There was no need to flinch as the man approached. Jem had thought her how to clock someone right on the side and make them stop coming. Her hands weren't even up by the time Dove got in the middle. And that stung more than any heat the man could put off.

Being shielded wasn't something she could get behind. So she stepped beside her, with her. Her eye slid back to the vendor, unbothered.
„Dirt eater.“ She rolled the words around before spitting them back out. „That's new. I like that. I'll take it.“ A small smile, all teeth.
She looked down to the coin in his hand.

„Keep it.“ Voice softer than she meant it. „Buy a better story. This one's full o' holes.“

She didn't care about the stupid hat. But Dove did, for whatever damned reason, and that was enough.

„He's done talkin'.“ To Dove, voice lower. „So are we.“

The man still hadn't said a word.
 
"..."

Was it Dove? Was it Vyn? Was it the slightly comical sight of the little quaky birb trying to keep their fiesty pit demon friend from fighting? Who knew? But the moment led to a confusing mixture of expressions between Vyn and Dove. Back, and forth. Back, and forth, before finally, he decided to relent the cursed hat. With a snort. "Fine. Don't get yer panties in a knicker- if ye even have any." Dove blinked a bit, confused, but before anything further could happen, she quickly pushed against Vyn. "Good day, good day- thank you- thank you. We're done talking- right? Right?"

She worked to gently nudge Vyn away, towards the direction of the wagons, forgetting her original mission of coming out there to purchase something for Jem. She could feel the danger pumping in her bones. The wings fighting back against the brace she had them in. Back to Wagon. Yep. Yep. It was safe there. It was safe there.

The hat, meanwhile, hung off her neck by a few cords. It too seemed to shake more than normal. But when it made contact with Dove's body- it was warm.
 
Of course she had knickers, it got drafty on the road.

...Oh.

Oh.

It took her a moment longer than she'd like to realize she'd been insulted. Not a bad one, honestly. She might use that on Jem later. He deserved variety.

Still, she looked over her shoulder as Dove ushered them away. The vendor lingered in her thoughts, a new face, cursed goods, and too much heat for a sleepy market like the Burrow.

That wasn't normal. Something shady was happening here.

Her thoughts kept occupied long enough not to notice Dove steering her.
She had a few choice words still queued up for the guy – but by now, only the bird would hear them.
So she let them go.
No use poisoning yourself with a grudge.

The Burrow's noise had dulled behind them. Safer ground, or safe enough.
She caught the flicker in Dove's feathers. Still bristling.
„You did good back there.“ Simple. Unadorned. More than a little surprised. Because Dove had been the mature one.

A moment later, a thousand pounds lighter:

„Hat's probably in love with you now.“ She eyed the trembling cord.
„Hope you're ready for that kind of commitment.“
 
"..."

The healer seemed to perk up a bit, her feathers of course still on the rise, but not in a way that suggested fear. Rather, it was that kind of energy that seemed to make the light in Dove's eyes bright, and her feathers ever shiny. Her face curled into a soft, almost shaky smile. Because praise was something to savor, especially if it was coming from Vyn.

That being said, Dove finally looked down at the hat, and only now- ONLY NOW, noticed that it was moving on it's own. That being said, her eyes suddenly flashed up at Vyn in panic.

"Wait- the hat- it's ACTUALLY haunted isn't it?!" she spoke, in a hushed tone.

The mix of contorted emotions flashed on her face. She wanted to fling it. But she would have felt bad for flinging it! Her eyes danced around, as she clutched the edges. The hat seemed to fold in a way that would suggest it had a puppy-looking gaze.

"W.. What do I do?" she asked.
 
Vyn watched the feathers twitch, panic growing behind Dove's eyes. And for a breath, Vyn saw herself. Younger. Holding a spirit she'd never meant to invite, and looking up with the same frightened hope. She hated how familiar it felt. Hated how easy it was to say nothing. Let the silence stretch long enough until the other woman filled it herself.

Jem had looked at her like this. Not with cruelty. Not pity. Just a knowing – she had to choose and live with it. She hated how she understood him now.

„If you think it's a danger to the Wagons, throw it.“ Her voice steady, as she choked down a laugh. All of this felt too familiar. „if it's just strange... you can keep it. We've done worse.“

„Up to you, Dove.“ She thought about something Jemlike to add, but nothing came. Everyone had to make their own choice. Learn at their own pace.
 
