#loverleaf

Of course Sage was worried, and of course she told the rest of the farm that she was not. Telling them otherwise would have been more problematic than helpful. Fortunately for Sage, she was very skilled in making people feel calm, better even, without lying outright. Words were her favorite weapon, and she knew how to wield them properly, masterfully. In the end, even without saying that she was not worried about a government man coming to the farm to check them out, an obvious lie, she still managed to convey to the farmers that everything was all right. She would handle it all. What could go wrong?

He went up the main drive until he reached the main gates. They were open, and as she told them to, the farmers happily bid him kind greetings, a nice and cozy welcome. She could’ve just left them closed, so the snoopy man would have to squeeze between the bars to get in. As he eyed the magnolia bushes lining the path, Sage watched him make his way to and inside the main house from the safety and comfort of her window. “He’s here,” she announced to no one but herself as she closed her curtains, took a hold of herself for a moment or two, before making her own way to greet him. 

“Namasté, Sam Jackson!” Sage joined her palms together and bowed her head as she welcomed him to her abode, to their farm, smiling with warmth and giddy excitement, even though she was feeling more stressed and concerned within. “How was your travel? I hope all right?”

Finding the time to check on the strangely named Namas-Tea Happy Farm, a name that made his assistant Yoo-ara chuckle, was a little bit hard, considering the past few weeks have been a mess for the town and the Tourism Board. But the youngest member of the Board, Sam, would not be denied. He had made a promise to check on the place for any irregularities in terms of labor, which wasn’t even his jurisdiction, and he vowed to keep that promise to the laborers of the farm, none of which he had ever met before and would meet until today, when he finally made his visit. Ah, the things we do to procrastinate.

“Uhh, namasté, miss Sage, wasn’t it?” Her name was very peculiar to Sam, though he couldn’t judge. After all, he shared his name with a Hollywood actor, which often confused and then made people laugh when they finally got to the bottom of all that confusion. Sam didn’t look anything like his actor counterpart. He wasn’t as dignified or as threatening or as stoic. Sam was just Sam, and it often left new acquaintances disappointed when they realized he wasn’t the man with the snakes on the plane. “My travel was all right. Will you be giving me a tour around your farm?”

Sam took a good look around her place, though he tried to be insistent on being frank and to the point. He was here to do some checking, after all, and this was definitely not a friendly visit. For the most part. She does look…very friendly. Easy, Sam. Don’t be so pathetic.

“Yes,” Sage beamed. “It’s Sage Magnolia. That’s my name.” Despite the many, many criticisms of her chosen name over the years, she was mightily proud of it. It combined two of the many, many things that she loved: sage, with its stress-relieving properties, and magnolias, the very same flowers that grew in her hair. Strangely, as the years went by, people have stopped asking her as much about the magnolias in her hair, easily accepting the non-explanation of how they looked good in her hair as accessories. “I will, though would you like some tea first? Maybe those pastries we’ve discussed online?”

Sage found no difficulty in sensing that Sam was smitten by her look. Whether there was anything deeper than surface attraction, she didn’t really care. All she cared about was that he took to her quite well, which meant she could use his own emotions to her advantage. Just like old times. How many others have fallen to her charm, her beauty? She hasn’t even kept count. Outside of her more active contingencies, her social skills proved pivotal in keeping the farm afloat. This visit would be no different. Sage would win Sam over and he’d stop being a threat to her and the farmers. “Shall we?”

“Well, I am feeling a bit peckish,” Sam beamed, following her lead to wherever the tea and pastries were. Most people in town were just as friendly, offering him some food whenever he visited, though those people knew who he was and what he did for the town. The others who didn’t weren’t as friendly but those who really knew him, how he never fails to try and mask the dangers of the town as nothing more than rumors or even lies, were the least friendliest of them all. Probably for good reason. “What kind of tea are we talking about? And pastries? Like cookies?”

Sam did not hesitate to take his seat when he finally received his tea and pastries. He wasn’t that hungry but he would never say no to free food, especially not when it’s from a pretty lady. “So, like, have you always been here? I mean, as the farm owner or something? I don’t think I’ve seen a lot of you in town.” And he would remember. With her pretty face, Sam would’ve been head over heels for her. And most likely get summarily rejected. That’s just how things were. It is what it is. Hopefully, this one’s different. 

“Oh, goodie!” Sage made tiny claps when he agreed to have some tea and pastries first. She was also delighted that he didn’t make a big deal about her name. Usually, people made a big deal about her name. Now it was her turn to make a big deal about someone else’s name, his name. She asked a question while leading him into her tearoom. “So your name is really Sam Jackson? Like the movie star?” She was even more excited when he inquired about her tea and pastries. “Well, what’s your poison, mister? We have assam, darjeeling, and noon chai! As for the pastries, have you ever had vada pav?”

The assortment of offerings were already actually waiting for them in her tearoom, prepared in advance after he shared his intention of visiting her at the farm online. It didn’t really take much time or effort to make the pastries and the teas, the ingredients readily available on the farm. For herself, Sage took a cup of noon chai before pointing out the signs on two separate plates of the vada pav pastries: one normal and the other with a special ingredient. “I guess so. I do travel a lot, outside of town and the country, so maybe we’ve just had conflicting schedules until now.”

