"I wouldn't say there's a special way, but I have my way," Raclette said with a cheeky grin. She suddenly had a glint in her eyes that mirrored her father's as he went ahead and took a bite of bread and butter. Raclette went about her preparation. She didn't explain anything like Roquefort had, but her hands were just as steady and sure about what to do and how much of it needed to be done.

But Lou didn't watch her as she poured in the oil, then the balsamic, brown droplets the color of Lou's hair created little earthy beads in the dark golden green. Some of the beads clumped together, making uneven ovals that stretched like eggplants. Lou's emerald gaze instead rested on Roki's hand that held the warm bread slathered with the rich and sweet butter that made Lou's mouth water just a little bit.

He didn't take a bite, even though Roquefort had. He didn't take a bite, even if he looked excited about it -- even if he looked back at her as if he might burst from the thought of trying to butter. But he didn't take a bite. He waited, even as Raclette took her time in making sure she measured out enough of the balsamic to mix well with the oil, saying something about it being tangy and sweet and how it would match the oil's peppery spice. Still, Roki didn't take a bite.

A fresh warmth rolled down from her ears and cheeks to her chest. There it spread like a rising sun's golden warmth, over a field in spring that had not yet been nurtured with minerals and water and seeds. But that was what always made a plot of soil magical: the possibilities of what it could yield. Wheat for bread, carrots for stews, feeding grasses for livestock, potatoes for soup, beans for casseroles, onions and leeks and garlic for flavoring all sorts of meals and medicines. It was equal parts of excitement and hope, a little bit of wisdom from previous years, a little bit of grit from a long winter.

"Hey, I saw you feed Montbéliarde some butter." Raclette broke through Lou's thoughts as she scolded the old man. He didn't bother defending himself, fully guilty of the crime of indulging a fat cat. There were worse things one could do. "Go ahead," she pushed the oil mixed with balsamic to Lou.

"Thank you," Lou's voice was soft, her cheeks pink like her lips. She took some bread, warm but not too hot, and ripped off a chunk to dip into the mixture.

"Yeah, try it that way. Then mix it around a bit more with the bread to get more of the vinegar." Raclette said, taking a piece of bread for herself. She put a drizzle of olive oil on it and then layered a thin smear of butter on it. Lou nodded her head, took a sidelong glance at Roki holding his bread.

"Cheers." Lou said, careful as she knocked her piece of bread against his before taking a bite. She covered her mouth with her fingers, chewing slowly and thoughtfully. Her tongue scraped against the hard crust, tasting the bread just as the mildly sweet flavor of the balsamic took over. There was something similar to the aftertaste of a floral honey that permeated throughout, and as she continued chewing, the sharp notes found in vinegar enhanced the sweetness. Only at the very end did she get the slight tingle of spice on her tongue from the olive oil.

"That was delicious." Lou breathed, fingers no longer hiding her mouth as her gaze once more toward Roki. "What did yours taste like?"
 
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"Sound's plenty special to me," Roki said, all big smile, and bright eyed. Watching with interest as Miss Raclette prepped the food.

You could learn so much about a person by the way they enjoyed a meal. Shared food. Prepared the ingredients. For themselves, or for the others who would enjoy it.

With Mister Roquefort, it was clear. The man adored his butter. Probably more than Roki did! Which was saying something, because he had a great appreciation for the creamy fat spread he so loved to smear, whip and pour over just about anything and everything he felt would be improved with its silky body, rich and nutty flavor, with just the touch of grass.

Back to Mister Roquefort! The old man adored his butter! He made sure that everyone knew it. The butter that is. Not just the fact that he loved the stuff. And he would not feel an ounce of shame in that. Nor should he. And he loved the little monsieur, Montbéliarde, because he, round and kind, and spoiled as he was, he loved the butter just about as much as Mister Roquefort did!

Which is probably why the old lait monger loved the littlest gentleman as much as he did. The round butter scented fluff creature would always welcome another taste of butter.

But with miss Raclette, the story was altogether different. Respect played a key part, but for the ones enjoying the food, just as much as the food itself. She knew the combinations, what paired well, how to prepare and enjoy, and understood that, well, despite her own preferences, which so far were somewhat of a mystery Roki was curious to unravel, she would make sure to tend to her guests first and foremost.

It brought a smile to Roki's face, which always seemed to be smiling, but this was a new smile all its own! A smile for how The oil poured out, all smooth, followed by the dark vinegar, which dribbled and stained the pool of gold. Brows raised at how their little shapes wobbled and shift. Nod along eager at the explanations Miss Raclette offered up. Little round of bread still there in the plum haired squire's hand.

