Dove

Dove

Well-known member
It goes without saying that Dove continued to further grow her little home in the Elum. Her little wagon started to gain a little personality- much like the other wagons. It often smelled sweet- the stain of vanilla and cinnamon following the wagon, often catching the wind and inciting a little warmth and life. The children often would chase her, asking her to bless their small injuries, sing. "Coo-coo-coo!" came a common chant, and her smile would curl into a glitter that seemed to shower whatever she touched.

She did indeed, become the 'ghost doctor', though she had not directly worked with the spirits. Most likely given to her due to her pale visage and tattered robes. But her healing work was meticulous and growing more refined with practice. Her medicines and herbal remedies also grew, and she had developed her own little store stock of medicines, herbs, and her newest fascination - candy and treats.

And her fixations paid off, in a way she could have never suspected. Her shop had apparently drew the attention of some rather wealthy individuals. They did buy a fair bit- but they also left a tip. A very.. very generous tip.

Which is why Dove was standing in front of Vyn, eyes wide with confusion, cupping a satchel of coin and presenting it to her like a child who had done something wrong- and was afraid of the consequences.

".. Um- I.. I'm supposed to.. pay rent? For the wagon? Is- this?" She shoved it into Vyn's chest, as if the weight of possibility that existed in her hands was some sort of feral animal that threatened to eat her.
 
Vyn blinked down at the coin pressed to her chest like it was cursed. She didn't take it. Just gave it a long stare, before looking at Dove as if the bird had grown a second head. Like that Pale did one time.

„Rent?“ The word itself felt like spoiled stew in her mouth. She did not enjoy the taste.
„You tryin' to curse the Wagon or just me?“

Still refused to touch the pouch.
„You think Gallen ever paid rent?“ A crooked smile crept up, struggling against memory.
„Nah. He just kept us fed and sang quite horribly when the mood hit. That's how it works. You carry what you can. Share what you got. And if you're lucky, no one remembers who did what.“
One finger sent the pouch sliding back where it belonged.
„You don't owe me, us, a thing.“ Dove had come a long way. Still, some thing tripped her up. Suppose it made sense – Elum were a strange bunch after all. „Road knows, you're pulling more than your weight. More than most.“

She hadn't said it out loud, but she'd been watching. The way Dove's spine grew firmer, steps steadier. Still nervous, soft in all the wrong places, but something was blooming in the woman. Something that didn't flinch.

„But if you're offering bribes.“ Eyes flickered to the coin. „I'll take some more of those sweets.“
 
Dove stared at the pouch, with a look of pure horror. As if Vyn had told her that she was going to be crucified and left for dead. A frozen chicken nugget, left in the northern throes of Illica, never to reach her dreams of mastering the art of making candy. Oh the absolute agony.

Needless to say, her head quickly whips up, and she tries to push it back, anxious.

"N.. I.. I sure. I'll pay you to have some sweets then."

She looked up at Vyn. The look of skepticism, and Dove quickly chirps back:

".. Y.. Yes but I bet- Galllen knew what to do with this, far- FAR more than me. Tha.. That's why it should go to something else- not me. This- this is a big accident waiting to happen. An opportunity that I will simply squander and.." The bag gets pushed to Vyn agian.

"I have no idea what to do with this Vyn. None, absolutely none. It would be a waste in my hands!"
 
She kept staring at the pouch that was being pushed back on her with a quiet disbelief.

„Ghost doctor.“ The sigh was loud. Still tried to be kind.
„You think any of us knew what to do the first time someone handed us too much of anything?“ But there was no budging.
She wasn't taking the damn thing.
„Gallen wouldn't have known either. He'd have tried to trade it for a goat with opinions, or spent it on stew for people who weren't hungry.“ The smile was back. „And he'd still have made it work.“

Vyn moved closer, still careful not to accidentally accept the coin.

„Waste isn't when you don't know what to do.“ Her voice softened. „Waste is not even trying.“

Almost as an afterthought, she'd offer:

„Jem could probably use a new scarf. The one he's got looks like it lost a bet.“
 
The feathers on her head pinned back, a wince, as if someone had just slapped her across the face. As the typical scolding always did. But she was getting a little tougher, handling the critique with a little more grace, each- and every time. Sometimes, she'd even withstand. Sometimes, she might even fight back. But, if she kept going- it'll eventually be habit. Which, in this case, might not be so bad at all.

Her eyes roll to the ground, a mixture of annoyance and guilt.. tapping her fingers on the bag. Oh- Vyn, this isn't what she wanted! She needed help- she needed to know what to do here! She's never handled money before: she's scared an-

Her eyes flicker back up to Vyn, her feathers following her movements, eyes lit up. Get Jem a scarf? "..." A smile curls to her face. That was exactly what she needed! That would be such a great idea, and Jem would love it too, she imagined. It wasn't often Dove got to show gratitude- to be fair, she thought Jem was critical of her. But surely, he'd appreciate a scarf right?

