#anywhere

Al moves towards the table, wiping his hands off on a cloth as he approaches. It almost feels like he's stalking closer, armed with... two vinyl-coated menus that he drops on the table.

"Welcome to the club."

"Uh. Thanks?"

"Yeah. Usual?"

Arty is somewhat torn between examining the menu and keeping an eye on the hulking chef.

He's not huge - bigger than them, certainly, but the Thanes at the Manor are bulkier and taller, as is Dame Gladiola... But something about him just says... loom.

"For me, yeah. Arthur's gonna want the Classic, with a milkshake and fries."

"Bacon twice, hold the garden, curlies and chock. Single-up, hand cuts and a frozen cow." He nods and moves back towards the kitchen.

Arty is looking at the menu still, then says to Katrina in an undertone, "NONE of that is on these pages."

"It's jargon!" A sharp grin and what Arty might recognize as happy spirals - a warm orangey-red.

"What's jargon?"

The sound of sizzling from the back - oh, good smells. Not like the fancy stuff that Marigold puts out, or the simple stuff from home - heavy, greasy, delicious smells.

"Jargon's, like, special language? Stuff you gotta be in the know to use."

"Diners got it, but, like, so do mechanics or theatre kids or whatever."

"Like runes." He nods thoughtfully. "Or sigils... but spoken in code. How did you learn it?"

"I eat here a lot."

"It smells like food." Sniffing the air. His stomach growls audibly.

"Seriously. Greasy, cheesy, bad-for-you goodness."

Soon the plates come up. A double-cheeseburger, NO ONION with curly fries and a chocolate malt, and a single burger, straight up with fries and vanilla shake.

The plates clatter down in front of them. "Eat. I ain't gonna bite. You're both scrawny gits not worth the time to pick clean."

She tries a smile. "Thanks Al. Looks edible as *^^&&."

He gives her a smile back, a thin one that doesn't show much teeth. "You got a new name these days, Sparkles? Or waiting until some ponce tells you what to be called in a year?"

"Well.. like, I'm trying out Thistle? binky calls me Rainbow, and that's not total drek, neither." To note: 'her' Nevers are hiding in her hair or in the crook of her elbow or her pockets. One little silly is hiding behind Arthur's ear.

They are hiding, most certainly, at this point.

But, brave to be in munching range at ALL!

"Who's the elf?"

Arthur straightens up at that a bit. "Excuse me."

"This is Arthur. We changed at the same time."

"He's not Arty..." Bluer spirals. "It's complicated."

A snort at him, "No excuse fer you. I can smell it on yeh. Fresh from the old world, waltzin' in to take what yeh want. Yer lucky yer a fledge, and got Sparks vouching for yeh. G'wan, eat." This last almost an order.

Arty flushes - half outrage, half embarassment, but he takes a fry.

"Thanks for the food, Al." She dips a fry in her malt.

He looms a moment longer to make sure that they're eating, then stomps back to the kitchen. The sound of dishes clattering into the dishpan, clank splash thud.

"You think there are other folks that are... like... how many might be like us?"

He tries a tentative bite of the burger, after looking for, and not finding, silverware. Not even a handwashing bowl? Hmph. But after he tastes it, he goes back for a bigger bite!

"Mmmph!"

"Told you!" Triumphant grin.

Chew chew swallow. "I hope so. That's what the changeling way was for. To help preserve folk until it was safe for us to return."

"Yeah?"

He nods, trying the milk shake. An appreciative slurp. "I wish that my host mother would provide fare like this."

"Well, my mom doesn't cook much either. And milkshakes don't turn out right at home, either way. I've tried."

"She always has something baked in a large dish. Tuna something, or something 'helper'? I always end up with the dried edges. It suffices perfectly well as sustaining provender, but it's not..." He crunches another fry. "Fantastic."

She makes a face. "Oh, gross. Yeah, this place has a decent tuna melt but otherwise I think it smells like cat food."

He takes another big bite of the sandwich. Over by the register, Al is brooding in their general direction.

She points at him with a curly fry. "What you need to do is stand up for yourself. Arty was a pushover."

"They're bigger than me. If I'm not allowed to invoke the wyrd, I have no power over them."

Reasoning, as he eats more fries hungrily.

"Feh! Like hell you don't!"

"Attitude is everything. They'll expect you to roll over and eat &^%O, because that's what you've always done."

"So I should tell them that I am an Unnamed Scion of an Unknown House, with no Arts nor Realms recalled, no weaponry or strength of arms, and without my Glamour, and yet they should bow before me... why?"

"You can't tell them that. But you could use your words? Cut them down by being smarter than them. Arty was so smart, but he was scared."

He gets a bit of an unfocused look as he searches his memories.

"Gareth, his closest elder? He tried to teach him to fight back. Arty refused. He said there was no point.. He cowered, and waited for the bullying to end of it's own accord." A frown. "I suppose there is somewhat of a stoic nature there. But it did not end any troubles. It merely resulted in Gareth giving up on assisting him." He winces a bit at the look of disgust remembered on the elder brother's face. It's embarrassing, even in memory.

"Bullies don't give up if you ignore them. That's bullshit advice given by old people who have forgotten what it's like."

He looks up from his burger to Katrina. "Are you being bullied?"

She shrugs. "I'm not one of the popular crowd."

A snort of amusement from behind the counter.