A small interruption (FennWenn and Cards_of_Fate)

[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.