With a firm nod, she shook her head and turned her gaze towards the hat. Those doe-like brown eyes blinked at the hat, her head stormy in thought. This was quite a serious decision after all- letting a haunted cowboy hat into one's life. The folds of the hat seemed to curl in return, as if a quiet plea. A tremble. A twitch. Dove's finger's trailed the edge of the hat, her fingers slipping into a small tear that the hat must've endured over the years. It should probably be patched up. It probably also needs to be oiled a bit- washed up.. cared for-

.. "Ohhhh!" Her face twists into a helpless pout, and she shakes the hat with fervor. "You.. You better be a good hat!" she squawked. Her normally sincere, soft, lovely bell voice cracking with a vulnerability that could only be described as humorous. "You better! You better leave all of my stuff alone- and you better not bother my friends! And- and, you will work! You'll.. um.. You'll hold the money while I am selling stuff! And when I am healing- you will not be a bother.. Or.. or.. I will step on you!" she informed the hat.

The hat, however, shook with excitement. It trembled it a bit, falling out of her hands. And when Dove when to go pick it up, she blinked, and it had wrapped itself behind her head. As if she had just taken the hat off and was resting it gently on the back of her head. The feeling was warm and welcoming.

"Oh.. great.. great.. great. I don't even have a name for you. What do you even call a hat?" she exclaimed- moreso to the air then to Vyn. The great Hat Distribution system had struck. Dove was not prepared.
 
Watched it all unfold without interrupting. The threats, pout, and bargaining laced with a tremble of old and felt sweat. She knew better than to laugh, but her lips betrayed her, corners twitching up. The hat had found its place, like it belonged there. Of course it did.

„Too late now.“ She nodded approvingly to the other woman. „You're its Truenamer now. Great responsibility.“ And suppose it was. Vyn still sometimes thought about all the names she'd given out. About Jens, and whether he still remembered himself. She would quiet for a bit, letting Dove have her moment. Let the hat have its triumph.

„Got any good ones in mind?“ The hat probably already knew its name, if too shy or unable to speak. But one thing could bear many names, all of them true. She envied the certainty of such things.
 
Dove grew very shy- being asked to give the hat a name. She tried to reach behind the hat to better stare at what she perceived to be it's face. But it seemed almost as if her hand grabbed hair. She could have swore she grabbed the fabric of the hat, but it slipped again. "I'm warning you! You.. you better not be cursed or something- or.. or I'll burn you!" she huffed. "And.. and, you better be careful there are feathers up there!" she added.

"It's so slippery!" she complained to Vyn, her voice a strained whine. She glanced to the deva. "Stupid.. dusty hat!" she huffed. There was a pause. ".. Dusty. I'll call it Dusty." she decided, putting one finger to her lips.

"Now we both have new names." she told the hat. Though- Dove's was not given by the caravan. Though technically, was ghost doctor a name? There is a thought, and she joined back with Vyn, standing beside her as they walked. Her hands fiddled with the strings of the hat. It felt like it was purring. ".. Vyn, what's a true-namer?" she asked.
 
It was Vyn's turn to blush. Not for the hat. Its name was simple and fitting. Proper. A good first. Step slowed and breath became labor, heart a drum – loud and offbeat. She didn't have the courage to look at Dove, but a voice did come. „It's meant to be a gift.“ She said. „Or a promise. Sometimes even truth that only the two of you understand.“ A pause, voice becoming apology. Fraying at the edges.

„I called you Ghost Doctor before I had the right. Should've waited. Someone else, someone who mattered more, might've named you better.“ Like Gordar had done for her. She never understood her name. It wasn't tied to her by trade or tale, but it was from him, so surely it meant something grand. She never dared ask.

She exhaled, hoping to find the ground behind her feet solid. Plea refused. „Dusty got it the proper way, at least.“
 
"..."

There is a silent pause, as Dove took in the information, her gaze following Vyn closely. The slight changes in the confidence that normally radiated off the deva caught Dove's attention- fine, with needle precision. The dodging of her gaze, the fray of her voice. She didn't need to stand close to Vyn to realize this was something serious for her. But she did- trying to understand the depth of what weight Vyn chose to carry today.

"..."

Perhaps, if she was more inundated, she could be mad. Or saddened. But she wasn't. It didn't mean.. quite as much to her. Perhaps it is because names quickly could change in a heartbeat.

After much contemplation, she came to a conclusion. Her hand reached to catch Vyn's, trying to massage the knuckles with her thumb.

"... Well, I think- it was a great gift, and a great name.." She leaned into Vyn- trying to speak into her ear so she could feel heard. ".. after all- the person who gave it to me: you know- they gave me a new home. And- they taught me new things.. And- they tell very great stories about ghosts, and sometimes, they'll tell you three times, because by the third time- it'll become a habit" she listed off. "So- that person might not think they matter much to me- but, you know, it's my name, and I think if anyone else gave it to me- I'd be very upset, because you mean the world to me."

