TIMING: Current LOCATION: The Pines PARTIES: Cairn Woods (@cairnivore) and Baz Bhati (@bazzledazzle) SUMMARY: Baz is recovering the museum's latest escape act. Cairn offers her help in exchange for one (1) bone.
Work had been slow lately. It was the sort of thing Baz suspected happened from time to time, when tourism died down a bit for the winter and locals weren’t quite as interested in natural history museums that they drove by every day on their way to work as someone visiting the town for the first time might have been. It was all well and good for Baz, who was happy enough doing nothing all day and being paid for it, but their manager was a bit less enthused. They couldn’t have employees just standing about, she said irritably, and Baz was sure they didn’t imagine the way she’d looked right at them as she’d said it. So it hadn’t been a surprise, really, when they’d found their duties expanded a bit. It was a little annoying, but Baz didn’t hate getting out of the museum for a beat, at least.
They did sort of hate wandering through the woods picking up bones, though.
It was something that happened, from time to time. An exhibit would up and disappear from the display, popping up across town instead. Their manager chalked it up to vandals, and while Baz was a bit too knowledgeable to believe that, they’d never argued the point. Today’s victim was some sort of skeletal display they’d never paid much attention to and, evidently, it had fallen apart at its new location. The bones were strewn on wet leaves, and the doppelganger was only reasonably certain that all the ones they were picking up actually belonged to the exhibit. In any case, it was certainly a lot of bones. The messenger bag they’d brought along was already heavy, and they hadn’t even gotten the bulk of them yet. It would take ages on their own.
Fortunately, in Wicked’s Rest, the woods were rarely ever really empty. The approach was quiet, but in the still silence of the forest, Baz heard it all the same. They popped their head up, spotting a young woman approaching. Immediately, they plastered a grin onto their face. “Oh, hello there! Mind helping me out a bit? I’m working on picking up some bones.”
—
Cairn had been wandering the outskirts of town for most of the morning, letting her feet carry her along paths she didn’t recognize. She liked the quiet here. Her hands were tucked into her coat pockets, but she couldn’t stop tracing along the bark of trees as she passed, feeling the rough ridges under her fingers. The forest was calm, but it made her hyperaware. She would always stop and listen when she heard something a little too close for comfort. That was when she noticed something different, movement, someone crouched among the leaves, shifting things carefully. Bones? She blinked, unsure if she was seeing what she thought. The stranger looked up, catching her watching, and called out. Cairn froze for a beat, then stepped a little closer, curiosity overriding caution just enough to hear what they wanted.
Cairn stepped closer, her boots crunching softly on the wet leaves. At first, she thought they were just ordinary bones, but as she drew near, she saw something odd. Each one gleamed faintly, impossibly clean for something that had been out in the woods. No dirt in the grooves, no chips or scratches from nature. They looked… polished, preserved, like they belonged somewhere carefully controlled. She knelt down, hesitating only a moment before reaching out. Her fingers brushed a long bone, and she picked it up, turning it over in her hands. It felt surprisingly light, smooth, almost fragile in a way that natural bones weren’t. And there were other things she noticed, tiny metal pins at the joints, some dried substance at some edges, faint markings that looked like numbering. This wasn’t something that had grown and died in the forest.
“So…” Cairn said, holding the bone carefully. “What are you planning to do with these… very clean bones?” Her eyes flicked to them, curious, cautious. She was already thinking ahead, scanning for something useful. One smaller bone looked like it might be the right shape for a small tool or a component in something she could craft. “Would you… be willing to part with any?” she asked slowly, still turning the bone over in her hands.
–
She had a curious air about her, this stranger. She stepped out of the woods with a caution Baz themself had never quite known, seeming oddly aware of everything around her. They might have thought her a nymph if not for the absence of that familiar buzzing in their chest; they couldn’t imagine she was human, in any case. She seemed too odd for that, too… different. Maybe a shifter of some sort? They made a note to ask Joel if shifters ever raised their young apart from human society, out in the woods.
And then they stopped observing her altogether and focused more heavily on the task at hand. Baz did not want to be in these woods any longer than was absolutely necessary. Not with the things they’d seen in this town. Wicked’s Rest was often hungry, and Baz had never been all right with the idea of becoming a meal. If this girl helped them, they’d be in and out of the woods in a far quicker time than they could have managed on their own.
