It was turning out to be a rather awful birthday. That night a few days ago had been bad enough, but he'd been bombarded at work with awful gollies treating him like a child for no good reason. He'd sooner they just speak to him as little as possible and do things for themselves, or ask to talk to Ria. One of these days I'm gonna have Ria teach me how to do up the furniture so I don't have to deal with these nutcases.

The dark clouds that had been threatening all day had even started to pour out rain. Frustrated with everything at that moment, he held his arm over his head in an attempt to block the downpour. It obviously wasn't working, as he was still getting wet. Stupid rain. And there was another month of it. He'd always hated being born during the rainy season. Rain on his birthday always seemed like a bad thing, some sort of horrible omen. Something. I need to buy an umbrella. Or maybe a raincoat.

At least he'd gotten enough of an advance from Ria to pay for rent for the month. However, food was still a problem. He'd been living off the giant batch of cookies he'd made before Cam had returned, and he was getting thoroughly sick of them. Plus, they were running out, and getting stale besides. He wasn't sure what he'd do for food then. He could survive without for a bit, he thought. And then his paycheck would be in, and he could eat again. Easy.

He continued his walk down the street, looking unhappier with every step, his hand shoved into his pants pocket. All he wanted to do was get home and sit by his fire with a cup of tea and one of those godsdamned cookies.

Kashtan was taking his time today. He liked the rain. Not only was it an excuse to wear his raincoat, but it had a very nice rhythm to it. This was especially true when random objects came to the decision that it was their turn to create sporadic dripping sounds at varying pitches. It was also nice when the rain sucked the heat out of the air like a big breath mint. And lest we forget that the rumbling thunder was very soothing. It made him think of a big animal snoring. The loud cracks of thunder late at night weren’t so nice, though. Bad. Very bad. They were scary. He didn’t like them. He’d have to ask the gods why they felt it was necessary to create such awful sounds. Remembering the question would be helpful.

He was walking with what would appear to be a very irregular gait. This area of cobblestone had a pattern to it, but it was set on strange diagonals and his urge to avoid the cracks meant that he had to maneuver his long, thin legs in a way that would land them just right. This wasn’t due to a superstition, such as: Don’t step on a crack or you’ll break your mother’s back! Breaking his mother’s back would be dreadful, but cracks in the sidewalk didn’t do that. If they did there would be fewer of them. No, this was for fun. Why walk in a straight line when you can make your own game of single-player hopscotch?

While dancing along from side to side as if doing some weird yet elegant drunk version of ‘the vine,’ he noticed a smell. Rain had a tendency to mask every scent that wasn’t that of a damp plant, but then again- that’s what this was. It smelled like freshly cut wood mixed with an antique shop mixed with soap. Very clean antique trees? Did trees shower? Maybe that’s what rain was. But how did they get the soap? This mystery must be solved! Adventure time, yes?

He put his cobble-scotch game on hold to follow the smell. It had been a cloud of scent that then dissipated as the source moved away- like a perfumed woman minus the femininity. He barely watched his surroundings as he followed the clean tree past small shops and between the few people out in the rain. He eventually noticed a rather wet person who, judging by his posture, was not in the best of moods. As the gap between him and the man decreased, Kashtan’s nose could tell that this was the clean tree. In human form, anyway. The smell was even nicer up close. Without really thinking about the consequences, he reached out with both arms and wrapped them around the man’s waist in an embrace. Kashtan pressed his face between his victim’s shoulder-blades and nodded, creating a rubbing motion. “Mm, you smell really good, Mr. Tree,” he sighed with closed eyes.

...Who the hell was hugging him from behind?

Eran could safely say this was the weirdest thing that had happened to him today. Maybe even this month...no, the fake-rape trumped this. He wasn't even going to comment on the tree thing. However, this was rather uncomfortable, and he had to say something. You just didn't let random guys hug you on the street because you smelled good, even if it was on a day when you kind of needed a hug.

"Ummm...excuse me? Do I know you? Don't...please don't touch me."

Kashtan’s blue and yellow eyes peeked out over the soaked shoulder in front of them. “You are excused!” he responded, laughing a little at his own dumb joke. “I don’t think you know me. You know, you are very good for hugging,” he said into the soggy shirt. “Nice width.” The phrase ‘tree hugger’ came into his head and he couldn’t help smiling. A visual of branches and shiny green leaves protruding from the dark hair above him like badly drawn antlers was hilarious. He hugged the uncomfortable man’s abdomen a little tighter. “Why do you smell so good?” he asked. “You smell like nice old trees and soap. Do you clean trees? Is that your job?” He paused, trying to imagine what sort of profession that would be. His eyes widened in awe as he asked: “How much does a tree-cleaner get paid?”

The perfectly reasonable request then interrupted his thoughts. Please don’t touch me. Kashtan had almost completely forgotten that he’d taken a waist hostage. He let go, then placed a hand on the small of his new buddy’s back as he moved around to the man’s side- as if completely cutting contact would cause him to evaporate like lingering cologne. Or maybe similar to the way a person keeps physical contact with a horse so it knows who’s behind it and thus not to kick. He looked up at the disheveled, wet hair that was attempting to hide a very nice set of brown eyes. “Wooooow,” he grinned, his own eyes sparkling behind a veil of dark brown lashes. “You have really dark eyes, mister. I wish my watercolors got that dark more easily. And you’re all wet! Wet, wet, wo chet!” he sang. “Where’s your rain guard? Do you have an umbrella? You should use it.” His smile melted away as he looked around as if to find a rain-repelling item tucked into a pocket or hung on an arm. “…Where is it?” He started lightly patting the air around the man’s waist area with his fingertips. Had he hidden it? He was going to get wet. Very wet. More wet. Wet, wet, wet. Wet.