“Huh, maybe,” Sam shrugged as he opened his mouth and started to usher inside a piece of pastry. He stopped when he failed to pronounce vada pav in his head. “Vada what? It’s, uhm, nothing weird, right? Just healthy baked bread? Noon chai sounds good, too, but no poison.” He chuckled out loud at his terrible pun and watched as the tea was poured in his glass almost immediately. He drank his tea first and waited for her response before stuffing his face with the baked goods. Just in case. “Yeah, like the movie star, but I’m more handsome, right?” 

Once they were done with the pleasantries, Sam immediately switched to work mode. He looked around the place, admiring the view, before throwing pointed questions at the otherwise attractive farm owner. “So, like, is this a family farm? Your parents left this to you? You look too young to start something like this on your own. Or maybe your boyfriend owned this place before he left it with you after the break-up?” That last bit was obviously a reach, a terrible attempt to check whether she was single or not. Hey, if it works, it works. If not, then it’s back to business.

“Of course, you are, Sam Jackson of White Crest,” Sage giggled to indulge the man’s ego, hoping that the act would skew his loyalties toward her. Didn’t he come to root out any irregularities in the farm’s inner workings? She’s suffered her fair share of his kind, though they never failed to amuse her. This one was more of the same, confident of his power, or at least what he believed was power. “Nothing weird, of course. Just deep-fried potato dumplings in between bread buns. You like buns, don’t you? Most men do.”

“You could say that,” Sage kept the man company as he began his work, interrogating her with all the questions he could come up with. Again, this wasn’t her first rodeo. She knew the loopholes, the routine, though her memory has suffered over the decades. She could only hope she wouldn’t slip up this time around. It wouldn’t be good for the farm and most especially the farmers. “I started this farm with a couple of friends, but they’re gone now. No boyfriend at the moment. Unless you’re thinking of applying, handsome Sam Jackson?”

“Wait, Jackson…” And then Sage remembered someone else who had that last name, someone who was neither a friend nor an enemy, oftentimes a thorn on her side and fewer a boon. She squinted at him, noticed the similarities in their facial structure, and heaved a deep sigh as she contemplated their association. “I know of someone who had the same last name… How many Jacksons are there in town? You would know, wouldn’t you?”

Sam nodded at every graceful word that slipped out of Sage’s beautiful mouth, as if he was a moth and she was the fiery death of him. It was a trance that he was no stranger to, having been in numerous ones throughout his stay here in White Crest. When she mentioned the word ‘buns’, however, Sam unintentionally snickered like a grade school boy. He wasn’t thinking about fluffy pastry, especially not in the presence of Sage, though it was probably her intention. Be that as it may, Sam was unaware of any subtle implications. He was just being a grade school boy. As per usual. “Yes, I love buns.”

“Oh,” Sam did find himself blushing red when Sage explicitly dangled her carrot juice in front of his thirsty, thirsty donkey brain. He even gulped, realizing his throat just went dry, and went for a quick sip of tea to wet his whistle. Literally. “I mean, if you’re accepting applications, why not?” He shot her a playful smirk, though hers was much better and less nervous. His eyes started wandering around places it should not, though he caught himself and feigned a cough to hide his mistake. “Can’t say that I do, but I’m sure I’m the only important Jackson in town.”

It may have sounded like an idiotic boast or an arrogant ignorance, but Sam did consider himself the only important Jackson in town, mostly because he was the only Jackson in town he knew of, especially the only Jackson in town that worked for the town that he knew of. Sam’s focus was on tourists these days, lacking as they may be, so he was a little out of touch with the quieter denizens of the town. He barely even remembered those he had bumped into a few months ago. He did remember the “hotties,” though, so there was that. “What about you? Any family in town?”

Sage simply giggled at Sam’s declaration of love for buns. They both knew what he was referring to, and it wasn’t the pastry. Looking him over, Sage considered his application very acceptable. The man was handsome and charming but he also seemed…innocent, to use a less offensive word. He was the perfect boyfriend, which in Sage’s mind was no more than someone who could please her in more ways than one. A living, breathing toy. We all know the one. 

Sage, however, became more interested in his assertion of being the only important Jackson in town. Crossing her legs, real slow to draw his attention to the act, she leaned back on her side, an arm draped over the head of her couch. Her smile remained ever enticing. “Are you now? How important?” She wondered if he was some sort of fairy king or ancient vampire. If he was a hunter leader, though, that may be a problem. “The farmers are my only family in town.”

“Very important,” Sam played up his ego some more, stroking it in his head. Sage’s very seductive handling of his pride, masterful even, didn’t help him make sense of what she was doing. To Sam, she was a lovely woman who was very interested in him and the importance he had within the two, failing to recognize that he was being played by someone who just wanted him to give them the best result for them and the farm. Sam would be a terrible auditor. Fortunately for him, he was a Tourism Board member. “I’m the youngest member of the town’s tourism board!”

Sam actually took pride in that fact. Well, most of the time. Well, a part of him does. Sam hated all the politicking that he had to wade through to get to the position, and he hated more that he had to do it every second of the day now, and all for what? To spite his dead father? To outplay him, so to speak? To outdo a dead man? These days, however, it was harder to make sense of what he took pride in anymore. He did enjoy his job, though he would never admit it to himself when alone. 

