FOREVER ALONE [Dev, Sess]

[Devon Wentsworth]

Devon gave a soft chuckle and shrugged his shoulders. “Taking the Michael's pretty common up my end. Well, with the slightly older lot anyway, not so much with the kids.” A pang of homesickness hit him, the Brit's grey eyes lowering to the table for a beat before returning to Ferris. It had been around four months now since he'd left England to head to the states, but the distance from home and his family still hadn't gotten any easier. He idly wondered what Cade would be doing now... Settling down for bed probably, what with the time difference and it being mid-week.

“Freedom fries, seriously? I've never heard them called that. That'd be like... coron-” Devon hesitated a moment, correcting himself. “I was gonna say Queen's Coronation-something, but we already have that. Guess we're equally pompous.”

Devon nodded enthusiastically as Ferris explained his own school arty business, watching his hands map out the patterns. “Yeah, it's very similar 'cept you have more control with the heat tool. Some of them were real impressive, they're a good lot of kids. When they're not dickin' around too bad, anyway.” Devon felt honoured to have such talented groups of kids to teach, but Christ they could be little shits. Nothing too major had happened since his first catastrophic week, but he was getting completely fed up of cataloguing yet more stolen paint pots and cleaning up yet more unwarranted messes. It was one of the few things he missed about the school back home; every classroom kept locked up when there wasn't a teacher in it. It was sad that it had to be that way, but it had worked at keeping the vandals and thieves in control.

As Ferris went through his day Devon couldn't help but laugh, the Brit rubbing his forehead with his fingers in amusement. “So on your day off, you pretty much just worked anyway.” Not that he could really comment on that of course; he spent most of his time off doing something creative. “And thanks for the heads-up, I'll be sure to head to the lounge then.” At the next comment, however, Devon chuckled and held his hands up. “Hey, you should know me well enough by now to know I'm the last person'd be curbing ya. You want rid of any of it, though, I'd happily accept donations.”

---

It didn't take long to fix the drinks and soon Cecil was making his way back towards the table with them. The feeling of unease had settled and gone back to whatever boarded-off bit of his mind it had escaped from, and there was a soft smile on the Welshman's lips as he placed the glasses on the table for the two Hammel staff members. He knew it was a little unusual for a bar owner to do as much of the work as he did, but he got so massively bored just doing paperwork all the time and this is what he thrived on, working face-to-face with people. Sure it was hardly the job he'd spent most of his life dreaming of, but he owned his own business and he loved it, and he'd be damned before he'd settle for being a pencil-pushing overseer.

Over-hearing the end of the topic being discussed by the two Hammel staff, Cecil gave a small arch of his brow as he placed the club soda down in front of Ferris. “Depending on what you've got on offer, either this year or next, I might be interested too. Well, I say 'I', I mean for here. I've been trying to keep an eye out for some local suppliers.”

[Ferris Macklin]

Ferris's ties to America had never been binding, so he'd not felt homesick while abroad. His decision to return had everything to do with the job opportunity and nothing to do with location, and strangely enough, he found himself missing Europe now in a way he'd never done in reverse.

He saluted Devon with two fingers. "The US and Britain. United in patriotic ridiculousness."

Snorting at the 'dickin around' part, he said, "Hope it's nothing too serious. We have locks on all the freezers and storage rooms, 'cause we cannot have anyone tampering with the food, but we've been lucky so far."

Laughing, he said, "Yeah, right. When I work I cook what I have to cook. When I'm at home I can cook what I want to cook." He smiled. "Within reason."

Ferris had designs on making his own butter sometime this winter, just to see. As far as he knew it was pretty simple, just putting cream into his food processor, but the pressing out of the resulting buttermilk part promised a mess. He thought maybe he'd do it on his birthday, but he was working Christmas Eve and Christmas Day (not to mention New Year's Eve and Day) since he didn't have any plans or family. Well. He did, but they were half a continent away and not close. And Ferris didn't mind. He'd worked every major holiday in the last seven years. If he had one off he had no idea what he'd do with himself.

"And maybe a cookie-ish thing on Friday," he said. "I don't know yet. My baking trays are starting to get all lonely."

He raised an eyebrow. "But none of the canned stuff is pastry. How does that work?"

When their drinks came Ferris gave a quiet 'Thanks' and then laughed and shook his head at Cecil's words. "No, god no. I don't can enough to supply a business. I'd never sleep. 'Sides, most of it is just straight canning, vegetable to jar." He took a sip of his soda and smiled. "And you wouldn't have any use for jam, I don't think."

[Devon Wentsworth]

Devon had of course known that he would get homesick and desperately miss his family and friends, but he hadn't expected it to be quite so harsh or lasting for so long. He still spoke to his mum about once a week and his old band-mates as and when they could, but despite the fact he at least texted Cade most days, Devon had found his missing his big brother most of all. They'd been inseparable all their lives, and even Skype did little to remedy that fact the Dev could no longer just pop around for a brew and a natter. As much as they had often bickered and butted-heads over certain things, they had always been incredibly close. Devon sometimes found himself wondering if this homesickness would ever actually go away.

A quiet laugh left the Brit's lips as he gave a salute in return. “Brothers in arms against the scourge of sensibly named foodstuffs.”

