Deep Fried Delicacies [Ferris]

As a general rule Devon tended to veer away from junk food, but there had always been something about fish and chips that he adored. It reminded him of family holidays by the sea when he was a kid, the weekend trips to Blackpool in the middle of summer. Go exploring in the tower or run around the Pleasure Beach, a quick dip in the sea (before all the oil spills had happened, obviously), then fish and chips on the pier while watching the promenade come to life with the dazzling lights of the illuminations. So many happy memories from a lifetime long behind...

Sure Devon's greeting to the man was hardly the most polite and proper one he had ever given, but his stomach was guiding him and when he was hungry that was a force to be reckoned with. It smelled absolutely heavenly, and a slight flicker of disappointment crossed Devon's face as the man said it had come from his house. That meant there wasn't an easy supply of it anywhere here. Damnit. Still, Devon put a polite smile on his lips and when the man offered a hand he shook it, his grip firm but friendly. “Hey. I'm Devon Wentsworth, the new art teacher. I just started today.”

Sitting opposite Ferris and straightening his paint-smudged shirt, Devon's eyes lit up like a Christmas tree when the food got slid towards him. As he looked at it he realised that it would be the first real food he'd eaten since the plan trip over, if that plastic-wrapped garbage on the flight could ever have been referred to as real food. Without hesitation he stole a chip, popping it into his mouth. The look on his face made the food-gasm happening in his mouth rather obvious, and he gave the man a bright smile. “I think you must be an angel come to save me.”

Breaking off a small piece of the fish, Devon grinned when he saw that it was still crisp and delicious. “Seriously man, thank you so much. I haven't eaten anything proper since the plane.” Then he suddenly remembered his manners. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to commandeer your lunch. Share it with me, at least?”

Devon got comfortable in the seat opposite Ferris, his shoulders still ached but he was overall feeling a little better after the power-nap. Clearly the skills that he had picked up as a hard working, harder playing student were still perfectly valid now he was supposedly grown up and in a big, fancy career.

Speaking of careers, he nodded when Ferris asked what form of art he taught. “Both. I can and do teach art history, but my love is for the practical side. There's no better feeling than helping someone get better at something they love, seeing the look on their face when they finish something they're proud of.” Fancy floral words, hell yeah they were, but that didn't stop them being true. Devon loved making beautiful things, but he loved helping others make them even more.

“If the rest of the kitchen staff are as good as you I think I'll be popping in there in the future. This is awesome.” The small broken off bit of fish disappeared, and the near-silent murmur of a sound that left Devon's lips gave some hint at how much it was appreciated. This wasn't Blackpool pier fish and chips. This was perfectly cooked, crisp, melt-in-the-mouth M&S fish and chips.
And Devon's stomach growled in thanks.

“I should've recorded that for my voicemail.” Devon's laugh was an easy one, the art teacher relaxing into the seat and into the other man's company. He was deeply thankful that there already seemed to be one person he got along okay with; the thought of spending much more time completely alone was a terrifying one. “You provided me with food. If you ask I might repeat it for ya.”

When Ferris asked about his definition of 'proper', Devon laughed softly again and picked up the vinegar, sloshing it liberally over the chips. “Bit of both. I only landed on Friday and haven't unpacked... well, anything yet. Been living off café snacks and microwave crap since I got here. As much as my arteries hate me for this” he said, indicating to the chip lunch, “the rest of me could not be happier.”

As the food was officially pushed towards him, Devon's eyes widened and he brushed away a mock-tear. “I think I'm going to cry with joy. My hero!”
"It's authentic. I did time in a fish and chips shop just to learn it.” At that comment the hint of a smirk curled the corner of Devon's lips. “It's perfect, it really is, but you just proved you're an imposter.” He paused for a moment, then the smirk turned into a cheeky smile. “You said fish and chips shop. It's fish and chip shop. Or just chippy.”

Devon made a mental note that he approved of Ferris' taste in movies and popped another chip in his mouth, nodding when Ferris asked if it was his first time State-side. Once he had swallowed, Devon spoke. “Yeah. First time out of Europe, actually. I've only ever been in Britain and Switzerland before. How about you? Are you originally from here, before you went investigating our chippies and stealing our recipes?”

When Ferris stated that he was impressed with what Devon taught, the Brit allowed himself to feel a little smug. So many years of study and a truly terrifying amount of money had been spent on his education, and as much as he was proud of what he had achieved, sometimes a little ego-stroking wasn't such a bad thing. Even if Ferris wasn't being truly sincere, Devon allowed himself to take it that way anyway and smiled brightly. “Thanks.”

He just shrugged vaguely when Ferris indicated to his paint spattered shirt. “It happens. I could wear an apron but I'd still end up getting coated anyway.” He rolled up the hem of his shirt slightly, showing that he had somehow managed to get a green smudge on his stomach. “I could be completely wrapped in cotton wool and I'd still get it everywhere.”

