Blood, Frost, and Cheerful Tongues

[FennWenn]

Candy? Fenn beamed and greedily snatched the shiny snippet of delicious gold for his own. It was immediately shoved into his mouth. Mmm. Nom. Honey-flavor. That helped him get some of his energy back. With a content sigh, the little puck laid his head down on the desk, eyes half closed in sugar bliss as he listened in on the conversation between alchemist and elf. Nakknakknakk, came their words. Boredom was indeed a disease, the boy agreed with a very serious and sagely nod of his head. It was the worst disease. Luckily, Fenn knew from experience that a good dose of shenanigans or adventure usually cleared it right up. When had that ever gone wrong for him?

(That was a hypothetical question, and one he had no intention of actually pondering.)

Ven was still doing the talking thing. Vaguely, the puck wondered what color he himself spoke in. Y’know, if he could speak. Green, he decided. Green was a good color. His eyes were kind of green, which he figured was like how Nevin’s hair was red, and Nevin apparently spoke in red-

And suddenly Nevin was swept off of the ground into a squeezy elf-hug. From behind the desk, Fenn’s jaw dropped as far down at it could go. The candy nearly fell out of his mouth. Meanwhile, the boy himself leaned in for a better look at this strange phenomenon, his pupiless eyes bugging out of his head. This stranger -- he trod on dangerous territory! The alchemist was a prickly sort! Were Ven to get out of this alive, notes would have to be taken. No, Fenn didn’t need hugs. He was fine, always fine. Definitely. But maybe Nevin would need hugs at some point in the future. Very definitely probably. It might be bitter medicine for none other than a nearby fae to dispense. And not an opportunity to clinch a new wallet. Not at all.