This was getting strange. Really, really strange. However, when the man started going off on his little tree-cleaner tangent, Eran couldn't help but chuckle. Maybe he was in some really weird dream, and why not enjoy the momentary lapse of sanity?

"...No, I don't clean trees. I don't think trees need cleaning. I work at a furniture store down the way. I was just leaving work. Ummm..." What did you ask weird apparitions? Well, Eran decided, he might as well figure out who this strange man was. He had to be dreaming---there was no other explanation for strange blond men coming up and hugging him, then asking him if he cleaned trees, and singing. "What's your name? And I don't have an umbrella. Couldn't hold anything else if I did."

Guy was kind of cute, but he supposed that was just his rejected romantic instinct talking. He'd always had a thing for thin blondes, although earlier on he'd assumed they were thin blonde women. How wrong he'd been. Still, he wasn't completely sure this guy wasn't some psychopath, if this wasn't a dream--not that he'd do anything with some random person, but maybe they could be friends--and then his thoughts slammed to an abrupt pause. What if this guy was the Hatcher Killer? Why hadn't he even thought of that? Was he going to be dragged off into an alley and ripped to pieces? For the first time in years, he really wished he had a gun on him.

That was a good point. Trees somehow made dirtiness cleanliness. Their intricate details were easier to spot when a bit of dirt added some depth. And touching them didn’t leave leftovers on your hands. Trees were pretty and fun to draw. But still… What if there were tree cleaners? “Well, if someone did clean trees… How much do you think they’d make? Would that be a high-paying job because you are serving the natural trees that no human could have made? Or is it low because trees are seen as inanimate and the job would not be directly beneficial to people?”

He paused to mull this over- his fingertips resting in the groove between his lips. Then he remembered the store and looked back at the lovely eyes he had discovered. “Furniture? I think I may have passed a furniture store near here. It looked expensive, though. I don’t think I could afford any of the stuff. My apartment’s too small, anyway. I wouldn’t have room. I wish I had a house. I want to go visit the store, though. Everything looked so pretty.” Then the umbrella-less-ness suddenly exploded in his head. He was exploring each topic one by one, and for some reason didn’t always do this in order of importance- or any order at all. “No umbrella?!” he gasped, widening his eyes. “Oh no! You’re going to be so drippy and then you’ll make your own puddles and then your apartment will have little lakes and you will slip and that will be bad because you might get hurt.” He fought with the belt and buttons of his raincoat. It probably would have come off faster if the shock of a human rain cloud hadn’t disrupted his calm. He managed to wriggle himself out and held one half of the coat over his own head, the other over the drippy dark hair of his comrade. He probably looked even thinner than he had with the coat, since its tendency to puff slightly added some fake mass to his frame.

“Here- we can share. You hold this half.” He shook the portion he was offering a little and drops of water scattered around on the ground. The ‘inability to hold anything’ comment had gone in one ear and out the other, but the name request somehow rose back to the surface. “Oh.” He paused all movement as his eyes drifted off to the side. “I’m Kashtan.” He looked up at his buddy with a grin. “Kashtan Vetts.” He noticed the sudden shadow that seemed to come over the man’s face. Kashtan's smile went away, but instead of a look of suspicion he downright pouted like a little kid. “What? Why are you looking at me like that? It’s a raincoat. And I’m not hugging you anymore. Do you want me to apologize for it?” He thought; then his face became even more pitiful as though he was on the verge of tears. “You don’t like my name, do you?”

"Hmm, I don't rightly know. Guess it's a toss-up."
Well, the coat was certainly unexpected. "You shouldn't, you'll get soaked--I don't mind---" oh, hell. Someone was being nice for once today, and he was going to take advantage of it. "Thanks. Kashtan? No, I don't hate your name. Why would you think that? It's a nice name." Sheesh, was this guy gonna cry? He wasn't going to worry about being dragged into an alley and murdered--since the man had taken off his coat, he could see that he was probably too small to have any chance at overpowering Eran. And if someone was willing to talk to him for a bit, he'd take it. "Where do you work, Kashtan?" He took from the man's introduction of himself by his first name that he wanted to be called that. What the heck? He would.

He grinned at the compliment and started laughing. “Oh, I don’t know why you’d hate my name- Maggie gave it to me. You just got so unhappy after I said it.” He was glad his name wasn’t the problem, but he did wonder why his coat-mate’s expression had become so negative. Did he think Kashtan was someone else? Was it the raincoat? Maybe it smelled funny. The coat, that is. Not the name. Names don’t smell. But a name can stink. Or suck. Ew, imagine getting sucked on by a name. Oh dear, Estuan somehow managed to occasionally confuse itself, thus giving noses the ability to run and objects scents.