“But I have no idea what they're really capable of cooking-wise.”
Devon gave a quiet laugh and a cheeky grin, dipping a bit of fish into a stray vinegar puddle. “There you are then, you better get to seeing what they can do! I volunteer to be a guinea pig. I love anything pastry-based.” Devon made a mental note that his inner northern-boy was showing; wrap anything in pastry and them's up norf'll eat it.

The art teacher gave the chef a very sceptical look as the vinegar got sprinkled on the raw veg. In his mind that was breaking some sacred unwritten rule: vinegar was for chips, and nothing more! He knew that was silly really, but that was how he had been brought up. Mum and dad had never kept vinegar in the house, the only time he and Cade had ever had it was when they went to the chippy. It was just... wrong!

“With that accent there's so many possibilities. Let me think on it.” Devon laughed easily, clearly relaxed and content now his stomach was getting something substantial in it. “Feel free to ask away.” He dropped his voice, making it low and husky, his 'band member reeling in the groupies' voice. “I'm very easily bribed with delicious things.”

When Ferris slid the food away from Devon he gave a scandalised gasp, mouth dropping open in mock-shock. When it was slid back he stuck his tongue out at the chef before snagging another chip. Childish maybe, but he was in high enough spirits and it felt wonderful to be having a proper conversation with someone who wasn't an awkward child or an air hostess. He smiled and shrugged casually when Ferris spoke of his accent. “Some people have wandering accents, and I'm shite at identifying them. It took me two years to learn the difference between Swiss-French and French-French.”

Devon's grey eyes lit up when Ferris spoke of Kocher, the art teacher leaning forward slightly and clearly intrigued. “Kocher? I went to school there, after...” he waved a hand vaguely “things happened.” The thought of other people from Kocher being here in Hammel was both exciting and worrying in equal measure. Potentially having other people here that he knew was a thrilling prospect, but he knew full well he hadn't gotten along so brilliantly with everyone. To some he had been a good friend and shoulder to cry on, to others he'd been a complete pain in the hole. “I'll have to track them down at some point, thanks for the pointer!”

Devon nodded understandingly at the mention of canvas shoes. Pretty much his entire footwear collection was various forms of canvas shoes, save for two pairs of leather ones that were reserved for times when he had to make some form of real effort. Most of his shoes were paint smeared in some way or other, some accidentally and some intentionally. Customising shoes was a branch of art he very much enjoyed, though sometimes it did happen sporadically when a rogue droplet of paint ended up inspiring an entire piece. “I completely get that. I bake quite a bit, when I have a kitchen anyway, and icing sugar can be a pain in the arse to get out.”

To be completely honest, Devon didn't really mind about the rate he went through clothes. He tended to keep the clothing he actually cared about well away from anything crafty and had a pile of shirts and jeans that were specifically for the art room. Some of them he wasn't even sure what the original colour of the fabric was any more.

“He's willing to lower himself to mooch-hood for freebies.” Devon laughed softly, breaking off another small piece of fish and popping it into his mouth before chewing and swallowing. “I don't mooch. I always pay my debts.” He smiled, pointing a chip at Ferris for emphasis. “Especially ones resulting from pork pies. No one should ever under-estimate the true value of a home-made meat pie.”

Devouring the chip, Devon looked impressed when Ferris announced the offerings he'd been made so far. “Two souls and a first-born is a tough act to follow. And I have no idea what streusel is but I want some.” Devon mentally added 'streusel' to his ever-increasing list of words he would have to look up. For two countries that apparently spoke the same language, the Americans and the English had very little in common when it came to certain topics. Food especially.

Laughing softly, Devon pouted when he realised the food was starting to run out. He wasn't particularly hungry now, but it was always a sad moment when good things came to an end. “I can call you the Crazy American if you want, but it might be a bit of a broad nickname here.” Based on his experiences over the past few days alone, pretty much every American could fit the bill.

Devon was quietly thankful that Ferris hadn't pushed to ask what his ability was, despite the fact he'd accidentally made it rather obvious that he was meta. It wasn't that Devon was ashamed or anything like that at all, in fact sometimes in the right setting he rather enjoyed showing off about it, it was just that even after all these years it was still a little awkward to say 'oh yeah, I can turn into a polecat.' It was hardly mind-reading or spitting fire. This, of course, didn't stop Devon being fascinated by the abilities of others but he had just enough manners to not broach the subject unless the other person wanted to.

When Ferris yawned and talked about the other Kocher alumni Devon nodded, leaning back in the seat slightly and disengaging some of his enthusiasm. He hoped that Ferris would be able to take the subtle hint that Devon would be fine if he decided to go without having to actually say 'right, you can leave now if you want'. Devon smiled and popped the last piece of the fish. “Yeah I will do. Thanks again for the advice.” He indicated to the almost-empty platter. “And the food, obviously. I owe ya.”