Fortunately, it seemed she was the helpful type. She moved forward, picking up a bone and studying it as if it was something she’d never seen before. Baz watched her, curious even as they continued rushing to pick up the other bones. “They belong in a museum,” the doppelganger quipped, though they had a feeling this girl wouldn’t quite get the reference. “Well, they’re not mine. I work for the museum, and they came from there. I’m gathering them up to take them back now. But… I suppose if I missed one, it wouldn’t be my fault. Hard to see them all out here, innit? If you help me gather them, you can have one.” A quiet deal to bind her to, a way to ensure she’d stay to help them. Baz was good at those.
—
Cairn weighed the bone in her hand, turning it over slowly, considering its size. Usually, she dealt with smaller bones, but this one had potential. It might serve well for weightbearing when hitching a tent, or maybe as a brace of some kind. She made a mental note of its potential, then glanced back at the rest of the scattered pieces. “I’ll help,” she said, her voice quiet but steady. Saying it out loud seemed to seal the small agreement in her mind, and she let her thoughts drift to the ways she could use each type of bone she came across.
These weren’t like the pile she’d seen by the bridge before. These were clean and that made her work easier. There were still small adjustments she’d need to make, minor fixes or attachments, but the bulk of the effort was already done. She bent down toward a cluster of smaller bones, letting her fingers brush through them. They were lighter, easy to grasp, and she gathered them and walked to another bone and another until her hands were full. She held them for a moment, feeling their smoothness, the subtle differences in length and curve, imagining how each could fit into some future project.
When Cairn finally looked up at the other, she began walking over, careful not to spill what she was holding. “Do you want me to leave them here?” she asked, tilting her head toward the ground. Her eyes flicked over to an empty patch of grass beneath them. She wasn’t trying to dictate how they worked, just offering a simple way to keep things organized while she continued. She wondered briefly if there was a method to sort these for the museum, or if they were just picking up what they could as they went.
___
It was easy enough to bind her to it, though Baz wasn’t entirely sure it was necessary. She’d probably offer her assistance even without a promise to tie her to it, but what was the sense in risking it? Baz didn’t want to do all this on their own, and it seemed unlikely that someone else would happen upon them out here, so they’d rather have a guarantee that the one person who was going by would help them with their task. They offered her a grin in response, nodding their head. “Excellent! One bone of your choosing can be yours to keep, then.” Hopefully she wouldn’t go for something Baz’s boss would certainly notice was missing, such as the skull of… whatever this was. They’d already forgotten.
With a bone assistant helping them out, Baz allowed themself to slack on their own task a little. They didn’t need to break a sweat now that they had someone helping them along, after all, didn’t need to worry much about how hard they were working when they weren’t the only one working. They plucked bones from the ground lazily, placing them all into their messenger bag.
When the girl spoke, Baz glanced over to her. “I’ve a bag here,” they replied, padding over to her and holding it open. “Have you got a name, by the way? Seems we skipped the introductions. I’m Baz. And I work at the museum. That’s where these are from, not my personal collection. Sometimes things disappear a bit there, show up in other places.” They weren’t sure how much of the explanation was necessary, but they enjoyed hearing themself speak.
—
Cairn’s attention flicked to the bag when it was held open, then back to the bones in her hands. She hesitated only a second before tipping the smaller pieces in, careful not to clack them together too loudly. “That works,” she said, relieved there was somewhere to put them that wasn’t the damp ground. At the offer, she glanced down at the scattered remains again, eyes narrowing slightly as she assessed them with new intent. “One,” she repeated, more thoughtful than greedy. Her gaze slid past the larger pieces and lingered instead on a narrow, curved bone half-hidden under leaves. “I won’t take anything that looks… important.” That felt like the right word, even if she wasn’t entirely sure why.
When they gave their name, she paused, straightening a little. “Cairn,” she said simply. Names were still strange things to her. Useful things, but oddly heavy. The mention of a museum made her brow crease with curiosity, and she glanced at the bones again, suddenly seeing them differently. “That makes sense,” she murmured. “They’re too clean to be from here.” Although Cairn wasn’t too sure what a museum really was, at least now she knew it was some kind of bone keeper establishment. She picked up another bone and passed it toward the bag, then tilted her head at them. “Do they… usually walk off on their own?” There was no accusation in her voice, only genuine curiosity. “Or is that something you’re meant to notice when it happens?”
___
They felt a little more at ease with the bones in the bag, though their expression betrayed nothing of the feeling. In truth, Baz cared little about their job at the museum. It was hardly their passion, had only ever been a temporary stepping stone on the path to something greater. But they needed money to help Joel with the rent, and the museum was a much better deal than playing waitstaff at some restaurant or working retail, which were probably the only other positions Baz was qualified for. They could spin a promise bind if they needed to, but they weren’t quite skilled enough to turn someone into a personal piggybank. They’d like to keep their job, and gathering these bones would let them do that. Even if one was missing. “I’ll hold you to that,” they hummed, and they meant that, too. Some bones were more important than others.
