A small interruption (FennWenn and Cards_of_Fate)

[redford]

There was a definite pleasantness to the end of a day's work, in John's opinion.

He mused to himself as his cigar lent a trail of smoke lazily upward, undisturbed by any wind. He watched the late afternoon sun as it played with the dust just inside the windows of his house, wondering why the beggar pleaded for coin when he had working legs on him. He reached with his other hand to touch the blade he'd finished engraving just before. How could you not enjoy this feeling? He traced the line, pleased with its edge. How is creation not addicting?

He stood, his muscles vaguely sore as he gathered up the sigil books he had been borrowing magical symbols from. Into a parchment-filled closet they went, with the engraving tools following soon after. His shirt, soot-covered and haphazardly sewn together, went into a basket in his bedroom, and he went back to his oversized chair, cocking his head to the side to watch the sunset as he sucked on the cigar.

How can you not enjoy this? John thought. He briefly wondered where Jamie was, thinking to himself that he might ask her to move in. She was a good woman, she deserved better than her profession, he thought. He smirked, tracing a finger along one of the burn scars that crossed his torso and arms. He imagined for a moment her, standing behind his chair, tracing one and commenting that he really shouldn't take any more mercenary work.

It was nice. This was a good evening, and though he was a little rambunctious at times, Vincent was coming over to chat and have some 'brewskies'.

Whatever that means, John thought as he watched the sun begin to disappear behind the trees.

[FennWenn]

Trekking through the forest was tiring work. Fenn stopped to catch his breath, which made puffs of cold air even in the summer. The golden sun sure did look pretty shining through the roof of the forest. He blinked up through the leaves, admiring the sky as it started to darken at the horizon.

Hey, wait a minute. A glance down, between the trees under the setting sun revealed something Fenn hadn’t noticed until now. Standing by a plot of farmland was a rather large house. There was a shed and a barn too, bathed gold in the setting sunlight. Fenn's curiosity piqued. He hadn’t expected to encounter something like this on the way to Radasanth. Was it worth exploring? Hell yes! When was something not worth exploring? He rubbed his hands together greedily and mentally sized up the house.

A hasty plan formed in his head. At a glance, he couldn’t be sure if anyone was home. Fenn inspected the house carefully from afar. Everything about it was big, or at least it was to him. Perhaps the windows were high enough to make it hard to catch sight of his tiny form? Creeping in was more than a little bit risky, but that was okay. Fenn could take some risk - it made the whole endeavor that much more exciting. Best to start out with the shed first, the Fae thought with a sneaky grin, and take a poke around the house afterward if it appeared safe. Maybe there’d be some food stored up in there. After half a day of walking, he could use a snack.

Fenn dashed through the undergrowth, leaping over roots and rocks with glee. Once on the property, he quickly skirted his way around the plowed farmland and to the shed. The door, it seemed, wasn’t even locked! How lucky!

Unaware of any eyes that might have been on him, Fenn cracked the door open and silently slipped into the shed, eager to see what it held.

[redford]

Though, it seems that all good things come to an end, John thought as he saw the child dart into his shed, a flash of tan skin and green clothes.

Truth be told, there wasn't anything of real value inside, save some of the larger ingots and some various tools. Every once in a while some kid from Radasanth proper would come up and snoop around the place. And though John knew that there wasn't anything the kid could really ruin, he didn't like people who came to his house uninvited.

With a sigh, he stood, opening his front door ducking under the opening as he tossed the cigar away. He heard a clatter from the shed as he approached, thinking of how he could confront the lad without him running off. Without really planning ahead, he grabbed the knob and pulled the door closed, sealing himself and the youth inside. He tried to think of something to say, but the only words that came to him were....

"You shouldn't be in here."

[FennWenn]

Ooh! Inside the shed was a mighty forge. That was unexpected. Honestly, Fenn had expected food and farming implements, not shelves of ingots. He took a moment to inspect the shiny shapes of metal. Shiny things were so fascinating - one could stare at their own skewed reflection in little shinies for hours, making faces and generally being goofy.

Unfortunately, Fenn wasn’t certain what kind of metal these ingots were composed of. It would be rather unwise to lay a hand on something that might well be iron. Just the memory of iron’s hot sting made him flinch and clasp his hands guardedly to his chest. Still, they were so tempting...

Before Fenn knew it, the door shut behind him. He thought for a moment that it might have closed of it’s own accord, but the voice that rang out said otherwise. Fenn jumped and turned to face the doorway. To his dismay, he found a giant of a man looming over him, a man with a blue squint almost as intimidating as his muscular build. Shit. Fenn’s silly grin faltered under the sharp gaze, and he suddenly became very interested in staring around the room intensely. Nope, he confirmed, no open windows or other gaps to squeeze out of. He was trapped, it seemed.

Having no obvious means of escape, it seemed wise to default to something a little more underhanded; looking vulnerable. Fenn hung his head sheepishly and looked up at the huge man with an almost saccharinely sweet smile. He shrugged his shoulders as innocently as could be managed. Gosh, what could he be doing in there? Whoopsie, his mistake!

[redford]

The kid looked up, brightness in his eyes for a moment, but the glint quickly turned soft as he realized he was caught. He dipped his head, sheepishly, and stared at the ground.

