Chapter Text
“In 300 feet make a right turn then keep left for 2 miles…”
“Turn left.”
“In 18 miles, take a left turn on I-45 South…”
Bleary and in desperate need of a bath, you ran the back of your hand over your forehead. Slick with sweat and oil, eyes burning for rest. There were still a couple hours left in the drive. At this rate you’d be lucky if you got there in time, and you honestly felt tempted to give up altogether and turn around to head home. All this effort to attend the wedding of a relative you barely knew just to uphold some obscure relationship in the eyes of the family. If you were given time to prepare past a week’s notice it would’ve been feasible to fly. Now you were left scrambling a wardrobe and cancelling plans, panicking at the notion of seeing faces you haven’t seen since you were a child.
Fingers drummed along the top of the steering wheel, aching for some sort of stimulation. The past 4 hours had offered little in the way of scenery. Acres of farmland, trees, a few gas stations prickled here and there, more trees. Port Eatery was one of the most popular wedding destinations in the country and yet the miles of highway to get there felt lifeless and neglected. You had given up on the local radio stations about 100 miles back. Driving in silence felt marginally preferable to what limited options there were to choose from. At the very least, it allowed you to think. Though there hadn’t been much thinking for the past dozen miles.
Another bob of your head. Eyelids struggling to stay open. You’d attempt a sad smack of your lips; dry, thirsty. Your cup of lemonade was empty, has been for a while, but still you’d suckle at the straw, its plastic chewed and wrinkled. Without realizing, you began to scratch and probe at the texture of your face. The skin felt unhealthy. Far too greasy, but dry at the same time. You only needed to make it through the next hour, but even that felt insurmountable. You glanced at the clock. The wedding started 10 minutes ago; you were already late but kept calm. Mom knew you wouldn’t manage to arrive on time and you considered the reception to be the most important part anyways. If you could at least be there for that…
“Huh…?” From the corner of your vision, what little you had left through the drowsiness, something flashed. You slowed the car, squinting through the windshield. It was a sign. Wooden, with white paint that seemed new. It dangled off a post, reading in colorful, decorative font:
“CRESCENT MOON: Crafts and Antiques”
An antique shop? Not unusual for the area, but somehow the most interesting thing you’ve seen outside of truck stops and motels. In just another half hour you’ll be in Port Eatery’s city. There was sure to be dozens of things to do, sights to see, overpriced food to eat…
But still, you lingered. Something odd that you couldn’t understand was tempting you towards this shop. It seemed a quaint idea, and yet held possibilities for a unique and memorable experience. Antique stores had that appeal to them. More than likely, it’d be some rotted, dusty house. Repurposed to hoard knick-knacks and unwanted artifacts, solely operated by someone’s grandma. But with grandmas came cats! Store cats! Oh, you did love a good store cat. Your ass hurt, too. Needed a good stretch, something to wake up the muscles. In most cases there’d be little harm in popping over for a visit, but time wasn’t on your side. You were late. Still dressed in clothes that could practically count as pajamas. For a minute, you sat and weighed the options. This wedding wasn’t even something you wanted to attend. They’d be disappointed, but if you popped in at the end to say hi, catch up with distant relatives, drop off your gift, could anyone really complain? Well, yes, they would still complain--
HONK! HONK!
Car horns crashed your train of thought, jolting your body, nearly startling your foot off the brake. You checked your mirror. A bright red, dirt-stained pickup sat wedged against your bumper. At the wheel, a visibly angry and heavily bearded man, glaring holes through his sunglasses. He palmed the horn a couple more times, revving the engine. The tiny back road was only one lane wide, if he couldn’t drive around, you were sure he’d do his best to drive through you. You weren’t interested in testing that theory. Panicked, you cranked the wheel to the right, taking the side road and branching down a hidden path. From behind you could see the pickup blast off, leaving a cloud of dust in its wake. Too startled to be annoyed, you let yourself exhale, chest pounding and heat creeping up the back of your neck. As honest of a mistake as it was, you were still embarrassed. Couldn’t he understand you were in a moment of crisis?!
Whatever road you ended up retreating down was getting bumpier. Smooth dirt fading to crunched gravel, shaking your car, pebbles flicking your tires. Trees thickened, their leaves outstretched and palming your windows, like reaching limbs. It was broad daylight, and yet the world almost dimmed like dusk hours. Sunspots peppered, struggling to breach the canopy. It was as if you had entered a different realm entirely. You saw no houses, not for a long while.
“Make a U-turn.”