His eyes dart to Lou's. Little bounce of his brows, that looked so much like clouds at twilight, all there above his golden eyes. Tusks sprout to each side.

Go ahead

Thank you... She looked as pink as a sunrise. Made Roki huff a little laugh. Felt fuzzy about his nose. Had to wiggle it some. "Cheers," she said, and gave a little toast to his not-quite toast.

"Oh," Roki said, and watched her take her first bite. Blink blinked. It was like she took the time to savor every hint of flavor, turning over each taste on her tongue that hid there betwixt the nooks and crannies of crunchy-chewy-soft-oil-sopped-vinegar-soaked bread just behind those lips.

"That was delicious." she said, and struck Roki with those big emerald pool eyes that looked like rest hidden away a fairy's path. "What did yours taste like?"

Roki's mouth as agape. He blink blinked. Looked down at the butter still there betwixt his forefinger and thumb. Breath gone from his lungs. He horked down the butter and bread. Bite after eager bite. Chewed. Looked about to pop from joy. Half his serving gone.

Made a sound that was all pig in mud. "So good!" he said through his teeth. Thumped a flat palm on the table. Gulped. Looked to Mister Roquefort. Mimed the way he had seen the old lait monger spread the crystal laden treasure he had just gulped down. Still felt some of the warmth of it round his lips. Passed his tongue it. "The way you spread it over, it really helps all the flavors spread about the mouth!" he grinned. Took another bite. took joy in how the crystals crunched.
 
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"That's exactly it!" Roquefort said.

"I'm glad you like it. Both of you." Raclette said.

Montbéliarde meowed, demanding more.

"You'll get more when she's not looking," the old man said as his daughter scolded the cat for being a glutton. Voices and words layered over each other like thin gossamer sheets, sounds overlapping like colors did to make new ones. A quiet observer, like grass along the side of a well-trodden path, Lou looked at the merry father and daughter with their fat, happy cat. When she turned herself to Roki, licking his lips, the noise dimmed like birdsong when the sun rose too high.

Wide-eyed from a sudden bout of restlessness, her attention was pulled to Roki's mouth, noticing how his lips moved when he spoke, her curious gaze catching onto the slant of his tusk against his green skin. She was quick to look up at his eyes, embarrassed for having untamed thoughts for a moment that was gone with her hurried blink of disbelief. And though Lou looked into Roki's eyes, her thoughts echoed about his mouth, lingered on the word, the shape, the warmth it evoked in a way it hadn't before.

Her drumming heart drowned out the noise between Roquefort and Raclette as they argued in a way that was both exasperated banter and a routine grown from familial ties. She didn't consider dipping her bread in more of the oil until Roki took another bite, looking pleased with the choice chosen for him. She watched as the bread with butter disappeared, turned her head away to look at the mixture of oil and vinegar. Strangely enough, Lou felt like she already had her fill. The strong smell of garlic and pepper took her away from her quiet reverie.

"I can't believe you chose that one to have him try," The noise came back, no longer warbled and fuzzy but crisp and clear like a winter day, when the air felt as sharp as ice hanging from the eaves.

"Oh, this one is a classic. It would be a shame if he didn't taste one of local delicacies." Roquefort gave Roki another conspiratorial wink, the sort he gave to Montbéliarde. "You two are traveling together, have you stocked up on all your seasonings yet?" Lou wondered if Syr Noa was still shopping. She wondered if Ketyl and Winnika had ran off the way she had with Roki. She didn't go for more bread, instead, she rested her small hands in her lap as she looked at Roquefort. "Green kampot pepper has that balance between zesty and spicy. It goes well with the garlic. But you'll find other colors. the black peppercorns have a herbal finish, eucalyptus and mint. The red ones are sweeter, fruity more in a citrusy way, but still peppery. The white peppercorns often are milder, like anise, great for creamy sauces."

"Only old men like my father like the green peppercorns," Raclette warned Roki, pinching her nose as if she couldn't stand the smell any longer. "Wild Garlic and Green Kampot Pepper Butter, the absolute audacity you have to give it to a kid. And so much of it!"

"It's to balance out the sweetness from the last butter," Roquefort said with calm confidence. He finished lathering the chunk of butter onto the bread, getting that perfectly even spread like he had on the last piece. "I thought about the leek and red kampot pepper butter, but, Roki can handle it, can't he?" A playful grin that was all teeth peeked out through his gray and white beard. "This is the perfect leeway into the next butter I have planned."

"You're starting to sound like a villain," Raclette groaned.
 
Roki was all laughs and easy weather. Nodding along as Mister Roquefort confirmed Roki's analyses.