The more John stared at the boy, though, the less and less he looked like one of the usual hooligans that snooped around. He looked....greener...somehow. It was a moment before he saw the pointed ears.

He's not human, John thought. Must be lost in the forest or something.

John bent his legs, wishing he'd had a shirt on so he looked a little less imposing. He planted a knee on the ground, reaching out to the boy.

"You lost, boy?"

He noticed the bag a moment later, and the gleam of something inside.

[FennWenn]

“You lost, boy?”

Fenn posed demurely before the giant of a man, holding back the silent giggles bubbling in his chest. Lost? Preposterous. He was never lost. Still, he had to admit that it made for a good excuse. The Fae nodded along in agreement. It wasn’t too hard to fake a look of pitiful confusion. However, his gaze couldn’t help but flicker over to the ingots once more before settling on the man again. He had to try to distract himself from the urge to check out (and perhaps pilfer from) the shiny metals. Luckily, he had an idea.

Maybe he could swindle a free hot meal, if stealing wasn’t the way to go this time - as always, he was still pretty hungry. The man had lowered himself to Fenn's level, crouching gingerly in a way that suggested that he might be the sympathetic sort. That would be someone easy to fool. Fenn opened his mouth wide, pointing to it before rubbing his stomach. Pouting, he clasped his hands together pleadingly. The exaggerated movement set the things in his bag clinking softly against each other.

Would the man would be either dumb or kind enough to understand and try to “help” him? Fenn held his breath hopefully, crossing his toes together in anticipation.

[redford]

John cocked his head to the side as the boy mimed his want of food. Though John set his mind on the fact that anybody could feed themselves if they tried, he had admittedly had a soft spot for kids, especially those displaced.

Hopefully a little food would let him know that he wasn't a threat.

He jerked his head at the door, offering his hand to the boy.

"Right, let's get you some food."

[FennWenn]

On the inside, Fenn was practically dancing with glee. So the man was du- well, on second thought, kind enough to take the bait. Or maybe both kind and dumb. The two went well together, in his experience. Either way, food ahoy!

The only thing to cause him hesitation was the offered hand and the scars criss-crossing the man. Fennik stared at the hand in uncertainty for a lingering moment. The thick, gnarly scars were a little unnerving. On top of that, Fenn caught glimpse of a strange tattoo on the man's back when he turned around. It was like a fist adorned with spikes, punching at the sky, which didn't help with the man's already intimidating appearance.

With a jerky hesitation, Fenn reached forward and slipped his own small, bony hand in the man’s. He took a deep breath and wondered if his touch would be unnerving in turn. Fenn's skin was perfectly icy, as if he had been out in the snow all day with no clothes on. He gave an apologetic smile back.

He breathed a sigh of relief as the door opened. Not being trapped anymore made him feel more at ease. Able to breath freely and relax, Fenn followed the man forward with good cheer.

[redford]

The boy's hand, tiny and cold, found his eventually and he opened the shed. He led the boy, making sure to keep a slow pace, toward his house. They entered, and he set about preparing a modest bit of food.

The boy found a chair, sized for normal folk, and John found a loaf of bread and a cheese wedge, as well as some jerky for the lad. He returned, pulling up a larger chair for himself as he slid a hunk of cheese toward him. The bag, still around his shoulder, intrigued him.

"What you got in there?"

[FennWenn]

Even in a normal-sized chair, Fenn’s feet barely touched the ground. He fidgeted in place and watched eagerly as the man prepared the food. It wasn't exactly a hot meal, but food was food. As soon as it was brought before him, Fennik grinned over at the man and began wolfing it down voraciously, starting with the jerky and rapidly moving on to the bread.

When attention was called to his bag, he almost choked on all the food he had stuffed in his mouth. After taking the time to cough and swallow, Fenn set down his bread and bit his lip, deep in thought. He didn't normally get the chance to show anyone his collection. Unless they suspected that he had stolen something, most people didn't take an interest in his stuff.

Fenn cradled his bag, looking between it and the man. Well, he supposed it wouldn't hurt to show off his hoard. After all, he had been fed by the man. Besides, he liked pouring through the congregation of things he had collected over the years.

The Fae hefted the bag onto the table and opened the top flap. He tipped it over carefully. Little objects trickled out, bit by bit.

The clutter consisted of a variety of things that most people would consider useless at best, and outright trash at the worst. There were shiny smooth stones, bottle corks, cracked snail shells, candy wrappers, buttons, and even a few carefully folded pieces of scrap paper. Some things were more suspect. Cheap jewelry, empty coin pouches, rusty brass and copper pins. Whenever those tumbled out, Fenn quietly flustered and shoved them hastily back in. He gestured to the rest of the pile and began pawing through it himself, delighting in all the tiny “treasures” that were his to play with.

[redford]

As the boy spilled his bag's contents onto the table, John realized that he hadn't stolen anything from him, and more than that, that the boy was not quite human, or elven for that matter.

He briefly wondered how he had come to sit across from this youth, wondering what to say. The odds and ends were interesting, if only because of the boy that carried them, and he reached out a massive, scarred arm to reach one of the folded papers the boy had in his possession.

