ginny

— Familiarity faded like remnants of an old dream. Fox searched the customer’s face, but felt further and further away from the truth the more he scrutinized her features. “Sorry, but do I know you?” he asked. Where had he seen that dark hair, those full brows, the charming dimple carving a petite divot in her chin? Unsure if it were a memory or a dream, he thought he recalled seeing her in a forest. Yet, that was impossible; he hadn’t stepped foot in the woods since the day his human body had been restored from that of a skittish, common Fearling. 

“I thought you looked like someone I knew a long time ago, but that doesn’t make any sense,” he said. A co-worker from the kitchens checked his shoulder as they squeezed behind the counter, refilling the display trays with fresh pastries. Fox raised his brow, then shook his head to brush off the fuzzy feelings of déjà vu. Sainte Coquille’s wasn’t a place for daydreaming. Staring off into space wouldn’t accomplish anything besides allowing the line of customers to grow until they were wrapped around the block. “This is why I don’t fill in at the front,” he sighed. “You stand behind the counter all day and the next thing you know, you’ve gone delirious. Happens at the end of every shift.”

Fox did his best not to stare.

“What can I get for you?” 

The smell of chocolate and butter had become familiar to Ginny, and she tilted her head back to take a deep breath. It didn’t matter how many times she’d found herself within the bakery; she would always find the scents intoxicating. Her pointer finger gently traced the corner of a glass showcase as she finally made her way to the front of the line. A tentative list of possible orders began to formulate in her mind, but her thoughts fell to the wayside as the man behind the counter spoke. "I’m not sure.” An unconcerned air accompanied her words, followed by a careless shrug that acted in direct opposition to her attentive gaze. Her eyes searched his face as she spoke— there was the possibility that he was mistaken, that this was a dead-end, but she knew she’d never be able to sleep if she didn’t at least try. “I can’t remember a thing before I arrived in Selphia. Why do you ask?” Perhaps some would find the bluntness off-putting, but Ginny had found that being upfront got her much further when it came to getting answers.

"Why is that impossible—” and yet as soon as the question left her mouth she paused, considering the people that she’d met since working at the Bluebell Inn. That— that was a stupid question. She shook her head a little, before smiling warmly at the man in front of her. “Foolish of me to ask, I can think of plenty of reasons— oh, and I know the feeling quite well. After a few hours of folding bedsheets, my mind simply goes to mush. It’s a right pain when people ask questions while I’m hauling laundry.” It had happened far too many times to count— enough times for her to be certain that customer service may not be the best career path for her.

“Just a chocolate tart for me today, thank you.”

she hears the tune of high g note ring within the first floor of the old building. the hanging bell above the inn’s hickory door chimes and she makes her way to the front of the building no questions asked. staying a couple of nights during her younger years, turned into helping out in the kitchen, and helping out in the kitchen soon meant she’d be patching quilts and linens, and once linens had her markings on them, sooner or later people from other lands would ask her for their help– a headache there, a scratch here. she loved helping where ever she could but months turned to years, and now she was a permanent resident of the Bluebell.

the baking apron over her clothes is stained with chickpea flour and blotted with little pinches of shredded carrot. the recipe, she was realizing was far too simple for her adventurous baking mind, but BB, the toy poodle was eager to try his neat pet treats. he followed her, yapping, and running at her ankles to keep up as they greeted their new visitor. “Oh, Bb, you’ve got to settle down now. You’re going to scare our new––” 

before she can finish her sentence, there she goes– slipping and sliding and collapsing right under that wet floor sign. she takes a terrible fall, but luckily BB is there to lick her face clean from the seafoam she’d just slipped on. elbows press against the hardwood floors as she tries to rise back on her feet. she offers a chuckle of a peace offering, “ Heh– Welcome to the Bluebell Inn.”

Each day came with a checklist of errands, but she had very few complaints. It was good to stay busy, and she is getting lodging and food for free as long as she helped out— as well as a little money each day. It was more than she deserved, and for that reason alone she was eager to find another job just so that she didn’t feel like she was robbing the owners of the Bluebell Inn.

A bag of groceries rested on her hip as she opened the hickory door with one hand. A smile spread across her face at the ringing of the bell, and it widened as she watched Cerise collapse spectacularly underneath the wet floor sign. She should have taken a video— the tumble and ensuing slide had been beyond cartoonish.

Ginny cocked her hip, the edges of her lips twitching as she fought back a laugh. “Alright down there?” The groceries laid abandoned on a nearby table as she finally decided to kneel down and offer a hand, planting herself so that she wouldn’t suffer the same fate as the blonde. “You didn’t actually hurt yourself, did you?”

⸻ @cagliostrostart​​, selphia streets, at a toy vending machine game.

he’s been stuck here for 25 minutes, with the only exception being the times he walked across the street to head inside the laundry mat and grab more coins. he had gathered quite a little following of rewards too, but it wasn’t enough. the stuffed animals in this machine were mocking him by this point. the claw frequently dropped only a few centimeters to the left or right, the biggest animal in the neon lit box, a little teddy bear with a little baseball cap on its fuzzy head, staring at him. he laid his forehead on the cool plexiglass, in the cool night air on a weeknight, trying and failing to get the stuffed animal he wanted, at this point desperately needed. 

it might take some divine intervention for him to get it by now. the tiny bag of much smaller, cheaper looking toys setting on the ground between his boots. “come on, come on, just a little-” he prays to whatever gods are responsible for the drop rate of a the claw in the machine, to the teddy itself. and the claws graze the hat, tug it ever so slightly, and then just as he gets excited, it drops back into place with an unheard plop. and he curses, very loudly, looks around to see if he’s offended anyone, and exhales in defeat and some embarrassment. 

Flakes of pastry fell from her hands to the ground as she munched happily, a small contented sound escaping her lips. Her fingers were buttery, but her grip on her paper bag did not loosen as she shifted from her place against the wall. The streets were quieter at night, and Ginny had found that it was the best time to enjoy an indulgent snack. The last of her crumbly baked good disappeared into her mouth and she paused to lick her fingers—simple pleasures. That was what was important, right?

Her gaze landed on the man still playing at the claw-machine, and her brows furrowed lightly. It had been amusing, but now it was kind of worrying— he’d directed the claw too far right again— and she winced in sympathy as the claw just missed the hat of the teddy. A curse from his lips, and with that her mind was made up. She crossed the street before approaching the stranger with little hesitation. “Here—” she smiled, offering the man her paper bag. “It’s a pastry from Sainte Coquille. It’s supposed to make you feel peaceful, and give you a good night’s rest.” He looked like he needed it more than she did.