He went on listening, but his eyes couldn't help flit back to Lou. Like eager little birds, hoping to pick up another morsel just there across the sun baked earth. Caught how she looked at him. Kinda stared. He blinked. Was there something on his face?

Mouth still agape, he wiped his lips clean with the back of his hand. Smiled. Nod. Felt a spark go off somewhere in the warm haze of all he was feeling.

Before he could form the thought. Move his tongue and his lips to push out the word.

"I can't believe..." There it went.

"Oh, this one is a classic..."

Roki's eyes snapped back to the talk. Caught the proud wink in Mister Roquefort's eyes. And when his smile blazed back to life. He felt it was just, the slightest bit colder. Not quite so full in his eyes.

"You two are traveling together, have you stocked up..."

Panged in his heart. Stomach fluttered with wings of cold air. They weren't were they? They hadn't even expected to see each other in this place. Soupe des Chiens. Dog Soup. Why did they even call it that?

"... Green kampot pepper has that balance between zesty and spicy..."

Roki's eyes flit to Lou. Stared a long moment. Looked to the bread. The oil. The balsamic.

"I thought about the leek, and red kampot pepper butter, Roki can handle it, can't he?"

"Surely can, Mister Roquefort, and those all sound lovely! In fact! I'll take all of em!" he said with a happy thump of the hand on the table. "One stick of each, if you would," he grinned. Looked to miss Raclette, "The salt, the green, the red, the next one, and the oils! Three loaves of bread, and that delightful balsamic!" he grinned wide. "But, we really do need to get going, I just remembered, our Airship passes still require the proper seals of travel, and I would absolutely hate to be late!" he lied of course. He never once cared about being late.

But he did want to spend more time with Lou. And, maybe the others would like some of the bread and butter. Whenever they made it back.

"Say, Lou," he said all bright eyed and tusky. "You think the green peppercorns have a nice color?" got up out of the chair. Pet Monteballiard with a scruffle scruff that had the little gentleman huff, and mew sweet as clot cream. "Miss Raclette, would it be possible to get some of the peppers, loose in their own number?"
 
Everyone’s eyes widened at once as Roki spoke. Raclette seemed too stunned to speak, Roquefort stuttered the same word over and over until he managed to compose himself. Lou’s brows furrowed together. Did she ruin Roki’s fun in trying all the butters because she had the balsamic and oil instead?

“One each butter you tried? One of each you were gonna try? Regular with salt, wild garlic and Kampot pepper butter, anchovy truffle butter, curry butter, churned buckwheat butter, and honey raspberry butter?” Roquefort asked, bushy brows wiggling up and down like a fuzzy caterpillar creeping along a leaf. Raclette continued to stand still, eyes still wide. Her father started bouncing on his toes, rocking back to his heels, fingers suddenly clumsy as he made to put away the spoons and the butters and try to clean the plates. “The oils and bread and balsamic! One balsamic, two oils, three loaves.” Roquefort said aloud, using his fingers to help him remember before muttering it all again and running out of fingers.

“Lettie, quick.” Roquefort snapped his fingers, moving away from behind the counter, scaring off the cat that had just began his deep rolling purr beneath Roki’s fingers. “We have some green peppercorns to spare. Since you’re already purchasing so much perhaps it could be a gift….” That seemed to shake Raclette out of her stupor.

“The bread will be free. Nothing else.” She said. She got a look from her father. “We do have a buy three get one free deal on the butters. Make sure to grab the red pepper and leek and get them the truffle butter, too.”

“I can’t carry all of that. They’ll start to melt.” Roquefort called behind a shelf.

“I’m coming, I’m coming.” Raclette pulled out a basket from below, was quick enough to join her father before he complained about how his blood ran hot. Lou continued to give Roki that worried look, scooting her stool back as she pushed herself away from the counter, the scrape of wood a brief screech.

“Roki?” Lou asked, hopping off and peering up at him. “Are you not having fun? I thought you wanted to try all the butters.” She whispered.
 
Rokie laughed nervously. "Umm, well I hope the others like butter..." he said with a scratch at the back of his head. Eyes wide as he struck a finger up into the air "And the curry sounds nice!" almost a deceleration.

"Roki?"

A blink. He wheeled about and saw her big emerald eyes staring up at him. Felt his breath rush out of pursed lips. Cleared his throat. Shook his head. "Yes, Lou?"

"Are you not having fun?"

The sounds of father and daughter fast at work with their grabbing and stacking, shuffling and scooting sounded from the storage room.