Though, it seemed that the paper would have to wait, since their impromptu meeting was about to be interrupted by a much more scheduled one.

[Cards of Fate]

Blue light filled the room with a massive flash, blinding both people who had been sitting down. When the light subsided, a tall, slender man was standing at the doorway. In one hand he held a comically large brown bottle. On its label was a crudely drawn flame, and under it the words "Test three" were inscribed. Blinking for a moment, Vincent Cain eyed the young boy and the massive giant before speaking.

"I didn't know you were having under-aged guests..." The scholar raised an eyebrow before banishing the bottle in his left hand into a cloud of sparks. "I would not have brought my new invention had I known that..." The scholar chuckled and opened his arms wide, locking eyes with the young man. "But where are my manners? My name is Vincent Cain! Whats yours?"

[FennWenn]

Fenn jerked as the room filled with light, flinging up his hands in order to cover his face. In the process, he nearly fell off his chair. It took half a minute of shaking his head and viciously rubbing at his eyes before he could properly see again. Annoyance flickered across his face as he stared up at the tall dude who had startled him so. How rude! He’d have a few choice words for this Vincent guy if he could speak.

Instead Fenn relaxed and stood on his chair, momentarily ignoring Vincent in order to look around and make sure that the disturbance hadn’t knocked any of his hoard away. Buttons, still there, shells, still intact… Good. Satisfied that it was all there, he decided to introduce himself. He hadn’t had the opportunity to tell anyone his name yet! Fenn waved his arms to make sure both men were looking at him and leaned over to place his hands on the table. Spirals of silvery frost spread outward from his touch. He dragged his fingers through the crystals, roughly spelling out; FENNIK.

Hrmm. Fenn scratched his chin, thinking. With a cheeky smile, he added;
NICE TO MEET YOU, JACKASS! WHAT WAS BOTTLE?
OH, AND OTHER MAN PLEASE TELL NAME TOO.

[redford]

The brilliant flash nearly blinded him, and he silently cursed Vincent's constant need for a dramatic entrance. As the bottle disappeared and Vincent turned his attention to the child, though, John realized what the boy was.

They had tales, legends of boys who went too far into the icy wastes of Salvar and died, their spirits doomed to roam the frigid land, eternally searching for home. As if to punctuate his thought, the boy planted a hand on the table, icy tendrils spilling from it, frosting the wood.

He's an ice-child, He thought, remembering the tales old women spun of ghostly boys luring their young ones out to play in the snow, where they never returned.

For a split second, John assumed the worst, and his armor crept up his chest in tendrils much like the boy's, but he halted the metal's ascent as he read the words. Still suspicious, but willing to allow him to speak (such as his icy communication was), John willed his armor to cover his chest, each little part creeping up like quicksilver and hardening with a click.

He furrowed his brow, offering his name carefully.

"I am John"

[Cards of Fate]

Vincent raised an eyebrow at being called an asshole and turned a glance to John. Seeing as he was introducing himself, this child wasn't some black sheep family member, or bastard child John had sired running around pretending to be a yeti. Shrugging, he simply sat down at the table and drummed his fingers for a moment, pondering the situation before he spoke once more.

"That bottle was liquid fire, and not meant for young men like you." He snipped dismissing the young man. "But I digress! Have you eaten yet John? Should I cook up some tasty Burg's?"

[FennWenn]

John. Fennik nodded and slip back down into his chair, wiping his own frosty message off the tabletop and shoving his hoard back into the bag. Except for the paper John had picked up, of course. His eyes snuck a suspicious look at the man’s chest; he thought he had seen a creeping gleam of metal, and heard some soft clicks. There was suddenly a chestplate there. He had sworn that John had been barechested before. Yet another thing to puzzle over, with a confused glance and a quiet gesture of his head.

It made him anxious, if he were to be honest with himself. Armor was analogous to weapons, and weapons meant aggression. Aggression meant he made a mistake. Fenn suppressed a nervous quiver and hunkered down in his seat, turning his attention back to Vincent as he spoke.

Liquid fire? A wry smile came to Fenn's lips. That sounded like some crazy alcohol. It wasn't as if he hadn’t sparingly stolen a drink of such things in the past, just to see what it was like. He shrugged off the dismissal and perked up a little at the mention of food, giving Vincent a pointed and enthusiastic nod. Another meal sounded like an excellent idea, as far as he was concerned.

[redford]

John stood, and the armor receded, melting off his body as he walked away to grab a fresh shirt. Though the boy might have hampered their plans for an uninterrupted meeting, he hardly could blame him. Wasn't every day a street urchin stumbled on a generous person these days. He returned, and the boy was already looking up at Vincent expectantly, hoping, John thought, for another bit of food. He spoke to Vincent.

"It would appear you're cooking for more than two tonight, Vincent."

He sank down in his chair again, looking at the child, who left the small bit of folded paper still on the table.

[Cards of Fate]

Without further prompting, Vincent went about his work. John didn’t have nearly as sophisticated a kitchen as the House of Cards did, so the scholar found himself having to make do with what the giant happened to have, even if that mean cooking over a wood burning stove with one pan and one knife.

