Bunnery Bustle Prompt

“You can’t get me to wear this,” Eternity hisses, pinching the habit between the tips of her fingers, too disgusted to even hold it properly. Just looking at the article was offensive. Habits were a symbol of commitment to their indulgence, a worthy cause, though Eternity has never considered herself much of a follower in any facet of existence. She keeps blissfully to herself, her business, and her own world, which means the notion of wearing a garb to blend in is perhaps one of the worst punishments she could be fitted with.

“It is tradition for volunteers and workers to don the habit while volunteering with the babies,” the nun explains. “We find it keeps them calm to have a symbol to look upon between us all. A bit of early recognition to soothe them.”

The nun folds her hands together neatly, politely, but Eternity stands stock-still. Already she wishes to head back home. If it were her choice she would be heading there immediately; any called in favors be damned. Alexei would laugh if he could see her with this ridiculous garb on.

“I don’t think that will help in my case— can’t you just give me a pass? This once? One volunteer won’t matter out of everyone who comes.” Eternity raises her other hand towards her cheek in a gesture to her stitched left eye. For adults it is not a problem to see those with more extreme traits; stitches and staples, exposed bone, and similar quirks may prove a little overwhelming to newborn buns who have not yet been exposed to unique traits yet.

“In that case—,” the nun’s words bring a swell of hope rising in Eternity’s chest. “I believe the habit may help that stitching blend in! They will be more focused on the habit than your face. It is rather large, after all, and may keep their attention away from details.”

The nun gives a wink, seemingly unaware of the way Eternity deflates. She looks back at the habit in her hands. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. Just a few hours. Hopefully no one here would recognize her. With all the babies being born, and not every adult bun equipped or even willing to help the youth, somehow it feels as if Eternity’s typical crowd may not be in attendance. She can only hope.

“If I must— I want to be volunteering alone, don’t care to be seen.” By someone she knows, is the complete complaint.

“Oh lovely, that is not a problem. No problem at all, truly.” The nun claps her hands together with a tender smile. Her good-natured sweetness only twists the disgust in Eternity’s stomach. It should be a shame to be so damned cheerful.

“We can place you in the nap-room. You’ll have cribs assigned to you to keep a watchful eye on,” the nun’s eyes twinkle at her own double entendre, “and make sure everyone gets a nap in. Not too difficult. If they are particularly fussy, we are always roaming the halls to help and take the babies between areas. Maybe they need a feeding or are just ready to burn some of that energy out!”

Eternity gives a nod as she begrudgingly fits the habit over her head. She tucks away her hair carefully, wincing as it is mussed under the garment, and once it is properly fixed into place she waits to be led to the cribs.

The cry of baby buns rings through the halls as they wind deeper and deeper through the church; most of these areas seem to be kept private from the public eye— as they exist solely to be used after the year’s breeding season. Through each door they pass, Eternity catches glances of other habit-donned volunteers with toys, bottles, clean blankets, an similar such supplies. Some rooms are blessedly silent and others are loud with the cries of hungry or tired babies. Eternity follows along, hoping desperately that her assignment is of the silent variety.

Finally, the nun guiding her stops, and knocks curtly on the door before them. Soft music thrums through the door and as it swings open, the song swells into a peaceful crescendo. The volunteer inside smiles with relief.

“Time already? They haven’t been trouble— they’re all asleep right now. Just got them down.”

Eternity follows the nun into the nursery as she continues to chatter with the other volunteer. They talk about the babies, who was fed and who may be ready to eat soon, who came from play-time and who should be taken into a playroom next, and similar questions of care. Eternity drowns out their talking as she circles the room.

There are a dozen cribs laid out in rows side-by-side with a few feet of space between them for volunteers to squeeze through and tend to the babies. Eternity leans over one of the barriers to peer at the slumbering bun inside. It has no horns yet, just tiny plush ears, and pinchable chubby cheeks.

A glint of fondness warms in her chest. In her youth, she can recall carrying around a baby bun doll and pretending to care for it. The sweet memory mixes with a bitter wave— as much as she cared for her baby doll back then, she never truly believed she would be cut out for motherhood. When the doll was outgrown it was passed along to another little bun who would love it just as much as Eternity had.

Back in the present, she reaches down to stroke a soft fingertip over the baby’s cheek. The bun coos and gasps at the touch, twisting in its blanket to seek after the tip of her finger as if it were the nipple of a bottle. Eternity laughs a bit. Someone behind her clears their throat.

“We will be taking our leave now, but remember if you need any help simply step into the hall and one of us is bound to pass by you.” The nun bows her head towards Eternity, hands clasped together once more. “We will let you know when your replacement is here, as well, so please make yourself comfortable.”

Eternity watches the two buns leave and shut the door behind them, leaving her by herself with the slumbering babies and music still floating down from overhead. She continues around the room to check on each baby, admiring their markings and, begrudgingly, their sweet, relaxed faces. At the front of the room she sinks into a large rocking chair. With everything at peace— it seems only right that she relax with the babies as well. Nothing to worry about at all.

#

A shrill cry snaps Eternity out of her slumber. She jolts forward out of the chair with her eye wide with panic. It takes only a moment to remember where she is— not at home with her beloved imps and soft bed, but the nursery at the church. Now one of her charges is screaming.

Eternity drags herself up with a groan. How long has it been? She stumbles between the rows of babies, heart clenching as others begin to stir at the disturbance, until she reaches the source of the crying: a white-furred baby with tears wetting the fur on its cheeks.

“Poor thing,” she mumbles. Within an instant the baby is scooped into her arms and she bounces slowly, trying to hush and comfort its cries. The baby sucks in a breath of air before wailing even louder, still. Eternity rushes away from the other cribs with a desperate furrow of her brow. The last thing she needs is this one baby to wake the rest— she only has so many arms, after all.

“Hush, hush. Nothing’s wrong— you’re okay, nothing’s wrong.” Eternity comes back towards her rocking chair as the bun continues to cry, squirming in her arms. Its little arms stiffen and flail in its tantrum. Eternity fixes the blanket over the baby with another shushing noise. The longer the bounces the softer the cries become. It doesn’t take much more for the baby to quiet itself, soothed by the soft rocking.

She sighs, settling back down into the rocking chair and crossing her legs. She shifts the baby in her arms to prop up the arm holding it with a pillow. One hand lays draped over the baby’s stomach as they rest together. When Eternity turns her gaze down she is met with two sweet eyes staring up at her. Her heart aches in her chest. The baby reaches up with one tiny hand and curls around the edge of her habit. Its eyes close again with a final sigh— easing into a comfortable slumber.

Eternity watches as the baby’s breath evens out again. There are still wet trails through its fur from crying, but the baby is at peace once more, still gripping the fabric of the habit tight in its fist. She shifts in the rocking chair to get comfortable once more.

Maybe these stupid things were useful after all.

word count: 1505