“I work at The Wandering Boot.” He looked off into the distance and noticed how dark the clouds and rain were making the street. Rain always made everything look so far away. “We should probably start walking towards your apartment so you can get all warm and dry. You lead!” he lightly bumped his buddy with his hip. “So, yeah. I work at a shoe store. ‘Wandering’ because I was a spoke, and ‘boot’ because my favorite kinds of shoes to make are boots. I really like embroidering them, too. See? I made them.” He pointed down at the wet dark brown boots with gold vine-like patterns twisting along near the seams. What his new friend probably didn’t notice was that these boots also had rather nice heels that added something like two inches to Kashtan’s height. At 5’9” he was tall for a wick, but the style of heel he liked made him look human in size.

“Boots, boots, boots are fun!” he sang. As thin and dainty as he tended to appear, his smooth voice was always a dead give-away that he was definitely not female. He normally wasn’t mistaken, given his height among fellow wicks and his lack of an hourglass figure. But, it was always good to have those back-up indicators. Just in case.

“Oh!” He spun around to face his friend. Kashtan was very careful to avoid tugging the raincoat away. “I don’t know your name yet! That’s not very fair. What is it? I bet it’s nice.” He smiled. “And if you don’t tell me, I’m going to keep calling you by tree names and then you will have to explain that to all your friends and they won’t know what you are going on about. Oh, and trivia time.” He raised his eyebrows and straightened in a feigned attempt to look more intelligent, or perhaps slightly snobby. “How old am I?” He quickly dropped the act- he just couldn’t hold his smile in. “No one ever gets it right. I want to know what you think.”

"I think I've seen that store around. You made those? They're beautiful. Must've taken forever! You have to be really patient to do all those little stitches. I have trouble just sewing on a button. Sheesh."

Should he tell his name? Oh, whatever. He could use a new friend anyway, even if it was just this kid. "I'm Eran Scully. Nice to meet you. And I'm supposed to guess your age? I can't be any good at this, but I'll take a wild guess. Eighteen? I'm probably way off."

(( sfsr, dear. ))

Kashtan beamed at all the praise. It had been a while since he’d had a non-shoe-selling conversation and even longer since someone had made him feel good. He always liked the shoes he made because he always did his best. He used the best materials he could find (and afford) and checked every little detail. It was nice when someone helped reaffirm that he was doing things right. “Hehe, thank you! They actually don’t take too long. I mean, they do- they’re shoes and some materials need to sit for a while to dry or take special forms and stuff. But I work really fast. I’m probably twice as fast as most cobblers.” ‘Cobbler’ was a funny word. It made him think of food. “And hey, if you need any buttons sewn, I can do that for you.” He pushed his shoulders back and puffed out his chest. “I made my vest, too. I don’t make clothes much. But I can!”

He threw his head back and burst out laughing at Eran’s age guess- this time he almost did take the raincoat with him. “Ahahahaha! Oh, Mr. Eran, you are off! It’s okay though. People guess that I’m around that age a lot. Eehehehe.” He leaned against his buddy’s upper arm, then felt the cold of the soaked shirt and pulled away. “Pfft! Aye, that’s freezing! My cheek’s all cold now. When we get to your apartment you should take a warm bath before you put on dry clothes. You’ll get all sick and stuff if you don’t.” He looked at the sleeve as if it were plotting something against him, then he smiled back at Eran’s face. “Okay, you wanna know my real age?” He paused, allowing time for his friend to mentally prepare. “Twenty-nine. I’m a lot older than I look. You probably think I act like I’m, what, ten? But I’m not. I’ll be thirty in Intas. What about you? I bet you’re around my age. Are you near thirty?”

"W-what? Really? You wicks must have some sorta spell for that, because you don't look anywhere close to thirty. Yeah, I'm thirty-two. Today, actually. Yeah. I'm not that cold, really, and firewood's expensive for heating up the water. You're walking me back to my house, I s'pose? Seems you're set on it."

He hadn't had anyone anywhere near his house besides Cam for a long time, and honestly he was a bit weirded out already, but...whatever. Just whatever. He didn't feel like dissuading this guy, especially since he was turning out to be odd, but nice. He'd grown to like this combo quite a lot. He, however, was not going to take a bath. Waste of firewood. Really. Maybe he'd do it after Kashtan was gone. It didn't really matter either way.

Kashtan was really enjoying Mr. Eran’s reaction. It was fun to surprise people. And a spell? Was there one that could do that? He didn’t know. He’d skimmed through some spells years ago and decided to work on fixing spells, then forgot about all the others. “Yes, really.” he laughed. “And no spells- I only know big fix. Maggie looks really young, too. You’d probably think she was thirty five or something, but she’s way over that.”

Thirty-two. Three minus one was two. Next year his friend would be thirty-three and never be able to mix up the order of the numbers. He whirled around, “Today?! Are you going to hang out with friends and have a special dinner and stuff? Maggie always made me special dinners on my birthday. Are your friends going to sing you a birthday song? I’ve got one!” He took a breath and sang one his brother had taught him. It wasn’t particularly musical, but it fit the occasion. “Hey there, it’s your birthday, get happy! Happy when you’re born, happy when you’re young, happy when you’re old and gray. Congratulations- here’s to you! Happy birthday from everyone to Eran!”