“Remind me to upgrade your kitchen John,” Vince grunted through gritted teeth as he manually ground up some beef by chopping it up with a knife and then tearing it apart by hand. It was more…pulled beef, but if would make do. Soon the scholar was sprinkling a pinch of flour into his mound of meat, pulling it apart and patting each clump into thick patties soon afterward. Once he had ten or so patties ready he reached into seemly nowhere and pulled out a jar of spice, flicking the seasoning onto the meat with a well-practiced flourish. He set the frying pan over the heat and then suddenly blinked out of existence for a moment, returning with a tray of fluffy bread buns.

“Thank god I had been preparing these…” The scholar quipped giving John a wink. The actual cooking of the burgers took next to no time at all, and soon the scholar was joining the trio at the table, setting a steaming plate of meat in front of them with one hand, and a plate of sliced buns down on the other. Once seated, the scholar produced two bottles with a flourish, one filled with a red sauce, and the other with a yellow sauce.

“Earthen tradition, can’t have burgers without ketchup or mustard.”

[FennWenn]

What the- did that armor just melt off of John? Wow, that was something Fenn was going to need to inquire further about! But first, there were other matters to attend to.

As Vincent worked his cooking magic, Fenn yawned and glanced down at the piece of paper he had missed putting back in his bag. He frowned at it and wondered if he should do that - was it something incriminating? Probably not, since it didn’t look like one of the few wanted posters he’d kept from his old days. He couldn’t really remember what was on that particular scrap, but if he kept it, it was probably something important to him. Eh, he’d pick it up later.

Right now, there was food. Mmmmm, foooood. His mouth watered as Vincent brought it to the table.

Fenn puzzled over the plate of bread, the plate of meat, and the two funny-looking bottles. Condiments weren’t normally such bright colors, or at least not in his experience. The Fae reached forward and poked at the mustard bottle suspiciously. It was worth trying, he supposed. Following the commands of his ever-hungering stomach, he grabbed several buns and set them on the side of his plate after taking a nibble of them. Wow, this bread was damn plain by itself. It needed some butter or something, but he didn’t see any on the table. He snorted and looked at them skeptically. Who taught Vincent to cook?

The unnervingly circular hunks of meat, the “burgers” he supposed, looked good at least, so he picked up a few of those too and set them by the buns. He took the condiment bottles and popped off the funny-shaped caps so he could pour a little of each on the plate.
The little puddles of yellow and red looked so out of place on his plate, like dollops of paint! Was it even edible? His bright green gaze bored curiously into Vincent. Well, if burgers had to have it...

Fenn shrugged, smushed the burgers into the condiments, and and started gnawing on it without a bun. Unlike the buns, it wasn’t half bad, weird condiments and all. He beamed lopsidedly and gave Vincent a thumbs-up, signaling his approval.

[redford]

John snatched two of the 'patties' and pushed a wedge of cheese between them, and set about preparing the 'burgz'. He grabbed a pair of buns, lathering one with the yellow sauce, and one with the red. He put them on either side of the burger, and bit down.

Multiple flavors assaulted his mouth as he chewed, every clench of his jaw dislodgning a bit of spice here, a morsel of cheese there, sometimes tasting one of the tangy sauces. He nodded slowly, staring at the thing.

He looked to the side, fighting the urge to chuckle as he saw Fennik eat.

Apparently he didn't understand that earth foods required a bit of assembly before they were eaten.

At least this one didn't fall apart when he bit into it.

All too soon, though, John's burger was no more, and he was sad for a moment before realizing that Vincent had finally gotten the hint that the half-giant's appetite was as big as he was, and began preparing food to match.

He assembled another burger, but this time set an extra set of buns above the fire to toast them for his third round.

"This is good, Vincent," he said in between bites. "Certainly better than those 'nuggets' we had last week."

[Cards of Fate]

Vincent waggled a finger as John after scarfing down one of his culinary masterpieces.

“Don’t you dare talk shit about the nuggets! I haven’t perfected the sauce yet, the sauce is what truly makes them shine.” A small grin played across his face as he thought back to his cooking. It had simply started as a hobby, something from earth for him to share with his friends. Now…it was more of a passion. A love letter to a world he hadn’t been too fond of, but still missed dearly.

He built another burger and took a bite, staring back at it as he chewed.

“It’s a bit tough, but that’s because you don’t have a meat grinder…” he mused, mouth still halfway full. “Still works though…” He shook his head and turned to the young boy who seemed confused on how exactly burgers worked.

“Here, try this!” he exclaimed putting together a burger with a mix of mustard and ketchup on the bottom and top buns. “It’s supposed to be eaten like a sandwich.”

[FennWenn]

"Here, try this!"

Fenn watched in fascination as Vincent demonstrated the proper way how to eat a burger. Bun, paint-colored condiments, slab of meat, more condiments, and then a bun. Ohh. That explained a few things about their mysterious meal.

Vincent's preparation process was both more complex than he had initially expected, and yet so simple. He was vaguely familiar with sandwiches, and the burgers that John and Vincent held in their hands did seem quite similar. The boy considered the array of food building blocks laid out before him, tapping his chin thoughtfully. A slow, inspired grin spread out across his cherub face. Was Vincent's method of burger-assembly the only way, or was he allowed to vary on the formula?

