𝐌𝐄𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐈𝐀 - TMR, Gally ¹

𝟢𝟢𝟨，𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬

Once she turns around, the fire is gone. Great, another hallucination.

But her happiness of finding all these supplies overtops the confusion, and she cheerfully returns to the Homestead. She stacks everything in front of her, then starts finishing off the hammer.

In the meanwhile, she gets another idea. But first, the hammer. It's finished after another half hour of struggling with the stone, and it's definitely not perfect.

Although... the grip is fine and it's heavy enough to slam a nail with. "Here." She hands the Keeper the tool. "Try this."

She doesn't care much about his confused reply and goes on with carving in the stone. A strong stick in a hole of the stone, then hammering on it with one of the dull hammers they had, so the stone breaks.

It does, into a perfect piece for her to use. She gets her sandpaper and starts working.

Two hours and dozens of sandpapers later, the middle of the stone is deeper. AKA, it has turned into a bowl.

The Keeper of the Bricknicks has already left for lunch, but she was too busy to follow him. Out of more stone, she makes a round tool. Beads of sweat run down her forehead from working, her arm aches, and her fingers are red from using all the sandpaper, but she continues.

When that's done, she puts her stuff down and takes her jacket off, hotness heaving her breaths. She takes a few seconds to calm down, then leaves her stuff to get some water.

"Hi," she breathes at Frypan, gulping for air before she speaks again. "Can I get some water? Oh, and also, do you have oil? I don't think you have jojoba oil, but maybe olive?"

He stares up and down at her. "Don't exhaust yourself too much, Greenie." Then he starts filling a bottle of water.

"I have a name now," she says. "It's Joan. I remembered— no, Gally actually remembered it but it's my name."

"Oh, really?" His eyebrows shoot up. "Gally remembered?"

"He randomly called me Joan, as if I already told him my name. So yeah, I guess." She takes the bottle of water, immediately pressing it to her forehead. A relieved sigh leaves her lips. "Olive oil?"

"On its way. What do you need it for?"

"Bare wrestling with monkeys." She takes the oil from him. "Thanks, Fry! See you at dinner."

And she vanishes before he can even ask about her crazy reply.

Joan collects every single thing she needs, which is the tools she made, the flowers, plants, and the oil. She tucks the bottle of water in her pocket, as far as it can go in, and makes a jog toward the edge of the woods. There's a giant flat stone there, and the sun has heated it up. Perfect.

She places the handmade bowl on top of the stone, hoping heat will morph into the mixture she's about to make. She takes the orange flowers she plucked. Calendula flowers.

The stone tool she made helps stamping the flowers in the bowl. She doesn't use her hammer, but keeps it here before someone lies about who the creator is. Slowly, she adds drops of oil into the bowl. Just a few.

Then it's a lot of stamping until there's only a few small pieces of flower left, the rest a thick liquid.

"Watcha doing?"