He grinned. “That’s my song. I’ll bet you a cookie I’m the only one in the whole city who knows it.” He paused. “Or. Maybe not a cookie. I don’t really bake. I can’t remember the last time I cooked. I live on cereal, mostly. How about I bet you some really cool shoelaces?” While learning how to assemble shoes, Kashtan had been sure to learn how to make every part from scratch. He usually didn’t have to, of course, but it was nice knowledge to have. He had made a point to learn how to make shoelaces so he could make custom commissions as unique as the buyer wanted them to be.

“Oh, wait! You need a birthday present. I should make you something. What are your three favorite colors? Do you have favorite plants? Or do you like buildings better?” He was getting excited. He wanted to make a bracelet out of string for his buddy. He had heard them called ‘friendship bracelets,’ so it would be fitting to give a new friend a bracelet of friendship. As for the plants and buildings, those were the things he liked to watercolor the most. Watercolors didn’t take very long and they always came out nice. He’d have to make one for Mr. Eran.

“Expensive firewood? Why, are you going to take two baths? Why not take one and put on some day clothes and then change into your sleepy-sleep stuff later?” Kashtan actually didn’t heat his bath water up very much. He didn’t like waiting for it, so he’d only get it to a warm-ish temperature. He’d use cold water if he could, but that was too uncomfortable. This impatience paid off, though. Literally. He didn’t have to buy as much wood.

He put his hand back on his friend’s shoulder. “How are you not cold? Maybe you are cold, but you don’t feel it.” He patted Eran’s cheek with the back of his fingers. “Oi, very cold! You really should warm up. You’ll get all sick and then you won’t be able to go to your furniture place. And of course I’m walking you back to your- … House? You have a house? Oh, exciting! I’ve never been in one. Why didn’t you tell me earlier? Now I feel dumb. I’m gonna walk you, though. If I don’t you’ll get more drippy. That wouldn’t be very nice of me. I live in this direction. But even if I didn’t, I’d still walk you.”

"Ha. Thanks. I haven't really celebrated my birthday since I left home, so...no party or presents or anything like that coming up. It doesn't really matter."

The mention of cookies made him groan. Gods, he was sick of those. His stomach rumbled slightly, and it was audible. He'd gotten so sick of them that he barely ate them.

"Ugh, you can bet me one of mine. I've been living off 'em. You don't need to make me anything, though that's sweet. I don't really know you at all. Why would you spend time on someone you barely knew? And I dunno, maybe I will, it's just...routine. I don't like going off routine. And thanks for sharing your coat, really. I need to get one of my own but I can never seem to afford new clothes."

They were getting somewhat close to Eran's place now. Eran could see his familiar street coming up nearby. They'd probably arrive in a few minutes if they kept walking at the same place they were now.

“Whaaaaaat?!” he whined in dispair. “No birthday celebration? That’s so sad, Mr. Eran! Of course it matters! Birthdays are important…” His face fell. Kashtan felt awful. How could no one celebrate Eran’s birthday with him? They weren’t just to remind you that you were another year older- they were there to show appreciation of your existence. Wasn’t anyone happy that Mr. Eran was around? He seemed really nice. He certainly deserved some birthday thanks.

He heard his friend’s stomach grumble and looked at it, then at his buddy’s face, “You’ve been living on cookies? That sounds like a dream to me. Do you really get sick of them? I love cookies. They’re my favorite desserts.” He thought for a bit. How long had Mr. Eran been living off cookies to have become so upset with them? Cookies were amazing!

“And of course I have to do something for you for your birthday, Mr. Eran. Especially if no one else is going to. I’m happy you’re here with me, so I’m going to do something for you to celebrate it.” But what could he do? He completely forgot the comments on the fact that they had really just met and, had he been anyone other than Kashtan, wouldn’t be planning on celebrating a birthday together. Maybe he should get Mr. Eran a raincoat. He had been selling a lot of boots recently, so he certainly had the money to afford one. It’d be best to look for something cheap, but quality would not be compromised! Mr. Eran probably wouldn’t let him do that, though. At least not at the present time. So what could he do right now?

“Mr. Eran, why have you been eating only cookies? Do you need money for food or something?” And then he got an idea. He let his half of the raincoat droop over his head as he clapped his hands together and smiled, “Oh! Mr. Eran, I’ll buy you dinner! That will be my birthday gift for you.” This was a good idea. But how could he get Mr. Eran to accept it? Eran might be worried about having to pay him back. If he couldn’t get himself something as important as a raincoat, maybe he wouldn’t be able to return the favor monetarily. Then another great idea- he waved a hand at Eran as though he were pushing something away, “And don’t worry about paying me back for it. Here’s my plan: You pick what you want to eat. I’ll buy the stuff while you take a bath and get warm. Then I’ll come back and you can cook dinner for us. I don’t like cooking, so you can pretend me getting the food is like me paying you to cook. And then we can split the dinner! This is a good plan, yes?” He grinned up at Eran’s face, his eyes sparkling. He was very proud. This was such a good plan.

“Oh, and by the way.” He attempted to change the topic quickly to try to break up any thoughts his friend might have had about refusing the gift, but also to actually show him something. “You see that building over there? With three floors? I live over there. I’m on the end on the second floor. That’s my apartment right there, actually. There’s only a window on the front, though, so you can’t see into it from here.” Maybe it wasn’t safe to be telling his new friend where he lived. Mr. Eran was only a few inches taller, but he was way more muscular. He could easily overpower Kashtan with one hand, or even just a finger. Kashtan should really learn not to be so open to strangers.