“Oh,” Sam grinned again, also from ear to ear, as he made himself comfortable in his seat. “Well, maybe I can be part of that family someday.” He literally winked twice as he made the confusing statement. In his head, it was a pretty smooth pickup line. He failed to realize, however, that being part of a family doesn’t just mean husband and wife. Most of the time, the first thought was brother and sister. Or brother and brother, sister and sister. Maybe even parent and child. So many other things before husband and wife. Sam was not good with flirting.

“Tourism…board?” At first, Sage was a little confused. She had expected him to say something else, something more interesting, maybe even more intimidating, but he did seem like he took great pride in it. He could have been the king of the faes, which meant he would be very interesting and might even be quite useful to her and the farm. An ancient vampire might make him troublesome, but there was nothing more exciting than a dangerous fling. The hunter leader would have been the worst result. Or that was what she thought before he revealed what he truly thought the meaning of the word ‘important’ was.

And then Sage’s eyes lit up. Tourism board? That meant he had some semblance of power over the town’s tourist attractions, right? Maybe even have influential connections that could be directed toward her farm? Their produce? If she was very lucky, he could even become the mouthpiece she needed to truly establish her agenda: No to war, yes to peace! Surely, tourists would love vegetarian food and being told to stop being violent. “Tourism board! Of course! Well, aren’t you real important.”

That bit about the family thing was real awkward, though. Even Sage couldn’t deny that. She gave him an uncomfortable chuckle, as if still trying to make it seem that his pick-up line was acceptable, even though anyone with half a brain would be quick to realize it had failed, missed its mark. Maybe, she thought, Sam was one of those people who got off on those scenarios with their family. She almost shuddered at the thought, so she tried to change the topic. “Let’s talk about your family, if it’s all right? Are they still in town?”

“I am, aren’t I?” Sam fumbled for something interesting to say but only managed to repeat rhetorically the same thought that’s been discussed by the pair for minutes now. It was like he couldn’t find something else to move on to, something more interesting than his job description. Maybe there was just nothing else interesting about him. Nothing that he believed to be or would interest someone more interesting like Sage. “My family? Well, yes and no. They’re not exactly still in town. But they are.”

It was hard to describe his current situation. Technically, all his relatives were buried in town, so that means they’re still in town, right? One of them, his least favorite one, was even haunting him. But they’re also dead and no longer interacting with the rest of the town, except for his least favorite one, so doesn’t that also mean they’re technically no longer in town? Sam confused himself to no end by focusing on the wrong things. As per usual. So he just decided to come clean to Sage, “None of them are alive, but they’re in town.” Smooth.

“Anyway,” Sam tried to move the conversation elsewhere after that long, awkward pause. “Should we do the tour now? I’d love to see the rest of the farm.”

Sam’s explanation confused Sage for a bit. She had no idea what anything Schrodinger was, and should she be given the clue of a cat, she’d most likely just nod and think to herself that whoever had been talking about Schrodinger's cat quite literally was just talking about some German guy’s cat. Fortunately for her, Sam went on and explained it much better in the end. “Ah, so they’re…part of the town itself now, no longer just members of it before…” She tried her hand at the explanation herself but felt very uncomfortable talking about someone else’s dead, especially someone else she had just met and was now in a trance over her. Man is something.

“Oh, but of course,” Sage quickly rose from her seat after cleaning the crumbs of pastries from her dainty little hands and off her dress, even though there weren’t any on her dress. With a smile, she gestured for him to follow her around the farm and began the tour without much delay. Of course, Sage tailored the tour to suit her own needs. Well, the farm’s needs. The farm must survive, and so, the tour must only feature the things that would secure its survivability. The good things. “The Namas-Tea Happy Farm is a very sustainable organic farm commune that allows for everyone to come in and just plant where suitable.”

Every now and then, a farmer would make an appearance and Sage would exchange smiles and pleasantries with them, as if all this wasn’t tailored perfectly to display the truth of their camaraderie. What is the greatest, truest unity if not for the defense of someone’s home, of someone’s livelihood, of someone’s life? Few would argue that it would be for peace and love but peace and love are very complicated generalizations. Sage would know. She’s lived through different versions of them. “If there’s anything else you’d like to know, feel free to ask. I’ll try my best to answer you.” And then the girly chuckle to sell the story.

To say that Sam was very impressed with the farm would be quite an understatement. He has visited something like this before, entire acres of crops and greens, within and outside the town. One of his closest friends in White Crest lived on a farm, after all. Well, they were close growing up but things change when you leave town without even saying a goodbye. That said, he did recently save her from vampires, so that should get him some points, right? 

“You said you started this farm with friends, right? If you don’t mind me asking, why did they leave all this with you? I mean, if it were me and I had a hand at this today, I wouldn’t want to leave,” Sam meant that as a compliment but he didn’t really think things through. What could be a random, nonchalant statement of admiration intended for such a blissful and bountiful property could be received as a crass slight to abandonment issues. Of course, Sam had no way to know if that last part applied, but he didn’t try to be sensitive about it either. Sage was beautiful. Why would all of her friends leave her, right?

“Well,” Sage started to respond with a sing-song tune, not really sure how else to go about it. It’s a tale as old as time, a tragic tale, one that has had enough time for all involved to finally move past and let go of. Yet Sage, despite her longevity, still couldn’t, still held on to the regrets and despair of events that have long unfolded, that she could no longer change. She has tried, debatably her best, but every now and again, that same longevity only served to remind her of how tragic losing her loved ones had been. That and she still literally had a hold on the constant reminder that was the farm. “It wasn’t like they had a choice.”

