fandomtownies | J,GoB; Sunday Morning [04/27].

Boc's visits to the bakery on Sunday mornings had become a bit more infrequent, and he was fine with that. It made it feel all the more special and meaningful when he actually did manage to make it out there, to enjoy either his trusted old cinnamon roll option or whatever other new thing had come in. Today, he was not terribly convinced by the offerings, and so therefor would be leaning into his usual, but he was honestly a bit too distracted by something else to focus on choosing something new, as well as the distress of deciding whether or not to say anything.

Maybe after his cinnamon, when he was leaving, he would bring it up, because that way, if they got angry at him for it, he would have still had his treat, and he could just scamper off and never show his miserable, ugly face in the bakery ever again.

It was just....well, he'd noticed that a few of the staff's aprons were looking just a bit threadbare, and once he'd noticed it, he couldn't really think of much else, and maybe if they'd just let him patch them up for them...

So, while he sat at his corner table, tearing apart pieces of cinnamon roll to munch on, he was also working on building up the courage to offer his services for those poor, poor aprons.

[[ open post is open! trying to be optimistic about my chances before going into work lol ]]

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"Good morning, Boc," Stark said quietly when he walked in.

He hadn't noticed anything wrong with any aprons but then he didn't really pay attention to the aprons. He was always more focused on the baked goods.

"Doing all right?"

Boc had worked through all those socks this weekend, you see, so his eyes were keen for new potential mending opportunities.

"Oh." He was, it would seem, not nearly so startled as he had been before, though it probably helped that he'd seen Stark come in. His head ducked. "H-hello, sir. G-good morning. Happy Sunday? And I'm doing alright, I suppose. Probably far better than I likely deserve, all truth be told. And, erm, yourself? Doing all right, as well?"

Stark would, tragically, not be providing any torn clothing at this time.

"I'm...fine," he said after a moment. "Happy Sunday. I haven't seen you much, lately."

Boc could only see this as a net positive for the world. Those clothes deserved better.

"Ah," he said, laying his long hands on the table, in an effort to keep from picking at his cinnamon roll or rubbing them together too much, "yes. Well. I rather prefer not to be soon too much, really, don't I? But I've also been busy. With the shop. We're getting all sorts of new clothes in, for all the warmer weather again. It's quite the task, getting it all organized, making sure everything's up to quality."

Stark would disagree about it being a positive. He was helping the local economy!

"I haven't been in to look at anything recently." Skipped the dance and all. "Is there anything I ought to come and see?"

He'd keep it in good condition, probably!

"Well," said Boc, after a moment with his head cocked as he gave it some thought, "I suppose that all depends. On way you like seeing. But we've got all sorts of bright colors in, and a good deal of those smaller trousers, the ones they call shorts. And lots of lovely flowy linen and cotton dresses."

His brow furrowed as bit as he made sure not to leave anything out.

"Oh!" he added with a burst of importance. "And the hats! Oh, all sorts of hats, sir, with wide brims, I presume to keep the hot sun off your face? I do rather enjoy the hats."

Well. He enjoyed decorating the hats.

"I don't wear bright colors often," Stark said. Not without prompting. Ah well.

"But I like looking at them. And...maybe something will appeal to me. I don't really wear hats..." They sat weirdly on the mask but maybe it was time to try new things? Or not.

"I don't wear them much, either."

Made it too difficult to go unnoticed. And he'd never had anyone prompting him to wear them (horrible park activity shirts aside, especially since Boc was better off not even think about those).

"But I...I...well, I suppose thr only way to know is to come by the shop sometime, and see for yourself."

Going unnoticed was very important sometimes.

"You're right. If...you wouldn't mind?"

Stark had noticed that Boc seemed to find him a bit too much, sometimes. But Stark was used to that reaction.

Boc's hands on the table started to curl slightly, as he started to feel the creeping nervousness about saying the wrong thing.

"Oh, no," he gushed put. "No, no, of course not, of course I wouldn't mind. And even if I did...well, it's a shop, isn't it? Would be a bit daft, me minding people coming into it!"

And he did rather prefer it quiet and to br by himself, and Stark could be a bit much, but he knew not to say anything of that.

"I'm not always the best company. But good. Maybe... maybe this week sometime. For something to do."

Stark had to keep busy or things were not going to go well.

"I," said Boc, with a very particular sort of soft insistence, "am most certainly even worse company. But there are clothes, and those are nice."

Could these two have a conversation in which they tried to out pathetic each other? Yes. It would be terrible. For everyone.

"The clothes are nice," Stark agreed. "And you do fine work."

Well, at least Stark hadn't tried to argue about Boc being worse company. Which was, of course, as good as an agreement.

"Oh," he said, bowing his head low, "no where near as fine as what me dear ol' mum could do, but thank you, that's very kind of you to say, sir. I have been improving, bit by bit, each and every day,but I should think, I still have quite a long ways to go to follow in her footsteps."

Stark wasn't feeling miserable enough for that argument right now. Maybe ask him Tuesday!

"I've never seen your mother's work but yours is always very fine. What sort of things have you been making?"

"Oh, I've just finished up on a great deal of socks," Boc informed him, with his eyes widening and lightening up with delight; even his ever-hunched shoulders seemed to straighten a bit proudly. "It was wonderful."

"Very nice," Stark said. "Socks are always good to have. For your shop? Or someone on the island?"

"For the shop," Boc confirmed, with a bob of his head. "For a customer. He came in for new socks and said it was because his had all gone all ratty and covered in holes, and I asked him, if it was alright, if he could bring them in and let me patch them up! And he actually said yes, can you imagine? Brought in a whole big sack of them. Why, my fingers were so sore I thought they might've fallen clean off if I'd had darned even just one more sock!"

And he sounded absolutely tickled and pleased as punch about it, too.

"Wonderful man, that customer, I hope he always has the nicest, warmest socks until the very end of time."

"If you fixed them all for him he ought to have very nice socks for a very long time," Stark said. "I'm glad. For you and for him."

"It did all work out quite well," Boc really had to admit it, "and now I've had so much practice that socks could be my specialty! I think I still prefer capes...adding them or taking them off, but socks are quite useful, aren't they? Well, erm, not for me, of course, but most people do seem to wear them."

"Easier to make a cape beautiful than a sock?" Stark asked. "Although no reason a sock couldn't be beautiful even if they aren't seen that often...and they are very useful. Especially in the cold."

Stark probably had some rather threadbare socks that could use some TLC.

"You've also got quite a bit more room, in general, on a cape," Boc pointed out, almost sagelike in this wisdom as his claws carefully picked up a piece of torn cinnamon roll to pop into his mouth.

"This is true," Stark agreed. "More room for decorative bits. Like trees?"

Boc had mentioned a specific tree before. And he'd been a tree. Trees made sense.

"Or...flowers? What else would you do?"

J,GoB; Sunday Morning [04/27].

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