Ice To Meetcha (All Over Again)

[FennWenn]

As the vivid, rotund merchant blubbered past in his anxious fit, Fenn squeezed out of the way, pressed uncomfortably close against the nearest shelf of potions. Tchink-yoink! He exhaled relief as the merchant exited— wait. There was a weight in his hands. One of silvery chains and glittery baubles. Fenn frowned down at the jeweling, then shrugged. Oh. He’d done it again. The stealing-without-even-thinking-about-it thing. Well, waste not what you’ve already taken.

As he strung the lengths of baubles around his neck with all the eagerness of a small child playing at royalty, he found himself directly addressed.

What happened to you?

Hesitance struck Fenn between the eyes as the question did. His gaze darted over to the alchemist.

The man loomed tall behind the counter, garbed in maybe a few too many laters of clothing for the season, dark eyes surprise-struck from behind his curiously blood-red hair. Fenn stared back in a moment of muteness, mulling over how to approach. This stranger had just been making threats. Though, all of them had been aimed at the most obnoxious merchant, which meant that this alchemist didn’t seem entirely unfriendly. As of yet.

And of course, the warmth in the way he spoke Fenn’s name — already knew his name — spoke of shared rapport.

It certainly smelled interesting in here. Fenn’s antennae fanned out, taking in a waft of dried herbs, earth, cat hair — as distinct from muskier direwolf shed — and… the subtle iron strain of mortal blood. The few things Banrion had told him about the alchemist man made it a nonsurprising scent to behold. Not a particularly comforting one, though; where did the blood come from? Who knew. Past-him had better not have befriended a secret murderer on top of all the other shit he’d pulled. Then again, a befriended killer probably wouldn’t kill their friends, right? That made that possible outcome better than Fenn’s slow discovery that he was banned from thirty-seven of the forty bars he’d poked his nose into recently — not counting the Slaughtered Lamb.

Fenn tried to tamp down on his magics, but they had surged with his unease. In a flitter of embarrassment, he was up at the counter, bringing with him the haze of cold air and patches of thin ice where his feet brushed the floor.

The paper in his hands slid across the counter, leaving behind its own trail of ice.

You are Nevin? Hey there!

Sorry note is rough. Did it on short notice; not a long-term planner? Trying to get to know myself again.

Banrion told me you were someone I should get reacquainted with. Something about helping her obtain a poison, and also, saving my life once? From my own stupidity or something. So I guess I owe you debt. Dunno how to pay. Anyway, she thinks you could be useful maybe. So we should be friends again? Kind of don’t have any friends because I don’t remember any of—

Oh! Haven’t told you. Went through a metamorphosis, lost memory. Bug now. Don’t remember most things from before it.

But Banri remembered, so here I am.

Some things she told me; you have booze. You have blood powers? You definitely do potiony things. And, am advised to make a pact to not steal from you again because apparently your shiny shop is tempting and she doesn’t want me to offend you more than I have previously. Also, something about an Ezra assistant who was also my friend? And probably other things, but my memory is still kind of shoddy. That’s all.

...also, am hungry. Always hungry. It’s guaranteed, am think. Do you have food?

— Fenn

The fae waited patiently while it was read; he knew it was a lot to take in all at once. A faint pride at the lettering puffed up inside his chest. For whatever unremembered reason, his old self had ingrained some deeply stubborn preference for writing entirely in uppercase, and it was a difficult thing to untangle his hands of.