The GPS knew this was not where you were supposed to be. Even if it was mere course correction, you couldn’t help but feel like it was trying to warn you, caution you to reconsider your chosen route… Against better judgment, you turned it off. Past a particularly crowded bushel of trees, you could see something rounding the corner…a driveway, or rather, a very small parking lot? And a building. Wood, colored with dark blue paint. The sign above the doorway matching the one you saw before. It was the antique shop. There were no more options, and you had nowhere else to really go, so you pulled in. The tires groaned, gritting themselves into the gravel. The engine was killed and without hesitation, you stepped out. The air was clean, fresh. It revitalized you in an instant. You were practically decaying in the stale environment of your car, it felt incredible to breathe again. There was surely somewhere you needed to be right now, but in the moment, you couldn’t recall where or why.
The air was noticeably cooler. A gentle wind hissing through the woods, lulling you, calming you. Distantly you heard the calls of birds. Warbling, singing, and they sounded happy. It made you abruptly aware of your own unhappiness. Why was that?
Wind chimes dangled on the porch; their hums almost perfectly accompanied by the birds. Your body was still sore, but with every moment that passed, you felt relief. Was this just what it felt like to be somewhere quiet? Maybe you really did need to touch grass more often…
Slowly, almost anxiously, you approached the store front. The porch creaked as you stepped up and now that you were closer, you found yourself studying the details. The building was clearly old, but it felt ageless in its design. The paint was chipped, yet colors still vibrant. The windows stained, but still clear. Leaves, both dead and new, swirled along the front of the door and around your feet, like they were welcoming you. You weren’t scared but still your heart raced. With nothing holding you back, you opened the door.
A bell positioned above the entrance signaled your arrival with a quiet ding. You braved a few steps, taking in the layout before trying to wander off in any specific direction. It was the spitting image of a small-town store. Had that smell to it. Musty, but clean. Possibly, sticks of incense were burning somewhere, something smelled spiced, herbal. Suddenly, you felt far too aware of your own unsightly appearance, moving to fix odd wrinkles in your clothes, wiping furiously to clear your eyes of any crust. You were certain your breath smelled foul, but there wasn’t much to be done about that. There was a clear route that snaked its way throughout the store. Weaving around shelves and displays, stacks of both heirlooms and crafts. Mostly pottery, but handmades like glasswork and jewelry were given their own dedicated sections. Underfoot was well-worn carpet, a muted color as to not distract. A portable fan sat near the register, providing airflow and much needed white noise. Aside from that, it was completely silent.
From what you could see, you were the only one here. The front counter sat unmanned, though you spotted a hand-written note that was propped upright.
“PLEASE RING BELL FOR ASSISTANCE.”
Stores like this always felt delicate. If you touched anything at all you were sure it would shatter. Items were arranged in specific ways, nearly disorganized, but purposeful. Like Tetris. Tall and artful cabinets displayed all manner of eclectic objects. Dolls, dishware, clocks, mirrors… Towards the back you noticed a nook filled with books and texts of all sorts, but surely nothing you’d recognize. There were several different rooms. Open doorways that mazed into other areas, obviously themed, yet no signs that would indicate what those themes were. You circled about, keeping arms folded behind your back, admiring what you could. Nothing was priced. Nothing was labeled. You weren’t entirely sure this was even a proper business. It felt like a museum. Belongings gathered for the eyes only.
Occasionally, something would fetch your interest. An animal skull, or a stained-glass lamp. Over that way sat a taxidermized bear, and past that you could see some sort of turntable. But most of all, what seemed to intrigue you, was the pottery. There was a lot of it. Vases, cups, bowls, kettles, and plates. They weren’t intricate, but the simplicity only served to elevate their designs. The color choices were humble, sincere, but swirled with rich hues that felt vast and honest. Dark, gloomy blues and seafoam aquas. Some accented with golden detailing. Others glittered and mottled with violent ambers and roasted browns. The shapes feel decorative, but with a clear utility in mind. Craning your body, you searched for any indication of ownership, an artist, or a company. But they all sat unmarked. A particularly glossy vase compelled you to look closer and you unhooked an arm to reach over, crooking one finger, hoping to get a good poke in…
The floor squeaked suddenly, and you swear you saw something move. Flinching back, you turned, eyes searching, wide like a child caught in mischief. But there was no one.
“Hello?”
No response. Your shoulders remained tense, but you turned towards the vase again, electing to keep your hands to yourself this time. You weren’t sure how much time had gone by, but you sat captivated, studying each variation in texture and color. Admittedly, you hardly had any interest in pottery, but this piece in particular…it just felt right. Like it would look perfect sitting in your living room. Like it had always belonged to you. You bobbed your head to one side, wondering if you were truly about to spend what would surely be a hefty amount of money on a blue vase…
“You really like that one, huh?”
