lia groaned the words, splayed out upside down on the couch. Her legs were drapped over the back of it and her head hanging off the seat, glaring at Rolan. “Anything you get @bloodyarn she’ll like, so I’m just confused.”

Cal at least looked a little horrified at Lia’s words.

“That’s the problem. Jsut because she’ll like anything doesn’t mean I should just get her anything. I still want to get her something-” Rolan’s hands wandered through the air trying to grasp the right word.

“Meaningful.” Cal replied with a nod, glancing between Rolan and Lia. “Meaningful! Yes, exactly, thank you for actually listening to my lament!” “I think you’re overthinking it too, quite frankly. You know her well, and I think you over worry about things to begin with.”

Rolan was thankful that Cal at least looked sad to feel this way. Though… his brother had a point. He’d been planning something for months regardless, but he couldn’t fathom that it was enough (nothing ever was with how much she filled his heart). So, Rolan threw his hands up in acceptance… and Lia threw a pillow at his face.

“You’re too glum looking. Bake her a cake-”

"I wasn’t going-” ”Yes, you were. I saw the ingredients for it”

”Bake her a cake. Take her for a beautiful dinner out in the city… and-” Lia’s face morphed, trying not to think too hard about what exactly Rolan and Babette did “E n j o y your night with her however you see fit.” She dismissively waved her hand at Rolan.

And, he couldn’t argue with that, could he?

Rolan did, of course, make Babette a cake. A light sponge cake, doing his best to mimic one of the strawberry desserts they had shared on one of their last outings. Rolan also took her out for a dinner as suggested by Lia. An excuse to dress up extra nicely since he knew Babette liked to see him in the occasional finery.

But, more importantly the final gift.

Rolan had Babette close her eyes tightly as he guided her through the halls of the tower and positioned her in front of the room that had been his office earlier in the week.

He’s since moved into the room across and inside had been replaced with a workspace for Babette. Mannequins and storage shelves for bolts of fabric. Drafting tables and a cabinet for notions he’d gotten help from one of her sisters designing that was similar to the one in her family’s store.

He stood at the door once she went inside, folding his hands in front of himself.

“The natural light is better in here, I thought you’d get better use out of it.” He said, feeling his cheeks heat up as it was time for her to pass judgement on his gift.

       Birthdays       never  truly  meant  a  day  for  herself  in  the  past.  With  six  other  sisters   &   out  of  them,  two  who  shared  the  same  birth  month,  there  was  little  time  for  great  festivities  just  for  herself.  Certainly,  did  she  get  a  cake.  Not  a  grand  one,  but  a  gift  nonetheless.  Other  than  being  woken  up  with  a  row  of  congratulations   &   flowers  to  go  with  it,  it  was  a  normal  day.  That,  Babette  learned  as  a  girl.

The  day  was  shockingly  special,  even  for  Rolan's  standards.  It  was  noticeable  how  he  settled  for  nothing  that  consisted  of  ‘ordinary’.  If  there  was  a  bouquet  of  flowers,  it  had  to  wear  at  least  three  bows  to  top  it  off.  A  dinner    ?     Outside   ;   with  a  good  view   &   if  there  was  no  strawberry  shortcake  on  the  menu,  it  wouldn't  come  into  consideration.  The  tailor  could  only  guess  how  much  of  a  nag  he  must  have  been  to  his  siblings. 

   The  self-baked  cake  was  enough  for  her.  Even  just  a  day  off  would  have  been.  Never  picky,  when  it  came  to  him.

When  they  arrived  back  at  the  tower,  Babette  found  herself  quite  confused.     ❝  Ah–     I  thought  that  was  everything.  Are  you  crazy     ?  ❞       Still,  the  bard  closed  her  eyes   &   let  him  lead  through  the  corridors  she  knew  by  heart  since  months.  He  wouldn't  pull  the  petals  on  the  bed  card  .  .  .  She  would  not,  by  all  the  gods,  know  how  to  react  to  that.  Just  .  .  .  one  foot  in  front  of  the  other.  Until  they  arrived.

Where  her  eyes  expected  his  office  when  they  opened,  Babette's  vision  was  instead  drawn  to  a  completely  new  room.  One  full  with  new  furniture  between  the  old  reliable  ones,  moved  to  their  new  place  doors  away.  Pale  eyebrows  dragged  up  to  her  forehead,  cardinal  spheres  flicked  towards  the  wizard  standing  in  the  doorframe   ;   she  was  expecting  .  .  .  what  was  she  even  expecting     ?     An  explanation    ?     That  this  is  real     ?    Just  an  illusion  perhaps.

 No,  no  these  are  DEFINITELY  her  supplies.  That's  one  of  the  mannequins  of  her  room. 

