Chapter 3 Pansy #2
“What more are you expecting?” they asked, turning towards her at last. “We both agreed that we could only add to what’s already here, and I added soil. I did nothing wrong.”
Pansy would argue that the self-satisfied curl tugging at the corner of their mouth was proof enough that they had, in fact, done something wrong.
But in that moment, she could only gape, her thoughts brought to a complete standstill by the sheer audacity of it all.
In what world did dirt count as a worthwhile addition to any home?
Shaking her head, Pansy threw up her hands and said, “Fine. I’ll just clean it up myself.”
“Oh no you won’t,” Ren countered, their expression hardening. “No destroying each other’s stuff, remember? Another part of our agreement.”
“It’s dirt! It’s no one’s ‘stuff’.”
“Well, I’m telling you that it’s mine. How else am I supposed to make this place more cave-like?”
“This is a halfling burrow! It’s not supposed to be cave-like in any respect. If you want to live in a cave that badly, then just go home!”
Ren canted up their chin, obstinate to the end. “No.”
“Well, I’m not living in a house full of dirt,” Pansy declared, crossing her arms over her chest. “It’s unsanitary.”
“Good thing you can always leave,” Ren replied with a shrug. “No one’s forcing you to stay.”
“Except it’s my house! My grandmother wrote it into her will and everything! I can actually prove that, by the way; unlike your little story about your clan having lived here for years. Because I looked around, and this place is practically empty! You lied to me, Ren.”
“Ah. That.” A pause, filled with the sounds of restless shuffling, of Ren turning back towards their basket and removing its contents, one by one; proof, in Pansy’s mind, that she’d caught them red-handed.
At last, Ren said, calm as ever, “I didn’t lie to you.
My clan has been using this cottage for decades now. ”
“Then where is all your stuff? And don’t tell me that goblins don’t use furniture because that’s nonsense, and I won’t believe it.”
Ren let out a harsh breath, nostrils flaring as they cast a look up at the wooden beams overhead – seeking divine guidance or perhaps just patience.
“Is there any point explaining it to you?” they asked, bitterness oozing from every syllable.
“You’ve already come to the conclusion that I’m a liar, and I’d rather not waste my time beating my head against a rock that refuses to be moved. ”
Pansy stiffened, not sure whether to take Ren’s comment as an insult.
It probably was, all things considered – even if being called a “rock” was hardly the worst thing in the world.
Still, Pansy wanted answers, not a crash course in goblin put-downs.
She said, “I’m not so prideful that I can’t admit when I’m wrong. ”
Ren scoffed. “You’re a miracle among halflings, then. But – fine. I only became this cottage’s Caretaker recently. Yesterday, in fact. This place used to be my aunt’s responsibility, but she – she got sick. The clan needed someone else to shoulder the burden in her stead.”
Seeing the way Ren’s throat bobbed, how it snagged on the knot of emotion that had stoppered it, Pansy couldn’t help but soften, the jagged memory of her own grandmother’s recent illness still as sharp as ever.
“I’m sorry,” she said, the heat of annoyance evaporating from her skin as quickly as the early-morning dew in summer. “Is it serious?”
“Yes,” Ren replied, a hoarse croak that spoke volumes.
Far more than they’d wanted to convey, it seemed, because they immediately rushed to clear their throat.
“As for the furniture, if I’d asked, my aunt would have left some things behind.
But right now, she and the clan can make better use of whatever used to be here.
So, I told them I’d be fine with only the necessities. ”
“And the absolute barest of them at that, given what I’ve seen…”
Ren shrugged. “Goblins have all learned to make do with little. I’m no exception.”
Pansy paused, considering. “You called yourself the cottage’s ‘Caretaker’. That’s an interesting choice of words.”
“I’m sure you halflings would much rather call me a squatter,” Ren snapped, their voice sharpening once again.
“Well, it wouldn’t be inaccurate,” Pansy shot back.
“But my point is that ‘Caretaker’ is an awfully weighty word. Serious.” Plus, there was something about Ren’s explanation in general that had struck her as odd.
Granted, it could’ve just been her imagination, but it almost seemed like they didn’t actually want to be here. So, why stay?
Unless they had no other option…
“Because it is serious,” Ren snarled, whirling around to face her once more.
“This will probably be lost on you, but there’s a beauty in living with the natural world instead of in spite of it.
