FOREVER ALONE [Dev, Sess]

Devon had raced home from the school with far more enthusiasm that he normally held for that activity, primarily for the fact that he was going out! And not just to drink in a bar and chat to whoever was willing to converse with him, but out with his friend! He showered taking care to make sure he managed to get off all the charcoal they'd been working with in class that afternoon, then dressed in skinny black jeans, a Game of Thrones t-shirt and plain black jacket over the top. He even took a moment to make sure his hair was relatively neatly spiked, rather than just the floopy birds nest it usually was.

There had of course been a celebratory cake made when Ferris passed his driving test, in the form of a giant jaffa cake no less. The jelly hadn't quite set the way Devon had wanted it to, but it had still tasted good and looked awesome, which to him was the main thing. It did serve to remind him that he needed to take his test to get his license transferred from UK to US sooner rather than later. With winter on the horizon he knew that soon he'd be begrudging walking to the store, never mind cycling all the way to Hammel, and even though his UK license would keep covering him until next spring he wanted to get it over with out the way.

As they settled at the table Devon caught sight of the waiter just as he snickered and ducked away, and the Brit rubbed at his eyes with an air of mild frustration. Damnit, he didn't expect him to be working on a Tuesday. Devon briefly considered suggesting going somewhere else, then dismissed the thought with a small shake of his head. “Nah, he's the weirdo. You're safe, don't worry about it.”

---

Cecil stubbed out the last of the menthol cigarette and flicked it into the sand bucket in the tiny little beer garden at the back of the Churchkey. Summer was starting to come to a close and he made a mental note to put a small shelter out here so people could smoke outside even while it was raining. It was nicely tucked away at the back of the building and pretty sheltered from any strong wind, so there'd be no excuses for filling the bar with second-hand fumes.

Heading back into the pub, Cecil detoured through the kitchen to check how it was running and raised an eyebrow as he saw one of his normally fairly composed waiters duck inside giggling. It didn't take him long to guess what might have caused it though, and a quiet chuckle left his own lips as Cecil went out into the bar area and saw who had just arrived. He concentrated for a moment and sent a mental note to the waiter. "It's fine, you sit back there being lazy and I'll do your job for you." There was a laugh in the tone though; he could fully understand the waiters reaction.

The Welshman, however, was wearing a charming smile as he approached the table where the two Hammel staff members were sat and he greeted them warmly. “Good evening gents, it's good to see you both. Hope life is keeping you well.”

Even though he had highly trained staff members who were plenty capable of running the place to a high standard, Cecil always liked to get involved with the day-to-day operations of the pub. It helped him keep in close contact with the staff and meant he was always there if something went wrong or kicked off. He made especially sure he was always there at the weekends when things could occasionally get a little rowdier than usual. There were few people willing to mess with 6ft of clearly well muscled Welshman.

Tuesday's were usually rather quiet, which had both its good and bad sides. It was the perfect night for training new staff members and Cecil generally appreciated the more laid back and relaxed atmosphere, but at the same time a quiet bar meant less money going into the tills. At the moment the Churchkey was thriving well, but when the temperatures started to drop people would be less and less likely to want to leave the warmth of their homes just to go to a pub. He'd have to think up some weekday strategies soon.

Thankfully he was quickly learning that the staff from Hammel were always reliable and (mostly) well behaved patrons, and he was building bridges with several of the members from the school up in the hills. That could only ever be a good thing. “Yeah, I've been keeping well thanks. Nice and quiet tonight, which is always a good wind down after the weekend.” Cecil indicated to the little bar menu on the table. “There's the usual menu and tonight we've got two specials. Shepherd's pie with steamed veg and gravy, or a hot honey roast pork baguette with wholegrain mustard and either a side salad or fries.”

---

Devon's unease was plain to see, though he had absolutely no want to expand on it or explain right now. He was just quietly relieved that the waiter had gone into the back of the bar rather than coming out to serve them and inadvertently making a big display out of things. The whole scenario still desperately confused him, and he did his best to seem casual and nonchalant despite the fact he was drumming his fingers absent-mindedly on the table. Grey eyes cast in the direction of where the waiter had disappeared, checking to see that he hadn't come back, and then he looked up as the bar owner came over.