Devon nodded in understanding. “Yeah, worst they can do in mine is knick paint and throw it everywhere. Which happens. Hate t'think what they'd get up to if they could get in the freezers.” It didn't help anyone that there were some kids in the school with the ability to get past any kinds of locks or bolts, but it was always a reassurance to know that the majority could be deterred by a chunky padlock or locked door. “It's not been too bad really though. Vast improvement from my first week anyway.” A slightly bitter laugh left Devon's lips. “Still think I was being hazed.”

“Hang on a sec”, Devon seemed a bit amused at the comment regarding what Ferris had been up to. “So you wanna cook chicken stock and puree and stuff all the time? Mate, if I could cook like you I'd be just making pies and cakes and fish and chips all the time.” He laughed, the earlier unease finally floating completely off his shoulders. “Probably a good thing I can't, ey? I'd look less rockstar, more drowning risk.”

The Brit gave a shrug, a cheeky grin playing on his thin lips. “Y'need stuff to go in or on the pastry. Can't have it on its own all the time.” He chuckled softly. “Or so people keep sayin', anyway.”

---

One of the things Cecil was most proud of achieving with the Churchkey was the menu. They only served food for a fairly small portion of the day but it was all fresh and prepared in-house, something he had been absolutely dead-set on. At first he had been massively dubious about the chances of a British-style bar menu taking off in small-town America, but so far it had been doing much better than he had expected and that was an immensely good feeling. The fairly high quantity of repeat customers was a very reassuring sign, and sometimes he felt remarkably lucky despite all the crap he'd had to go through to get to this point.

Although some of the ingredients were imported from England so the recipes could be properly authentic, Cecil made an effort to source local for other staples as much as possible. He'd always been a firm believer in watching what he was eating and he wouldn't want anything less for the kitchen side of the business. Besides, building up a good working relationship with the local populace could only serve to benefit in the future.

The Welshman laughed softly at Ferris' turndown of the offer. “Well, the offer was there. If you ever change your mind I'd be glad to hear of it.” He gave a shrug of one broad shoulder. “I'm Welsh, I can make use of almost anything while cooking.” Cecil straightened up and made to leave. “Right, I'll leave you to it. Your food shouldn't be too much longer, but give a yell if you need anything in the meantime.”

[Ferris Macklin]

If asked, Ferris would tell Dev that no, homesickness never went away, but sometimes if you were lucky it turned to nostalgia and stopped interfering with your daily life. Ferris had not missed people in Europe, but things. Like speaking English - something Devon also no doubt missed.

He frowned when the Brit mentioned the paint throwing. "They do that? Seriously? Maybe you should mention that to Morgenstern. Still, if the kids blow through the supply budget doing what they're doing, maybe having the course replaced with art history would drive things home."

At the mention of his first week, Ferris smiled first sympathetically and then with a little cheek. "Couldn't have been all bad. You met me then."

He laughed. "And cook with nuts, gluten, dairy, and eggs," he said. Ferris's expression was amused. "I didn't realize 'rock star' was the look you were going for. Shouldn't you have more piercings and tattoos and... what do they call it, guyliner?"

"Yes. Like a fully balanced meal."

To Cecil, he gave a salute. "Will do. I... didn't know cooking was a racial trait."

But it did explain laverbread.

The two Hammel staff conversed on, bantering and trading semi-smartass remarks till the food came, and Ferris breathed deeply of its lovely aroma. "Oh. I chose a good night not to cook."

[Devon Wentsworth]

“Yeah, they really do.” There was an edge of frustration in Devon's voice as he spoke about the barrage of assaults to the art classroom. He was all for people wanting to be creative outside the classroom, but what so many of them did wasn't creative; it was straight-up vandalism and theft. Locks could only hold so many of them out for so long, and he gave a small nod at Ferris' comment. “If it goes on much longer I'm gonna have'ta. There's only so much I can do, y'know? I'd just feel bad for all the kids that aren't bein' arseholes.”

Ferris' comment about his first week at Hammel caused a warm smile to cross the Brit's lips, and for a long moment Devon was uncharacteristically quiet and contemplative. His first week had been an absolute nightmare, of that there was no doubt, but it had given him the chance to meet Ferris. Had Devon not been so exhausted that he had been forced to nap in the staff lounge, he never would have been woken by that delicious aroma and this odd little friendship likely would never have existed. He was deeply thankful for their meeting, even if he wasn't always quite so good at showing it. “True enough. That was the cherry on that particularly repulsive cake.” He gave a soft laugh, sipping his coke and shaking off the sudden melancholy. “And meetin' your cooking skills was a real pleasure.”

Devon chuckled, a smile on his lips. “Nuts, gluten, dairy and eggs. Sounds like the perfect recipe.” Ferris' next comment caused Devon to spread a mock-hurt look across his features, his voice thick with scandalised tone. “I am so very rock star! I have a piercing, and once I actually decide on a thing I am gonna get a tattoo.” He placed the glass down on the table, freeing his hand to point at Ferris, amusement dancing in his eyes. “And I'll have you know, I look fucking awesome in guyliner.”

As the food arrived Devon thanked Cecil, and the Welshman topped up their drinks before saying “If you need anything else just give a yell. I'm always around here somewhere if you need anything at all.”

Devon couldn't help but notice that the comment was aimed at one of the Hammel staff members far more than it was the other one, and he smirked slightly as he forked a carrot and used it to point at his friend. “This... was an awesome plan.”

~ End ~