“Hey,” John grunted at Fenn. The big man’s blue eyes twinkled with amusement. “Better with this.” He slid over a sharp wedge of cheese towards Fenn, one about as large as a burger itself. Fenn peered down at the cheese and sniffed it. “Go nuts.”

Perfectly delighted, the tiny Fae grabbed several buns, both the condiment bottles, three burgers, and the piece of cheese. Before you knew it, he was layering the stuff into a great leaning tower of burger. Everything was caked between too many buns, with the wedge of cheese whole on the bottom between the last bun and the plate. There was ketchup and mustard dripping from every crevice - evidently, Fenn had taken a shine to the stuff.

He spent all of the next five minutes messily squishing his creation down and trying to figure out how to fit it all in his mouth, temporarily oblivious to anything else that might be going on around him.

[redford]

With the boy transfixed by his monstrous creation, John curiously peered at the folded piece of paper, yellowed with age, that the boy had left upon the table. He reached, unfolding the thing, glancing at the boy again in case he was looking.

Satisfied with the distraction, he read the paper, eyes squinting in confusion as he was a picture of the boy, Fennik, and the word 'WANTED' written at the top. Below was a sum to be paid to whoever caught him, and a list of his alleged crimes. The town of Frostford had issued it for, among other things, thievery and destruction of property.

He glanced back at the boy, who was clearly too small for his burger, and wondered if he was running, like he was.

He was quick to remind himself that he wasn't running. He'd found a life, finally. A smirk touched his mouth as he stood, walking into a large closet which was filled currently with his contracts, receipts of sale, and books for his magical sigils on armor. He snatched a paper from the bottom of a pile, walking back to the table. He set the boy's wanted poster below his own.

[Cards of Fate]

Vince spent the next several minutes in awe of the young man’s messy vision. It was possibly the most beautiful culinary bastardizations he had seen in a long time. The sprite tried to cram the whole thing in his face ravenously, which brought a chuckle to Vincent’s lips. John had glanced at something, and suddenly the giant was rising to fetch something.

A wanted poster.

For a moment Vince had forgotten the gentle giant before him had ever harmed a fly. He tapped his fingers on the table for a moment, staring at his half eaten burger in contemplation. He picked it up and scarfed the rest of it down before rising to fetch three glasses. He set one in front of each of them, and then with a flick he had two bottles. The amber liquid from before, and another that was a bright green and seemed to fizz in the bottle. With the chuckle he filled the glass in front of the youth with the green drink, careful to keep the fizz from overflowing as he filled it. For John and him, he filled the glass with the amber drink.

“They’re drinks from home.” Vince explained. “The alcohol is a cinnamon whisky, and the green drink is Mountain Dew.” He sat and sipped at his drink for a moment. “Two of my favorite drinks, mostly because I use the Dew to chase the whisky.”

[FennWenn]

NOM. Fenn finally managed a haphazard bite out of his great creation. It was very shapeless and squishy at this point, but still perfectly delicious. He glanced over at Vincent, making sure he wasn’t looking too closely, and sneakily knocked the ketchup and and mustard bottles into his bag. If Vince could pull stuff out of mid-air, he probably wouldn’t miss them! Probably.

For whatever reason, John left the table. There was an odd expression on his face Fenn shrugged and paused before his next bite of his dubious “burger”, catching sight of the paper he lazily had left on the table. It was unfolded now. Someone had already looked at it; and it was indeed an old wanted poster.

A couple of frantic thoughts flitted through the boy’s head. Was he going to be in trouble? Would they kick him out? Worse, were they going to drag him back to Forstford and hand him in? A bit of a shame; those crimes had been committed so long ago, to the point where he wouldn't have even recalled them if it wasn't for the poster and the painful death that had driven him to commit them. As casually as he could manage, Fenn lifted his gaze and surveyed the room, scanning for the best escape routes. The door was close enough to where he was right now. He shifted to the edge of his chair and set his “burger” down, sinking down in his seat mutedly as John came back holding-

Wait a moment.
Was that a wanted poster of his own?

As Fenn stared in shock between the two pieces of paper, Vincent procured drinks. The Fae took his and nearly took a sip of it without bothering to check what he was drinking. He stopped as soon as he saw the strange liquid sloshing in his glass.

“Mountain Dew”? What the fuck was up with Vincent and eating liquids that looked like paint? Food was just not supposed to be that colorful, and if Fenn didn't know better, he would assume the green drizzle was poisonous. For a moment, he was tempted to ask if he could have some of the whiskey instead. Then, Fenn saw the fizz. Prodding the glass caused a few bubbles that clung to the sides within to loosen and float to the top of the drink. Why, he wondered with a flabbergasted stare, why was this drink boiling without heat? It was so bizarre… and he wanted to try it.

No. Yes. Yesno. Oh, alright. Fenn took a gulp of the Dew and coughed in surprise. The bubbles made the whole thing taste mysteriously like lightning, and on top of that, it was exceptionally sweet. It was even sweeter than that jar of expensive honey he nicked and devoured last month. He found that he quite liked it; it would go well with his “burger”.

As he cheerfully guzzled the curious drink, Fenn tilted his head in the direction of John’s poster, skimming the content.

