Everything was sort of a blur after the technology golem caught him.

One moment, Fenn was laughing silently (and wickedly) as he was being chased through the establishment, ducking under tables and hopping over chairs. Next, he was swept off his feet and pinned to the ground. Oh, the indignity! The little fae railed against his bonds for quite a while, hissing and squirming, biting and squeaking up something fierce. Damnit, he hadn’t meant to steal the tiny cat-golem! Just the bag! His disgruntled magic sept into the air around him. Whatever outer shell covered the golem must have been made of some impure iron mixture, something that only contained traces of the metal. It made him warm and itchy all over. People were talking, but he didn’t hear. Eventually, the fae went limp, having exhausted himself in his herculean efforts to escape. He felt himself being lifted up by the cuff of his shirt and neckfluff. Dazed, he glanced around… and was summarily dropped to the floor below, cool new satchel whisked out of his hands.

Darn.

By the time Fenn got his battered bearings back in order again, the issue of his theft seemed to have been resolved. The golem barely gave him a second glance. Seemingly, whatever Yvvie had said was enough to pacify it. A huffy green gaze was cast over it as it wandered over to… oh. Oh.

Demon-man Nosdyn was radiating something strong. Something terrible. It was a magic-brightness quite unlike his own; thick and hot, like a huff of dragon’s breath. Fear froze the fae as he beheld it, his ribcage going rigid. Geez; escape a brutalization, walk into a magical emanacion of terror. Of course. On wobbly limbs he scooted away from the choking aura of intimidation. Was that why Yvvie didn’t like him? Fenn’s first instinct was to hide somewhere safer-feeling than near-the- demon was. Without thinking, he gravitated toward the source of the good-food-smell his antennae had picked up on earlier, before the golem had chased him.

Breathing uneasily, Fenn ended up at the edge of a lovely lace tablecloth. Also at the feet of the young man Yvvie had a thing for. Shaggy hair fell in front of wide, panicky eyes. The young man, too, seemed paralyzed by awe of the creature.

A flicker of sympathy butted up against the fear afflicting the fae. You know what? If Yvvie liked him, Fenn supposed he had to be okay.

And “okay” was an acceptable risk when one was in such dire need of comfort.

Without a proper introduction, the frosty puck went under the table and out the other side, between Yvvie’s beau and the demon. With one icy arm, Fenn clung to him in much the same way one would expect a child to grab a doll for comfort. With the other, he helped himself to a sticky handful of blackberries and honey.