Perpetual Potluck

Perpetual Potluck

“We’re almost there.” Fjara took a few steps forward before pausing to check back at Gwyn as they neared the gateway to Candletown. He stood still, looking onwards in a silent fashion as he mindlessly fidgeted with the Muse’s Treasure adorning his neck. Doing so wasn’t completely out of the ordinary, but Fjara had the creeping feeling that this had something to do with the incident he encountered at the Inkwell a few days prior. “...You don’t have to talk about it now if you don’t want to,” she started, watching as a void-touched hemling skittered out from behind him to check out their surroundings. It moved around quite oddly, looking more adjacent to a centipede in its movements than those of an actual hemling. “...but at the very least, this should help take your mind off of things.”

Snapping back to reality, Gwyndolin looked towards Fjara and stepped forward, offering a nod in quiet appreciation. With that, the pair began to walk into Candletown, ready for the pleasantries the evening had to offer. At first glance, contributing to a mystery stew was a far more tame activity in comparison to uncovering a well linked to the abyssal void… He hoped, at the very least. Above all else though, he was thankful to have the opportunity for a change of pace… Especially with Fjara at his side. Although she was quite adept at supporting him in the thrill of combat, he found that he valued the quiet and relaxed moments they shared far more than any opponent they could hope to conquer. He set his gaze forward, scanning the long stretch of popup shops, food stalls, and attractions laid out before them. Naturally, there were festive decorations plastered across every inch of the town as far as the eye could see. It might be considered a bit excessive in the eyes of someone else, but Gwyn felt it certainly added an extra bit of charm to the entire place.

“I admire the locals’ sense of holiday spirit,” he said, thoroughly impressed at how much work must have gone into hand making each decoration. “They have quite an eye for it.”

“You think so?” Fjara tilts her head slightly, cracking a slight grin. Land dwellers were strange, yet fascinating to her. Be it their different styles of dress, traditions, even down to the small differences in the ways they referred to things… All of it was still very new and exciting to her; a tad bit overwhelming, but exciting nonetheless. That being said, she appreciated how he always tried to see the good in whatever he came across. She’d be lying if she didn’t find it particularly refreshing at times, especially now more than ever. Still, she didn’t feel the need to bring such thoughts to words; she was far more content with the silent appreciation for him she’d been holding onto. 

“...I think this is it…?” Fjara’s eyes scan the crowd before them. Droves of villagers and travelers arriving for the festivities were gathered nearby, all congregated around one massive cauldron. A massive plume of steam billows forth from the cooking vessel, wafting a mouthwateringly lovely aroma towards the pair of browbirds. They approach.

“An interesting concoction indeed…” Gwyn’s eyes light up at the magnificent culinary display before him. He hadn’t had the desire to eat much after the Inkwell incident, but the sight of everything here alone seemed to restore his appetite quite easily. There was a cauldron full of the mystery stew before them, yes, but that was just at center stage. Tents set up as far as the eye could see held countless dishes hailing from all corners of the galaxy within; some were familiar, while others were completely and totally alien to them. Weird as some were, it was still quite apparent that there was a painstaking amount of care and attention put into each meal the visitors to the potluck had prepared.

“Was seeing a giant food display all it took to get you interested in eating again?” Fjara smirks. Teasingly, she elbows him in the arm. “Is there anything you’d like to try first? I can figure out what I want to try along the way.”

“There is much I would like to try…” Gwyn admits, a soft chuckle escaping his lips as he rubs his arm shyly. “But first, I would think it fitting to contribute to the potluck before taking from it.” He sifts through the small travel satchel he’s carrying with him and retrieves a nicely-aged piece of moon cheese he’d been saving for a rainy day. Passing it to one of the chefs stationed at the cauldron, he then turns to Fjara with a gentle smile on his face, bowing ever so gallantly. “Ready when you are.”

“Chivalrous as ever.” The astrean rolls her eyes and with a flirtatious twirl of her hair, sets off to the nearest tent.