Even so, he really hoped Mr. Eran lived nearby. He sometimes poked his head out of his window and looked out at the houses a couple streets away from him, wishing he could live in one of them. He was always amazed by the really clean one. It was hard for him to see because another building was between him and it. Maybe Mr. Eran knew the person who lived in it and could introduce them so Kashtan could compliment it to the person’s face.

Eran thought for a moment. Yes, there was the whole problem of taking a favor from strangers, and letting said strangers into his house, but...this guy seemed really nice, and he doubted he had a gun on him or anything Eran couldn't overpower. His field was weakly there, but Eran had never seen offensive wick magic and wasn't sure there was any...he could handle this guy if he turned out to be a trap and not just an uncharacteristically nice person on a bad day.

Kashtan couldn't be dissuaded from walking him home anyway, so he might as well buy dinner. Eran was sick enough of stale sugar cookies and city water to give in. It was his birthday. He shouldn't be eating barely anything. He remembered his childhood, when his mother had always made him a thick, thick stew on his birthday...perfect for the Loshis damp, and very filling. There had never been too much meat in it, due to cost issues, but the difference had been made up with long-simmered mushrooms, carrots, potatoes, and celery. Damn, but he was craving stew now.

"That's sweet. Tell you what--I'll take you up on your offer. You know how to shop for food, right? I don't want you spending way too much money on some guy you barely know. Can you buy stew vegetables for me? My ma always used to make it around my birthday and I'm wanting some. I'll cook it when you get back, if you'll help me chop stuff. No, wait, wait, stew takes all day. Clock. You got any idea what to get? I can't think of anything that wouldn't be really expensive, but wouldn't take all day to cook. Oh! You wanna get me a chicken, carrots, onions, potatoes...and, erm, one small sweet potato? They're a bit expensive, but I want one. I have cooking oil, salt, and spices, plus a pan. We'll roast 'em, okay? That won't take too long, if we put the vegetables in separately so they don't burn. I hope I'm not being too much of a burden. It's really nice of you to even think about buying me stuff for dinner."

They were on Eran's street now, and closing in on his pristine house. He'd washed down the outside again yesterday, and it showed. The little beds by the walkway might have held plants when the little house was under previous ownership, but now they were simply weedless, muddy wet strips next to a short stretch of cobblestone. Eran's house was originally very cheap due to the fact that it had been beaten up beyond the point where any house should be beaten. It had taken months of constant weekend work for it to come up to his standards, and he maintained it fiercely. What couldn't be replaced was disguised or covered so that the facade of the house was clean, white, and personality-free...unless you counted the fact that Eran liked it that way, and so added in his personality seamlessly with a new-house look. He walked under the shade of his half of raincoat with Kashtan up to the door, and dug for his key.

"Here we are."

He felt proud. Mr. Eran had called him ‘sweet.’ Although Kashtan really hadn’t been trying to earn a compliment, it was always nice to receive one. He had also secured a gift for his new friend with his awesome plan. It had been flawless. And stew? Kashtan couldn’t remember the last time he’d had any.

“Stew vegetables? If you tell me which ones, Mr. Eran. I really haven’t had stew in a long time- I don’t remember which vegetables are for stew or soup or what have you,” he scratched behind his head a little as he admitted these faults. Not to say that it was bad to know very little about particular genres of dishes, but it was just the tip of the iceberg that represented Kashtan’s immense lack of kitchen knowledge. But chopping? He could do that. It was one of the few food-preparation-based activities he actually found amusing. Edible things had organic shapes, and organic shapes could never be chopped quite the same. It was so fun to try to figure out how to go about dealing with each one. “Sure, I’ll do the chopping! One of my few kitchen skills.” As long as he didn’t have to come up with the spices or actually sit around keeping an eye on containers of food to avoid burning down the house, he was fine.

He felt a little jolt in his chest and almost started laughing when his coat-mate said ‘clock.’ That had always been a weird curse word to him. It was like saying ‘poop’ to a child- Kashtan was going to smirk at it. And no, he had no idea what else to cook. He had opened his mouth to announce this when Eran got inspiration and started listing specific food items. Kashtan stared off at a random spot in the distance as he listened. He was trying to commit the foods to memory- hoping for word patterns or something. He settled for a taste image by trying to think of what this food combination would taste like if he put it in his mouth and moved it all around. It was tasting pretty good.

Thank the gods Eran had the spices and things he already wanted. Kashtan always worried about what it would be like to buy flavorings for a non-wick. Maggie had always warned him that wick food was very spicy and that if he ever bought something for a friend it’d be best to start them on something mild. But what was mild enough without being too mild? Oh well, he wouldn’t have to think about this until later on.

“Sure, I can get all that. I’ve got it in my head. We should put those stew vegetables you were talking about in my sketchbook so maybe I can get those and you can make them another day or something. I can’t have you starving and withering away. Actually, y’know what? When we get to your house I’ll just sketch it all in there so maybe I can get those things now and you can make it for yourself tomorrow, since it takes all day.” What he wouldn’t tell was that he was going to buy an extra sweet potato. Mr. Eran would need breakfast. It didn’t matter that it was probably an unnecessary expense. A lot of people had been buying boots recently because the rain either meant that they had to buy closed-toed shoes in the first place or that the ones they usually wore were taking too long to dry. It wasn’t like he bought much for himself, anyway.

