FOREVER ALONE [Dev, Sess]

[Ferris Macklin]

With help from Abe Milton, Ferris had not only bought his first car, but had a driver's license for the first time in his life. It didn't mean he'd given up his bike, but it meant he finally had a mode of long distance transportation. It made him feel unexpectedly grown up. But now that he had the car and was legally able to drive it, he tried to get in all the practice he could before the snow flew. Even if it meant driving ridiculously short distances, like from his place to Churchkeys. Well. It was ridiculously short for a man used to biking several hilly miles a day in moderately good weather. Come winter, Ferris doubted he'd be rolling his eyes quite so hard.

Tuesday evening. Devon was off work and the bar probably wouldn't be the bustling hive Ferris guessed it was on Friday night. Devon had been more than willing to join his neighbor for some UKish eats. Ferris still had a monopoly on pastry, but he was thinking it was more due to ease of access.

Though summer still held Vermont in temperature and greenery, Ferris knew the arctic impression was one cough of Old Man Winter away. Instead of his worn and abused Cons, he had on the black, mid-calf length, steel-toed boots he'd worn in Europe, through seven kitchens and his two years at Kocher. Eminently more practical to life in a kitchen, but also heavier and hotter. But he was breaking them in now, so they'd both be ready. Over them were his usual jeans and t-shirt that said 'The book was better.'

They chose a table away from the bar and Ferris saw a dark-haired waiter look at Devon, laugh, and duck into the kitchen. He gave his Brit friend a pained expression that held an edge of smile. "Are you being weird again? If my picture gets put up behind the bar I'm going to blame you completely."

[Devon Wentsworth]

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.”

[Ferris Macklin]

Ferris had not bothered to spruce himself up all that much except to put on a clean t-shirt (the other one had been all sweaty from making chicken stock), add some deodorant, and run a comb through his hair, though if he'd come from school as Dev had he might've also spared a shower. He also didn't know his British buddy was wearing skinny jeans (as Ferris still hadn't realized they made them for guys), but was wondering what in hell was going on down there, as Devon's pants were damn near lifting and separating his buttcheeks and it made watching him walk from behind fascinating.

Academically.

He'd already teased Dev about all the black on the ride over, but the waiter thing was a new development.

“Nah, he's the weirdo. You're safe, don't worry about it.”

Ferris raised an eyebrow and nodded in that way that said he totally didn't believe him. "'Course he is."

But he didn't press his friend about it. That might come later when they either had more privacy or if Devon somehow worked a hug into the evening's dining.

“Good evening gents, it's good to see you both. Hope life is keeping you well.”

Smiling, Ferris leaned back in his chair. "Reasonably. Yourself? Anything new and exciting up on the menu tonight?"

[Cecil Wathen]

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.”

[Ferris Macklin]

For the other guy being the weirdo, Devon was acting in a manner Ferris had never seen and was slightly concerned about. Had that guy done something to Dev? On the one hand, if something had occurred between the waiter and his friend and Devon wasn't mentioning it and had agreed to come to the bar, it probably wasn't anything that warranted police intervention, but on the other, the Brit looked ready to jitter right out of his literally weird-ass pants. Ferris sent Dev a look that asked him if he was alright.

Happily, the arrival of the bartender, who Ferris recognized from previous visits, seemed to cheer him up.

While the pork baguette sounded interesting, it was in the category of something Ferris could and had made himself. Shepherd's pie technically also fit this category, but Ferris hadn't made it for several years outside of a work kitchen. And of course, there was his usual standby of cheese and pickle sandwich, a curious combo Ferris was not still entirely sure he liked. He knew he didn't dislike it, and he also knew he somewhat resented it for making him order it twice without allowing him to form a concrete opinion. But with Devon acting all funny, he figured tonight was not a night for ambiguously flavored sandwiches. Ferris was not one who could deal with feelings or emotion-based conversations, and if things started to veer in that direction he needed his faculties to avert, and if necessary, stymie. Sometimes he felt bad he could not offer this sort of thing to friends, understood fully that it was rooted in his own gargantuan stack of festering and untouched issues, but knew that he did not have the proper equipment to be that kind of person and should not attempt it. At the moment, anyway. So if Devon wanted to pretend nothing was wrong, that was more than okay.