Whoa. Dead people. In Salvar. Thanks to John. He sneezed some of his Dew out of his nose and looked slowly up from the poster, his green eyes even wider than usual. Sure, the guy was scary-looking, but he didn't look like a killer, per se... He stared up at John with new respect and a little bit of shy cowering, his ears flicking back in new fear that he otherwise hid pretty well. Had Fenn ever killed anybody? He certainly didn't think so, but he wasn't really sure. If he did, he didn't remember.

[redford]

John looked down at the poster, wondering how many years he had been in exile. For a few moments, he was no longer the stalwart bastion of strength that the Tarot heirarchy relied on. For a moment, he just felt like an old, washed-up man, with not much to live for but his craft. The one great deed he had accomplished lived in infamy, divided Salvar, and forced him to flee for his life.

A heavily scarred arm reached to touch the paper, browned by age. He felt the texture, wondering if his skin felt the same. Like it had absorbed the blood of the innocents he'd destroyed.

His musings were destroyed promptly, as he saw the boy's face. Apparently he was once again the scary monster, come to kill and take revenge.

I always hated that story, he thought as he remembered Vincent and Jamie, the only two real people in his life at the moment. A smile tugged at his lips as he reached to the boy, ruffling his hair a tad, resisting the cold.

"It's okay. I don't hurt people like that any more," he said, noticing that it was the first time he'd admitted such a thing. "only the bad people."

[FennWenn]

The spell of fright was broken as soon as John leaned over and ruffled his hair. In return, Fenn relaxed and gave him a gap-toothed grin. He shifted forward in his chair and settled down, no longer looking as if he was ready to flee at any moment. What a relief. "It's okay. I don't hurt people like that any more," the man said down to him. "Only the bad people."

Fenn nodded at him exaggeratedly and reached once more for his monstrous amalgamation of a burger, relieved that he no longer had to fear being run off of the place. Though, he wondered as he managed a squishy bite of his burg and washed it down with Dew, what exactly John considered to be bad.

He wasn't young or dumb enough to think that such a word had a fixed meaning - everyone seemed to understand evil a different way. Looking a little lost in his own thoughts, Fenn reached forwards and tapped his condiment-smeared finger on the wood of the table, spreading out a little patch of frost. It was tempting to draw an icy mustache on John's wanted poster while he was at it, but he didn't want to ruin it and upset John.

IS THIEF BAD? BAD ENOUGH FOR BEING HURT? SINCE I GUESS YOU SAW IT ON THE POSTER ALREADY, he wrote dryly, looking up at them with an oddly jaded expression, I MIGHT AS WELL ASK. OFTEN TOLD IT IS BAD. DEPENDS ON WHO YOU TAKE FROM.

[Cards of Fate]

Vince cocked his head to the side and chewed on his lower lip. He disliked thinking of the big titanium teddy bear’s grizzly past. Everyone had made mistakes; it was part of being alive. Yet somehow he found it odd that such a young boy could have a rap sheet like that.

Unless he wasn’t.

The thought wormed it’s way into the scholar’s mind, making him uncomfortable. For something so adorable to be potentially dangerous was a rough prospect. Yet, in this line of work, anything could happen. He drank a bit more and decided to rise from his seat stretching.

“Such a grim conversation.” He cooed as he cracked his neck. “Totally boring, how about we take our minds off of it with a game hm?”

[redford]

John stared for a moment, wondering what to say to the boy. He was confronted, for a moment, with the rightness of an action and the closeness of the person to himself. For a split second, he imagined what he would do if Vincent committed an unspeakable evil. What would he do then? what could he do then?

Of course, what had Vincent done when he knew of John's bloody past? What had Jamie done when he confessed his sins?

But still, crimes were crimes.

Yet John couldn't shake the feeling that he hadn't paid for his.

Vincent's call shook the larger man from his thoughts, yanking him back to the present.

A game.

John almost frowned, glowering at Vincent. His 'games' usually involved some kind of board, and a lot of pretend money, with far too much of it going to one person.

[FennWenn]

Game?

It wasn't terribly hard to distract the tiny Fae. Fenn's ears flicked up in interest, and he took another swig of his Dew. Games were great. They meant winning, which meant either prizes or pride. Winning any game was a simple matter of understanding the rules and finding ways to properly circumvent them. His previous unhappy scrawlings laid forgotten under his fingertips, slowly frosting over again as he gave Vincent an enthusiastic nod.

He set down his drink and began drawing new words onto the tabletop.

SOUNDS FUN. WHAT KIND OF GAME? WANT TO WIN. IS JOHN GRUMPY LOOKING CAUSE HE LOSES.

There was an impish quality to Fenn’s grin, sharp and toothy. Challenging, perhaps.

[Cards of Fate]

Vince cracked his knuckles and shot the two of them a bit of a grin. He hadn’t thought too terribly far ahead on this one, so he was playing it by ear. “Yes, a game. I came here to drink with my buddy, not be weighed down by the mistakes of our past.” He rose from his seat and began to pace the room.