"I thought you wanted to try all the butters?" She was so close he could feel the warmth coming off of her. Smelled the warm earth from the trail still on her. The mild tang of sweat, still stuck in clothes. The seeds of popped dandelions, and wheat pods.

He cleared his throat. Looked to the back room. Looked back at Lou. "I... well," nudged her with his shoulder. "I want to spend time with you," Grinned. Though there was a hint of sadness there in the way his eyes squint. "Sides," he secreted. "I'll like be here for a few days yet,"

Thwunk, thwunk, twhunk. Went the stacks of butter.

"Oh!" Roki cried out with a pop backward. A laugh. "That's a lot of butter!"
 
"With... me?" Lou repeated, a little breathless, heart beating, unsure for a split second, a mistake in its natural, easy-going rhythm. She found the thought of it warmed her cheeks, the simple idea of Roki wanting to spend time alone. Of course, meeting the happy family of three and seeing all their personalities in action was nice. Lou liked Raclette's stern face that hid her soft side; she liked how Roquefort was the opposite of his daughter in that he was brave with all his thoughts and feelings, and there was no cat more fat with butter and love -- and scratched under the chin and behind the ears like Monsieur Montbéliarde.

They had offered both her and Roki a peek into their lives behind the scenes in their store, hidden deep within Soupe des Chiens. Their hospitality couldn't have been ignored. Perhaps there was something greater than that that Roki couldn't ignore either. Whatever that something was, Lou was glad for it, and it showed on her face, in her eyes, in even how she stood up a little bit taller.

"Okay," Lou agreed, just in time, too. Roquefort was hunched over with parcels that would overflow from his arms if he took a shuffling step too far. Raclette was scolding him about not stacking the basket better, how the blocks of butter should have been laid down like a fence, not a tower. Montbéliarde peeked out from behind a shelf, assessing if any of the butter could be for him.

"It's fine, I'm fine." Roquefort's shoulder shifted as if he might wave her away, but he was quick to remember his situation when something began to slide too low. He hurried up to his stool, letting everything fall from his arms and onto the counter. Bags of peppercorns, black and green and red, flopped onto the counter, some blocks of butter tumbled over. Raclette set her basket neatly onto the counter. Roki was right. It was a lot of butter. A lot of everything else, too. Bread and bottles stacked neatly, small satchels of spice, and plenty of butter.

All Lou could think of was how much it would cost, and it seemed Raclette was tallying everything up as well. She had to pull out a piece of parchment from behind the counter, flipping it over so she could pull out a stick of reed-wrapped coal to help her keep track.

"Bread is free, two of the butters will be free, I'll be nice and let those be the more expensive ones. Then the two oils, and the balsamic, one of the peppercorns will be free."

"I talked her into it, Roki." Roquefort gave him a wink.

"All in all, it will be two silver coins." Lou gasped. Two silver coins were about twenty-four copper coins. She only had ten coppers to her name. "It's the oil and the balsamic that's pricey," Raclette admitted. "It's imported from the Free States."
 
"With me?"

The whispered sound of her words swirled there in the air between them. He could almost see them. Nutty brown, and blushing rouge. Fading to cool greens and dreamy blues.

Two words.

Seemed to carry all the weight of the world along the thin breath they rode upon in that moment so stretched out between them. His eyes felt so wide and heavy, like they might fall out of his head with all the expectation.

Wanted to know. What was the answer to her question? Was it too much? Ketyl and Winnika were still waiting. Not to mention Syr Noa. Maybe she would-

"Okay,"

A breath sucked into his lungs. Smile starting to bloom, and eyes almost alight.

Thunk thunk thump. Went the butter. Stacked up tall. Roki couldn't help but bubble over, giddy with a laugh. Come the tumble of the wrapped bricks, the rustle of the peppercorns, and Roki popped up onto his feet. Swivvel stepped toward the counter with one foot out that made him look so much like a wooden puppet, made to pivot on the spot. Ambled forward. Helped grab up a butter too far, and stacked it nearer to the rest.

Come the tally, and he felt his stomach drop some as all the items were named, and the charcoal stick skritched and scratched across the account.

"I talked her into it, Roki." the old man winked, and Roki couldn't help but laugh and grin big at him for that.

"You are too kind, Mister Roquefort," he said with the slightest bow. "I'll be sure to spread on extra, to each piece of toast I serve, and enjoy!" for what better way was there to remember, Crème pour le Chat.

All in all, it will be two silver coins.