“Cairn,” they repeated, committing the name to memory. Names were important, in their opinion. They’d gone so long without one, that it seemed vital to ensure that everyone around them was referred to properly now. If Baz wanted their name to echo, they had to be all right with remembering those of the people who introduced themselves to them. It was a small price to pay. “Yeah, doubt anything in these woods could stay this bright,” they agreed, flashing a grin. “Well, I’m not sure walk’s the right word for it, really. I don’t know how they get out. They just… disappear sometimes. This town’s a bit odd, yeah? Things happen here that might not happen elsewhere. I don’t usually notice they’re gone until my boss has something to say about it, if I’m being honest.”
—
The more Baz spoke, the more Cairn found herself listening for the patterns beyond the words. Their voice moved differently than the others she’d heard since coming here. It rounded where she expected sharpness, careful in places people usually rushed through. She had to pay closer attention to follow it, and maybe that was why it felt… lighter. Not heavy. Not pressing. It loosened the tightness in her chest that formed whenever she met someone new. It softened her, just a little—like a lit fire that had reached its steady burn, no worry of it flaring or dying out. She almost mirrored the grin they flashed and instead gave a brief raise of her brows, blue eyes sparkling with intrigue. “Have you been to a lot of places?” She asked, her voice steady as she leaned over to drop some more bones. Cairn’s whole life was just the woods, running and survival. All she had ever known was… odd occurrences. Although calling them simply “odd” was definitely an understatement.
“This is the first town I’ve been to.” Cairn was still getting used to everything. The woods felt safer than any four walls ever could. Out there the dangers were familiar—weather, animals and hunger. Towns had different rules. The library was nice. It was warm, and quiet, but like everywhere else in town once it closed, it was done with you. When the operating hours were up, so was the shelter. She gathered a few more bones in her arms. These were larger, heavier, but still nothing compared to ones that hadn't been cleaned yet, that had marrow still intact. Probably not something to mention. She was learning, slowly, what unsettled people and what didn’t. She didn’t see much reason to care, but he’d promised her a bone, and she didn’t want to give him a reason to rethink that.
“Do you… like your job?” Another word she was still unfamiliar with. She knew that with jobs came money, and with money you could purchase things in town, but she hadn’t yet found a place where she could trade what she had for it. Most turned their noses up at what she brought. In the woods, what she carried was valuable but… nobody in town seemed to have any value for what was useful in the wild. —
They considered the question, because it was a relative thing. Had Baz been to a lot of places? Comparatively, probably not. London seemed like a faraway place to people who’d never been there, but it was really the only other place the doppelganger had been if one was discounting layovers, airports, and their brief trip to New York with Jenny. “Suppose I’ve been to less than some,” they replied with a shrug. “Two countries, but haven’t seen much of either.” Was seeing one city in the UK and two in the US comparable to someone who’d seen hundreds in one country or another?
Although… they’d certainly seen more than Cairn seemed to have. “From here, then?” Was this the sort of town people stayed in, if they were born here? Baz could understand the appeal. It was a quaint place, an interesting one. But living here for decades felt… a little unsettling. Scary, maybe, if things were always as unsettled as they seemed to be now. Cairn seemed tough enough, and maybe that was why. Maybe growing up in a place like this, staying here after you were grown, was enough to make anyone and everyone seem a little odd. Baz watched her gather the bones with no complaint, as if it was something she’d done before. Maybe in order to survive in this town, you needed to become the sort of thing that other people had to ‘survive’ as well.
“Oh, it’s all right,” they replied with a hum. “Better than working at a fast food restaurant or a retail store, I’d say, but not exactly my dream or anything. I’d rather be doing something a bit more creative, but I’ve bills to pay. My roommate would put me on the street if I stopped paying rent!” Their stomach twisted a little, but they almost liked the feeling. To know that the idea of Joel kicking them out was a preposterous one, to know that saying it was telling a lie… Baz felt more relief than anything else. “Do you have a job? Or, ah… hobbies you enjoy?” No reason they couldn’t make a bit of small talk while they were out here picking up bones, was there?
—
Cairn considered their answer. They’d been to two countries but hadn’t seen much. She gave them a glance, trying to ascertain their possible age. Definitely an adult, definitely capable of seeing. She realized she didn’t really need to know specifics and their vagueness was comforting in a way. Cairn had seen many forests, many woods, many lakes and rivers, but towns? Just one. People? Just these. Baz maybe was not experienced, just like she wasn’t and for a moment, she didn’t feel so alone.