"I'll go with the pie too," he said. And since it had been bothering him, he asked, "How do you pronounce your name?"

Ferris had not been calling the man by name because he knew Cecil had two pronunciations, but hadn't managed to hear it out loud by just listening. "I'm Ferris, by the way."

He didn't expect the man to remember his name, but thought he ought to give it anyway, just in case, and to be personable. Ferris wasn't a regular, but he'd been to Churchkeys more than any other food establishment in town past Honest Abe's.

[Devon Wentsworth]

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.”

[Ferris Macklin]

If Ferris had known what was making Devon act the way he was, he would've agreed to go someplace else, but it certainly would've put a twist through any future trips to the 'Key. Though he certainly understood about things that had to remain unspoken. Nodding back, Ferris let it drop.

Shaking the hand with a grin and a friendly grip, he said, "Nice t' meet you Cecil." Ferris pronounced it the way the Welshman did and then laughed a little when he mentioned the pickles. "The pickling sauce is curious, is all. I'm used to a clear liquid. Dunno how I feel about it."

On the shirt, he grinned. "I'm willing to go up to 99.5% if we count only American films."

The single (American) book to film transition that Ferris felt did the core material justice was Old Yeller, but he was admittedly somewhat behind on his movie watching. "So what's the veg tonight?"

Ferris looked over at Devon, wondering if he was going to join in the conversation or keep being nervous. If it was the latter... maybe they should get their stuff to go.

[Cecil Wathen]

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.”

[Ferris Macklin]

Something must've passed between barkeep and art teacher; Dev suddenly smoothed out like a car that rattled till the engine warmed. Ferris didn't question it but was glad. He laughed in surprise when the two of them mentioned breakfast gravy, by which he figured they meant the gravy that went over biscuits in the south.

"I think you're far enough north that you can avoid it," he said, still smirking. Of all the American food conceits to have, breakfast gravy was certainly one he hadn't heard before. But the Brits put beans on toast; sausage or chicken gravy over biscuits wasn't too much of a stretch. But he also guessed neither of them had had decent American biscuits.

"...Branston on pork pie." That bore thinking about. Ferris liked either pickled onions or bread and butters with his pork pie, but he also liked acid in some variation with whatever he ate.

For drink order, Ferris ordered a club soda with lime. It was his day off, he could do caffeine or soda if he wanted, but sometimes after spending his day baking or cooking, the last thing he wanted to put into his body was more sugar or carbs even if he hadn't actually eaten much of whatever he'd made up.

Something else passed between the pair, making Ferris raise an eyebrow. Before Devon said anything, he looked at each in turn and said, "Would you gentlemen like some privacy?"

He still didn't know exactly what Devon did, or if Cecil was meta, but since it was something that clearly went from barkeep to teacher, Ferris put his money on Cecil being meta. An interesting turn of events. He wondered if his own power would keep whatever was happening between the two from being accessible.

"Or would you like to share?"

“I'm so glad we came out tonight, mate.”

Shaking his head, Ferris laughed. "It's certainly been an interesting evening."

He considered asking for the club soda to be turned into a white wine, but one, he was driving and two, one glass of wine would not noticeably improve things. Though he had no idea of his tolerance anymore, the last (and only) time he'd gotten drunk had been over ten years ago.

Something Cecil had said caught in his brain, and he asked, "You haven't been in Pilot Ridge for three years, have you?"

[Devon Wentsworth]

“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.

[Ferris Macklin]

It was something he'd gotten used to as he made his way around Europe, various people from various places complaining about this or that food, which was usually from another country. As someone who tried everything once, food bitching was both amusing and rather tiring, especially if those doing it had not tried the food in question. Ferris did not dislike grits, but there were a great many other things he preferred over them for breakfast. Given a bowl of them though, he would still eat it. "You'd eat grits if I put them in pastry." Then he laughed, because it would also be horrible. "God, that would be like putting oatmeal in pastry."