The art teacher had spent quite a bit of time in the Churchkey of late, ever since he'd booked the function room for the staff night out, and he'd spent a fair amount of time chatting to Cecil. He wouldn't say they were friends as such, but they got along well and had many conversations reminiscing about life back on the other side of the pond. And they both desperately missed custard creams. “Hey, it's good to see ya. Ooooh, shepherd's pie for me, thanks! It's been faaaar too long since I last had that.”

Had Devon have realised that his unease was making Ferris uncomfortable he would have suggested going somewhere else, but he wasn't aware that he was seeming quite so outwardly jittery. He knew he possibly seemed a little off (because he was), but not too much more than usual surely. He wasn't making any kind of scene and he wasn't crying or paling or getting ready to run out of the door. All was well and good. It wasn't even like he had made any kind of an effort to get ready, because there was no real reason he might want to look decent. Right.

Right?

Devon caught the look that Ferris shot him and he gave a small nod and wave of his hand, trying to brush it off. “It's nothing. It's fine. It's... complicated, but it's fine.” The Brit had no real want to get into it now, but he wasn't actually lying. There was technically nothing going on, it was all in his head, and though 'complicated' might have been a massive understatement he felt certain that they could get through the evening drama-free. Plus there would soon be shepherd's pie, and it was very hard to go wrong with that.

---

“Two shepherds pies, got it.” Cecil didn't bother noting down the order of the two Hammel staff members – it was hardly a tough order to remember and during the week the small kitchen was manned by the qualified members of the bar staff. There was no head chef to appease. He instead focussed on the probably still-snickering waiter and sent him “get Katie to put two shepherds pies on whenever you've got a second. And try to be more subtle next time, you've spooked the poor lamb.”

The Welshman smiled and gave a soft pleasant laugh at the question. “It's Sess-ul, and thanks for asking. See-sul and See-sil grate on my ears every time.” As the other man introduced himself Cecil held out a hand to him. “Pleasure to meet you properly at last. How're you finding the Branston? I think last time you seemed undecided still, if I remember correctly.” Cecil always liked to keep a mental note of his regular patrons, it made building bridges easier and that was always a good thing in this line of work. It also helped that Ferris was hardly painful to look at.

Taking note of Ferris' shirt, Cecil indicated to it with a small nod of his head. “I agree completely in 95... maybe 97 per cent of cases.”

Cecil could clearly see his fellow Brit was jittery and uncomfortable and for a moment he actually felt sorry for him. Only for a moment though, it was still after all mostly Devon's fault and he couldn't deny that it was usually amusing. With a bare hint of a smile Cecil told Devon “it's fine, he's gone. You can chill out now.” The art teacher always had some issues when the dark-haired waiter was working, but he was never normally this outwardly obvious about it. It must have been the presence of the man who had introduced himself as Ferris.

It was certainly very interesting indeed.

The Welshman's grip was strong but friendly, and he gave a soft laugh as the American explained his inability to come to terms with the Branston. “It's probably a little strange to get used to. I'm still trying to come to terms with breakfast gravy myself, and I've been over here for three years.”

Cecil pondered Ferris' proposal for a moment and then gave a small nod of his head. “I can live with 99.5%. There's only one or two instances of the film being better that leap to mind.” After taking a second to remember, Cecil answered the question. “Broccoli, cauli and green beans. There's also carrots and sweetcorn in the pie itself.” Keeping it traditional. “Can I get you guys anything to drink while you're waiting?”

Curiosity was naggling at him, and so he (albeit reluctantly) asked Devon a question that only the art teacher could hear.

---

The unspoken words caused an instant flood of relief through Devon and he let out a long breath through his nose, visibly calming. He did find it a little worrisome that the bar owner could so easily read what had been wrong, but at the same time it was something of a reassurance to know that the older man had been able to alter the flow so that the evening wouldn't be a complete uncomfortable disaster.

Devon was politely quiet through Ferris and Cecil's introductions to each other, but he did pipe up at the mention of the breakfast gravy, addressing Ferris. “Don't question the awesome that is Branston. It's far better than the normal crap, especially on a pork pie. But I'm refusing to admit that breakfast gravy exists. Because it shouldn't.”