“It’s sort of the same thing with your family,” Sage tried to go the more familiar route, trying to make her situation resonate with that of Sam’s, even though she wasn’t quite sure if he had suffered the same tragedies. Or if he hadn’t. “You can’t really leave a place if you die there, can’t stay in a place if you die elsewhere.” Did that make sense? Sage’s shrug made her believe it did, though a part of her was very uncertain. 

“But you’re right about one thing, Mr. Jackson: It’s hard to leave something like this. Something productive. Something so loved by so many people, useful to so many people,” Sage tried to reach out to his sense of community, trying to make him sympathize with her and the farmers, especially if he found something that wouldn’t fly legally. Bureaucracy wasn’t something she was good at. She’s tried that as well but it just wasn’t for her. It’s been a pain in her butt for a long while now. Hopefully, it wouldn’t be as problematic with Sam.

“Ah,” Sam was at a loss for words. Perhaps even for the first time in his life. How was he supposed to know all her friends are dead now? That seemed very unlikely in his head, though at the same time, also pretty believable. It wasn’t like they all died at the same time. Probably over the years. Due to different reasons. Sam tried his best to rationalize Sage’s tragedy the only way he knew how, which wasn’t hard, considering he did that on a daily basis. 

As a member of the Tourism Board that was trying their best to cover up all the supernatural bullshit in town, mostly because the older members were adamant in the belief that it was the only way to save the people, Sam had grown to be very well-versed in bullshitting his way through life. “That explains a lot,” he tried to flash her an understanding smile, though the awkwardness in the air rendered it somewhat uncomfortable.

Sam couldn’t agree more. The farm was fantastic. It was most definitely a breath of fresh air, though to be fair, that was mostly only because Sam spent most of his days downtown, never in the outskirts. Who knew how many more similar farms were in this part of the town? Should be him, if not the Tourism Board, but he digressed. In the grand scheme of things, the farm was something that seemed very useful to the community, and that should count for something, right? Sam believed the same. “I can see that. Seems to me like a great place in town. Your papers are in order, I assume? Because if they are, then I see no problem here. None at all.”

Sage couldn’t help but smile at Sam’s response. Her plan was working! Or at least it seemed like it. The man didn’t seem like he wanted to scrutinize anything else. Was it her charm? Or was it the familiarity of death that seemed to draw them to each other. She had lost her friends, and he had lost his family. This town was a constant reminder of their respective losses, yet they chose to stay. If that wasn’t something that bound them together, Sage wouldn’t know what else would qualify. 

Despite the sad realization, however, Sage still managed to put on a cheerful aura around her. No use in sulking, she always believed. If there was an opportunity to choose the sun over the moon, then the sun was her best option. Always was. “They are. Would you like to take a look at them? They’re in my private quarters.” 

Sage gestured back inside the main house, eager to lead him away from the farmers. They were good people, all of them, but they weren’t always reliable when it came to making sure bureaucrats like Sam wouldn’t find anything to zero in on, anything unnecessary, and use for their terrible agenda against people like them. Sam seemed different, but they had just met, and Sage wouldn’t risk the farm on a first impression.

“Maybe some other time,” Sam had to decline the most tempting of all offers when he received a text from Yoo-ara, reminding him of preparations for an upcoming event. He shook his head, sighing, at the most inopportune of all distractions, before turning to the lovely Sage with an apologetic smile. “I have to go and help with the town hall meeting stuff. You should drop by. Might be a whole lot of important stuff to learn.” That last part was a stab in the dark for him as well, as he was not in the loop with whatever that damned thing was about. For his part, he was just thinking of once again telling everyone there was nothing to worry about. Even if there was.

The premise was simple: Go to White Crest Central Station and assist confused travelers, all while carrying some warm, tasty baked goods. Sage has done it before. Countless times over the years. This time, however, she made sure to separate the warm, tasty baked goods from the warm, tasty baked goods with a little something special inside. 

Back then, in her favorite decade, no one had any problem consuming the latter pastries. These days, however, she was mindful enough to…appreciate the difference in taste. She heaved a sigh at the thought as they made their way to the station, a little sad and forlorn at the fact, The 60s were truly the best years of my life.

Sage exited the farm’s trademark van, which had the 60s decorated all over it, immediately looking around for “the charming, handsome one in front,” the person she had talked to online about this whole thing, two brown paper bags cradled by her arms against her chest. 

After a few hundred years of life, you found a multitude of creative ways to entertain yourself. Baz was something of an expert at it, able to find joy in the smallest of things. They weren’t sure how much of that came from immortality and how much of it came from being a poet, but they liked to think it was about fifty-fifty. 

Not that it mattered much. No, what mattered was that entertainment, and all the ways they found it. What mattered was whether or not they could convince other people to join the fun. It was always so much better when they could. Baz had always loved people. A little too much, if some were to be believed.

They shifted absently as they waited for their latest friend to arrive, eyes scanning the crowd. When they saw a pretty woman cradling two paper bags that smelled absolutely heavenly, they figured this had to be the person they’d spoken to online… or, at the very least, someone they could charm into giving them whatever it was she was carrying. With a charming smile, they moved forward. “Lovely to meet you in person,” they greeted confidently. “Those smell delightful. Which one is for me?” 

