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tanny: sunday or tues?

tanny: we could have him come to the shop & everything

tanny: also why did u dump all that tea and sugar out. waste of earl grey

"None of those toy cars are really ever worth all the money." She says, turning her head to watch as Pond shakes it. Sure enough, the whirring stops and she figures it won't work again now. Not that it mattered, they had their fun. "And they don't exactly make 'em to be very user friendly - at least for me. Once I take those tiny motors apart I can't seem to figure out how to fit them back together. You'd think it'd just be a mini version of the big thing, but nope." She breathes out a big sigh as her head turns back to face the sky. "Shew, I probably couldn't fix one of those back to good as new if my life depended on it."

“Right you are,” he agrees firmly, nodding along. It’d been the sole reason he’d chased after the fool toy car in the first place. Didn’t want it littering up their lovely lake with trash.

With a clap of his hands against his thighs to rub them mostly clear of any mud and dirt sticking to his fingers, he finally bends his knees beneath him and rises up to stand, a hand offering out for her to take to help her if she’d like. A little twinkle of mischief in his eyes as he looks at her, like he's planning something, and it's visible there in his slow growing smile. He never could keep a good poker face.

tanny: LOL look. triplets

tanny: i like them. we’re getting on as miles would say

tanny: abigail says u stink

tanny: maybe one day u will b mine

tanny: ok freak i will

tanny: im always nice. always

[three hours later]

tanny: ok just met the ladies.

The actual fuck is this guy’s problem? For all of Josie’s audible heartache and Frankie’s damn near idolization of the twerp, which is vexatious in and of itself, it’s currently being eclipsed by the childish irritation they’re trying very hard not to exhibit. (Not hard enough, because it clearly shows, but it's not their fault he's decided to swerve directly into acrimony.)

Briefly, Ken holds a memory in their mind’s eye: swiping a second blank card from a festival table, stoned as a rock and chuckling to themself as they scrawled it out, messy and quick: Hiro Uehara, count your days… Had he seen them? Possibly even recognized the handwriting? No way. So why is he the one giving them attitude? They have all the reason to be displeased with him. Anyone else in his situation might even yearn for armistice or understanding in the face of any of the Suttons. Not Hiro, who instead gives up on any semblance of congeniality when he finds no point in it.

Stop gritting your teeth. Honestly, they're really not trying to make it seem obvious that they're not fond of him, but it doesn't keep their next question from coming out staccato and bitter.

"...Do you know when he'll be back?"

The Springs is a generally amicable place with little cause for concern or secrecy, but Hiro isn’t really from the Springs. He grew up in the city and you didn’t tell people how to find others because you never knew whether or not the friendly face was a front.

So, Hiro only crosses his arms over his chest, tongue pressed indignantly against the unhealed hole of a lip piercing that isn’t there anymore and shrugs his shoulders. “Dunno.”

“It's nice to be reminded I'm not the only outsider,” she says, a slightly sardonic curve to her lips.

In retrospect, it seems clear that Hiro isn't one of the townies, but Val's attention had been more so on the job than him during their initial meeting. But there was something subtle in his mannerisms that set him apart from some others that now seemed blatantly obvious. A guardedness, maybe? Or maybe it was just the knowledge of their otherness in such an otherwise tightknit community.

She reciprocates his sly smile, ignoring the slight ache in her chest at the little peek into their family dynamic. “Must be rewarding to see the literal fruits of your labor.” Ugh. She regrets the words as they leave her mouth. But the regret only doubles as a warm laugh echoes through her mind. Damian always loved making puns, and it absolutely delighted him whenever she made one— inadvertently or not.

Jaw clenching at the memory, Valerie looks back down to the fresh produce. It's not an ideal setting to keep her mind off of her foodie ex-fiancé, but she can't really do much about that without just absconding from this conversation.

“How much?” she asks, nodding toward the peaches. To her relief, her voice sounds normal, steady.

She makes a pun and Hiro gives her a withering look, a lift to his brow that says ‘Really?’ without having to actually say it. Nothing wrong with a good pun but acting like there’s something wrong with a pun is half the fun of puns in the first place.

Hiro considers the price of the peaches for a moment before responding, "Since you're a fellow shiny, I'll give you a discount. Half off everything so, two bucks a pound."

Still begs the question, though: Who is this mysterious lady? If she’s never had hush puppies, she must be an out-of-towner, right? But Q’s surprise might indicate the contrary—a Bleeding Hearts resident who has never once tried Granny’s hush puppies. How that could’ve happened is a bigger mystery than anything she’s ever encountered in this town. She simply must know more.

“Never had hush puppies?” She can scarcely hide how incredulous she is. “Not even once? Like, maybe tried them and didn’t know that’s what they were called?” Her brows are knitted, nearly meeting in the middle of her head with how gobsmacked she is. “You’re right. That can’t be right.”

She’s still thinking about it as they step through the doors of T&T, the bells jingling to signal their arrival. Artie is behind the counter today, but the place is especially busy, so he only has time for a quick wave and a hollered “Welcome!” over the thrum of conversation and bluegrass playing softly over the speakers.

"A mole woman?" Quentin damn near hollers with laughter at that notion. "What sorta mole women you know about that lives here in the Springs, hm? No, no, Patty, she's not a mole woman. And I don't rightly know why she hasn't ever had a hush puppy before.. I suppose I'll just have to ask her that when I see her."

"Can't hurt!" She calls, standing on the edge of the lake, and follows with a shrug. Machines were odd like that. On occasion you truly just needed to give the insides a good rattle to shake something loose. There was no way she could ever explain why, and to be quite honest, Tori nor her pops ever questioned such a phenomenon. It was just the way of doin' things.

In an instant the whirring has stopped and the car has taken off quicker than a cat jumpin' across a hot tin roof. Tori Mae barely has time to process what's happening as the toy car comes barreling toward her, or rather, toward the lake. Though it was only a toy, Tori didn't have it in her to send the cursed thing straight to its end just yet. "I got it!" she calls in response to Pond's directive, catching the sight of the remote control clattering to the ground as she herself is diving down.

With barely another moment to blink Tori Mae is chest down, one elbow covered in mud on the bank of the lake and the other bracing herself just barely in the water - never afraid to get a little dirty. "Aha!" she rasps as she manages to grab the car just as it's about to dive in and settle with the fishes but not before it crashes into the crook of her muddy elbow, sputtering to a stop. That might leave a little bruise but it's nothing she'll worry about.

Soft mud catches his legs and it's wondrously cool against the heat of summer. Pond relishes in the mix of sensations, head falling back with another bout of laughter before he clutches at his sides and leans to grab at the silly whirring car. "Look at this piddlin' thing," Pond gives it another shake and it stops whirring. "Garbage, ain't it? Serves me right I suppose," he rolls it across his leg, leaving muddy track marks against the tan of his calf and not minding the mess at all. "Shoulda could left it for you to fix up. I haven't the mind for these sorts o' things."