Maybe it's because Bigby's hundreds of years old at this point... or maybe it's because he never really was one to celebrate Mundie holidays, but when you brought up the idea of carving some pumpkins for October, Bigby made a bit of a face.

He questioned why, what the point would be. When you proposed it would just be for fun, a little thing you two could do during his weekend off, he shrugged and said sure - though, he wasn't really sure where one would even buy pumpkins in New York.

Somehow, you managed it. On Friday, the sheriff had come home to you... and two pumpkins, as well as two sets of pumpkin-carving tools.

And now, here you both sat. You'd ripped up a trashbag to cover up the table by the window and used it as a tarp so you both didn't get pumpkin guts all over the wood.

Bigby sloppily sawed his pumpkin knife back and forth in a circle around the stem, his thin lips pressed together. Once the piece came free, he instantly gave the insides a whiff.

"Whuff," he huffs, pulling his nose away and blinking rapidly. You ask him if it smells back, starting to laugh a bit, only for him to shake his head. "Not really, just... never carved a pumpkin before. Have you?"