Oh- but it had to be the RIGHT scarf! What would Jem like? Her eyes narrow on Vyn, and she pulls the bag back, quietly tugging on a bit of loose fabric on Vyn's clothing. ".. That is a good idea. But I do not know what Jem likes. Could you come with me, please?" she asked, eyes wide.
 
Vyn had to pretend not to notice the tug at first. Sometimes she wondered if she'd been too much of a crutch. If she was the one holding Dove back from becoming more confident.

„Course I'll come.“ Said it like it was nothing, but her earlier thought still hung between them. She adjusted the collar.
„But if he ends up with somethin' yellow, I'm blamin' you.“ Lips twitched like a smile tried to push through, but didn't quite win. Close call, though.

„Jem's the kind that won't say what he likes, so you gotta watch what he keeps.“ Her hands found her hips, eyes flickering to the Wagons. „Threadbare things, mostly. Old layers. Stuff that's already been fixed three times over. So don't go fancy.“

She leaned in, conspiratorial.

„Warm, durable, and just ugly enough so no one will try to steal it.“

Softer still:

„It'll mean more comin' from you.“

She wouldn't say more, but she would walk the market with Dove. She'd help choose the wool, and maybe haggle if the price got mean. Quiet witness, quiet support. The kind of thing Elum did instead of saying I'm proud.
 
Her eyes nodded- her eyes wide and thoughtful, nodding- listening very slowly. She'll admit, it seemed a little.. silly, but it made sense. She never really did see Jem wear anything new or fancy. To be fair: didn't really see Vyn wear any either. She looked to the dusty frame of the deva's boots. There was some devious thoughts growing in that white noggin, before she looked up.

Either way, the response brought a shining smile to Dove's face. Delighted to have a companion for an adventure; she grabbed Vyn's wrist and tugged her along.

-

The duo went into town. Not too big, not too small. Yes- they could have probably bought this from the Elum; but as Dove very aptly pointed out: Jem would know! Word travels too quickly in the caravan, and it would simply ruin the surprise if he knew before she gave it to him. All in the while, her eyes would glance to Vyn's feet, trying to discern what her foot size would be.

.. Vyn sure had big feet huh?

More idle thoughts:

... Would they even have shoes in her size?

More idle thoughts:

... Maybe she could get another duster for her instead. Except; she was pretty sure Vyn would just forget it. No- boots is good. She could use boots.

The thoughts continued, that she didn't even realize they had managed to stumble upon the town's farmer's market. There, fresh crops were being peddled, the smell of fresh vegetables and sweet, baked goods hitting the air. The crowd was dense, but not unbearable. The wind carried the brisk north, but the aura very much was warm, and inviting.

"Oh, look- at all of these.. things! Can you believe it? Look at.. well look at that!" she pointed at the stall, where a smith had laid out some knives of various quality. Some sharp, some subtle. All useful. Maybe. Dove didn't know. She found herself picking up one. "Perhaps I should grab one for my herbs. Or a sickle-"

"... This one looks good, I think." she pointed, showing it to Vyn.

Now, the initiative was great.

But Dove didn't know shit about good metal. So while Dove looked proud of her pick; the sickle looked to an apprentice's mess made of slag and coated in metal to hide it's obvious deficiencies. She'd probably grow frustrated with it in time.
 
Vyn took one look at the sickle and immediately decided she'd be the one sharpening Dove's tools for the month. Didn't roll her eyes, but the temptation was there. Instead, she leaned in to inspect the blade, expression unreadable. The market wind kept tugging at her robes, as if trying to distract on purpose.

„Looks...determined.“ She said, finally. „Might try to cut a leaf and end up insulting it instead.“

The wind fluttered further, carrying rumors of a particularly rude farming implement.

They were in Sev's Burrow, so called even though no one could recall a Sev, and there wasn't a burrow in sight. Just a near circle of vendors half hitched around a windbreak, selling everything from rope to rumor. Elum passed through here every year when they needed things quiet enough to ask questions and cheap enough not to answer any.

Her clawed finger reached out to tap the blade. Dull. Slight warp where it met the hilt. Dressed up slag. Still didn't say no. She needed to learn.
„If you want it for herbs, get it for herbs. Just know that it'll bite crooked.“ Her face pulled tight on the right.
„Like it's missin' some teef...“ Her mouth twitched beyond the words, but she held it together.

She turned around, trying to remember the layout. „Maybe we look a bit more first?“ The vendor blinked once, but said nothing. They both knew what was on display.