Kashtan stood wide-eyed with his mouth agape, letting his eyes scan the house from corner to corner. He probably looked like a fool- or maybe a ventriloquist’s doll. It was the house! That really clean one! He reached out and placed a hand on the door, stroking the wood with disbelief like a little girl who had just received that pony she’d begged for all year. “M-Mr. Eran… This is your house?” he breathed. “It’s even cleaner up close.” He delicately traced the textures in the paint that were remnants of a now hidden wood grain. “I can see it a little from my apartment.” He beamed up at his friend as a little blush crept into his cheeks due to his excitement, “I’ve been wanting to tell you how much I admire it, but I never saw you coming or going, so I didn’t know what time you were home. We must be in the streets at different times.”

He studied the door for a few more seconds before coming back down to earth from his personal spot on cloud nine. “Oh-” He reached into his pocket and pulled out one of his small handmade sketchbooks and a pencil. “Here, let me get that food list for tonight’s dinner and that other one you were talking about so we can be sure I don’t forget. And if you don’t mind my company, I’ll eat with you again tomorrow.” He flipped through the most recently-filled pages of small animals, trees, and some buildings. Only a few had color in them. After finding a blank page, he looked up and smiled. “Okay, ready!”

"Erm, thank you." There wasn't really much more to say to the house comment, though he was pleased, very pleased that someone noticed his work.

"Sure, come inside and I'll, erm, put it down for you." He didn't like saying "write." His writing, even though he wrote occasionally, was awful and scratchy with his right hand, and besides, it was illegal. What was the government trying to do, making it illegal for the common man to read, anyway? Not that no one did. There'd be no market for the rag newspapers and Resistance pamphlets that made their way around the underground of the city. He got out his key and opened the door to his house, aware that it was to an almost-total stranger but sure that he'd be fine. The creepy members of the city he was used to worked under cover of night and were much less savory than this bright little thing that had just approached him out of friendliness, or so it seemed.

The door swung open on well-oiled hinges. Inside was the usual cleanliness: the chairs at the kitchen table were even pushed in.
"I can write it or you can, don't care. I'd invite you in, but I have a feeling you wanna get out before you get too comfortable. I'll have a fire on and some tea when you get back, okay? You can write, right? I need a chicken--not too big, but not like a tiny stew hen or something. Then carrots, onions, potatoes, and a small sweet potato. If that's too expensive today, I can live without it. Don't bother with the stew stuff--my friend from work promised she'd come over tomorrow and cook me something. You can come over too, she said she'd make a lot for me to eat later, so I'm sure there'll be enough. Okay?"

“Oh, no, no!” Kashtan waved his hands very quickly in front of his face as he shook his head at a similar speed. “It’s okay; if I go in I may not want to go back out into the rain!” he laughed. “Here, I’ll just draw the things you want and I’ll get going.” He couldn’t remember the last time he was in a house, but he was sure that upon entering he would want to give the thing a very thorough exploration. That would delay letting Mr. Eran warm up, and it would also push back dinner.

He tried not to look into the house. He would get too distracted and end up scurrying right in if he let himself. First the eyes wander, then the body follows. “I’ll do it, Mr. Eran, don’t worry. I can write a little, but I don’t really want the merchants to know that. They already get upset enough when they find out I’m a wick and not a golly- they always look at my clothes first and act polite. Then when they notice the way I act, they get really mean sometimes.”

Using his left hand, he made very fast little doodles with confident strokes as his friend described the food items. A loosely drawn chicken with ‘small’ written in very neat script next to it- he only remembered to put two l’s because of a poster he’d seen once with the word ‘all’ on it. Some elongated upside-down teardrops with scribbled tops for carrots, fat versions without the leaves for onions, lumpy ovals with a few dots as potatoes, and an extra potato with a pretty ‘swt’ written on it. ‘Sweet’ minus the vowels.

Kashtan’s handwriting was normally prettier than it was accurate. He knew some words from papers and things he’d collected off of streets and then made up spellings for things he didn’t know. He kept up his penmanship for the embroidering he was sometimes asked to do. A lot of people liked to have their initials on things. He always wondered why this was- were they worried someone was going to steal their plain shower cloth, and thus the initials would direct it back to them?

He finished his little scribbles and looked up. “Friend? She? Is she your girlfriend?” he said with a grin. Mr. Eran seemed nice- he probably had someone. Maybe that was this girl friend. But why wasn’t she celebrating his birthday with him? Had she been out of town? Was the food she was making her gift to him, too? Idea stealer! He put the back of his pencil to his lips, “I’ll come over if you’d like me too, Mr. Eran. You don’t owe me anything, so don’t feel like you have to. How long until you get money to get your own food? I wouldn’t want to eat too much if you need it to survive until your next payday.”

“Oh, I’d better get going!” he said as he looked at the sky. It was going to start getting late. He didn’t mind roaming around after dark, but the street vendors and shops would probably be closing rather soon. He put his sketchbook away and started readjusting his raincoat back into coat form, rather than drapery. “Take that warm bath before I get back, Mr. Eran! Don’t worry about the tea- I can wait. And don’t rush or anything. If I get back before you’re done I can just wait outside or something. Okay- see you later!” He waved and trotted down the sidewalk towards the closest shops he’d seen during his haphazard explorations. Luckily he’d seen some on this same side-walk- too many loops and turns would make for a very lost Kashtan.