"Oh," Roki said, caught a moment. Pulled out his purse, the shape of a fat frog. Green fibers knit over worn leather pouch like a cozy. With big bulging white eyes. He undid the fine brass clasp that kept its fat mouth shut. Jingled the coins inside. "Lets see," he said as he peeked inside, and fished out the pieces. Plunked one onto the counter. Then the other. Smiled big. "One of them's free state's mintage," he said nervously. "Hope that's alright,"

It bore the two headed gryphon of Telephasa upon one side, and the head of some old king he couldn't quite name, despite having been in that old city. Still, the coin was larger in the palm than its Altalusian counterpart, emblazoned as it was by the Sword Tower, and the winged unicorn.
 
Green eyes followed the fat frog. When Roki opened its mouth, Lou smiled. Did Roki always have this? Did he get it on his travels? She liked thinking that Gruki gave it to him for his birthday one year because it looked like him, especially when both their mouths were agape. If the coin purse could smile, she knew who's smile it would match.

"My," Roquefort whistled, taking the two-headed gryphon coin before Raclette's greedy fingers could take hold of it. He admired it like an expert, a fellow craftsman, a fresh artist. He turned it over, eyes grea wide. "This has King Godsgrave on it." He let Raclette take it. She looked at the old king, turned it over to look back at the two-headed beast. "That's one to keep on the wall." Raclette's lips were pressed thin. She took the Altalusian coin, comparing the winged unicorn to screaming eagle heads.

"I like this one better," Raclette said, holding up the winged unicorn. Lou liked that one better, too. She liked the shape of the Sword Tower compared to the serious look of King Godsgrave. He looked like a gambler, shifty and ready to lose it all, nothing like the security and stability of the tower.

"Your favorite has never changed," Roquefort chuckled, looking at Roki with a warm smile. "Before you leave, come back to join us for dinner before you go on your way. We'd both like to hear about your time in the Free States. Been thinking of traveling down there, would be good to know about the roads." Raclette put the coins in her pocket, nodding her head. "You join us, too." The old man's warm eyes crinkled well into his wiry brows when he looked at Lou. She nodded, looked towards Roki.

"I'll help you carry this." She said, reaching for the bread and bottles. She didn't want to grab the butters, even if her hands usually were colder than everyone else's. Her heart made her chest run hot. Right now, her incarnadine face still felt too warm. She looked back at Roquefort and Raclette. "Thank you for your hospitality," Lou said, with a small smile, natural and easy. "Bye Montbéliarde." The fat cat meowed. Lou looked at Raclette. "He'd really like to have your chicken skin tonight." Green eyes went back to Roki. They sparkled with two words that weren't said, let's go. Leaving the happy family of three, so the two of them could be alone.
 
"Oh, King Godsgrave!" Roki chimed, excited. Looked to Lou with squinted glee, and tusky smile. "Cool name," felt like something out of a fairy tale.

Come the offer for dinner, and the young man stood a bit straighter. Nod. Suddenly overcome by a wave of something that felt, as sudden shifts so often do, serious.

"...Come back to join us for dinner... you join us, too."

Roki gave a nod. "Oh, of course!" he added. Swept up in whatever little truth they had crafted between the four of them.

Meow.

Five of them.

Lou grabbed up some of the things. Thanked the Father and Daughter who ran the little butter shop alongside their most spoiled cat in all of the town, might be even the kingdom, the little monsieur, Montbéliarde. Roki grabbed up whatever was left. His big hands sure about the butter, careful not to squeeze too hard. He caught Lou looking at him, and he felt his breath catch in his throat.

Nod to the lait mongers, and made for the door.

Out into the street they went. Arms heavy with a basket Raclette felt bad enough to throw in, just as he was about to go.

The cobbles of Soupe des Chiens pressed through the leather of his shoes, as he strode, oddly quiet, alongside Lou. Side by side. Arms full of stuff. Butter. Right. He had been so excited about the butter.

"Hey Lou," he said with a little song to it. "How do you do?" he played along, and nudged her shoulder with his own. "Never thought I'd buy butter with you," he grinned. "All the while, just wonderin what you'd gone and been through," step, after beat step as brass cymbals clapped loud in the distance. Their bright hiss calling them forward. His eyes lingered on the side of her face.

The way her chestnut hair curled and fell about about her shoulders. How the dimming sun of evening caught against the soft fuzz of her cheeks.

"But here I am to tell it true," all the air left on his tongue, and his eyes felt fixed to the shine of her lips.

"Step right up folks, one and all, big and small, red or green, it matters not with who you are seen, come and see the show that's the talk of Soupe de Chiens!" a brightly dressed mummer, in yellows and browns, he looked every bit a fancy mustard, with a proud white feather bobbing about the fat mushroom of his cap. "A tale of treachery! Of brigandry!" his eyes caught the two squires, tweedling and deedling along the way. A big wide armed invitation as he cut their path. "Of romance," he beckoned with a grin and a bounce of brows, hands twirling about the wrists, to end in fanned point of fingers towards!