       ❝  Are  you  .  .  .  are  you  serious     ?  ❞        She  didn't  know  she  could  both  shout   &   whisper  at  once  until  now.  And  of  course  did  the  woman  wanted  to  call  him  insane.  That  was  his  beautiful  office    !     How  could  he  –     ❝  That  looks  just  like  the  one  back  home  .  .  .  !  ❞      A  lump  swallowed.  Was  she  truly  tearing  up  from  this    ?

   How  could  she  not    ?

Aimlessly  did  Babette  walk  into  the  center  of  the  room   –     her  room.  Tidy   &   clean   &   wonderfully  organized.  The  last  rays  of  daylight  flooded  lazily  onto  the  working  table,  fresh  flowers  placed  on  the  desk.  He  went,  how  so  often,  above   &   beyond.  The  judge  finished  her  inspection  with  one  wide   &   sweet  grin,  fast  steps  leading  her  back  to  Rolan,  who  was  attacked  with  the  full  force  that  was  a  loving  hug  from  Miss  Ziromzu.

       ❝  I  love  you  I  love  you  I  love  you  I  love  you     !  !  !    How  did  you  even  get  the  idea     ?  ?  ?  ❞       There  were  so  many  more  words  on  the  seamstress'  tongue,  just  waiting  for  her  to  open  her  mouth  again,  but  she  drowned  the  sensation  by  pressing  kisses  against  the  tiefling's  jaw.  Any  higher  wasn't  possible  as  of  now.       ❝  Thank  you  a  thousand,  hundred,  million  times.  I  will  take  the  best  care  of  this  room,  you  have  my  word.  And  you  do  not  ever  have  to  knock.  Aaaand  you  are  always  invited  to  watch.  Always     !  ❞

Woman with a Cat

Genuine enthusiasm bleeds through the amusement on Wyll’s face. “That would be wonderful!” 

He’s wanted to learn some tailoring skills for a while, and knitting is another thing entirely compared to sewing; something he’d only shakily taken up after Mizora refused to grant him mending as a cantrip. 

“I’m sure with your expertise you’ve already noticed, but I most certainly do not possess an artisan's hand. Well, not yet,” He said, returning her grin. It only sharpens as Babsi leaves her next sentence hanging; for a moment, it had sounded like she was asking him on a date. It was a lovely thought. At any other moment, he may even entertain prodding at her a little further to hear it out loud. Alas, his pride’s wilted at the moment, and anyway it’s best to give someone who wants an out an out. Especially if that person is drunk. His response is warm;

“That sounds like a lovely change of pace from all the doom and gloom, and a blanket would be more than welcome. Though I must ask: what is a granny square?”

He meets the hexblood’s eyes again to find them wide with wonder, a purely affable presence despite the striking color.

       She  had  to  stop  herself        from  pushing  the  different  trivia  about  crocheting  onto  poor  Mr.  Ravengard.  A  few    ‘well's     &    ‘you  see’s    before  her  eager  tongue  came  up  with  a  more  common  description  of  the  simple  motive  that  was  a  granny  square.

       ❝  You  can  imagine  it  as  some  kind  of  .  .  .  dip  mat.  A  little  crocheted  square  you  start  from  the  inside   &   work  yourself  to  the  outside  until  you  have  a  .  .  .  a  granny  square.  ❞       Amazingly  described   ;   would  that  be  enough  to  answer  his  question     ?        ❝  Usually,  one  would  take  many  of  these   &   combine  them  into  something  akin  to  a  patchwork  blanket.  It's  a  bigger  project,  but  very  pretty,  I  can  say  that.  ❞

A  subtly  confused  expression  appeared  on  the  hexblood's  visage  when  Wyll's  words  rang  in  her  head  a  second  time.  His  bladework  looked  fascinating   ;   looked  quite  artistic  in  his  own  ways.    ❝  You're  so  humble.  ❞      A  huff  of  amusement.  Wait,  he  meant  it    ?      ❝  Oh  –   Uhm  .  .  .  You  just  wait  until  we  get  you  working.  You  will  possess  sooo  many  hands  that  are  sooo  artistic.  I  guess  just  two,  but  that's  more  than  most  people.  Well,  most  people  actually  have  two  hands,  but  they  are  not  .  .  .  ❞

A  hectic  swatting  of  both  hands  before  fingers  gripped  her  goblet  tighter,  bringing  it  to  her  lips  in  hopes  to  drown  any  further  babbling. 

       ❝  I'm  waaay  too  excited    !   Look,  I  would  drag  you  to  my  tent   &   start  teaching  you  tonight  if  the  situation  wouldn't  look  awfully  weird    !  ❞      The  horrors  of  Astarion  or  Shadowheart  noticing  her    –    sweet  innocent  Babette    –    stealing  Wyll  from  the  scenery  would  leave  tongue's  wagging.  While  gossip  is  one  of  her  absolute  favorite  pastimes,  the  tailor  was  not  too  thrilled  to  be  the  talk  of  the  camp  by  misconception.     ❝  .  .  .  Do  you  need  some  more  wine    ?  ❞