[SE] going bell-istic

In all chaos there is a cosmos

"Really?! You're selling them for that much?!"

Her shout rings out from the small stand. It's one of the many temporary ones who have shown up to take advantage of the coming festival, apparently thinking it's okay to sell boring, bland bells for an exorbitant price. 

The vendor doesn't appear to agree, narrowing his eyes at Nova's outburst. "They're handmade." 

She scoffs, crossing her arms across her spider-stitched white sweater. One of the shapes moves over her shoulder when she lifts her chin. "I can make a better one easily." Putting out a hand, threads of shimmering light coalesce in her palm to create a silver bell etched with stars and studded with colorful gems. It catches the light, sparking almost as bright as the smug shine in her eyes.

Nova

I was so cold and lost, nothing seemed to ring true
Then I whispered your name, that's when everything changed

Longnight is a lucrative time for the woodcutter. He tries not to consider the horrors of the darkness that stretches out over their land and the way those fears feed his pockets. It's not a favorite truth of his, but it is one he'd be stupid to ignore. He manages it better by shifting the perspective away from the depths of the night and what it hides, to the fuel he instead provides, feeding the light and the warmth that provide the hope and the comfort for people to carry through into the dawn. He is not profiting off disaster, he is facilitating survival.

Tucked away in a lighter coat and his red plaid flannel beneath, Iskra's head turns from his current exchange, drawn by the shouting. The shopkeep passing over coppers into his awaiting palm turns with him, each of them craning their necks towards the stall a few ways down where Nova is arguing about price scales. "What's that stall?" Iskra wonders, hoisting up the bundle of freshly chopped wood and thumping it down on the stall's table. The shopkeep finishes paying him and shrugs. Bells? I think. And other noise-making things. Iskra muses aloud, one hand tugging thoughtfully on his beard.

"I do need a bell, actually," he murmurs, then nods in farewell, reaching down for his sack of wood and lumbering down the stall aisles towards the noisy stand. He has enough time to see Nova create a bell from nothing, its metal gleaming where it sits in her hand. Iskra draws closer, gaze tilting from her to her creation. "Does it sound the same?" he wonders of her, genuinely curious. Being in Deimos' company often enough, creation magic is something he sees routinely, but it's special enough to still snare his attention.

Love came out of the rain, talk about being saved
Suddenly I wanna live, more than I ever did

Iskra