As Cairn approached the pile of bones they had collected, she said flatly, “No.” Looking up, she added, “I’m from the woods.” She didn’t bother explaining more, as if that were as normal as saying she had been from a town. Being “other” wasn’t something she thought about—it just was, and it always had been. She paused by Baz for a moment, her attention overtaken by their voice once more. The words slid differently out of their mouth than anything she’d heard in Wicked’s Rest. Not slow and drawn out like her pama’s voice—or Hazel’s, she recalled fondly, but… there was a rhythm, a lilt to it. “You… talk different.” Her voice was flat, but not unfriendly. “Not like anyone around here.”
The words felt strange leaving her mouth, but she couldn’t stop listening as they explained about their job. There were some terms she couldn’t fully grasp, but as one does when learning a new language, you rely on context. They had to work because they had things they needed to pay, something that if they didn’t, they might be out of someone they share a room with. Cairn wondered why they were worried about not having a room to share when the entire forest was just… there, but maybe people liked being inside. With someone. “You would rather do something creative? Like what?” She frowned slightly, turning over her own question in her mind while she processed the one Baz had asked.
“Enjoy…?” The word alone gave Cairn pause, unsure what to make of it. She had done plenty of things in her life, but enjoyment hadn’t been one of the reasons. Shelter, food, fire—keeping safe, keeping alive, that was the reason. Always. Until she came here. “I don’t know about enjoying,” she admitted. “I… I go to the library. I use the computers to talk to people online, to look things up.” Then again, she researched things to gain knowledge, to understand things better which was rooted in keeping safe. Talking to people, socializing, it made her not feel so alone and in that same breath it did. It was a connection, yes, but a strange kind. It had a quiet emptiness underneath it all. She dropped her head. “I… like making pictures,” she added quietly, as if to herself. “Or figuring things out. Like puzzles or how things work.” —
From the woods, she said, as if that explained everything. Had they not known better, Baz might have thought she was a nymph. She had that sort of way about her, that quiet introspection that often came with someone being a part of nature. But their stomach hadn’t fluttered that familiar feeling when she’d approached, and Baz knew better than to doubt their senses. They’d never once met a fae who hadn’t set off that sense, never seen one and not known what they were immediately. Whatever Cairn was, it wasn’t Baz’s sort. Something else, maybe; probably not human, in any case.
“Well, must be a big change, then,” they acknowledged, because if she’d grown up in the woods then surely being in civilization was jarring. In a sense, Baz could relate. Going from living in their father’s house — where everything was shiny and all expenses were paid — to struggling on their own had been like diving into a pool of icy water. “You mean my accent?” They played it up a little as they spoke, as if demonstrating its presence for her. “Comes with where I’m from. In London, most people talk like this.” Not everyone, of course; London was a bit of a hub, drawing in people from all around the world. Some days, strangely enough, Baz thought that Wicked’s Rest seemed to be the same.
If Baz noticed that Cairn didn’t quite grasp everything they were saying, they gave no indication of it. Some days, they spoke to communicate. Other days, they spoke only to be heard. Today felt more like the latter, like one of those moments where they needed their voice to remind them, in no uncertain terms, that they were here and real and a person. It didn’t matter if Cairn understood; it mattered only that she acknowledged. “Yeah,” they confirmed, pleased by the question. Baz liked talking about themself, but they liked talking about their creative ventures even more. “I’m an artist. All sorts, really. I like poetry, but I like painting, too. Sketching, pottery, that sort of thing. You ever try that? Making… shapes out of something?” They thought she seemed like the creative type, though they often thought this about everyone as a sort of quiet default. Everyone was an artist, if you asked Baz. Some people just hadn’t found their medium of choice quite yet.
God, this was a bit sad, wasn’t it? She didn’t even know if she enjoyed anything. Baz tried not to think of themself in their early years, when they hadn’t quite grasped the idea that they could be more than what their father wanted them to be quite yet. Everyone ought to have something they enjoyed doing, something that brought them joy. “It makes you happy?” They questioned. “The library, the… looking things up, chatting with people. Does it make you happy?” They latched on a little to the last bit, their interest piqued. “What sort of pictures do you make?”