Do you even know how many trees were felled to build this cottage?
How much earth was shifted? How many plants and animals were displaced? ”
“I’m guessing a lot, judging from your tone.”
“Yes. A lot,” Ren said, their voice flattening with contempt. “That’s why it’s so important to make space for nature, to take only what is necessary and no more. Anyone who refuses to honor this truth is a fool, as blind as the snake that eats its own tail.”
“All right,” Pansy said, the word scraping across her tongue like an anchor. “But you don’t seem very, um, happy? To be here, that is. I mean, you called it a ‘burden’ earlier, so…”
Ren blinked at her, their ears pricking up in what Pansy figured was an expression of surprise – but only for a beat. Soon, they were drooping once more, falling in time with the heavy sigh that escaped Ren’s lips. “What I want doesn’t matter.”
“Of course it does!” Pansy protested, the words exploding out of her with more force than she’d intended.
But that sort of weary resignation just didn’t sit right with her – especially when it came at the cost of her own cottage.
“What’s the point of doing anything if it doesn’t make you happy?
Honestly, I—” She snapped her mouth shut, words too personal for someone who was still just a stranger crashing against the backs of her teeth.
I would still be back in Haverow if I hadn’t put my own happiness first.
“Fine,” Ren said with something like a huff. “Then what I want is for you to stop bothering me.” And with that, they turned on their heel yet again, seemingly convinced that the sight of their back would be enough to deter Pansy from making further conversation.
Unfortunately for Ren, the dirt crunching beneath Pansy’s feet had been a declaration of war, one she fully intended to win.
If being as irritating as possible was the way to do it, then she would dedicate herself to the task as wholly as a cleric committed themselves to prayer.
From now on, she’d be the gnat buzzing in Ren’s ear, utterly relentless, and if that alone didn’t convince the goblin to leave – well, Pansy was certain she could come up with something else.
But for now, she stepped forward, wedging herself into the space over Ren’s shoulder; not close enough to touch, but certainly well beyond polite boundaries. “What are you doing?” she asked, noting the way Ren stiffened in response. Perfect.
“Cooking. Obviously,” they muttered, an odd tremor hooking into their voice as they ducked their head to the side, long hair drawing over their face like a veil. “And in the interest of pre-empting your next question, I’m making a warm chestnut and mushroom salad.”
“What kind of mushrooms?” Pansy asked, curiosity, for the moment, overwhelming her desire to annoy as she peered at the tiny white buttons on Ren’s cutting board.
Although the mushrooms had been divested of their stems, Ren evidently hadn’t gotten much further in their prep work, despite the knife in their hand.
In retrospect, the combination of “goblin” and “sharp object” should’ve sent alarm bells blaring in Pansy’s head.
Growing up in Haverow, there’d been no shortage of stories about goblins and other servants of the dark lords committing acts of violence against poor, unsuspecting halflings, the subject of Lillishire ever-present, even if not mentioned outright.
And yet, standing here, Pansy felt no danger from Ren; not even when they whirled on her in a flash of sharp teeth and a sneer.
“Edible ones,” they replied, upper lip curling. “Unlike those Bloodletters you stuffed into your basket the other day.”
Masking the fresh rush of scarlet to her face with a huff, Pansy said, “Edible is hardly the sort of measure you want to use for a dish. As far as bars go, that one is practically on the floor.”
“My cooking is fine.” Ren scowled. “Besides, it’s not like I’m making this for you or anything. There’s no reason for you to have an opinion on the matter.”
“Then why do you have enough ingredients for two servings?” Pansy asked, eyebrows arching as she pointed at the cutting board.
“I – I like having leftovers.”
Pansy snorted. “That’s about as believable as what I said yesterday about using those stupid Bloodletter Shrooms as decoration.”
“Believe what you want,” Ren said, turning back to their cutting board with an air of finality.
But, of course, things couldn’t end there – and not just because Pansy had thoroughly committed herself to the cause of annoying Ren into submission.
No, if there was one thing she simply couldn’t abide, it was watching someone struggle in the kitchen.
And Ren was struggling. Badly. For as much as their slices were perfectly even, each chunk of mushroom the same size as the last, they were slow – painfully, horribly slow.
Like take-all-night kind of slow. Suddenly, it made sense why they’d started preparing dinner well before sundown.
“Gods,” Pansy groaned. “This is painful to watch. Give me that.”