Bobbin

WIP?


A kind-hearted Bogsneak with a love for sewing and tailoring, often using his skills to create apparel for his clanmates or toys for their young. In his youthful days, before the harsher effects of the Plague had taken its toll on his body, he was far more approachable towards hatchlings, even if they still found him creepy from time to time.
The Luminax toy he cherishes so dearly, that never leaves his side and hasn't for over 40 years, was once a toy belonging to a young Coatl hatchling who requested he fix the eyes as they began to fall. The same hatchling who lived so close to the Quarantine Zone. The same hatchling who, on the day Bobbin had planned to return the toy, passed away from a stray virus that shot from the bubbling masses in the Quarantine Zone. The young one's Coatl parents were the ones to sadly inform Bobbin, tears in their eyes and soaking their feathers as they fell. They allowed Bobby to keep the toy should he wish, as they weren't ready to take it back yet, and he begrudgingly obliged, keeping it by his side and under his wing, as a reminder of the child who wasn't scared of his gruesome form affected by the Plague. Even after all these years, the parents never returned for the toy. Bobbin has only seen less and less of them as the years progress.

When he isn't repairing the toy, he is deftly laying fabrics and making notes about new apparel he wishes to create. Suits, dresses, hats, scarves, and much much more. If it can be made with fabric, Bobbin is the Bog to go to. He's rather famous within his clan, working with many materials. The Steadfast Sweeper in his shop keeps the place nice and clean for customers, while the glowing ghostly candles that circle him act as permanent light fixtures on many a dark night where he has a particularly troublesome project. He's hitting his 'old age' chapter in life, and he loves to make the most of it, working around the clock even when his old joints ache and the boils on his body become sore, even when the second mouth in his throat begs and demands for food it doesn't need. He just loves to do his best no matter what clan life throws at him.
He still makes toys, but no more toys of the Luminax variety, even if they were some of his most popular due to their customisation options. He wonders what the child would think of him if they saw the Bog now, would they be scared? Would the gaping maw in his throat and the once-Capsule now-stomach acid liquid beneath his translucent skin terrify them? He hopes it wouldn't. He hopes the child would still adore him, and still adore the toy, and still adore sewing just like Bobbin had taught them.

Hope is all he can do.

---

"Was it worth it? Creating that monster?"

The question caught him off-guard. "I... like to think it was." He responded in a hushed tone, more from a place of uncertainty than a place of fear of what he created.

"Oh Bobby, you're better than this..."

---

Bobbin didn't consider himself insane, or particularly immoral. He was simply becoming rather eccentric in his old age. While he swore to never create a Luminax toy ever again, who's to say he couldn't create a Luminax likeness?
He knew the risks - he wasn't losing his careful attitude as he aged - but he was gaining desperation and loneliness. The toy he kept so pristine was like a child to him, but the child who it should have belonged to was one he could not forget, and the toy felt some days unable to fill the void.

Needles in hand, magic at the ready, and with his Steadfast Sweeper clearing away every snipped piece of junk thread, Bobbin began to work.
'Start small,' he told himself. 'Don't go overboard.' He worked diligently into the night and for many weeks he laboured, keeping himself cooped up in the back of his shop, but tending to customers remained his top priority - he refused to allow himself to become selfish.

With work, with love, with gentle care, [Illumina] was born.
Larger than him, sewn together in patchwork admiration, with every stitch tied off securely to keep her safe and in one piece.