—
“London,” Cairn tried to repeat as Baz had, but the sound didn’t sit the same when she said it. Her attempt caught on the edges, word coming out flatter, rougher. Still, she didn’t seem embarrassed by it. She rolled it once more under her breath, testing the shape of it. She looked back up at them, curiosity plain on her face. “What’s it like?” After a pause, she added, uncertain but earnest. “Is it… like Wicked’s Rest?” There was more about the town she had yet to explore, but she couldn’t hide her curiosity for what lay beyond the woods.
She listened to the way Baz spoke about being an Artist. It was one of those words she really only understood in pieces, but the way they spoke about it made it sound less like a distant title and more like a way of moving through the world. That was something that helped Cairn understand it a little better. Poetry was a more familiar word, but nothing she ever consciously attempted. At their question, Cairn hesitated and shook her head slightly. “Not… shapes like that.” Even though they didn’t provide any examples, Cairn was doubtful the way she made shapes was similar to the way Baz did. Her fingers flexed subtly at her side, thinking how to answer. “I’ve shaped things to fit. Wood. Bone. Whatever’s around.” She said with a sweep of her hand as she glanced to the frost-covered ground below them. “I made a whistle recently. From bone. It was… a gift.”
Cairn lingered on the word happy long after it was said. The word felt imprecise. Slippery. Like trying to hold water in her hands. Everyone seemed to use the word so easily, as if it were something certain and concrete. But Cairn wasn’t sure she ever stopped long enough to decide if she had ever felt it. “It… helps,” she said slowly, which felt closer to the truth than an affirmative. The library and talking to others filled the silence, and helped her give shape to thoughts she still struggled to voice out loud—but they were also reminders of just how far everyone still was. Present, but not. Near, yet unreachable.
She shifted her weight, considering the rest of the question which felt easier to answer. “I draw what I see.” She said and reached into her satchel to pull out a small bound book. The pages were thick and uneven, filled with rough sketches—trees reduced to lines, bones drawn from different angles. None of it was pretty, but it was honest. Cairn flipped to a page, a beetle sat on the paper, its shell dark and rounded, legs splayed awkwardly. She’d drawn the antennae long and was careful to show its stance on a log. It wasn’t pretty, but it was exactly how she had seen it crawl. “Is this… art?”
—
She repeated the word as if she’d never heard it before, as if London was some far-off, unimagined place. It seemed to add water to his theory that she wasn’t someone who’d grown up in human society. More and more, Baz leaned towards some sort of shifter. Some of them must have grown up in the woods, right? Never knowing how to be human until they stumbled out into the world one day? They’d ask Joel about it later, see if he had any thoughts. If anyone would know, it was probably him. “It’s big,” they replied. “Lots of people. Rainy, a lot of the time. Bit dreary, I suppose. But there’s life to it, yeah? A city with a beating heart.” Her second question made them laugh and they shook their head with a shrug. “I don’t think anywhere is like Wicked’s Rest,” they admitted. They hadn’t spent much time in many places, but… they’d come to Wicked’s Rest because of the rumors, originally. This place had murmurs about it heard far and wide. That wouldn’t have been the case if there were other cities or towns like it.
She was a bit fascinating, really. The way she spoke, the way she processed things… Baz was struck with the urge to sketch her, to capture the strangeness in charcoal. Could they capture her essence well enough that someone looking at the finished piece might see what they were seeing now as she spoke? The strange separation from society, the not-quite-human way she had about her, was that something Baz could properly express? They’d like to find out. “A bone whistle seems like a lovely gift. I’m sure whoever you gave it to was appreciative. Did you teach yourself how to make things like that, or did someone else show you? I’m self-taught, for the most part. Did a stint in art school, but I’d already built my own foundation by then.”
Their smile fell a little at her response. It helps. That implied that there was something to help with, didn’t it? Some storm brewing beneath the surface, some problem needing desperately to be solved. Baz disliked the thought of it, if only because they disliked the idea of any sort of conflict marring a person’s life even if the person in question was a stranger. (The existence of conflict meant the unfortunate possibility that it could reach out and touch Baz eventually, after all.) “What makes you happy, then?” They pressed, hoping that there was some sort of answer. Something must have done the trick, mustn’t it? She must have been happy sometimes.
They perked up a bit as she pulled a bound book from her satchel, moving forward to lean over the pages. The drawings were more technical than artistic, but Baz carefully inspected each of them all the same. At her question, they nodded vigorously. “Oh, yes,” they assured her. “This is certainly art. It’s quite good, actually. You’ve got raw talent. Bit of a macabre style. It suits you. You know, I’ve got some sketchpads I could spare. Charcoals, too, if you’d ever like to play around with a different sort of medium. Have you ever painted?”