A puppet booth.

"Oh," Roki said, wide eyed and wondering as he stared at the tiny red curtains pulled over the miniature theatre cobbled together and decorated in golds and reds. Looked to Lou. "Let's check it out?" he smiled.

The mummer nod nod. "Yes, yes, Lets!" he said as he ushered them toward the budding crowd that gathered before the booth.
 
“No wonder why Syr Noa says you’re her favorite,” Lou said, smiling wide. “You can turn anything into a song like she does.” Granted, Syr Noa was prone to pulling out one of her three instruments to accompany her raspy voice. Roki’s voice was softer, lighter, like blowing a puffball. Neither of their voices needed an instrument to accompany it, but Roki’s song was untrained, not yet having that pellucid simplicity of a trained singer that betrayed none of the blood, sweat and tears of an artist slaving over their craft. “I like it when you make it rhyme,” Lou said, cymbals interrupting her to make way for the announcement that would be hard to ignore.

She followed Roki’s lead. She had made him end his butter tasting earlier. She wouldn’t have him make haste back to the inn, not when his gold eyes were beaming like the sun on the hottest day of summer. Lou adjusted the items she carried, not wanting to crush the bread against her chest and crack the crust. Green eyes went from Roki to an intricately carved wooden box that was painted to look like a glen on the bottom part, a pine forest in the middle, and then gray mountains with snowy peaks that gray way to a bright blue sky.

Dark red curtain slid open to reveal a background of a marketplace, a castle looming behind it in the distance.

“Long ago, in a Kingdom of Old, there was a King and a Queen, both young and beautiful.” He began, children starting to hush all on their own without a look from their mother. “They loved each other as much as one could love another, and when they had their son, the entire kingdom rejoiced. They named their son Prince… oh, what a was his name?” He looked towards the crowd. “Tell me, fellow friends, what did the lovely King and Queen name their one and only son?” He cupped a hand around his ear, leaning his head towards the crowd.

“Brian!”

“Alexus!”

“Frederick!”

“Stephen!”

“Frederick!”

“Timmy!”

“Frederick!”

“Frederick!”

Lou blinked. Frederick sounded like a funny name to her, but suddenly the children were shouting the name like a chant of some god. The storyteller used his hands to quiet everyone down. His grin was large.

“Prince Frederick!” He proclaimed, gesturing towards a wooden puppet of a boy with a crown. His cheeks were bright red circles, blonde hair painted on his oblong head, and bright blue eyes with black lashes made him look like a cherub. The children shouted in victory and it took a moment for them to quiet down. “Prince Frederick was loved by all. He was kind and funny and clever, all the things that made up a good Prince. He took his duty as a future king very seriously, worked hard in his studies and knowing everything there was to know about the kingdom. He trained with the knights,” the puppet disappeared, only to reappear with a wooden sword. A string raised the wooden hand up high. “And made friends wherever he went.

“It was only a matter of time before the witch in the forest would get jealous.” His voice turned low and ominous. Another puppet appeared, a girl with wavy black hair and who wore all purple and held a broom. “The young witch was called….” He looked towards the crowd once more.
 
"Wilometta!"

"Nancy!"

"Daphodil!"

"Buttercup!"

"Periwinkle!"

"Oh! Oh! Perwinkle!"

"PERIWINKLE!!!"

Some kid screeched so high and loud one could feel the air split and all those old enough to make sense of pain born from such sounds winced.

Roki just laughed, and clapped his hands quick. Jammed his fingers twixt his tusks and gave a sharp whistle. Princess Perwinkle!" he called out. Butter and basket all jumble and wobble about, but sure enough, he was not caught out. Each brick and boules so crammed and jammed stayed true to their snug little spot against fine wicker ribs so braided and twined.

So the horde of youths, caught about their swamling minds, tacked on Princess to their chants.

The Mummer cocked a brow. Some of his humor leaked out, as if the cork to his barrel had been knocked loose, but consummate professional that he was, he carried on with the show. "The young witch! Princess! Perwinkle!" he announced with aplomb. And the kids all cheered together in celebration of their ritual. "Confusing as her name may BE she was, well, not very lovely," the crowd gasped. "In spirit! Of course she was a total babe! otherwise," the puppet Princess Periwinkle strut her stuff across the way to the swooning Frederick, whom seemed to be doing all he could to keep his fabric head on his sack of a body.