She leaned away, looking to the ground. "So- I suppose, you'll just have to accept the responsibility, True-namer, because it's mine now and I am not changing it-" she huffed a bit. "Besides- you know, maybe I can heal ghosts. I never actually tried- you know. Maybe that's why Dusty came along. I need someone to practice on- after all.." she nodded.
 
Vyn didn't retreat. Didn't know how to. Just stood there, hand held. She didn't know how to move forward or back. Feet of iron. It was the knuckle massage that got to her. The soft insistence. Dove took her name with quiet ownership. Vyn hadn't meant to build a home in someone else's bones, but there it was. Warmth lived in the grip. Her hand shook, movement blunted by the hold. Eyes warm. Cheeks salty.

The voice traveled a long time, but it came soft. An unlucky thief of old floorboards. „Third time does make a habit.“ Mouth caught in an almost smile. „And I do talk a lot.“

She turned her hand, palm up, to hold Dove's properly now. No need for tremble or modesty. Just the act of being held and holding back. The moment wanted little else.

„Alright, Ghost Doctor.“ She said with all the seriousness she had left. „We'll figure out how to heal ghosts, then.“

And the title, for the first time in a while, felt fully earned.
 
Her hand fully tightened, and interwined- a weave so simple, yet felt like it was forged with steel, Dove's hand around Vyn's. She leaned forward to get a better look at Vyn's face, her lips curling into a cheeky grin- "Oh- oh! Do I see a smile trying to escape? You should let it, you know!" Gently, she poked Vyn's side, trying to provoke a ticklish response. "You wear smiles well! You should do it more often, without the smug!" She added.

"Come on, you should be smiling. Isn't getting a True-Name something that gets celebrated?" she asked Vyn. "Well, if it isn't, I think it should be!"

A gentle tug. A bit of warm energy trying to spread from the tips of her fingers in a sort of soft, spiritual embrace. "We could get a bunch of food- and watch Dusty make friends with the other ghosts!" she offered. "Maybe we can tell some more tales- or-or, we can get some more story water."

There is a thought. Then, she asked Vyn a very serious question. ".. Vyn, do ghosts.. eat?" she asked.
 
She felt the grip tighten, afraid to return it in kind. Dove felt too light. Like even simple things could be crushing. So Vyn held carefully. It wasn't a binding or a spell. Still, felt like a weaving. Not of threads. Or shroud. Of hearts.

When Dove leaned in to look at her face, she was already halfway up a smile – though not for reasons she'd dare admit. Didn't even feel a jab to her side. Just felt numb. Comfortably so.

„We'll celebrate your Nameday next year. Gonna get more of that floorcake only you liked.“ Vyn shook the shock from her voice quickly. The cheer that followed wasn't practiced. Marcy would probably remember where it came from. If Vyn wrote down the exact town they'd passed, she might get the same one – sans floor. But that was seasoning they could add at their leisure.

„But no more story water for you.“ She still remembered her errors in judgement from that night. Still remembered the escape and the scattered feathers. „Not for a while.“

She was glad for the question, as it pushed her out to more familiar ground. „Some do.“ She struggled to explain it. „Others just take.“ Because everything cost something. And the price wasn't always obvious.
 
Dove was not one to pry too deeply (unless she was drunk. Or scared. Okay, maybe she was a little bit of a pryer, but there were good reasons, usually!) And in this moment, she used the welcoming warmth, the way Vyn's face couldn't win against their smile. It was a happy moment. Something that felt like a soft summer sun on a gentle breezy day.

This was what it was supposed to feel like, right?

Her head turned. "What do you mean- they just take? Can't you tell them to- not take?" she asked.

Her eyes turned to the hat. "You better ask before you take anything." she threatened. She felt a twitch. She hoped it meant yes, but obviously, she couldn't be sure. Man, the children were sure going to have a hoot. First an evil chicken. Now a haunted hat.
 
Vyn saw Dusty twitch. Hand sweaty in the grip, it took a moment to find the right words. „They don't take without permission.“ Voice matter-of-fact. „Not really.“ She thought about how best to express it. Still careful. Still holding back.

„We let them. Sometimes without knowing. Because we're tired. Or we think the price is right.“ She wasn't looking at Dove anymore. Looked at Dusty and wondered how much he took. „And after a while, you forget what you gave up. Feels like it's always been missing.“ Words hung out to dry or somesuch. Uncomfortable. A chore.

„If it ever starts pulling too hard...“ She smiled at Dove. „Just remember you're worth more than a hat.“ And it hurt to say. A little. But she meant it.

„But don't tell him I said that.“ Eyes on Dusty. „Spirits hold grudges.“ But so could Vyn. And if the hat could read minds, it would know that it would all end in fire. Like it did, last time.
 
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