Knitting with Violett
The sun was just peeking in through the curtains when there came a knocking at Griffin’s door. Much like a dragon who’d been asleep for a millennia, he rolled out of bed, groggy and sluggish. He tugged on a simple t-shirt as he shuffled forward, and once he’d secured a firm grip on the knob, he turned.
“About time you’re up, sleepyhead,” Violett squeaked, much too chipper for a Monday morning. “You promised you’d spend the whole day with me, and I’m not gonna let you waste it, ya booger. Come on!”
Griffin blinked. Not a moment later, he groaned. In his sleep-deprived state, he’d made the promise as he was climbing the stairs. The clock had been nearing three in the morning, and Griffin would have said anything to escape the disastrous social situations that were bound to occur. Now, it was coming back to bite him.
“Violett,” he said with a frown, becoming more awake by the second, “I would prefer if you would permit a change in schedule.”
The little redhead planted her hands on her hips and stared up at him incredulously. “Oh, heck naw. You aren’t backing out. Don’t be spineless, Mr. Aschelminth. I’ve got a whole bundle of fun planned for us. And we don’t even have to share hair products, if you know what I mean.”
He didn’t.
“Come on, Griffy. Put on your big boy pants and come with me.” At that, she skipped away from his room, giggling all the way.
Realizing the futility of his disagreement, Griffin muttered to himself as he snatched a [mostly] clean pair of jeans from the hamper and pulled them on. Once acceptable, he sighed and went in search of the girl.
He looked far and wide until he finally found Violett sitting Indian-style in an empty room, surrounded by spools of colorful yarn and with twin needles in hand.
“Please do not tell me you intend on constructing some sort of.. cocoon for yourself,” he breathed, eyes wide. Startled, Violett glanced up from her work.
“Oh, of course not, you silly goose. I’m making scarves for everyone. I figured you could help me.”
His eye twitched. “I am afraid I am unskilled in the art of yarn.”
“It’s called knitting.”
“Either way, I have never dabbled in this practice,” he said, averting his eyes.
Violett rose, sticking her needles behind her ears as she did so. “That’s why I’m gonna teach you. I’ll never have to make you a sweater again! Not to say I won’t, though.”
“I suppose there is no way for me to get out of this, is there?” Griffin sighed.
She shook her head. “‘Fraid not. You’re stuck with me today, bud!”
“Fine. Teach me the way of your craft.”
Positively beaming, Violett motioned for the Wyvern to join her, ordering him to sit beside her. “Okay, so first you’ve got to choose your yarn. Choose wisely; it decides your fate.” He looked at her blankly. “Not really. But where’s the fun in that?”
He selected a roll of gold, orange, and red infused yarn while the changeling chose a bright array of pinks, purples, and blues.
She began relaying instructions like a drill sergeant. Griffin found it difficult to keep up, but after four hours, five finger pricks, about two dozen mistakes, and one misshapen scarf, he finally had it down.
“See? It’s not so bad,” said Violett as she finished her tenth scarf of the day. “Wasn’t it fun?”
To his surprise, Griffin had enjoyed the experience. Whether it was because of the activity itself or because of the company he was unsure. “Yes. Thank you for the lesson.”
“No problemo, Senor. Who ya gonna give your scarf to?”
He stared long and hard at the material. “You may have it.”
Though she tried to hide it, a grimace formed on her features. “Oh, no, really. I have, like, a bajillion scarves already.” He frowned. With a sigh, she continued. “But I don’t have one from you.”
“I expect you will wear this all the time?”
“Oh, well...” She smiled. “Definitely. So whatcha gonna knit next?”
“A sweater. It will be better payment for the sweater you gave me.”
“Oh, Griffin, you really shouldn’t.”
He grinned. Despite her assumption that he was confident in his knitting skills, he knew he was rather terrible. While he didn’t typically enjoy making others uncomfortable, it was interesting to see the stable girl squirm a bit. “Oh, but I should. And I will. I think I will attempt something a bit more complex. Perhaps a design. Some small creature. Do you like pigs?”
“Er... Well I like bacon.” Under her breath, she murmured, “Awesome,” but she still couldn’t hide the grin in her voice. She’d managed to snag the moody dragon in her web of yarn and fun.
Next stop on her quest to soften the Wyvern: the animal shelter. No one could resist cats. No one.
Soon, he’d be as sweet as candy. Then, they could knit and pet cats and sing campfire songs and bake cookies and dance to K-pop all the day long.
Soon.
