Crafting prompts

Swish, swish. Smidge's tail ticked like a metronome, sweeping back and forth across the mottled stone. Outside the weather was as dismal as ever on this snowy planet, but the interior of the instrument shop was lit by the warm glow of a fireplace, burning a cheery pink. Cassander was engaged in a lively conversation at the counter, leaned against the polished wood in his lavish coat as he stared blindly ahead; the shopkeep didn't seem to mind, gesticulating wildly as she attempted with mixed success to convey the exact twang of some exotic performance she'd heard just the other day at the local amphitheatre.

Booooring.

It had been all but an honourary student at the ol' School of Sound, but Smidge wasn't much of a musician. It was, however, a sharp planner. Such a meandering chat as this had been carefully accounted for. And now, the polite amount of time had passed: Smidge got to its paws, brushed its tail against Cassander's knowing hand, and departed the store with that silent promise to return in due time. It was a cold freedom that awaited the kitbull out there, but a freedom nonetheless.

Just down the road, a different light washed from another window, this one a mysterious blue. Unfortunately for a stubby-legged kitbull, getting there was no small task; Smidge had half a mind to just give up on trudging facefirst into snowdrifts and flap its way down the street, but the whistling wind all but ripped the warmth from its leathery wings as soon as they were unfolded, and fear of frostbite drove them back into the protection of its tiny coat. So instead it arrived a snow-powdered mess, unsurprised at the amused squint from the elderly shopkeep as what seemed to be a haggard snowbull reared up and pulled the door open.

"Back again so soon?" The satyr shopkeep's voice held back kind laughter. It went unanswered, although that was to be expected when dealing with kitbulls. Smidge simply shook itself out over the doormat, sending flakes of snow flying in every direction. Normally that would be enough, but in this shop a quick toweling was necessary, helpfully provided by its owner.

"Well, not much stock has changed since we last saw each other." The now-damp towel was retrieved and hung near the door. Smidge, now comically fluffy, remained upright and looked patiently up to the satyr. "But, I've got some new endpapers in stock you may appreciate. They'd go well with the platinum leaf you picked up last time."

With a nod, Smidge toddled off among the displays, tail gliding in its wake.

The shop was a bookbinder's heaven, with myriad options laid out before the customer, layered into shelves and cases of a distinguished local wood that had been worn down by the centuries. One of the oldest binderies in the province, Smidge had gathered from the pamphlet it had discovered the place in--yes, the Silver Quill showed its age in a most elegant way. Brushing past a display of vellums it had already bought before, the kitbull stretched up to peer into an illuminated glass case, where vials of ink as pale and swirling as the winter storm outside glittered on display. This shop was not its only resource, but definitely a favourite. Top five, perhaps.

"Oh, interested in those?" The satyr had returned to rest against her counter, but breezed back through the shelves when she heard the distinct tik-tak of a paw against the glass. Smidge stood expectantly, ears perked as she went to unlock the case and retrieve one of the sparkling vials. "I thought you might be. A trader brought in a small batch last week. The manufacturer reportedly shut down--family business, you know, but no heirs--and this was one of the last inks they were able to make. Leaves a fantastically subtle glow with the right pen, you know."

Ah, there it was--the signature spark in a kitbull's eyes. Rarity only made for a stronger desire to hoard. She smiled knowingly as she deposited the vial into Smidge's paws, confident in the little repeat customer's caution with the rare curiosity.

"Tell you what. Since I like you so much, why don't I cut you a deal?"

One ribbon set, two blends of endpapers, a spool of red spider-thin thread, a tasteful new bone folder to replace one that had slipped through a grate, and of course one shimmering vial were ultimately laid out on the counter. The shopkeep had kindly moved her stool to the other side of the counter, giving Smidge a proper vantage point to watch its purchases be delicately wrapped and packed into a pouch. Metallic wax was dripped onto its folded closure as a final touch. with the Silver Quill's curling seal pressed in to leave a clean impression. With stargold exchanged and a tidy new package tucked under its coat, Smidge tottered towards the door, turning to give one last earnest wave to the shopkeep before opening the door, closing it neatly, and dropping to all four paws to bound off into the windswept snow.

There would be time for sketching and planning later. For now, back to Cassander.