„'S a leatherworker three stalls down.“ She continued.
„Might have something scarf shaped for Jem that won't offend his sense of gloom.“
Eyes back to Dove, curious.
„If you're set on that one, I'll show you how to coax out an edge. If not, plenty of knives here that don't hold grudges.“
 
She nodded, absorbing the insight from Vyn. Her thoughts glanced it over once more. Now that Vyn pointed it out, she was right.. Something about it did look.. off. This time, she took a bit of a closer look, squinting her eyes. The blade was.. rounded. Not thin, like other knives she had been given. It was slightly bent. It probably would need a lot of sharpening to be usable. But it looked determined. It was probably someone's first art, and very well loved. And, much like Dove, who tried biting and ended up barking instead- she felt a bit of kinship to the warped sickle.

.. So it was purchased. Alongside an actual sickle that can be used.

She hoped Vyn wouldn't ask why she bought it. She wasn't quite sure what answer to give her that didn't sound asinine and impractical.

Didn't stop her from preparing herself to answer it though within her head.

".. Let's go find Jem a scarf." she nodded. She continued to walk towards the leatherworker, inspecting the wares and such. At least this was far more easier. As they walked, Dove mumbled. ".. I don't think- I ever really had the chance to do something like this before." The noise of the crowd could possibly drown her out. "It's.. a lot. But- I think- it's good. Thank you for coming with me." she told Vyn, before something bright caught her gaze, and she quickly dashed towards the stall.

The item that caught her attention? A hat. A dark, vigilante-styled cowboy hat, with a treated leather. Definitely not native to the region- that much was clear: looked like it was probably acquired off a bet, and now they were trying to sell it off. She carefully plucks it off it's stand by the rims of the hat, and holds it out to Vyn. "Look! Doesn't this look perfect for Jem? Then he wouldn't complain about the sun getting in his eyes. And, it's all dark." she grinned. She experimentally puts it on her head, the hat falling in front of her gaze from the size of it.

"What do you think? Do you think he'll like it?"

Something about this hat seemed.. unsettling though. A gentle, cool wind blew between the two.
 
There was no need to ask about the first sickle. She saw the tension in Dove's shoulder as the little bird braced for the question, but it never came. Some things weren't about utility. And Elum learned early not to mock the sentimental – it was simply a curse waiting to be inherited.

She said nothing and allowed Dove to lead them. Still took note, though. She made no comment about Dove never having done this before, but she'd remember. Simply moved a bit closer on instinct, shoulders almost rubbing. Let the market noise swirl, stayed close enough to steady her.

Then there was the hat.

Vyn stilled. Even before Dove touched it, she could feel it didn't belong. It was the kind of item that lacked any real connection to anywhere or anyone, which is probably why someone regretted winning it in a bet. The strange piece of pomp held the weight of knives. Not cursed. Aware. The kind of object that remembered being important. Just enough to make you pause.

She was careful not to touch it, but didn't stop Dove. Just watched.

„You sure Jem's got shoulders for such a legacy?“ Voice dry as a rope. The wind picked up, cool hands tugging at her robes, too precise to believe an accident. Too quiet to make a fuss. She'd felt the meddling down her spine, and her eyes narrowed. But it wasn't enough for the shroud or the blood. When you dealt with the uncanny on a daily basis, often, restraint was the best medicine. She got the distinct sense that the hat wasn't a hat, merely mimicking what it meant to be one – much like the Pale did.

„Looks good on you.“ Her voice dropped as she measured everything. Perhaps the hat meant no harm, but Vyn cared more about action than its motivation. Her eyes never left Dove's head. And she felt watched in turn.

„Reminds me of an old story where a hat bit a kid. Then we burned it.“ She winked at the hat and waited for a twitch.

Only then did her gaze flick down to the overpolished metal, capturing Dove's reflection.

„Still looks good on you.“
 
The hat did indeed twitch.

It was the tiniest little spark, on the edge of the leather that sealed the crown in place. It of course, didn't catch Dove's gaze, who was more humored at the size of the hat and the way it sat on her head. She didn't even notice that it seemed to grow to fit herself better. Not in an inherently malicious manner persay- it just made itself comfortable. Like it was always meant to be there. "Oh! I think I figured out how to tighten it!" Dove chirped, as she messed with the buckle, and let it sit.

Beaming at the praise, Dove, of course, preened for the extra attention. Being told she was a pretty bird? Absolutely a wonderful, musical experience to her ears. She chuckled to herself, which came out as a soft, delighted 'cooing' noise. "Do you think so?" Her eyes fluttered at Vyn beneath the rim of the hat.

From the stall, a coarse, harsh voice reaches out. "I'd take that hat off if I were ya.." Tall, old, gruff, grey hairs peppered black from his thick brow and crooked nose. "Thing's cursed. Keep wearin' it and who knows what it'll do." he huffed. "Last person- it turned their hair red."