Sage just stared at the charming stranger for a few seconds, a warm smile on her face. It was as if she was trying to preserve the memory of his face in her head. Or maybe she was trying to remember a face she barely could, that of the person she was supposed to meet at this place. The flower nymph wasn’t quite sure which was which at that moment, though she just decided to wing it. After all the years she’s done the same, all the time she’s survived with just her smile and luck. What could go wrong?

“Charming and handsome one in front?” Sage chuckled, her delivery of the question somewhat vague in terms of its intended. Was she asking him? Or was she asking herself? Either way, she was always generous, so a delicious pastry for the stranger it was. She had already taken one out and was about to hand it to him when she remembered it had something else in it, something splendid, though not everyone appreciated the ingredient for what it was. “Oh, by the way, are you allergic to anything?”

“That’s me,” Baz confirmed with a flourish, clearly delighted at the description they’d given themself. They had a habit of… well, of saying anything that might serve to paint them in an attractive light. Seven hundred years earned a fury a hell of an ego, and they had a habit of learning on theirs. 

They reached out as the woman proceeded to hand them a pastry, pausing only when she did. The question wasn’t one they thought of often; as a fury, they hardly considered things like allergies. It wasn’t as if such things could kill them, after all. They thought back, trying to remember if they ever had been allergic to anything, but… Food had changed so much over the centuries, they weren’t even sure if any allergies they’d had in their human life were still applicable now. “I don’t think so, no,” they decided at last, taking the pastry and taking a bite without any further hesitation. The old ‘don’t take food from strangers’ rule probably wasn’t quite as important to someone whose only real weakness was decapitation, after all. “I don’t think I caught your name. Very rude of me, I know. I do apologize.” 

Sage raised a dainty finger in the air in a failed attempt to halt the man for a few more seconds but immediately stopped herself, curling it back down to join her other dainty fingers. With a quick wince, she watched him eagerly, curious as to whether the effects of the, uhm, special ingredient would work right away. Some people didn’t take long to experience the effects of the magical leaf. Others don’t even get affected by its more whimsical benefits. She even knew of a boy who only got into a brief fight with his bowels after consuming the same herb.

“That’s,” Sage feigned a cough, trying to remain as graceful and elegant as possible, even though she was clearly very excited at the results of his consumption. He did seem like he knew what she was implying online, so hopefully he wouldn’t explode into uncontrollable euphoria. “...good to hear.” She gave him a warm smile, intentionally this time, as a gift for their introduction. “I’m Sage Magnolia. What’s your name, charmer?”

Though they didn’t need to eat human food in order to survive, Baz did often indulge in it for the taste. They’d had plenty of gourmet meals throughout the years, dined everywhere from Italy to France to India to Thailand. Having lived through centuries of cuisine, they were pretty good at picking out distinct tastes within the food they were eating. So the woman’s special ingredient didn’t go entirely unnoticed. Baz had been expecting it, to some extent. She’d mentioned it, after all, in their online interactions. It was part of the reason why he’d agreed. Things like this were fun. Moreso when you were armed with the knowledge that nothing short of losing your head could kill you.

“Isn’t it always?” They agreed with a hum, swallowing the last of the pastry. It would be a while before it kicked in, they knew. They couldn’t remember if they’d always boasted a slower metabolism or if it was one of the many things they’d gained along with immortality, but it was certainly undeniable now. “Lovely name, Sage. I’m Sebastian, but I go by Baz.”

“Sebastian, hm?” Sage found her new friend a little too charming that she didn’t even try to weasel out of him his last name. Usually, while the rest of her kind used that to their advantage in less savory ways, to her, it was more of a defensive measure. Sage didn’t really do anything destructive, let alone barely hostile, since she found her people in the 60s. Anything unsavory she might do was usually a last resort, only to keep herself alive and safe and unharmed. “That is a fantastic nickname as well. Baz… I don’t think I’ve met another Baz before, certainly not anyone as charming as you.”

“Do you usually take trips down to the situation to mix and mingle with random travelers?” It wasn’t the worst way to spend some free time, Sage could at least agree with that. If anything, if she did that herself, perhaps she could convince more people to go back to the values of her favored time period, to put love over war once again, to deny all personal conflicts in favor of reaching compromises. It seems like a pipe dream, sure, but a better reality often starts from an innocent dream.

“Oh, they don’t come as charming as me. I’m one of a kind, I’m afraid.” Not entirely true, though not far off, either. Furies were less and less common these days, even in a place like White Crest. It had been decades since Baz met another. It was something they tended to take some pride in, privately. Being a rare specimen certainly felt preferable to being something as dull and common as a vampire or a zombie.

The question drew a thoughtful hum from the erinyes as they chewed on the pastry, their shoulders lifting in a shrug. “When it suits me.” It was their answer to most things, really; Baz tended to do whatever they felt like doing, regardless of anyone else. It was something that had worked for them over the centuries, a habit they had very little intention of changing. “What about you? Do you always offer strangers pastries with a little extra kick to them? I hear that can be dangerous, depending on the state you’re in. I find it difficult to keep up.”

“I can see that,” Sage giggled as she continued to watch him savoring her baked goods. Although she never took great pride in her baking, she knew they always seemed to satiate everyone who took more than just a passing taste. Well, most of them. There were a few who couldn’t take more than just a bite, and that’s always mostly because of the extra ingredient. She could never relate to that, though. Her first time had been very dreamy. Ah, that’s probably why.