—
Life. Cairn tried to picture a town with life—a beating heart. Did they, too, have forests you could get lost in? Shops with owners that guarded their goods like dragons guard their hoards? She was immediately curious what Baz meant by that. Maybe it had been just a comment to be brushed off or something meant to be taken at face value. But Cairn held onto it. She held onto it like letting go would mean losing a key to a door she’d been trying to unlock for as long as she could remember. If nowhere was like Wicked’s Rest, did that mean it had no life to it? No pulse? The forest that they were in now—could Baz not hear the way it breathed?
The approval warmed Cairn’s chest. She didn’t know Baz at all and neither did they know her, and yet—even they thought the bone whistle was a gift to be treasured. She hoped it would be. She hoped whoever Madison was would appreciate the time, the effort, the care it took to make something like that. Something her pama had always taught her. “I was taught.” Cairn said. “My parent taught me everything I know.” It was Cairn’s way of honoring them, by continuing their lessons, by never forgetting. No one else had to know how her pama lived on. It was just between them. They way it always had been.
“Art school?” Cairn curiosity picked up. Her pama had given her an education—not proper schooling by most standards and there were things they had surely missed, but it had been enough for Cairn to get by most things. “What was school like?” From what she had gathered, it was just children in rooms with an instructor. Cairn didn’t understand how people could learn like that. Her pama answered every question she had. Were the answers detailed? Not always. Were they confusing and left Cairn thinking more? Yes. Very often.
“I’m happy…” If happiness was warmth, if happiness was that quick thrum of her heartbeat, then, “I’m happy when someone understands.” Her smile was soft, almost surprised. “When someone’s here, fully here and I can… just be. That’s enough.” She met Baz’s eyes as she finished and let it linger. Maybe her answers weren’t simple pleasures like “books and tv shows” but Cairn didn’t see things that way. She enjoyed the computer, yes, but what made her happy was the access it gave her—to so many people, to so much knowledge. If she didn’t understand something someone said, she could look it up and then understand, closing the distance between herself and another person, just a little.
She put her book back in the satchel, still warm over Baz’s comments, their validation. She shook her head at his question, but the idea stuck with her. “I could… play.” Cairn admitted softly. She wasn’t sure what Baz was offering, but it sounded like more marks on paper. Something to try, maybe. Something they could share.
—
There was something strange about her. Baz couldn’t put a finger on what it was, only the fact that it was there. It wasn’t a bad thing, though — in fact, Baz quite liked whatever she had going on. The way she seemed to take every word they said and spin it around carefully in her mind sent a thrill through the doppelganger, whose only real desire for most of their life had been for someone to actually listen to them. To someone who had never quite been treated like an entire person, speaking to a stranger who held every word they said like something to be carefully treasured felt exhilarating. Baz wasn’t sure they’d ever had another reaction quite like this. They were sort of glad that the bones wound up here. It was worth it for the conversation alone.
“Yeah?” They smiled faintly at the idea of a parent teaching their child something quietly creative. Baz had longed for that, too, as a kid. They’d wanted their mother to teach them about something other than cruel chaos, wanted their father to think them worth any lessons at all. Of course, they’d never gotten it. And while part of them was petty enough to be jealous that someone else had, even if the person in question was a stranger, there was something nice about it all the same. “Good on them, then. You know, you ought to teach someone else now. Pass the knowledge along.” That was what Baz thought people ought to do with things like that. Share the wealth, so to speak.
Maybe Cairn felt the same. She seemed interested enough in the concept of art school, and what was school if not a way of people sharing the things they knew with those around them? “It was lovely,” they recalled with a fond smile. Art school had been the first time Baz had ever been allowed a life of their own — a name, a face, an identity. It was where they’d met Sebastian, too. There were a lot of regrets in their life, sure, but art school wasn’t among them.
Cairn continued, then, sharing what made her happy, and Baz couldn’t help but soften at the words. They understood it. Better than most, they’d wager. Baz, too, counted on other people to make them feel happy, to make them feel real. They needed people around, needed to hear voices and feel other people’s skin brushing theirs. “That’s lovely,” they said softly. “I hope you find plenty of that, then. People who understand, and who’ll be there. Not a hard time finding it in this town, yeah?” Baz had made plenty of friends in Wicked’s Rest. They wouldn’t have traded a single one of them.
They were delighted at her acceptance, and their grin reflected as much. “Excellent!” They exclaimed, excitement thrumming through them. “If you’d like to meet up somewhere sometime, I could bring you some supplies. Maybe share a few tips, too. Like your parent when they taught you to make the whistle, yeah? Good to pass things on when you know them, let them help someone else, too.”
