text: It was a rainy Wednesday morning when Bobbin Bonnet traded his Fiat for a MINI Cooper Sport. It was a nice model; metallic blue with a panoramic roof. Once he had managed to pry the door open, he also discovered it had air-conditioning, an excellent sound system, and colored interior lighting set to blue -- to match the paint. Excited about his upgrade, Bobbin had gotten into his new car and reversed it out of the driveway. He turned right, to take the quick route to the highway and it was then his trouble began. Try as he may, his foot refused to press down on the gas pedal. "Come on, Bonnet," he scolded himself, making sure to add a stern look in the rearview mirror. "Not this again. Just press down on the gas pedal and get out of here." Bobbin's foot did not move. He tried forcing it into action by pressing down on his knees with both hands. And, when that didn't work, he stomped his foot with the other one. That jolted the car forward a bit, but he doubted that driving on the highway in little jolts would do him much good, although it would probably give the cops a good laugh. Frustrated, he slammed both his hands down on the steering wheel as hard as he could, and promptly hit the car horn. The loud honk that followed startled him so much, that he almost shot out of his seat and through the glass panels of the panoramic roof. "Great", he said to himself. "Now you're a sitting duck in a stolen car in broad daylight *and* you've drawn attention to yourself. Good job Bonnet." He punctuated those last words with short taps on the horn. Might as well, he figured -- he was already screwed. Come to think of it, his occupation was probably one better carried out at night. At the last short honk, his head snapped to the side. He heard a door squeak and squeal -- it was quite the dramatic sound for a door to make -- and an old couple stepped out of their home. Stay calm, he thought. They're probably just going out to do groceries. When the old lady settled her glare on him, however, Bobbin shuddered visibly. She looked quite menacing for someone her age. Her hair was cut in a short, spiky style and she wore faded jeans and a black t-shirt. It probably wasn't so much the look in itself, but more the way it punctuated her 'I will fuck you up' stare that made him shudder. Her husband wasn't any better. He was the skinhead-looking type, with a shiny, bald head and a leather jacket. Somehow, he had forgotten to wrinkle as he aged and thus, looked somewhat like a retired baby. Which would've been funny, if it hadn't been for the dangerous twinkle in his beady eyes. "Come on, Bonnet," Bobbin grunted as he strained with the effort of moving his foot, which remained unmoving and stubborn. The swirling feeling in the pit of his stomach told him he would not be able to make this trade; it wasn't a fair one. He would have to throw in at least a flat-screen TV and a gaming system to make up for the discrepancy in value and -- seeing as the pensioners were moving towards him -- he truly didn't have the time to arrange for that. A sharp knock on the passenger seat window interrupted Bobbin's train of thought. "Excuse me," said the spike-haired menace -- she was even more terrifying up close. "What are you doing with my neighbor's car?" Behind her, he could see the woman's husband get in his car. *Think Bonnet, think! The cops are going to have a field day if they catch you again.* Bobbin put on his best smile and rolled down the window. "Morning ma'am," he said cheerfully. "I'm Bobbin from the garage. You know the one, Bobbin's Bonnets..." he had to stop to swallow as the searing skeptical glare that came his way took the moisture straight out of his mouth. The fact that her husband was backing out of their driveway to block Bobbin's new car, didn't help either. "Erm, as I was saying. Bobbin's Bonnets. Your neighbor asked us to pick up her car for servicing, there's a problem with the gas pedal." In a moment of brilliance, Bobbin thought to demonstrate the issue. He stomped on his foot with his other one and jolted forward. "See, it's going to be a long ride to the garage. Would've gotten the tow truck but it's out of commission due to an intern-related mishap." The woman turned to the side, addressing her husband as he got out of his car, his task to block Bobbin now complete. "Says he's from the garage," she started as she walked out of earshot to explain the situation to the man. He could see her punctuate her story with fierce hand movements which made her look like she was conducting an invisible orchestra. The husband nodded as he rubbed his chin. He asked a few questions to his wife and then -- having decided his course of action -- approached Bobbin with a resoluteness to his step that said he was a man on a mission. "You're never going to get to the garage like this," the man remarked, his low voice a rumble. "You can use our car to tow this one to your shop and once you're there do some maintenance on ours as well. The tires need replacing so it seems like a win-win." Bobbin's mouth hung ajar as he tried to process what the man had just offered him. He looked at the car that was blocking his -- a decent SEAT Leon, red, no panoramic roof but no damage either -- and nodded thoughtfully. "Are you sure, sir?" he asked, trying to hide his excitement. The husband nodded and tossed Bobbin a set of car keys through the open window. "She's a good neighbor," he replied. "Wouldn't want her to be inconvenienced because you couldn't get her car to the garage. There's a tow rope in the back." Bobbin got out of the MINI Cooper and got to work. He grabbed the tow rope from the back of the SEAT and knelt in front of his previous new car. As he sunk to his knees to start tying the vehicles together he made sure to make a show of inspecting both cars to make it look like he knew what he was doing. He really didn't. He flexed his muscles as he pulled on the loose knots, pretending to test how strong they were and if they would hold when towing. He knew they wouldn't, they were looser than a drunkard's tongue. The husband and his wife watched him work with interest, but they didn't comment. When he was done, he walked over to his old Fiat and grabbed the keys from the dashboard where he'd left them. He handed them over to the old couple. "Loaner car," he said. "You folks are going to have to share it with your neighbor, but she said on the phone that she wasn't planning on going anywhere for a few days." They both nodded and thanked him and the husband walked with him over to his car to hold the door open for him. "She's a bit finicky on the transmission but she'll get over it once she's warmed up," he said before slamming the door shut. Bobbin looked around. This car also had air-conditioning, but the sound system was a standard edition and there were no fancy lights either. This would be a fair enough trade. Just a bit better than his previous car, but not too much. Satisfied, and the swirling feeling in his stomach gone, he turned the key in the ignition and fastened his seat belt. Then, he gave a friendly wave to the old couple -- they had been quite helpful, after all -- and pressed down on the gas. The car came free with a quick snap and he sped away, ignoring the screams and the frantic motions of the people in his rearview mirror. This had been a good deal, he thought. He was Bobbin Bonnet; a trader, not a thief. \*\*\*\*\*\*\* This story was inspired by a conversation on the WP discord server. We wondered what would happen if Robin Hood had been a fae who had to compulsively trade instead of steal but didn't know it. I wrote a silly story to explore the idea and Bobbin Bonnet was born.