“The only problem is what sort of game should we play?” He asked looking between the two of them. “John is a horrible businessman and gets incredibly angry at monopoly.” He rubbed his chin for a moment. “And of the games from my homeland I have only managed to recreate a few from memory…”

Finally, and impish smile came across Vincent’s lips. “I’ve got it!” He exclaimed pounding a fist into an open palm. “We’ll play truth or dare!” The scholar turned back to the table and chuckled. “The rules are incredibly simple! Lets say I ask John ‘truth or dare’. John can either answer truth, or dare. Truth means he answers a question, Dare means he does something I tell him to. After he has answered or done his feat, he gets to ask someone next.”

The scholar blinked back to his seat and rubbed his hands together. “I’ll start. John, Truth or Dare.”

[redford]

An especially ridiculous and troublesome game.

He'd need a few more drinks for this one. He reached behind to a small cabinet, retrieving a bottle of amber liquid, growing a corkscrew from a finger in order to open it. He took a swig from the bottle (which was quite a dose compared to smaller folk), and spoke, the only word that could avoid embarrassment.

"Truth"

[Cards of Fate]

The scholar frowned, his lips drooping into a sideways half moon and he drummed his fingers on the table. He'd hoped John was going to be a little more adventurous than that, but perhaps some alcohol would do the trick. He chewed his lips for a moment and made several audible "hrrrms" and "ummms" before a grin spread across his face as he snapped to attention.

"John, Boxers of briefs?"

[FennWenn]

Truth be told, Fenn was mildly disappointed by the choice of game. For one, it didn't sound like the kind he could concretely win. For another, this seemed exceptionally easy. There was no task too ridiculous to try and no secret so embarrassing as to keep to oneself - now that he knew they weren't apt to turn him in or anything, that was. Still, he thought with a toothy grin, this ought to be interesting.

“Truth,” John said confidently.

“John, boxers or briefs?”

Yaaawn, Fenn thought, mirroring his actions. Neither! Somehow, he had figured that the questions would be more intense than this. Out of the options of truth or dare, truth struck him as the most dangerous. Not that I normally get the chance to play these kinds of games. Maybe it'll get more interesting as we go along.

"I box sometimes in the citadel, but what is briefs?" the big man replied, a look of confusion on his face. Fenn bit back a laugh; poor John did not get the question.

As Vince pondered this answer, Fenn reached for his Dew, only to realize that he'd finished it off already. Hrmmm. A sidelong glance was had at Vince’s cinnamon whiskey. While the other two were focused on each other, he quietly reached for it and slid it towards himself. A deep sip was had - not bad! - before he scooted it back to where it was before. It was no different except for a dusting of frost. And, of course, the fact that it was lighter than before.

[Cards of Fate]

“It’s a type of underwear.” Vincent replied sighing as he returned his gaze to his bottle only to find it pilfered. With a large portion of missing alcohol, and a mighty fine dusting of frost over the bottle, Vincent found himself giving the young ice child one of his famous chiding glances. It wasn’t a normal expression he used, given the fact that he was not often in a position to be so…parental. Instead, it was a look he had mastered from his predecessor Leona Stevvains. The woman had been a master of non-verbal scolding, and back in the day Vincent had found himself at the brunt of a lot of her withering glances.

Needless to say, this particular glance was blistering.

“Mine.” He grunted as he flicked the bottle. Sparks engulfed it and scattered as the bottle was nowhere left to be seen. Satisfied with his lightshow, the scholar turned back to the giant. “Your turn now.” He said cracking his neck. “You pick someone and ask them truth or dare.”

[redford]

John reached back after answering his question, already readying one of his own for the scholar, when the time came. For now, though he would be asking the tiny boy on his left. As he reached, a tiny flash of blue snatched it from existence, and John turned his not inconsiderable glare to Vincent, who looked back and threw his hands up in exasperation.

"What? He was drinking some!"

John's gaze went unabated until Vincent snapped his fingers, appearing the bottle in his slightly open hand. He began to tilt it back as Vincent spoke again.

"FINE. But if that child gets drunk it's your fault."

John sipped the bottle, keeping it in his hand as he looked back at the boy. He had been suspecting for a moment, now was the time to test his theory.

"Boy, truth or dare?"

The boy looked up in confusion before cracking a mischievous little grin, planting a palm on the table and spelling TRUTH with ice crystals.

John smirked, asking without hesitation.

"How old are you, Ice Child?"

More frost appeared as the boy's eyes matched his grin.

THIRTY, MAYBE. NOT SURE

John laughed, deep and throaty, and took another gulp of the bottle, leaving an inch or two for him. He slid the bottle, disturbing the frost atop the table, to the boy's awaiting hands.

"That's older than you, Vincent!" He said, his laugh fading into a chuckle.

[FennWenn]

It was tempting to answer with EIGHT as the boy sometimes did to folk he didn't know well. But, he was finding himself to enjoy the company of the two men. If he had told them about him thievery, and if they were alright with that, then he supposed there was no harm in discussing his age. The results tickled his humor.

It was rare that he recalled that thirty was actually older than many younger folk around him.

A shy grey flush tinged the tips of Fenn’s ears as he glanced over at Vincent, who didn't seem terribly surprised at the revelation, but was perhaps a pinch flustered. True age rarely affected the way others would treat him. Some stopped addressing him as a child once they understood how old he was, but many couldn't quite shake the habit. That was ordinary enough, he supposed; it was easy to think that what you saw was what you got.