Nodding as the bar owner asked if they wanted anything to drink, Devon just requested a coke. He was perfectly used to drinking alcohol alone, but drinking when there was only one other person and they weren't drinking just felt weird to him.

The barman's question caused the art teacher's grey eyes to stare at him for a long moment... and then Devon covered his mouth to stifle a bark of a laugh. He shook his head quickly and lightly bit his lip to try to keep himself quiet, but his shoulders were shaking as he shook his head again and turned to Ferris. “I'm so glad we came out tonight, mate.”

“North enough to avoid it maybe, but word of it spreads. Like grits.” The Brit visibly shuddered at the thought of that, idly fidgeting with the checker-board stud in his left earlobe. “Grit is the stuff they put on the roads in winter to stop 'em gettin' all iced up. That should not be in a bowl. Especially at breakfast.”

Devon nodded keenly as Ferris echoed his words. “Branston on pork pie. Seriously. Try it. It'll blow your mind.” Devon's enthusiasm for baked goods, particularly in the form of meat in pastry, was already well known to the chef since Devon had taken it upon himself to make sure it was known through subtle (and some not-so-subtle) hints. Hey, he lived next door to a chef who had literally travelled the world. He'd be an idiot to not make use of it. Of course he repaid him in kind, making enough fresh bread to keep the American if anything slightly overstocked with it. It felt good to, for once, be the one with a better grasp of food combinations. Even if it was something as minute as what Branston works best with. “It's awesome in chicken stir fry too.”

The Welshman's question had come completely out of the blue which was what had caused Devon's surprised reaction, but to be honest he'd probably have had the same reaction had it not been so sudden. Giving a shake of his head at Ferris' question, Devon dismissively waved a hand. “Nah, it's fine. Just clarifying something.” Devon had known about the barkeeper’s ability for a while, and whilst he had been a little unnerved by it at first he had quickly gotten used to hearing unspoken words. He just hadn't expected to ever hear those particular ones, from anyone. He wondered why Cecil had asked him like that instead of just asking aloud.
Curious.

---

Cecil gave a soft laugh and shrugged. “Sorry Devon, you're on your own there. I've had grits a few time now and it's... disconcerting at first, but delicious once you've gotten over the brain-block. Especially with eggs and bacon. Corn dogs, on the other hand, need to be non-existent.”

He certainly hadn't expected quite such a dramatic laugh from the art teacher, and for a moment a soft frown creased the Welshman's brow. Well, it was a definite answer to the question at least, even if it was now probably somewhat awkward for the American who had not been privy to the private exchange. Thankfully Ferris didn't seem too phased by it, but it was still an interaction that Cecil wished would have been somewhat more subtle. Awkward.

Ferris' question brought a soft shake from Cecil's head. “No, I came here in February last year after the divorce. Well... before the divorce really. It's all jumbled.” The fingers of Cecil's right hand subconsciously went to his left ring finger, twisting a ring that was no longer there, it's prior presence marked only by a narrow band of slightly paler skin. “Before then I lived in New York, then I came here, and a few months later I bought this place and did it up.” He gave a small shrug, dismissing the train of thought. “I'll get your drinks. Back in a minute.” He turned and headed back to the bar, the back of his neck several tones redder than it had been before the conversation began.

The somewhat playful tone of his voice would hopefully make it clear to Ferris that Cecil was only teasing when he said “Don’t you dare insult toad in the hole by comparing it to them. Made properly it’s culinary perfection.” Cecil had at least actually tried corn dogs and not just dismissed them outright as his fellow Brit had seemed to do with grits. As someone who took pride in looking after his health (ignoring the fact that he was a smoker, thank you very much) Cecil was always conscious of what he was putting into his body and deep fried food had never held all that much appeal. He saw no harm in the occasional hot dog, but why anyone would want to batter it and then deep fry it was beyond him. Maybe it was a habit the Americans had picked up from the Scottish, the people for whom deep fried Mars Bars were still a thing.

“Unless you’ve actually tried laverbread before, don’t knock it.” As a very proud Welshman Cecil was of course obligated to defend the delicacy, and it helped massively that it was something that he actually enjoyed both cooking and eating. “And if you have had it before, come back here in a morning some time and I’ll make a bara lawr breakfast worthy of a king.” Almost as an afterthought, Cecil addressed Devon by saying “That goes for you too.”