Your heart nearly flew out of your throat. Whirling around again, but this time, there was a real person behind you. Standing at the open doorway, leaning against its frame. She had her arms crossed, wearing some odd and sideways grin. You blinked once, then twice. You opened your mouth to speak, but your throat closed, refusing to make noise.
“Hah, you spooked? Sorry, I tend to sneak up on people.”
She would run a hand over the back of her neck, that grin growing into a full beam. She was taller than you, but not by much. Her shoulders wideset with a sturdy body. Clothes were baggy, stained with something grey and ashen. A faded flannel casually tossed over a brown shirt. Her hair, two-toned at the part, shone with calming blues. Like night sky meeting the sea’s horizon. A pale, yellow strand curled across the right side and two pointed ears sat straight atop her head. Seven long and billowing tails swept behind her frame, feathering along the ground. Certainly, gifted with fox-like features.
“Ah—uh- s…I was—” You babbled, trying to figure out how sentences worked again.
“One word at a time.” Her voice was deep and comforting, encouraging you to take things slow. That somehow only made things worse.
“I was just. The vase.” You pointed behind you. “Pretty. It’s pretty.”
“Shucks, you think it’s pretty?” She shrugged her shoulders. “I dunno, not my best work.”
“…your work? Did you make this one?”
“Mm, yeah.” Her finger traced a circle in the air, gesturing at the display. “Made all of ‘em actually.”
You weren’t sure why you were surprised. It made sense, but in your brief experience discovering this pottery you had grown far too fond of their style, and you felt momentarily star struck being able to meet the person who sculpted them.
“They’re all real nice. I couldn’t uh- find a name or a label or anything. I didn’t know who made them…definitely didn’t expect to meet the artist,” You found it hard to maintain eye contact with her.
Something warmed in her eyes, and she stood straight to walk towards you. The closer she got the more you seemed to shrink. Her presence almost demanded your attention. Your respect. The confidence she carried sparked both envy and daunting admiration. Reaching past your frame, she grabbed one of the bowls, turning it to run a thumb over its rim.
“This is one of my personal favorites. See the red lines? Was such a pain in the ass to get that color right. Like you wouldn’t believe.” It was certainly pride that lifted her voice. A maker discussing their craft.
It was probably rude to stare, but it was impossible to look at the bowl right now. Before, the pottery was all you were able to focus on, but now you were inexplicably drawn to this woman. She was so near you could smell something oaken and natural wafting from her body. Shampoo? Lotion? Like fresh forest and burnt spices. Comparatively, you reeked of sweaty car seat and drive-thru burger. You prayed she couldn’t smell that.
“If you really like that vase, you can buy it.” She had set the bowl back on its shelf. From what you could tell she hadn’t noticed you staring, but it’s possible she was just being polite. “You into pottery?” It took you an embarrassingly long time to realize she was asking you a question and that you needed to answer that question.
“Oh! God! Uh- no, not…really. I’ve never like, made anything or bought anything before. So, I guess you could say I’m a stranger to the whole…pottery thing.” You had started to fidget. Tugging at the string on your hoodie, twisting it around your finger.
“Yeah? Shit. Most people who aren’t already interested in that kinda thing don’t pay much attention to my stuff.” She seemed a bit sheepish admitting that.
“No, no, I think your pottery is really lovely. I like the colors. And the shapes. And…all of it.” You had managed to tear your stare off her, now returning to longingly gaze at the vase again. It stirred something sad and beautiful in your stomach, and you wanted it to have a place next to your bed.
“Mm, if you like it that much, I’ll give you a discount. It’s awful rare I get to hear people compliment my work like this, got me kinda embarrassed and shit.” Her eyes sparkled when she talked. They were deep and silken, bright like a full moon’s light. “How’s $50 sound?”
You scrunched your nose. It would be false to say you had any sort of insight on the economy of handmade pottery. But $50 seemed…awfully low. You shook your head.
“No? Too much?”
“Too little! You made it yourself, right? Like with your hands? Don’t people charge more for that kind of thing?”
“Haha! What! You want to pay more?” Her laugh bubbled from deep inside of her chest, fingers running against the bottom of her jaw. “You’re something. Seriously, it’s been collectin’ dust on this shelf for like, a year now. I’ll be happy to see it find a home.” It still didn’t sit right with you, but you didn’t feel confident enough to fight her on this.
“Well, if you think it’s okay…” You moved to pick it up but paused. “…Am I allowed to touch it?”
The woman hummed and the sound nearly buckled you at your knees.