Fenn gave Vince a smug not-quite-a-smirk as he reached for the bottle John offered. Too knowing to be childish, too immature to be anything but. Perhaps his feelings were still a little salty regarding the initial outburst over the whiskey.

What remained inside the bottle was a paltry amount compared to what it normally held; it took far more than that to make the little Fae loopy. He took a small sip as his free hand scrawled more words on the table.

TRUTH OR DARE VINCENT.

“Dare.”

Fenn bit at a rough fingernail, mulling over his reply. DO A SILLY SONG AND DANCE.

[Cards of Fate]

“Oh for fucks sake.” Vince growled as he took a swig of his whiskey. “You’re on kid.” He paused for a moment to pick out his song, rubbing his chin. Suddenly the perfect song popped into his head, something from a relatively popular youtuber who used to sing his own songs.

“So this one goes back to my time on another planet, but I think you guys will enjoy it…” he exclaimed with a flourish as he stepped away and got some space to dance. He took a deep breath and began…
“Something strange about that girl
The way she walks, the way she talks
It's like she doesn't realize
Could it be that she's a zombie?
Must be mistaken,
'Cause I can see the life in her eyes”…

As he started to sing he stood deathly still, clearly this was the ballad part of the song, and required the singer to be relatively still so he could hit all of the notes clearly.

“…It's a shame that she don't notice
Can't wear a thing like that
When you're in your twenties
She just carries on calmly
Sippin' on that cup from Wendy's

Suddenly it strikes me
What if no one's told her?
What if no one's asked the question,
What if no one's polled her?
So I scream out,
What's that PS2 doing on your head?
And this is what she said…?”

As he sang more he began to build up some momentum. Taking a few liberties with the pacing of the song, his voice growing steadily louder, his pace slowly picking up until finally it seemed to peak. It was at this moment, as he hit the impact, the dance started.

“What the fuck did you just fuckin' say about me, you little bitch?
I'll have you know I graduated top of my class
In the Navy SEALs
I have over 300 confirmed kills and I'm trained in guerrilla warfare
What's gotten into you?
I don't see no PS2

No seriously, what PS2?
What? Is something there? What PS2?”

It was as if scholar’s entire body had turned into over cooked spaghetti, his arms and legs flailing and gyrating like he was having some sort of strange seizure, or if he was some sort of rich guy who died and had his two retainers ragdolling his body around so they could “party” with him for a weekend. Scholar’s would later muse over the meaning of this dance after hearing tale of its majesty. When he was done, the scholar, panting, turned to the two of them and grinned.

“Satisifed?”

[FennWenn]

SATISFIED. Seeing Vincent "dance" -- if you could even call it that -- brought a pleased smirk to Fenn's face. Dancing happened to be one of the boy's areas of expertise alongside petty thievery and generally making a nuisance of himself. It seemed that Vincent's attempt at cutting a rug left every other rug to witness scarred for life. YOU DANCE TERRIBLE. VERY TERRIBLE. BUT WHAT IS A PISSTU?

The winded scholar nearly spat out his sip of whiskey. "A PS2? It's a... machine. We use it to play games back on Earth," he said thoughtfully, perhaps trying to come up with a better explanation for his explanation. "I don't think Althanas has a proper equivalent to it."

Fenn tilted his head to the side, frowning. WHAT IS AN EARTH? WHAT GAMES IT PLAY? WHY DO YOU ONLY MAKE MORE QUESTIONS??? he scrawled with a huff.

"Why do you ask so many in the first place?" Vincent ribbed him back with a grin.

The kid had no reply for that. Except, that was, to stick out his tongue and scoff. QUESTIONS ARE GOOD! UNLIKE YOUR DANCING. YOUR DANCING TERRIBLE.

"I think I understood that the first time, thank you."

[redford]

"The boy's right, you know," John quipped, wagging a finger at Vincent.

"Your dancing is pretty bad."

He turned to Fennik, and brandished the digit at him instead.

"And YOU, stop encouraging him with all his earth-speak. It's all strange words and difficult foods over there anyways."

The half-giant smirked. The evening had taken a strange turn for sure, but not quite an unpleasant one. He wondered what the boy would do when the evening wound down. It was an hour's walk back into the city from his house. He'd be hungry in the morning too, and walking back was easier in the daytime. Set upon putting the boy up for the night, he turned his attention to more frivolity.

"Who's turn is it? I was thinking."

[Cards of Fate]

"I got so carried away with my stupid song I forgot." Vincent replied shrugging. "I think it was time for the little one. Tell me Frosty, Truth or dare?"

This night had truly devolved from Vincent's original plans...or had it? Very few things were ever truly a surprise to the Lord Emperor of the Tarot Hierarchy. After all, he had inherited a fragment of his predecessors omniscience. Nothing was every really chance, more like a carefully orchestrated game of chess...

That is...if chess required you to wear red boxers on Tuesday, skip the cilantro in your tacos on Thursday, brush your teeth counterclockwise, and take your brandy with three spoonfuls of sugar in order to make an event happen. It was strange how the crossroads of fate worked, how many tiny insignificant choices steered the very course of lives. Something as simple as wearing red socks or blue socks could save someones life.