“Me? Well, I’m a strong believer in making love, not war, you know?” Sage offered him a shrug, a warm smile still on her face. “Never judging books by their covers, always giving everyone the benefit of the doubt!” It helped that she has never found herself in dangerous situations before. The few times that she came close, something always bailed her out. Like when that warden tried to take her down and ended up going missing a few days later. Or when a creep tried to stalk her and ended up going missing a few days later. The Universe always protects. 

“Oh, well, I hope those dangerous strangers aren’t around here. With everything that’s happened, the townspeople deserve a break,” Sage giggled again but this time took a pastry for herself and sank her teeth into them, delighting in their freshness and fluffiness. Just the way she liked them.

She was charming, too. Baz didn’t often take an interest in people — it was an exhausting thing, after all, growing attached to someone only to outlive them by centuries — but already, they felt a firm fondness towards Sage. Perhaps it was the ‘special ingredient’ in the pastries making them a bit more open to such things, or perhaps Sage was simply easy to like. Both options seemed equally plausible. 

“Oh, making love is one of my favorite pastimes.” They punctuated the sentence with a wink, grinning deviously. They couldn’t quite say the same for not judging books by their covers, of course. The nature of a fury was to pass judgment, wasn’t it? After all, there was no vengeance without it. And as delicious as Sage’s pastries were, they couldn’t sustain Baz. They needed vengeance for that. Judging books by their cover was, as it turned out, a pretty important aspect of keeping Baz alive.

Glancing around as if to catch sight of the ‘dangerous strangers’ the conversation now centered on, Baz shrugged. “It looks like we’re safe here,” they whispered conspicuously. “Though I suppose the best way for the townspeople to get a break, at this point, would be to find a new town. This one doesn’t seem to offer breaks very often.”

“Oh,” Sage felt her cheeks turn red and warm at Baz’s devious wink. She’s made love before, sure, and numerous times at that, with numerous people even, and not just with men, but not recently. Things have been too…interesting for her to focus on that part of her whole lifestyle. Plus, it wasn’t the 60s anymore, so… Let’s just leave it at that. Sage continued to smile from ear to ear despite the initial surprise. “Well, I think you’re probably good at it, too.”

Sage squinted as she looked around, even though she didn’t even have any idea on how to find a ‘dangerous stranger’. Someone brandishing a knife should be very dangerous, but these days, everyone knows how to hide such a weapon, only taking it out when necessary or already close to their target. She reads books. “Hmm, that’s unfortunate but true, and even then, the next break could very well be this town’s last.”

Although Sage wasn’t as long-lived as most others like her, only having been around since the 40s give or take, she’s still seen the town evolve through the decades. Sure, she’s spent some of those decades in another part of the world, but she’s lived through the changes, and for better or for worse, the town has survived a lot. Maybe too much that it was now time for it to go quietly into the night. Or with a bang. Hopefully not with a bang. The town, not her.

“I’m very good at it,” the fury confirmed, still grinning. They’d leave things at that. If Sage wanted proof later of just how good they were, they’d be happy to show her. And if she didn’t, that would be fine, too. Baz had never been the type to take offense to that sort of thing, after all. 

She was right about this, too, of course. Eventually, White Crest would stop getting lucky. Perhaps it would come someday very, very soon, based on the way things had been going. They ought to make the most of things while they could, ought to enjoy their pastries and their lost tourists. Such things didn’t last forever.

“Let’s hope it still has a few good years left in it,” Baz replied with a shrug. “I don’t think I’m ready for the fun to stop yet. Do you?”

“Very?” Sage purred, fueled by the secret ingredient in the pastry she had chowed down on rather elegantly. The vada pav wasn’t just like any other pastry. To some, the glorious deep-fried potato dumpling, slapped in the middle of two bread buns, was called the Bombay burger. To Sage? It was home. “Well, maybe I’ll get to confirm that for myself one day.” Her mantra was, after all, make love, not war. It wasn’t just words sometimes. All definitions tend to apply.

“I don’t think anyone is ever ready for the fun to stop,” Sage heaved a sigh, feeling much more saddened by the mood-dampening nostalgia of her own losses. The decades have passed, but the feeling has never changed. Her longing for the good old days, her few good years, only intensified with each passing decade. Much has changed, except for her. She was still holding down the fort, holding on to values that were scarcer than a good lay. “Even when it’s already here, we still try to trick ourselves into thinking it’s not.” 

Sage heaved a sigh, and after a few seconds, realized she was perhaps souring the mood. “Oh, I’m sorry… That wasn’t very fun of me, was it?”

“Very,” Baz repeated, punctuating the affirmation with another wink. This, above all else, was the sort of thing they thrived at. Plenty of aspects of human interaction had been lost on them over the years, centuries of existing just outside the realm of being human causing a rift that was difficult to overcome, but this was something they were still skilled at. Baz could flirt with just about anyone. Usually, they were pretty good at bringing it home, too. “I’d be happy to show you. Just say the word, darling.” 

They hummed noncommittally at her statement. They weren’t sure it was entirely true. There were certainly some people who wanted the fun to stop. They clung to things like morality and ethics and let that dictate what they could and couldn’t do. It was all painfully boring. Not to mention exhausting. Baz was tired of it, was tired of a lot of things. After seven hundred years, they figured, anyone would be tired. “Don’t worry. We can bring the fun back, I’m sure.”

