Day Seven - Friends

Bickslow had never had many friends growing up; and his life really had been just like others imagined – he had been alone, and had discovered his Magic at an early stage. Life then wasn't as it was now, people in his past had been apprehensive about his Magic; about his fascination with souls and divination, and that odd pattern he liked to paint onto his eyelids (and was later tattooed on). Well, the other children had been fascinated by it – loving the idea that if they found a stray soul they could make one of their own dolls come to life.

It was why he learned to carve.

So he would make friends with the younger children, and that the adults wouldn't be so mean to him when he displayed his Magic. His life had always been so very bittersweet. Sometimes the village children would call him to go out with them for a time in the forest, but the grown-ups always made sure that there was someone to chaperone them in case Bickslow decided to control them for a bit of fun, and in the forest they would often find old souls of people who had passed long before and had lost their consciousness – other times there were animals souls from the hunts, and when that had been discovered some of the more liberal parents had taken him with them, a crude jig doll in hand, to capture the souls of the animals that were killed.

That was always fun – it had been tiring, but friends were always nice. There had been no time for learning when at all times he had to maintain a soul for another child, and sometimes his older relatives worried over him but that would be forgotten for a doll that danced without Lacrima. Bickslow's studies had failed tremendously, but there had been money to make for him. In carving. There was an older man in the village that still did such things, and they had been gorgeous, almost silken to the touch. It was as if the man had pulled the soul of the wood and immortalised it in something intricate.

Bickslow was taught things in the roughs, but mainly how to make dolls, and tables, and doors, and houses, and other things that were useful to the village. People stopped giving him off looks after that, and being the large town that it was he had always had lots of little friends whom he could make things for. It was a happy time – no real friends had been there for him, however. Bickslow would consider that time in his life almost blissful, laughing as he always had - though the hanging of his tongue had been a trait developed later in his life. That had been a pleasant time in his life, when there was no controversy and he was deemed useful.

But then a priest came to the town in the early Spring, something to do with his village being burned down closer to the coast. Bickslow's city was large enough that all the people that came looking for a home were able to be given one, some were moved on later that year - near the beginning of summer if the Mage remember right - though some chose to stay as Anemone was a small enough town, peaceful as their own had been. The priests arrived with an ideology about his Magic, which had led to people shouting abuse; 'demon', 'demon-spawn', 'demon-possessor', 'get out', 'you're cursed'. However, Bickslow laughed as he thought back on the lonely time, no one had ever actually asked him to leave. There had been beatings of course, by those that believed he was a Demon and that their actions would drive it out.

Many people at the time had still asked him to build things, fix things, though he stopped getting the small children rushing about him, instead the parents approached him and asked him to build a small token for their children. That was when Bickslow began to discover how he would create different toys with perfection. It had been a struggle, and Bickslow had moved himself into a cabin in the forest that he had built himself, so that he could learn and that perhaps the people would leave him alone more.

But with the people came a small girl, hair as brown as the wood he carved the tables from, and eyes as dark as the pine tree bark, and with skin as dark as tanned leather, Bickslow would have sworn she was carved straight from wood. She had been wild, almost like a gypsy child, obsessed with faeries and the possibility that they could be in the forest. The girl had loved him, of that Bickslow was sure, and over the short time that they had been together as friends Bickslow would swear that he had loved her the same. A childish crush, but who knew what could have come from it.

Bickslow had carved the girl many things, though the best was the dragonfly he had spotted on a fish trip in the forest, but Bickslow had never had a chance to paint that one – excited as he was to give the item to her. It was days after this that the girl had gotten a set of glasses, and as stupid as he was Bickslow blurted out that they had made her look cuter than before. The girl had blushed heavily, and told him that she was in no way 'cute' – then told him that he needed glasses, because the dragonfly he had given her was rough to the touch. She never gave it back to be sanded, and Bickslow often found himself laughing about that.

But when the girl had to leave, her people's caravan moving from the town with escorts, Bickslow had walked the road after her - and had laughed when he found a statue of one of the soldier; one he recognised all too well. Bickslow had taken the statue back to the centre of the town that night, and had 'ignited' the soul, allowing it to move on its own. There had been screams in the morning; it was at that stage Bickslow decided to leave, and had travelled far to the West and joined Fairy Tail, like the girl had always spoken of. Freed had been there, and had expressed an interest in him. Mirajane had been there, and as a joke she had died his black hair blue, but Bickslow could never find himself turning it back to the colour it had once been. And then when the summer was coming to a close Evergreen had joined them, and had completed their Legion.

In Fairy Tail, Bickslow had found more friends than he had ever hoped was possible and would never forget his luck. It still made him laugh to think of when little Lisanna had approached him, and had asked him to teach her and some others to carve – it was not something that Bickslow thought anyone would like but yet there that little child was, looking so innocent. Of course, those lessons lead to a necklace and a bracelet being made, so there was naught to be complained about.

The best friends he had, however, were the ones that he built himself. The five souls that he had accumulated. It was not a human friendship, Bickslow knew, as they could not be sincere with feelings, and they could not leave him. But that brown-haired girl, a gypsy-like child, she was the first real friend Bickslow had ever had.