He waited as Kash drew up the items, then gave him a thumbs up. They were correct.

"No, she's not my girlfriend. I don't have a girlfriend." Never would, but there was no need to ever tell anyone that. "No, you can come over. My next payday's soon--it won't be bad. I'll be fine. I barely ever have company."

After Kash left, he got his wet clothes off, finally, and went to heat up bathwater. Rainy days were awful. Especially when you had to be out in them for long enough to walk home. After his rather relaxing bath, he got into dry clothes and an old sweater his mother had knitted him just before he left (he was surprised it still fit, but he was slightly thin this week and the sweater was a bit stretched) and set up the fire, also putting on tea for himself and Kash when he got back. He ended up huddled on the couch under a blanket he'd found in the closet, waiting.

He grinned at the thumbs up; he had done something else right. “No girlfriend?” Kashtan shook his head. “Mr. Eran, you should get one. It’s nice to have a person who’s really close to you like that. Or a boyfriend. But humans don’t like people of the same sex, right? I think you’re all missing out on that part. No offense or anything, but guys are really nice, too.” He wanted to add They’re my favorites! but he didn’t want to upset his new friend.

After saying his good-byes, he began his trek to the shops. He jogged because he wanted to get to them before the owners decided it was closing time. He felt it’d be best to walk back, though. He didn’t want to come at a time when his new friend was still in the bath. He would wait outside the door as he had said, but he didn’t like standing in the dark. Moving was fine, but standing made one paranoid because the inability to see at night meant that the sense of hearing was heightened, and that called for imagined footsteps: also known as a very loud heartbeat.

Kashtan hopped over puddles to avoid soaking himself. He liked to make games out of shopping. The first stand had vegetables. Kashtan nodded to the vendor in greeting, then quickly picked up the nicest looking carrots- inspecting them with meticulous scanning eyes. The first few he got a hold of were already very nice. Carrots acquired, sir! Yes, cap’n, on to the next order of business- onioooooons! He smiled as he picked up two and stared at them. One had a khaki colored skin and one was a pretty maroon. Oh dear, which would Mr. Eran like? The purple-y one was very pretty, but he had seen the brown ones more often. Those were probably what his friend wanted. Into the little pile they went! Kashtan had a habit of putting things he wanted in little heaps, even if it meant he had to run back and forth across a store with each item he grabbed. He was like a squirrel stashing things near its home base tree. He turned and gingerly dug through a barrel of potatoes, picking out nice big ones that looked to be in good condition. Some of the ones near the bottom had spuds growing on them already. They looked like beings from another planet. Spooky. But pretty. In his mind they were evil beings wanting to bite any curious fingers. He almost said Argh, you will not get me this time! Or my little dog! Ohoho! but he refrained. He didn’t want to upset the vendors.

That particular stand had no sweet potatoes, so he kept going down the walkway after paying. He found a man selling meats and bought a small chicken. Was it too small? Although he had been asked to get a little one, the bigger ones were huge. Or were some of those turkeys? Maybe turkeys. They must be turkeys. He told himself this so he wouldn’t feel bad about how small the chicken was. He wasn’t trying to be cheap, but the size had been specified. Anyway, maybe Mr. Eran really didn’t like the big ones. He paid for it and some wrappings to keep it from touching him and some extra to wrap the veggies and things, then continued on. The last shopkeeper had a few sweet potatoes, and Kashtan purchased two. None of them were of any particularly amazing size, but each one could still make for a nice warm breakfast, even for someone as big as Mr. Eran.

He went off into an area where he could be alone and thus deal with his treasures of war. He wrapped everything nicely and folded the wrappings to keep them from opening on their own. He opened his raincoat, unbuttoned his vest and the top of his shirt, then gently slid the vegetables down into it. His belt held everything in, but he kept a hand beneath his now lumpy stomach- just in case. He put the chicken under his chin (it was also wrapped- don’t forget!) as he buttoned up his raincoat, then let it slide until it was over the lumps of former plant life before he finished buttoning his coat. He got himself situated with one hand holding the veggies in place and another holding the chicken, then carefully walked back. None of the food was going to get wet now! Although Mr. Eran would probably clean everything, the rain from the rooftops was kind of icky sometimes and really shouldn’t be allowed on tasty birthday dinners.

It was dark by the time Kashtan eventually made it to his new friend’s door. Not that it was late, but the rain did block a lot of the already fading light. His back was hurting a little because he had been walking while leaning back to help keep the veggies from sliding around or bruising each other. He bonked his head on the door rather than knocking. “Ow…” he mumbled, then called out, “Mr. Eran? Are you there? I’ve got- oof! I’ve got the yats.”

Eran quickly ran up and unlocked the door, still wrapped in his blanket, and returned to the couch, huddling and shivering. Damn, it was cold and wet and disgusting. He almost didn't want to get up and cook, but the oven would warm the room up, he reasoned, and he'd be able to sit by the fire while everything was roasting, anyhow. Maybe he'd be able to get to know this mysterious stranger better in the time it took for everything to be done.