“Well,” Sage’s eyes widened in amusement while her cheeks grew hot and red. He was easy on the easy and very charming with his words. She couldn’t help but wonder what else he was good at, what specific things, and how good. Sage could only imagine, and although she has great imagination, she could feel her lips become wet with anticipation. Let’s just leave it at that. For now. “Maybe if you still have some energy when we’re done with helping strangers out here? These pastries aren’t going to distribute themselves, after all.”

She began to look around them, at each and every stranger that passed by, came close, wondering if any of them really needed help. Sage remembered when she was a confused traveler from before, though in another country. The first time, she valued the help that came unsolicited from the strangest of places. The final time? It all ended up much differently, and the help she received was more of a curse than a blessing. “Hm? If you say so. Shall we begin then?” Sage handed Baz the bag with the pastries with the secret ingredient, curious as to how he would handle it.

 “I’m full of energy,” Baz assured her with a grin, clearly satisfied with the deal. If she was interested in spending a little more time together when the pastries were all handed out and the people at the train station had all been helped, they would gladly offer her their company to do so. It would almost certainly lead to good times for the pair of them.

Nodding, the fury took the bag of pastries, humming nonchalantly. “I’m not sure the tourists will appreciate your special ingredient as much as I do. Are you sure these are the ones you’d like to hand out, Sage dear?”

“Hmm, you think so?” Sage was a little bit disappointed at Baz’s hesitation. If she was normal, she’d realize he was pretty much just being a decent human being. It was disrespectful to feed people things that weren’t prepared normally. These days, one needs consent before feeding another something with Sage’s special ingredient. But, with a very audible sigh, Sage surrendered without much fight. She wasn’t someone who indulged in force in all its definitions. “I guess boring old pastries, it is.”

Sage swapped their bags, bequeathing the pastries without the secret ingredient to Baz and holding on to the ones with the secret ingredient. She frowned at the thought of how the succeeding generations seemed to be less fun than the 60s to her. Back then, fun things were celebrated, not banned. These days, everyone seems to care more about labels and warnings and money and credit and allergies. Boring things. “Why even be a tourist if you’re not going to be spontaneous and have fun?” 

“It would certainly be a waste to give them to people who wouldn’t appreciate them, wouldn’t it?” For all of Baz’s faults — of which there were many — they did tend to be generally respectful when it came to avoiding putting people into situations outside of their control without warning. It was why they granted wishes with the disclaimer in front that there would be consequences involved. Sure, they might not go into detail on those consequences, but they did allow for that little head’s up. If people chose to follow through with the wish regardless, it was still their choice. Baz made a point of that. 

Taking the bag of ‘boring old pastries,’ Baz flashed Sage a dazzling smile. “Maybe we offer them the choice, hm? Some of them may be interested in fun. Those are the ones we’ll know are worth talking to.” 

“Hmm, that is fair,” Sage heaved a sigh, frowning. People seemed to have become much more complicated through the years that followed the 60s. Back then, things were much simpler, much easier. Now people have all these words and warnings and complaints. Why couldn’t they just remain simple and easy? Why couldn’t they just mellow down and choose to love, make love, and ignore everything else? To Sage, it was all very confusing and unnecessary. It didn’t help that she wasn’t even human, and most times, she wasn’t even a sober human. 

Baz’s alternative, however, piqued her excitement once more. Like a child, Sage began clapping and grinning, eyes wide with delight. “Oooh, oooh, that sounds like fun!” She watched him, nodding, and turned around to look for anyone who could be interesting and fun. There were a few that caught her attention but no one fitting her description of “interest and fun.” There were interesting faces, mysterious people that made her wonder, and there were fun faces, those with strange hair colors or flamboyant clothing, but no one that seemed to her both. Finally, she turned to Baz and shrugged, “You see anyone interesting and fun?”

For a moment, she seemed unhappy. Baz liked her well enough, of course, but they were still a fury, did still find unhappiness better than the alternative. Still, there was something else in their chest, too, an artist’s soul that had always been somewhat at war with the nature of the erinyes. They weren’t exactly relieved when Sage’s unhappy expression morphed into one of delight — it brought a certain level of discomfort with it, as joy always did — but they weren’t displeased, either. There was plenty of misery in the train station to go around, after all.

And chaos to be caused on top of it. Offering people a choice between ‘special’ pastries and mundane ones was sure to cause some fun, given the fact that those who took the former would be uninhibited in a crowded place. Baz grinned, glancing around the station. Settling on a woman texting on a bench, they nodded. “How about her? Worth a shot, isn’t it?”

Sage didn’t spend a lot of time outside the farm. At least not enough as any other normal person would. Not that she was normal. Or a person. But the few times that she did, she’d always find someone glued to their tiny phone, and boy, they’ve all become so tiny, the tiniest, through the years. Sage had a phone herself but it was not as tiny, not as cluttered with applications or features, and thus very outdated. Sort of like her. She sighed at the woman Baz had found, very unimpressed. “She doesn’t seem very interesting, or fun, but she’ll do, I suppose.”

Where was the woman’s tie-dye shirt? The fresh magnolia plucked this morning and nestled carefully in her hair? Interesting women wouldn’t be stuck on a bench fidgeting with a tiny thing. Interesting women, and men, would be playing a guitar, rousing the passersby with a communal song, and of course would not hesitate to try Sage’s baked pastry, secret ingredient and all. “Do you think she’ll even speak to us?”