“Of course, hun. You can touch whatever you want.”
Your face went hot, and something twisted in your stomach.
“Um.” Your voice came out ragged and hoarse. “Yeah. Okay. I’ll d-do that—” Clenching your fists quick to calm the trembling, you picked up the vase by its neck, instantly cradling it in your arms. “I think I’ll…just get this then.” You really weren’t expecting to actually buy anything here, but there was not an ounce of doubt or regret telling you to stop. It felt satisfying to support someone’s hobby like this.
“Come up to the front and I can get you checked out.” She’d take the lead, strolling back towards the counter. You lowered your gaze towards the floor, watching her tails sway and twirl as she walked. Inwardly, you wondered how they’d feel between your fingers. Curled against your face. Wrapped around your body--
“What’s got you all the way out here anyways? We hardly get many visitors, there’s nothing down this road so most folks have to come here on purpose.” The woman was behind the counter now, tapping at buttons on the register. Gently, you set the vase on the counter.
“Oh. I…” Why did you come out here again? There had to of been a reason. It was so far from home you didn’t come here on a whim...
“Oh my god the wedding.” Your arms went limp at your sides, then they slapped around your thighs, searching for your pockets, fishing out your phone to check the time.
Seven missed calls. Four voicemails. So many texts. You had somehow managed to sink an hour of your time inside of this store, spirited away by the weird bear taxidermy and creepy dolls. “Oh my god, I’m fucked…” The women froze, leaning over the counter to see you crumple in on yourself, hunched over and frantic.
“…You gonna be okay? What’s wrong?”
“I…was supposed to go to a wedding. My cousin’s. Oh my god I’m so late—god I’m so stupid I’m so—” Your fingers raked and yanked at your hair, anticipating the earful you were going to get from your Mom.
“Hey, hey, it’s fine, it’s okay. Just lost track of time, is all.” She shuffled around the counter, at your side in an instant to place a hand at your shoulder. “You don’t need to buy the vase. If you gotta scurry on out of here…”
For a moment, you agreed with her. Your thighs already tensing to dash you out of this shop and into your car. But something kept you planted. Her hand that squeezed on your shoulder managed to ground you, snapping you out of your frenzy just long enough to assess the issue thoroughly. “…I’m already so late. But they’re gonna be in town for another couple days…I can still give them their gift, at least.” You ran hands down your face, exhausted. “I have a hotel room for the weekend anyways…there’s plenty of time to make it up to them.” Raising your eyes, you look back at the vase. Once more you feel embraced by its colors. Bottomless navies that accepted you for everything that you were. It was going to be okay.
“…Sorry, I just…needed a moment to freak out, sorry, sorry.” You rose, the woman still concerned but nodding, understanding of your circumstance.
“You look kinda tired, might wanna think about restin’ up soon. I’m sure the stress isn’t helping.” She propped an elbow against the counter, wearing a sympathetic expression. “Really though, you don’t gotta buy the vase. I feel bad.”
“No, no I still love it. I really want to. Please.” Instinctively you grabbed at the vase, hugging it to your chest, hoping the gesture would convince her. She didn’t look all that convinced, but her eyebrows knit themselves, wanting to consider your feelings.
“Tell you what. Sleep on it. You’re here for the weekend you said? Come back after you’ve thought it over. I’ll hold it in the back and make sure no one else can buy it before you.” She was smiling again. Jagged canines poked out of her mouth at weird angles, and you felt endeared to trust her on this.
“…yeah. Okay, okay.” You nodded and she lifted the vase from your arms, hooking it under her bicep far too casually. You thought it might break in half at the slightest flex.
“Besides. It’s kinda lonely here. Would be nice to see you again. You’re funny.” Your mouth gaped a bit.
“Funny?”
“It’s a compliment. Would be nice to talk to you more when you don’t got a wedding to catch.” Her words came out easy and straightforward, and you felt in your chest she meant it genuinely. You couldn’t even find it within yourself to be flustered, you just felt happy. Excited.
“I’d like that a lot.”
“Play your cards right and I’ll even show you my kiln. It’s pretty cool.” There was that pride again. The woman was clearly modest when it came to her work but exuded such a natural confidence. Satisfaction in her craft, in her life. Did it come easily?
Even as tired and dreary as you felt you couldn’t help but smile, and then laugh. She grinned wider.
“My name’s Blue Moon, by the way. Some people call me Moony. Or just Blue.”
“I’m Y/N.”
“Y/N. Nice name.” Her face softened and she let herself lean closer, offering you a sly wink.
“Come back soon so I can practice saying it some more.”