"You can put everything down on the counter across from the stove, if you wouldn't mind. There's tea on, too; cups are up above it in that cabinet if you wanna pour yourself some. And there's a hook behind the door for your coat." He shuddered at it dripping on his floors, but he could get it later, really. He'd have to. He didn't like people seeing him clean.

With a relatively surprised expression, Kashtan watched the bundle of warmth and blanket rush back to the couch. “Mr. Eran? Pfft! You’re so scuffle-y.” He stepped inside and looked around. “Wow- it’s so big in here! And so clean! My little apartment isn’t even this clean.” His fingers burned a little. He hadn’t realized how cold it had gotten outside, and thus his half-numb fingers now had to acclimate.

He undid the top buttons of his raincoat and removed the chicken, placing it gingerly on the floor before completely unbuttoning and removing the entire coat. He looked at the little drips and puddles forming after he hung it on the now closed door. “Dze… Do you have a tub or something I can put under this? I wouldn’t want anyone to slip. And a towel so I can get what’s already there?” He unlaced his boots one-handed and slipped them off, leaving them next to the door. The house was too clean for wet boots and road grossness.

He shuffled over to the counter and slowly un-tucked his shirt with one hand while the other supported the veggies, which he then left in a little pile before jogging back in his socks to get the chicken. Kashtan unwrapped everything and put like vegetables together. He held up one of the sweet potatoes, “Mr. Eran, I got you an extra so you have something to eat tomorrow morning, ‘kay?” He put it back down and sniffed at the teapot. “Oh, that smells good.”

While lightly picking up a cup he looked back at his friend with a smile. His eyes almost seemed to disappear behind his dark eyelashes, “I am jealous. You look so cozy.” He poured some tea and walked over while sipping it. “Do I get a spot on the couch, too? Wow- your hair got so fluffy! You took a bath, didn’t you?” He gently put his hand in it. “Hee. Owah! Is that a sweater? Macha kov! I like you in a sweater, Mr. Eran. Very macha. I want to give you another hug. One that isn’t wet. You're very hug-able.”

"There're towels in the bathroom down the hall. I'll clean up later, really, if you wouldn't mind just getting up the stuff on the floor now, I'm sorry, it's really not your fault--"

He wasn't the biggest fan of being touched in general, but he especially hated having his hair touched. It was strange, too intimate. Especially for someone he'd just met. He imagined he'd let a spouse do it without freaking out, but that was about all. Naturally, he flinched away, huddling more into his blanket. "Could you stop touching me? I don't like it, you know I don't like it."

The hug comment threw him off further. "I don't even know what that means." This was getting slightly more uncomfortable by the second, really. "I'll get up and start dinner in a minute, I guess."

Kashtan moved his hand away and looked down sadly, “I’m sorry, Mr. Eran, I didn’t mean to. Honest.” He really hadn’t. At least he had remembered to ask for the hug rather than just going right into it. He rarely knew what his hands were up to- they had a mind of their own and he just went along with them.

His shoulders drooped as his unhappiness sunk in, and without realizing it he let the cup of tea tilt as well. Thank the gods it didn’t pour out onto the floor, but it did manage to drip down onto his sock and seep through to his skin. “Ow! Hot! Hot stuff!” he yelped as his foot became the victim of a very viscious terrorist tea attack. In his panic he almost threw even more tea out, but he cupped a hand over it, thus getting heated liquid on that, too. “Ah!” He put the cup down as quickly as he could without spilling it, grabbing his burnt foot with his similarly burnt hand. The sock would absorb all the tea, and maybe the pressure would make the pain go away.

He stood on one leg with his hands clamped around his foot. His wincing face was out of sight behind his bleach blond hair. Maybe that was what he got for forgetting Mr. Eran’s no-touch policy. He slipped the stained sock off and straightened up. “I’ll- I’ll go get that towel for the coat puddles.” He nearly whimpered the words out as he wiped his eyes with the back of his wrist, then walked gingerly down the hall to the bathroom. All he wanted to do now was cry due to guilt, frustration, and embarrassment, but he would have to hold it in. He couldn’t cry on Mr. Eran’s birthday.

"No, you won't. Let me." He dipped a dishrag in cool water before following Kash and getting a towel before he could. "Here, put this around your foot. Come back with me and we'll get another one for your hand, okay? Sorry I startled you. Don't cry, it's okay." He picked up the cup of tea on the floor and set it on the counter gingerly, then dipped another towel, which he loosely tied around Kash's hand. "You just sit down and keep those on and I'll fix dinner and clean up, okay? Don't worry yourself. You need anything, just ask me."

He took the towel he'd gotten and mopped up the small puddle of water under the rain-soaked coat and boots, then got another dry one and put it under them for drippings, leaving the wet one in the hamper to be washed later. He then started in on the food. Eran bent and found a roasting pan, rather worn but still in working conditions and clearly well-washed; the chicken was prepared and placed in the pan, salted and peppered with its cavity stuffed with a few herbs he'd had leftover from something. He chopped up the vegetables, noticing the extra sweet potato and sending Kash a look. Why'd he buy me an extra? Did he forget what I asked for? No, I bet he just was trying to be nice. That sounds about right. He layered them into the pan around the chicken, and then stuck both into the oven, already hot. He'd check it in about half an hour and add some water to help the vegetables, but for now he was going to go sit with Kash.

"You feeling any better, hmm?"