—
Cairn was aware nobody got the lessons she did growing up and had always considered her tips to just be… helpful, not necessarily passing any knowledge. The concept of having knowledge, of being the one to pass it, of no longer being the one learning, made Cairn’s throat tighten. She’d been the student all her life—even in this town she was learning, always on the outside, trying to find her way in. If she now was someone who had things to teach others, if she had now become what her pama had been to her for her whole life… it felt too close to erasure. Cairn looked down, eyes watering. She wasn’t trying to hide it, had no shame in it, but knew better than to let it overtake her at this moment. You feel it and then you keep moving.
She allowed herself the distraction of the bones to occupy her again, reminding her body to move. Movement was crucial when strong emotions came over her. They tended to lock her up, make her still, but stillness was the enemy. In stillness, the mind wandered. In motion, it listened. Cairn had to make sure she was always listening. Her eyes darted to some bones peeking out from a bush a little further away than the others had been. She had already gathered too many to go back and grab the others, so she just turned back to Baz, making a note to make a trip back there to grab the last ones.
Cairn's thoughts drifted to the people she’d come to know, the few that made her feel understood. A small smile graced her mouth as she let the bones fall from her hands. “Yeah, plenty.” A pause, as if she were deciding what counted. “I have a friend—Jenny. She always answers my questions.” For most people, that wouldn’t have sounded like much. For Cairn, who lived inside a constant tide of questions and half-formed thoughts, having someone safe, someone patient enough to answer without judgment, it was everything. It meant she didn’t have to hold the world alone. “I would… like to meet up. Later.” Cairn could already tell there was something different about Baz. Their generosity, the way they watched her, the way judgment had yet to touch them in all of this. It all stood out—quietly, but unmistakable.
“The only bones left are by that bush,” Cairn said, pointing toward the small cluster peeking out from the undergrowth. She could notice they didn’t seem as bright as the ones they had just gathered, almost like they were dirtier, but maybe that was because they were further away, or maybe they had picked up some grime on their trip from the museum. Whatever the reason, Cairn started to walk toward them, glancing back at Baz, to see if they were following, ready to hand over the last remaining bones so they could return to the museum.
—
All their life, Baz had been struck by the unquenchable desire to understand. There were plenty of reasons for it, of course. They needed to understand in order to be what their father wanted them to be, yes — and they had wanted to be what their father wanted them to, for a time, because wasn’t that the first step in being loved? — but there had also been a part of them that wanted to understand for reasons beyond that, too. To understand was to be understood, and didn’t everyone want to be understood? And so, yes, Baz wanted to understand Cairn. Yes, they watched her with careful eyes, trying to determine what she was and who she was. Yes, they wanted to see her again, wanted another change to earn more understanding, wanted that understanding to go both ways.
They perked up a little at the mention of Jenny. It was a common enough name but to Baz, who rarely thought of anything at all outside of their own small bubble, it never even registered that Cairn could have been talking about anyone other than their Jenny. “I know Jenny!” They exclaimed. “Jenny’s great.” I love Jenny, they almost added, because they’d have said it for anyone else, but something about it felt odd enough to disqualify the words from leaving their tongue. “Any friend of Jenny’s is a friend of mine, I always say.” Their grin widened as she said she’d like to meet up later, and they nodded. “We can go to a cafe,” they offered. “Soon as I’m done with work, I can pop home and grab a few things, and we can meet. Unless you’d like to do it another day, I suppose.” Overeager. They’d always had that problem, hadn’t they?
They moved towards the bush Cairn indicated, happy enough to pick up the bones all their own. Normally, they might have insisted Cairn do it instead, but they were feeling chipper now. The idea of a new friend and a chance to help someone else along with their art put them in a good enough mood that they didn’t mind walking the extra few feet over to the bush to gather up the bones strewn there. They didn’t notice the color differences, or the lack of the small metal screw present in the museum bones, or the way these bones were bigger than any of the others they’d gathered.
They did notice the bony hand that shot out of the bush to grab their wrist.
Immediately, Baz let out a loud, high-pitched scream. They shook their arm, trying to loosen the grip as they threw their bag of bones into the air. “GET IT OFF ME,” they screeched, yanking hard on their arm. “HELP!”
—
They knew Jenny? Cairn’s complete attention was on Baz immediately, taking in the way they spoke about her, eyes bright as they found another common ground. A friend of Jenny was a friend of theirs as well? So… Baz was a friend? The concept was still very new in her mind. Cairn really didn’t know what constituted a friendship other than the label. She had just met Baz and they were already considering her a friend—that was the fastest the label had been applied yet she couldn’t find a reason to argue. Baz listened. They didn’t end the conversation and walk away. They didn’t speak in a way that left her confused. Baz is a friend, Cairn accepted and a warm feeling washed over her.