Talking about being in Pilot Ridge, and the reasons for him being there, was getting easier with time but it was still obviously a sore subject. Cecil tried to put it behind him and start living for the present and the future, but it was so difficult when the entire reason for him being in America in the first place was a few states away and sharing his bed with someone else. Cecil didn’t want Aaron back, not at all, but twenty years was a very long time to be with someone and he wasn’t sure if he missed Aaron or simply missed having someone there.

At least being behind the bar once more gave him some time to shake off the sudden slight unease as he prepared the drink for the two Hammel staff members. He wasn’t sure why he suddenly felt quite so awkward, it wasn’t something he was used to feeling while he was in his kingdom, but he worked to shake it off as he sliced a lime for the club soda.

---

Devon’s fondness for pastry was well known, and he laughed and gave a small shrug at Ferris’ comment. “Hey, it might be worth a try. My bro used to put porridge on his toast. Can’t be any worse than that, right?” The corn dogs comment caused an eyebrow to arch, and Devon relaxed fully into the conversation now the tension had passed. “I had a corn dog at the town fair thing a while back. Weren’t all that bad, if I remember right.”

Ferris’ comment regarding spotted dick brought a laugh from Devon, the Englishman’s spirits visibly lifting. “I think you think the exact same thing we do. That’s a ridiculous name no matter where ya are. Tasty though.” The talk of laverbread went completely over his head though, and he shrugged again. “I don’t have a clue what that is, sorry mate.” Cecil explained about the seaweed dish and Devon nodded. “Ahhh, right. I had crispy seaweed a few times from the Chinese back home. Wasn’t too bad.”

As the bar owner went off to get the drinks Devon caught Ferris’ look and his head gave a nod. “Yeah, I did the same when I asked what brought him over here. Didn’t get any details though.” Devon was all too willing to lend a sensitive ear to those that needed it but with some subjects, particularly those involving relationships, he severely struggled. He could nod and reassure and ‘I understand’ at the right moments, but as for actual advice or anything much beyond that he was well out of his depth.

Ferris’ next question however brought a chuckle out of him, and he perched his elbows on the table and his head in his hands as he put on his best excited schoolboy voice. Which admittedly wasn’t all that difficult for him. “Oh, it was so much fun! We got to play with melty crayons!” Melted wax art was something that Devon had always enjoyed teaching, largely because the medium made a nice change from the more traditional methods and because it tended to be a lot of fun for the students involved. Besides, Devon could never resist joining in with it. “And the teacher said that if we pass the pop quiz on Friday he’ll let us spend the rest of the class doing some more!”

The Welshman's offer of a laverbread breakfast brought a nod from Devon, and he settled back into the chair as the stress and tension of the workday began to slowly wind out of him. “Sure, I'd be up for it. I'll try most things once.”

Ferris' comment about the name of spotted dick brought forth a chuckle. “Like a disease at best, like an even worse disease at worst.” Devon agreed, the Brit idly fidgeting with one of the beer mats on the table. Having grown up in the north of England the suet-based fruit pudding had always been a staple in the Wentsworth household.

“Back in the nineties and early two-thousands a load of the schools and hospitals and stuff tried to get the name officially changed to spotted Richard. Can't see how that'd've been much better, mind.” It had never worked, of course, and Devon could fondly recall half the pupils in his first high school chanting 'spotted dick' over and over and over when the poor dinner-ladies had tried to enforce the name change.
Oh, happy days.

Always one to be more than content talking about his work, Devon smiled when Ferris asked him to explain. “Crayons have a low melting point, so you can use a heat tool – kinda like a accurate hairdryer on steroids – to melt them. If you melt them while they're on paper or canvas or something, you can use the heat blast to control the angle the wax runs and use it to make abstract patterns.” Using his hands to illustrate, long fingers spread out and ran across the table to make long, sweeping patterns. “It's a lotta fun and the kids always seem to enjoy it... and I do too, which obviously helps.” It was always easier to teach a subject or technique that was enjoyed by everyone involved. “How about you? Made the most of your day off?”