Of course. At the end of the day, it all circled back to the lack of enthusiasm for a damn good time. Back in her day, everyone would just open their mouths and pop in whatever was offered to them. There was great faith, great trust, and definitely great love for all things unexpected. What a shame. These humans today seem so lost and claustrophobic. Easier for a flower nymph that’s still hung up on the 60s to say. Sage so often lamented what others would not even remember, did not even live through.

It was true, the woman hardly looked different than the rest of the people mulling about, but it was so difficult to tell these days. People had lost their taste for theatrical outfits that made them stand out in a crowd, preferring the same name brands and the same dull colors. It was a shame, really, but it did make things more interesting in one regard: every interaction was like a game of roulette. 

“There’s only one way to find out, isn’t there?” Baz flashed a bright smile, sauntering over to the woman and sliding into the spot next to her on the bench. “Good afternoon, miss,” they greeted, and she lowered her phone to turn towards them. “Are you new to town?”

“I’m lost, actually,” she admitted, a sheepish smile on her face. “I’m texting my sister to see if she can track down a new train ticket for me, or come pick me up.”

“Well, if you’d like a snack while you wait, my lovely friend here has an assortment. Tell her what you’ve got, Sage dear.” 

With a bright smile, the warmest she could muster, complete with eyes shimmering with excitement, Sage offered the woman the brown paper bag of the perfectly normal pastries, all of which baked to perfection and without a hint of any special ingredient. She had taken Baz’s advice to heart, and to be fair, it did make a lot more sense when she thought about it, spending all those few minutes, maybe even seconds, it took to make her way close to their prey thinking about their exchange of ideas. “Here you go! Take one while it’s still warm!”

“Oh, uhm, is this free?” The woman looked a little hesitant at taking the offer, which was pretty smart of her, Sage would at least admit that. With everything that has happened in the past few months, and everything else that was still happening in town at the moment, a modicum of wariness was most useful. Sage nodded at her with glee, trying her best to charm the woman, or perhaps even guilt her, into her purposes. “Yes, of course! My name’s Sage Magnolia. I own the Namas-Tea Happy Farm at the outskirts of town, and these are, well, my little way of welcoming everyone to White Crest!”

In her head, it sounded pretty foolproof: A nice farm lady greeting everyone new to town with a brown paper bag full of warm pastries… What was there to be suspicious about? Then again, the woman was new to town, or at least lost in town, which wasn’t any different really, and that meant her guard was up in more ways than one. The lost girl hesitated for a few more seconds but Sage wouldn’t stop staring at her with that wide smile. Defeated, she awkwardly chuckled to herself and took one of the softer pastries, still warm, and warily bit into it, eventually succumbing to the deliciousness of the treat. “See? What did I tell you? Tasty, right?” 

“It’s a free sample,” Baz added helpfully, because that certainly sounded legitimate, didn’t it? Most people, like this woman, were naturally suspicious of anything ‘free’ in a capitalistic society. But add in the expectation that it was free in order to convince you to buy something later down the road and, suddenly, things made a lot more sense. 

Unsurprisingly, the woman didn’t seem to want to argue with free pastries any more than she had already. Baz watched with some curiosity as she took a pastry and bit into it, glancing over at Sage. After a moment of chewing, the woman smiled. “It’s very good,” she confirmed. “Thank you.”

Wincing a little at the slip, Baz nodded. “Sure, sure.” The woman would learn not to thank people in White Crest soon enough; whatever consequences she got from this display of gratitude were ones she’d earned herself. “Should we move on, Sage? Or was there more you wanted here?” They gave their new friend the chance to offer some of her more ‘exciting’ pastries if she chose to do so.

The woman’s positive feedback and display of gratitude made Sage’s smile grow ever wider. She gave her an excited nod but failed to realize what Baz was getting at with that second question. In her head, she thought he was just urging her to move on and share more of her pastries with more of the tourists and whoever else were around them. Sage was so encouraged by the woman’s reaction to her baked goods that she hyper focused on getting more of the same from the others. “I’m all good! Let’s find more people!”

Sage gave the same woman a final quick nod before doing just that, finding more people. With Baz’s assistance, she shared the remaining normal pastries until the brown paper bag they called home became empty. All that was left were the ones with the special ingredient in them, but at this point, Sage wasn’t quite sure whether it would be safe to share with others. Baz’s words from before, as well as the first woman’s hesitancy, made her realize this might not be the time nor the place for some lovely fun. It was a crossroads, after all, not an actual destination. People were more focused on finding their way out of there than actually staying, and her special bread felt inappropriate in that context. 

“Well, that was fun,” Sage chuckled to herself, shaking her head in a failed attempt to calm herself down and chase the excess adrenaline away. She then turned to Baz, gave him a quick look, before offering the remaining brown paper bag. “Here. This might be better left with you. I can make some more at the farm, and I’m pretty sure you’d appreciate this more than anyone else here. This was fun, Baz. We should do this again some other time.”

They may not have gotten to give out the ‘special’ pastries, but it was sort of fun to hand out the normal ones, too. While Baz might have initially come out with mischief on the mind, they found there was something nice about making people feel good, too. It was like art, but without waiting a few hundred years for your pieces to become relevant. It made them think that, perhaps, there was something in humanity worth keeping around after all.