"Why, oh why, is it, Prince Fredrick that despite all my confident strutting, and wicked cool broom," The Witch, Princess Periwinkle, turned toward the crowd with a secret aside. "And my fabulous purple hat," she gave it a little shake, all floppy and dangly, and so perfectly witchy. The kids loved it. All claps and cheers. "That you not so much as say hello to me whenever it is you ride your fancy horse through my forest, or swing that silly sword of yours in my woods?"

Prince fredrick stood dumbstruck. "Umm, well, you see, Princess... Witch!"

"My Word!" The Witch, Princess Periwinkle gasped and held tight her broom. Wagged a hand at the Prince. "Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?!"
 
Periwinkle. What a flower for a witch to be. What a color for a witch to have. Periwinkle. She looked over at Roki, at his gold sun dancing eyes, at the contradictory twilight violet flowing hair. What sort of periwinkle would look best on him? True or powder, light or dark, misty or dull, bright or medium? She'd think about it later, maybe imagine all the shades

"Princess Periwinkle!" Lou shouted alongside Roki after the children cheered it on, not worrying when she stepped closer to him, not caring if she might have helped in jostling his basket. Shoulder against bicep, arms loose around the bread. A pause that was missed as the show continued on. Lou kept her green gaze on

"I do kiss my mother with this mouth," Prince Frederick said with a wobble of his head, a hand raised to his face. "I brush my teeth twice a day." The puppeteer paused the show, giving all the children a serious look.

"As you all should be doing as well, twice a day, every day. And make sure you floss."

"I floss, too." Prince Frederick squeaked out which caused a few chuckles and giggles.

"Then say my name right," the witch used her broom to bonk the prince on his head, his head lolling back before it was righted back up. "I am Witch Princess Periwinkle not Princess Witch!" She raised her broom in threat.

"Witch Princess Periwinkle, forgive me!" The prince cowered, thin strings shaking all of his wooden limbs.

"Hmm." The witch stepped forward then back, did a little dance with her broom, acting as if she might hit him again with it before spinning away. "Fine. I forgive you this time, my handsome Prince."

"Why is the prince even there?" A little boy called out. In his hand was a wooden sword, curved like a pirate's. The boy wore mismatched striped trousers and a vest with a skull, a costume not meant to ward off scary spirits but to foster a bright imagination. He was pouting, clearly displeased by the actions of the witch hitting a good prince.

"Why did you call me out here?" Prince Frederick asked, standing up straight, a deeper timbre in his voice.

"Why? Why?! Isn't it obvious? You may be handsome but you sure are dumb." The witch bonked him back on his head. This time there were no giggles. The witch Princess Periwinkle leaned in closed, wooden head so close to the prince's that her hat shaded the two of them. "Because I want a kiss and you're going to give me one."

Alouette's brows furrowed together. Everyone knew the fairytales, a prince's kiss to get rid of whatever ailed the princess. She hadn't grown up on those stories, her village had fairytales of a different kind, more grim and with a funeral at the end instead of a wedding. But Lumina had told her the fairytales she grew up with. Many of them had wicked step mothers, some were asleep, others were poor, there could even be a curse, but all of the problems were solved by true love's first kiss. Alouette frowned, thinking of Ketyl, how he had only kissed her thrice and the third time was because she had asked. Now, even if she asked he refused. Now he made sure their faces were never close together, her face always shoved towards the ground.

"But I don't want to kiss you," Prince Frederick cried, flying back to the edge of the box, his back up against the wall. The witch began stalking towards him.

"I. Don't. Care. I'm going to give you a big, fat kiss!" She cackled like an old, evil woman who lived in a moving house and might eat a child or two. The man popped his head out from under the box, giving everyone in the crowd a serious look. Lou hugged the bread closer to her chest, heard a crunch and loosened her grip.

"Can anyone tell me what it means when someone says 'no'?"
 
Roki heard the bread crunch. Dusk plum colored brows raised and his bright golden eyes looked over to Lou. "Hey," he said with a nudge and the soft hint of a smile. "Let's get out of here?" his head bobbed them in a direction. But his feet stayed planted by hers. His shoulder there for her.

Back toward the inn where everyone else was waiting.

The kids were all working out of their stunned silence. As if saying something now, at this crucial juncture in the narrative, would seal the good Prince Frederick's fate. And what if they say something wrong?

"It MEANS NO! PRINCESS PERIWINKLE!" The little guy with the skull and crossbones shirt, and curved cutlass shout with his sword held high!

A bunch of the little kids screamed their agreement until they were trembling red in the face.

"I don't know," one little guy with big brown curls and horns sprouting out of his head curled up with his tail in hands. "Why does the prince not just give her a kiss?"

