The Stray

2-19: Busy as Bees

Timothy had to admit, it was nice to be outside the town walls, even if it meant enduring... sunshine. The wolf was stuck shielding his already visored eyes with his hands. "I take back everything I've ever said 'bout witch hats."

V rolled her eyes. "It's not even that bright today."

"Says you!" As if to mock him, the sun popped back from behind the clouds, and he could swear his eyes were frying. The wolf hissed. "Ugh. Hey, what did you tell the tailor lady, anyway?"

He completely got why Madam Rose had been so ticked at him— "can you measure my head through my bandana" was rude or stupid, probably both. V'd come to his rescue (again), sending him off to look at fancy socks while she worked on the seamstress. Whatever she'd told the partridge hadn't just calmed her down, but got her to work with him.

"Well..."

+++V+++

V had a bad poker face and couldn't lie for crap. It's what happens when half your house can hear your heartbeat, okay!? So as soon as this whole mess started, she knew she'd have to spill.

Didn't mean she was gonna spill Timothy's secrets, though. "Arright, listen, I know this sucks..." She kept her voice as hushed as possible, like she was worried Timothy would hear.

"I'm sorry, but who goes for haberdashery but won't go bareheaded for five minutes?" The older woman scoffed.

"Not wanting to go bareheaded's the reason he's here!" V tried. At the partridge's irritated look, she hurried on. "And I'm real sorry about him. The thing is, Timothy's got an absolutely gnarly curse scar on his head."

The partridge uncrossed her arms in surprise. "P-pardon me?"

V swallowed hard, trying to use the memory of Timothy's injuries as fuel. That symbol burning like a lamp fulla filthy oil. The stench of burned fur and flesh. The sight of his bones through his skin... "It's really bad, ma'am. Some kinda curse gone wrong. You can see where white magic kludged him back together..."(Madam Rose turned green, and made this choked squeak) "...but it left marks."

The dragoness let that thought bake in for a second, then changed tack, shaking her head sadly. "Apparently, he used to be a real pretty boy. But ever since then, he can't even bear to show his bare head in public. Even just the thought makes him feel miserable, and... and ugly."

So she was laying it on kinda thick. Timothy hadn't told her any of how he felt about the scar, but it was a safe guess. And the thought of a, y'know, small little guy like Timothy thinking of himself as ugly, damaged goods was enough to move the partridge almost to tears! "Oh, dear... I had no idea."

"Yeah, he doesn't like to even think about it, much less talk about it. I only know, um... because I caught him without it." Technically true! She shook her head. "Anyway, I know this is frustrating, but could you indulge him, just this once?" A little smile. "I mean, I wouldn't ask a less skilled artist to try it, but I bet you could, Madam Rose."

"Well..."The partridge wrung her hands. "If it really means that much to him... I don't really want to see... that, anyway." She swallowed hard, still a little sick looking.

"Great. You're a lifesaver, Madam Rose. And, um... when you make it, could you make sure it kinda covers his forehead? The scar is at its nastiest, gnarliest—"

"Y-yes, I'll do that!"

+++Timothy+++

The dragoness chuckled, looking a little embarrassed. "All I said was you had a complex 'bout your forehead's all."