He chuckled over Cecil's dislike of corndogs. "Think of them as a dumbed down version of toad in the hole?" Ferris liked corndogs, but as someone who didn't eat much processed food, he hadn't had them in quite some time. "It's more sensible to not like corndogs than it is to not like grits. Grits at least have some nutritional value."

“It's awesome in chicken stir fry too.”

That got a blink and a surprised look. Ferris had to pause for a moment to let it sink in properly. "I'm sorry, I just heard all of Asia cry out in horror."

Leaning back in his chair, he added, "This is hilarious coming from you two, by the way. What do you guys think Americans think when they hear 'spotted dick'? And I'm sorry, but I can't do laverbread."

“Nah, it's fine. Just clarifying something.”

Ferris snorted. "Right. I'll just consider it a UK thing and leave it at that."

He hadn't anticipated the question of location one that would make Cecil uncomfortable, but managed to hide his wince when the man mentioned 'divorce'. When he left to get their drinks, Ferris looked ruefully at Devon. "Whoops."

Folding his hands in front of him, Ferris put on his best parental smile and asked in his best mom voice, "Sooooo, how was school today?"

[Cecil Wathen]

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!”

[Ferris Macklin]

“Don’t you dare insult toad in the hole by comparing it to them. Made properly it’s culinary perfection.”

Ferris grinned back. "Don't knock corn dogs till you've had a freshly dipped pronto pup then." At certain state fairs, the hot dogs on a stick were dipped in corn batter on site and flash fried. Delicious.

"I have had laverbread. How else would I know I don't like it?" Personally, if the two of them wanted a piece of Southern cuisine to be wary of, Ferris would have suggested chitlins. Not that he was about to bring them up. He laughed at the offer, not believing it serious. "Someday, sure."

Porridge on toast... wasn't too far from milk toast, but still something Ferris wasn't going to try if it wasn't put in front of him. Ferris liked his toast without a liquid element unless it was ketchup or mustard for a sandwich or burger on toast.

“I think you think the exact same thing we do. That’s a ridiculous name no matter where ya are. Tasty though.”

"It is. I liked it. But the name sounds, at best, like a disease." He wasn't going to say what it sounded like at worst... which was around the same thing.

Knowing Dev had stepped in it too made Ferris feel just a little better. It must've been one of those bad divorces, though he hadn't heard of too many amicable ones. Well, at least he knew what not to ask, as if that'd do him any good now.

When Devon perked up, Ferris put on the Attentive Mom Look, a la June Cleaver, complete with head tilt and obvious blinking. He laughed at the answer and broke character to ask, "What is melty crayons? Do I even want to know?"

[Devon Wentsworth]

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?”

[Ferris Macklin]

"...Spotted Richard? That's... almost worse. It would be like saying 'take the Michael' instead of 'take the mickey'." He grinned. "A little like 'freedom fries', which I never understood, since French fries aren't French."

Ferris's own school days had been much more serious, given that they were at institutions that embraced highly accelerated learning. Sure, he'd gone home and rode bikes and played video games with the neighbor kids, but there had been very little goofing off at school.

Listening to Devon describe 'melty crayons'... ah. "Sounds like fun. There was something similar I did in school with crayon shavings between pieces of waxed paper. You sprinkle them in and iron them and get..." He laughed and wiggled his fingers the way the Brit had. "Looks a little like a stained glass window."

It was one of the few art projects Ferris had ever done in class. By age eight he'd been in sixth grade, past the time of coloring and pasting, and honestly hadn't missed it all that much. Ferris had never been all that artistic, though he certainly appreciated art and those who were. For the most part. He'd had to quash all the weird dough flowers Devon had been decorating the bread he made for him with, they made cutting and storing difficult.

As for his own day, "I roasted all the chicken bones I saved up and made chicken stock," he said, "Froze most of it. Made some butternut squash puree, froze that up too. Put up three casseroles for the week... think I'll make brownies for the lounge on Thursday." He snorted a little. "You should see my basement. There's shelves and shelves of jars everywhere. I had to start putting the overstock in my bedroom." He pointed at Devon. "Next year you'll have to curb my canning obsession."