The other kids gasped.

The mummer cocked a brow. A little smile on his face. "Oh ho?" he sing song asked. "Whatever do you mean, little one?"

"Well," he sounded nervous. "He keeps. He keeps going to her woods? And swinging his sword around! And. Well. I don't know. He doesn't seem to be very nice to Witch Princess Periwinkle!"

The kids around him seemed split. Pirate boy. With his shirt, and his hat. Squint his big eyes until they were really small and sharp with something. "Well, if Princess Witch Periwinkle didn't WANT him to walk through her woods, why doesn't she just put up a sign!"

The little guy with horns cowered some. Shook his head. Still holding his fuzzy tail close to himself. He looked to his Ma, he just smiled at him and nod, letting him know all was ok. "I," he tried to find his words as the other kids around him giggled and laughed. Told each other what they thought in all the riled up roil of so many little voices at work. The little guy with horns gulped. Chubby cheeks red. "I don't know, but I don't think she's bad for wanting a kiss!"

The Mummer smiled. Laughed to himself. "Well, this got interesting," he said small to his puppets. Who each nod in turn to show their agreement to him.

"Most interesting," Prince Frederick said brightly.

"Absolutely thought provoking!" Witch Princess Periwinkle said in her husky allure. "Now," she cleared her throat. Turned back to Prince Frederick. "Give me my kiss! You unelected Monarch!" she growled and she threw herself at the prince who made a little sound of panic. The kids all gasped and the sounds turned to giggles and hehes from the two puppets, and the Mummer. Well, he seemed to be smiling from ear to ear.

Roki just stared at it all for a minute. "Huh,"

Some of the parents whisked their kids away. While others started busting up in laughter there alongside most of the kids.

One parent got really angry. "Filth!" the screamed. "This is absolute filth!"

"Oh! Quiet you! It's just some puppets snogging!"

"Say what?!"

"You heard me!"

It was then that Puppet Witch Princess Perwinkle gathered herself up, away from Prince Fredrick. "Fredrick!" she said.

"Oh, um, yes? My Sweet Plum Princess Perwinkle?" he sounded a man a bit drunk.

Witch Princess Periwinkle stomped about. "It turns out!" she cleared her throat. "You are a very selfish kisser." she huffed and exited the stage.

The crowd was silent.
 
Alouette wouldn't have left on her own. Roki's words reminded her that she could go where she wanted, that she didn't need to watch the puppet show. Although she nodded her head, considered turning to leave, there was a big enough part of her that had her stay to watch the story play out.

She wasn't upset by it like the parents that found nothing more enjoyable than complaining. Many of the children were laughing. Her own lips curved up with mild humor. There was no harm in it, two round, painted faces pressing up each other, limbs shaking and stretching to further make it all the more silly.

Nobody kissed like that, it was merely play pretend with wooden puppets. The words were different. They felt serious. They rang in her ears like a slamming gavel, the highest sentence doled out. The absence of laughter and disgruntled shouts made it all the louder, a heavy echo in the squire's chest.

"Let's go," Lou said, feeling her stomach twist enough that she wished she had let it remain empty. She looked away as if she were a bystander that didn't want any trouble, following the direction they had once been going. Alouette didn't know where the inn was but figured all she needed to do was get away, ask directions later. Steady boots were brisk against stone.

Something unwelcomed lingered inside her like a stain that couldn't be washed out. A dull and faded reminder. Selfish kisser. If the crowd had decided on another answer, or somehow further shaped the fate of the two puppets, Lou wouldn't know. All she knew was that she cared about the two words put together that gave her a meaning to fret over. Witch Princess Periwinkle had demanded the kiss, but there was no telling what could have made it selfish, the puppets had no lips, only a block of wood.

Tightly pressing her own lips, she thought about when she had asked Ketyl to kiss her. Was that what made it selfish? He had looked reluctant, his body still as he paused before complying. He had given her a look that suggested he didn't think her to be serious. Maybe the look meant he had hoped she wasn't serious.

Did that mean she was a bad kisser? She had never practiced it on her pillow although Ulrika suggested she try it out. There was so much to do with kissing. Lou had thought too much and too hard about it the first time, mouth too firm or too soft, closed or open. There was the whole favoring of top lip versus bottom, to feel tongue but not teeth, to deny or oblige.

"Hey, Roki?" Lou's voice crept out gingerly between her lips, green eyes lifting towards his profile, darting to his mouth and then away like a small fish disturbing water tension. Brows curved upwards as she worried her bottom lip before continuing. "This is going to sound weird, but.... From a guy's perspective... what do you think makes someone a selfish kisser?"
 
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