"Red?!" Dove gasped. "Well, that doesn't sound like a curse at all!" Her eyes glanced up at it, smile beaming.
 
Vyn kept still at the twitch. So they understood each other. Good. She would remember this if the hat ever got ideas. Fire and memory mixed well. When it reshaped itself to fit Dove better, she raised an eyebrow at it, until it stilled. It wasn't enough to be a concern yet.

„Sounds like a discount to me.“ Dry as bone. Her eyes flicked to the vendor, studying the man. She had not seen him before. Which was unusual in a place this size. New stalls were rare. She quickly caught onto the weight of his words and wondered whether it was old superstition or the tenor of someone who'd also witnessed the fancy fucker move.

She tugged at the hat a little bit to make it fit Dove better, and to remind the little guy just how well within reach it was.
„Tell you what.“ Her hand pulled back, task accomplished.
„If your hair starts singin' or cookin', we trade it in for something that only makes you fear pears.“

She looked at vendor again, voice unchanged.
„Anything else in your cursed bin that people should know about?“
Didn't blink.
 
"A discount?" the man huffed.

"I wasn't plannin' on selling it. Heh, I was actually plannin' on burning it myself. Fucker's got a mind of it's own. Pretty sure it whisked it's way out here."

In that moment, the hat tightened a bit around Dove's head, not that she noticed. Her brows furrowed a bit. The hat's belt buckle seemed to tremble a bit. Dove thought it was that wind that seemed to follow the two wherever they went. She frowned. "But, it's quite a nice hat.." Dove trailed, gently tugging on the hat to take it off. At first it seemed.. stuck. But then, another tug, and it comes off, and Dove held the hat to her chest.

"It's very well made, and I bet it has an interesting story to tell. Perhaps I could wear it while telling stories- or.. or something!" she beamed. Very Elum-sounding of her. She was definitely absorbing the ways surely.

"Hah, I don't think they want any more trash to carry around. Especially -that- kind. Dear, it's a haunted hat. I've countless stories about it- it's not for sale. Not gonna plague a sweet lil' thing like you."

Dove frowned. She looked at the hat, then back at the man. "But, you'll burn it, and if it is indeed haunted, you'll hurt the person in it."

She looked at Vyn, her eyes doelike, looking for validation- a slight bit of nervousness, as if she had become aware of her brazen behavior, and started to tremble a bit.

".. I.. That's.. that's true right Vyn?" she asked.
 
She allowed the silence to hang longer than comfortable. Even as she watched the hat tightening. It twitched. And then held on. But more than that, she watched Dove and the way her hands curled protectively. Her voice still trembled, even when she stood her ground.
That mattered more than the hat ever could.

She reached out, not for the hat, but for Dove's shoulder. Almost reached it this time before flinching away. „You're not wrong.“
Because burning of the cage only ever hurt the thing inside. And the fix wasn't clean. It only trapped the scream deeper. A well. A throat.

She turned to the vendor. „She's keeping it.“ Stated as fact. „Whether you want coin for it or not.“

A sly smile.

„Tho, if you prefer we don't pay, I'm happy to oblige.“

Didn't threaten or raise her voice, but the decision had been made. She didn't have bones to make her posture convey the message, but her presence carried enough weight.
She looked him dead in the eye, making him reconsider which stories he'd like to be remembered by.
 
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The man turned, and shifted to look at Vyn, their gaze hard- trying to meet Vyn's intensity with his own heat. ".. Listen 'ere." he spoke carefully, but his voice held a weapon, sharp and pointed. "You want to keep the cursed hat? Fine. I don't really give a damn what you dirt-eaters out on the wagon wanna sing and dance about. But- I get to make the decisions about my damn property- cursed or not. Not some pile of ash and shit who thinks they got some 'sway here." he growled. "We here in Sev's have respect for each other."

The man approached Vyn, stepping closer- and closer.

Something sharp, and scared, stabbed Dove in that moment, something that made her jump to action. She rushes between Vyn and the man, her eyes big, wide, and fawning, holding the face to her face, trembling a bit- so much so, that the feathers started to tremble a bit. "..I.. I.. I.. S.. Sir.. It's.. She doesn't mean it that way.." she quivered. "We c.. can pay for it, if.. if you want to sell it, of c.. course." she nodded.

There is a large probability the hat was probably trembling too.

"We.. I just like.. our ghosts and.. you know.. there's a haunted pillow I think that would be great friends.. with the hat and-" she quickly tried to explain away. "I.. I'll pay for it, really!" She pulled out a fistful of coin, and pushed it into his hands. Probably way more than the hat was worth. And that alone, was enough to make their eyebrows raise in confusion. "You REALLY want this hat bad don'tcha?" his voice trailed. He still didn't say yes yet.
 
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