“Yes.” Cairn said simply, unaware of how else to express her excitement—her want—beyond clear acceptance and a relaxed smile. “I’ll go to the library after this, and we can… find each other again.” In that moment, the bones were the last thing on her mind. Bones were a great resource, especially ones already cleaned. She could have used it for traps, for tools. Their value to her was undeniable. But… this? A friend. Connection. Cairn would have traded the entire sack of bones for it, a hundred times over.
Baz’s yell snapped her attention back. Cairn looked down just in time to see a skeletal hand reaching for him, grabbing him. She moved without hesitation, grabbing a thicker bone from the fallen bag and lifting it up to strike. The blow never landed. The bone was caught mid-swing, a skeletal hand cramping down with a strength she felt immediately. She fought for control, muscles straining against the strength in the other grip, but with a strong tug, it was ripped out of her hands. As she reached for another, she saw the second skeleton hand release Baz’s wrist and begin clawing at the scattered bones instead.
The bush rustled.
Cairn froze as something began to emerge from the shrubbery. She extended a hand toward Baz, ready to steady them if needed, but couldn’t tear her eyes away as a large skeletal figure pulled itself free. “We need to move. Now.” Her voice stayed calm, even as her pulse quickened. “Run.”
—
She wasn’t the animated sort, but that was all well and good for Baz, anyway. They had plenty of friends who were far more subdued than they were. (In truth, most people in general were more subdued than Baz, who was intentionally the brightest and loudest thing in most rooms they entered.) Even Joel tended to be far more laid back. There was some comfort in it, some quiet satisfaction with the familiarity of someone who did not express themself loudly. Baz understood that Cairn was pleased, even if she did not say it. And there was some joy in that, too, some faint excitement at doing well enough in the interaction to convince her to agree to meet up again later.
Of course, in order to achieve that meetup, they’d have to get away from whatever this was first.
The skeletal hand gripping their wrist felt… odd. It was hard, with no skin softening the harshness of the white bones closed tightly around them. Baz wasn’t sure they could call it cold, though it certainly wasn’t warm. If anything, the temperature matched the crisp winter air; no colder than the wind chill, but no warmer, either. It felt, frankly, like bones left out in the snow for an undetermined amount of time. Not a very pleasant feeling, in any case. They were glad when it dropped away from them, even if they still felt unsettled that it had gripped them at all.
It seemed more interested in the bones on the ground than it did in Baz. And, now that Baz was looking at the bones there, they realized that these did not belong at the museum to begin with. They were dirtier, and lacked the screws and holes that the museum exhibit used to hold itself upright and in the proper shape when it was on display. They couldn’t tell what the bones on the forest floor were from. They hoped an animal, but it was hard to be certain. They weren’t planning on sticking around long enough to earn proof, either. The moment their wrist was released from the skeletal grip, the doppelganger scrambled backwards.
They were surprised to hear Cairn still behind them, surprised to see her when they turned towards her voice. She had not run, though she’d had the opportunity to do so. What was more, she had one hand outstretched as if she’d been reaching for them. Baz had not been abandoned; it didn’t even seem as though she’d considered doing so. They turned back to see the skeletal creature emerging from the bush, and nodded at Cairn’s instruction. Running, they thought, was a good idea. Reaching out, they took Cairn by the arm and took off without a word, pulling her along behind them. She hadn’t left them behind; they wouldn’t leave her, either.
—
Curiosity struck Cairn. She wanted to watch the creature, she wanted to see how it moved, she wanted to see how it chased. But she didn’t. Baz was already moving and she moved alongside them. For now, she couldn’t hear any signs of pursuit, and that was enough. Maybe it had gotten distracted by the bones—that was information to be sorted out later, when she had time to think and wasn’t running for her life
She kept moving until they burst back into town, sure that whatever might have been after them would have stopped at the tree line. How fast could skeletons move? She glanced back, finally, and saw nothing. No rattling, no movement. Just trees. They were safe.
“We can meet up later… for the art,” Cairn said with a slight nod, choosing her words carefully, using them to keep her breathing steady after the sprint. She let go of Baz’s hand as she turned toward the library. Her heart was still racing, but not from the run—not entirely. Cairn pressed a hand to her chest and smiled, feeling the warmth settle in, the kind that came from being seen, not chased, her breath finally steadying.
