Toast to Tomorrow, Forever We'll Last
#5
[html]ooc: Yeah, I realized they'd look a little weird. Thanks for the detailed description, though!

Daemon stumbled a bit as he hauled the other into his wagon, but they were both there in the end, and he attempted to let go to get back to work. His attempt was foiled as the taller, younger male kept hold of his paw, and he blinked and shook it a bit, as one would when trying to get rid of a spider, before he sighed a little and drifted off, letting the other keep hold. The stranger attempted to snuggle up to him then, as his younger siblings had done when he'd first come out of the fire and Fion had once when he was younger, and he looked at him oddly, uncertain about his actions but not caring enough to chase him off for them, even when he stuck out his tongue and ended up licking Daemon's shoulder. It was strange, but Daemon couldn't process thoughts well enough to do anything other than think for one, mild moment that it was slightly disgusting.

Eventually, he pulled his hand free, moving to pat the stranger on the head in a "pay attention" gesture--the only one he knew--and pointing to his work table. He waited a moment, probably having forgotten why he wanted the Boy to look or having gone off on another track entirely, before he glided over and began pulling and stretching the leather into place, shaping it as he would one of his masks so that it might be easier to sew later. He had a limited time to do this, as the leather dried quickly, but it didn't take long; soon enough, he had several rough pieces to be sewn together. That task took more concentration than he liked; it wasn't as easy as leatherworking, and his thoughts often drifted away during the process, though he tried his best not to let them. This time...he had a feeling that wouldn't happen.

Fion often helped him with his sewing, so it was only natural that, when it came time to prepare for the task, he lifted a needle and thread from the box and held them out expectantly to the stranger, part of him forgetting that it wasn't Fion and the other part simply not caring. It was his wagon; those inside it would do what he wanted them to do. And he wanted help sewing the boots.
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