#hate spa

ARF

Calls themself the 'Archfey' of their flutter.

I cannot fathom why someone would want them in charge.

A seelie fae. They say they are a 'shellycoat' specifically, though I do not know the veracity of this claim. They will not give me a direct answer for how they came into being, instead telling vague stories, though never the same one twice. I find this creature supremely ittitating.

Often hanging around Stanley. For what reason? Are they threatening him, if I ever go back on our contract?

Both claws and paw pads. How do they find holding a pencil comfortable?

Cloak sometimes covered in shells. Is this where the subspecies name comes from?

Can shapeshift, I have only seen them change into a fox. Is this all they can do?

When I initially attempted to introduce myself, they interrupted me to say:

I know who you are, Stanford.

DLA also knew my name before I could introduce myself. Is this a knack of all fae? Or is it just a trait shared amongst their flutter?

Fairly typical dragonfly wing patterns.

Proprtionally too small to carry their body weight. Still somehow flight capable.

There is a girl sitting cross-legged on the floor. She has a stack of papers in her lap, and a pencil in her hand. She stares at the paper for a moment, then begins to draw. 

A circle with a line across it. A long swoop is drawn from it, with two more circles below. 

A snout, an eye- erased, redrawn, erased again. She moves on to an ear, three easy swoops that connect in a point. The second ear. 

She turns back to the eye. The pencil hovers, hesitant. 

She moves away, drawing a curve of neck to connect the first two circles. Fur blooms under the pencil tip, short and fluffy. 

Back to the face.  

Away. The fur continues from the ears, down the spine. A tail is begun, then erased. 

The pencil moves away. The shape of a leg- erased, redrawn, erased, redrawn, accepted. A paw, large and round. Toes, claws- erased. The paw stays round. Another leg behind it. The line of neck fur continues after the front leg, longer but just as fluffy. The pencil stills, lifts.  

The face again. The snout, an ear, and the line are erased. She hesitates. The pencil taps the paper. She starts again, the face tilted towards the viewer. A nose, round and dark. Two eyes, wide and curious.  

The girl speaks, her voice soft and light. “There you are.” 

The pencil moves again. Hind legs are drawn, the paws just as fluffy and round as on the front.  

She draws ground beneath the paws, rough short lines sticking upward. 

She adds a tail, a long flowing brush of fur. 

The pencil is pulled away. 

The drawing is inspected. 

It's a fox, staring at the viewer. It stands on steady legs, tail draped low enough to touch the grass. It’s a child’s drawing, the proportions odd and the lines rough, but the girl seems pleased with it. 

The girl smiles. “Oh, look at you. Aren’t you just precious?”  

“Although... a little plain, perhaps?” 

The pencil taps the paper.  

“Perhaps a hat?” 

A top hat is drawn, then erased. A crown follows, and meets the same fate. 

"Hm. No, I don't think so."

The pencil taps the paper.  

“Some earrings, maybe?” 

She adds two simple circles to the fox’s ears. 

“Yeah, that’s better.” 

A collar is drawn, then partially erased. It becomes a shirt, then a cloak. It's long, trailing down the fox’s back, and hanging down to nearly touch the grass. 

“Oh, look at you now. Aren’t you darling?” 

The pencil taps the paper. 

The drawing is set aside, revealing a fresh surface.  

“Let’s give you a family.” 

The fox is drawn again, smaller. The fox sits on the grass, staring at the viewer with huge, sparkling eyes. The cloak is too big, pooling around the fox’s paws and spilling across the grass. 

“Oh, aren’t you just precious. You must have been the sweetest little child.” 

Two circles are drawn behind the little fox. They each become foxes as well. 

One is fluffier, its chin scruff almost looking like a beard. The other is scrawnier, wearing several earrings and necklaces. 

“Don’t you make such a lovely picture?" 

A pause. The pencil taps on the paper.  

Someone in the distance calls the girl’s name. 

“Coming, Mama!” She replies. She sets her paper and the pencil aside, before dashing out of the room. 

-- 

Over the years, the girl continues to draw the fox. The medium changes- from simple pencil doodles to colored ones, then eventually to full watercolor pieces. Some of the details change too- different earrings, different cloak, different pronouns- but the fox remains.

Sometimes she’s running through the grass, cloak streaming behind her. Sometimes he’s sitting on a riverside, watching the water. Sometimes they’re drawn with other characters.  

The characters vary, too- Her parents, then a friend who is later replaced with someone else, then different people who are his parents now. But throughout it all, the fox remains. 

One day, the girl- the woman, now- looks down at her newest picture of the fox. 

“I never gave you a name, did I?” She wonders aloud. She brushes her thumb over the drawing. It’s more skillful than the old ones, as always comes with time. The fox is sketched in smooth pencil, and colored in flowing watercolors.

She stares at the drawing a while longer, then smiles. "Axxxxxx."

A spark. Joy, excitement. Life blooms where there once was none, buoyed up by the woman's love for her creation.

"Axxxxxx Rxxx Fxx." She says, nodding decisively.

The fox opens their eyes. They step from the page, staring in wonder at a room they've never seen.

The woman smiles down at the drawing, rubbing her thumb down the fox’s spine.

Axxxxxx finds new limbs sprouted from their back. They flutter them experimentally, curious at the new sensation.

The wings lift them from the ground, and a wide smile spreads across their face.

The new spirit, freshly named and given form, spins around the room. They twirl and weave in the air, singing with joy they have only just begun to experience.

A breeze from the open window flutters the paper in front of her. When it brushes by her face, she can smell rain on the horizen. It pulls a few locks of hair free from the woman's braid, and brushes them out of her face, still smiling.

"It has a good ring to it, don't you think?"

Axxxxxx Rxxx Fxx flies to the woman, landing on her shoulder. They settle in, leaning against her.

"Yea. I think you'd like it." The woman decided.