Beau Peep had flour on his cheek again. He could feel it drying there as he leaned against the counter of his little farm-to-table kitchen, sleeves rolled, pastel bandana slipping loose at the nape of his neck. The evening crowd had thinned, the last bowl scraped clean and returned with a grateful smile, and the quiet that followed always felt louder than the rush. Outside, Pellar’s Town hummed with that strange, in-between magic. Beau wiped his hands on his apron, then paused, brow furrowing as if he’d just remembered something important he forgot to write down. “…Right,” he murmured to no one in particular and was already smiling.
He stepped outside to get some training done while the bread cooled, boots thudding softly against the porch, and rested his massive warhammer against the railing like it weighed nothing at all. The green gem at its center caught the light, throwing pastel reflections across his skirt and gloves. Beau stretched, arms over his head, muscles flexing without him even thinking about it, then tilted his head when he sensed someone nearby. Or maybe just the feeling of being watched. He always trusted that instinct. Sheep sense, he called it, even if he didn’t have a literal flock of sheep anymore here. Although he definitely has a flock of stuffed sheep at home. His grin spread anyway, open and bright, the kind that made it impossible to tell if he was fearless or just a little foolish.
“Hey there,” Beau called out easily, voice warm and boyish, as if they were already friends. He shifted his weight, hammer knocking once against the wood, casual as a walking stick. “Kitchen’s closed, but I’ve still got fresh bread cooling if you're okay with something small. And, uh, I make a real mean hot cider if you don’t mind it a little too sweet.” His eyes flicked over them with gentle curiosity, not judgment, like he was already deciding how best to take care of them. “You look like you could use a seat. Or a meal. Or… y’know. Company.”
@wintertaled
