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There was one last thing to do before leaving Tao for good. Sinbad had been working on the small gift for nearly two weeks now, working to find the right materials in an attempt to make it... perfect. The Banette figured, if he only ever managed to do one good thing for someone, he’d at least try not to screw it up.

He made a mental note to thank Destemona, the crazy Banette who owned a small relic shop, for teaching him how to make and sew voodoo dolls in the first place. He’d had to substitute a lot of materials, but managed to find a way to make it work. Broken shards of marble for the claws, shredded red silk for the tail-feathers, and a rose petal for the ear-feather. Two tiny pink button-eyes and the Cat’s Eye gem completed the small Sneasel doll. He’d stuffed it with Swablu down (there were a few hanging around, and they were easy enough to scare) to make it extra plush.

It occurred to Sinbad once or twice while he was working that he was putting a decent amount of thought and time into this little present... Okay, maybe a lot of thought and time. More than he’d ever spent on anything else, really. Mostly ‘cause he found the process relaxing, and those times of silence, when Anya-Jade was off and he was alone, helped him to think about things. Those moments gave him a chance to settle things with himself. There was another reason too, however, though it was one that the Banette was not yet ready to admit to himself.

So, later that night, after a short run-in with a notoriously upbeat Ivysaur, Sinbad Shadow Sneaked his way down quiet marble hallways, retracing his steps, and eventually finding the room were Eden slept.

It was the same conjoined area they’d been stationed the month before, although Sin was now absent, and that odd Buneary was nowhere to be found. The air, dark and still, grew frosty as Sinbad slipped beneath the doorway, his shadow bleeding across the cold floor tiles like water on cloth. The inky black serpent bent and twisted, slowly crawling over to the form of a resting Sneasel.

As Sinbad pulled his upper half from the swirling pool of his own essence, he was struck, for a moment, at the moonlight that caught on Eden’s golden gem. She looked very peaceful - Locke was often haunted by unpleasant nightmares of his childhood, but Eden’s face was smooth. She was curled up on a nest of many small blankets, her few belongings piled in the corner of the small room. Her nose twitched every second or so, and Sinbad witnessed a shiver skitter along her unclothed skin, but she was otherwise calm.

The few strands of moonlight filtering through the small glass window repelled Sinbad’s shadow, and he envisioned himself as a nightmare, being driven away. It urged Sinbad to please hurry along and be on his way. The Banette sighed, taking one last look at her. There was a small note which would go along with the gift, but it was too short, too inadequate, and wouldn’t make up for anything. Compared to what he’d done to her, these were just empty words... or insults, rather, since he didn’t mean any of them. The doll was his apology, and his confession.

So he tore up the note, leaving the scraps to litter the floor around his small, hand-made doll. Silently, and with a painful amount of regret, Sinbad slipped out of the room.

Description
[link] <> [link]

There was one last thing to do before leaving Tao for good. Sinbad had been working on the small gift for nearly two weeks now, working to find the right materials in an attempt to make it... perfect. The Banette figured, if he only ever managed to do one good thing for someone, he’d at least try not to screw it up.

He made a mental note to thank Destemona, the crazy Banette who owned a small relic shop, for teaching him how to make and sew voodoo dolls in the first place. He’d had to substitute a lot of materials, but managed to find a way to make it work. Broken shards of marble for the claws, shredded red silk for the tail-feathers, and a rose petal for the ear-feather. Two tiny pink button-eyes and the Cat’s Eye gem completed the small Sneasel doll. He’d stuffed it with Swablu down (there were a few hanging around, and they were easy enough to scare) to make it extra plush.

It occurred to Sinbad once or twice while he was working that he was putting a decent amount of thought and time into this little present... Okay, maybe a lot of thought and time. More than he’d ever spent on anything else, really. Mostly ‘cause he found the process relaxing, and those times of silence, when Anya-Jade was off and he was alone, helped him to think about things. Those moments gave him a chance to settle things with himself. There was another reason too, however, though it was one that the Banette was not yet ready to admit to himself.

So, later that night, after a short run-in with a notoriously upbeat Ivysaur, Sinbad Shadow Sneaked his way down quiet marble hallways, retracing his steps, and eventually finding the room were Eden slept.

It was the same conjoined area they’d been stationed the month before, although Sin was now absent, and that odd Buneary was nowhere to be found. The air, dark and still, grew frosty as Sinbad slipped beneath the doorway, his shadow bleeding across the cold floor tiles like water on cloth. The inky black serpent bent and twisted, slowly crawling over to the form of a resting Sneasel.

As Sinbad pulled his upper half from the swirling pool of his own essence, he was struck, for a moment, at the moonlight that caught on Eden’s golden gem. She looked very peaceful - Locke was often haunted by unpleasant nightmares of his childhood, but Eden’s face was smooth. She was curled up on a nest of many small blankets, her few belongings piled in the corner of the small room. Her nose twitched every second or so, and Sinbad witnessed a shiver skitter along her unclothed skin, but she was otherwise calm.

The few strands of moonlight filtering through the small glass window repelled Sinbad’s shadow, and he envisioned himself as a nightmare, being driven away. It urged Sinbad to please hurry along and be on his way. The Banette sighed, taking one last look at her. There was a small note which would go along with the gift, but it was too short, too inadequate, and wouldn’t make up for anything. Compared to what he’d done to her, these were just empty words... or insults, rather, since he didn’t mean any of them. The doll was his apology, and his confession.

So he tore up the note, leaving the scraps to litter the floor around his small, hand-made doll. Silently, and with a painful amount of regret, Sinbad slipped out of the room.